More meaningless words...

Last weekend, I broke the pattern of just one ride per week. That said, the week before I didn't ride anywhere. I might have said this before, but things conspire against me and I end up not riding and it's not just the weather, it's everything from chores around the house to not having charged my phone enough before heading out to having to do something or go somewhere. And worst of all things, my own underlying laziness that simply makes me eat something and sit around rather than hit the road. But then, let's not forget the weather, which hasn't been good; it's only been the last week, possibly the last fortnight, that the weather has improved.

I did feel ashamed, but I couldn't be bothered to fix the puncture

Last Saturday the plan had been to ride to Oxted, do my usual thing, like reading whatever novel I'm reading and drinking a cup of tea, and then heading home, but when I reached Limpsfield I noticed a wobble and yes, I had a puncture. The problem was that there were plans to do things and I didn't want to disappoint people so instead of doing what I should have done (fix the puncture and then ride home) I decided to be lazy instead and get the train home (£5.20). I felt awful because it was cheating and while I didn't exactly miss the uphill ride on Titsey Hill, there was a little bit of relief knowing that I wasn't going to do it. The only good thing was that I found a coffee shop (an independent) right by the entrance to the station and it looked like my kind of place. Perhaps I'll go back there on Saturday... but not until I fix last Saturday's puncture, it's on the front wheel, so far less hassle than the rear one and I should have done it but never got round to it.

One of the things stopping me riding has been the garden. The grass was in need of a cut, the first cut of the year, and it wasn't easy. I did the rear garden the week before last and the front lawn last week, but for the rear lawn I forfeited a ride and that was the weekend of no cycling. But! There's always a but. I got a lot of exercise not only mowing the lawn but taking out a dead tree which sits at the top of the garden as I write this. This coming weekend (today's Wednesday) I'll go out there and cut up the tree into logs and then I'll use those logs in a fire pit on the patio. I haven't bought it yet, but I plan to and then I'm going to sit outside in the early evening, burning a few logs and chilling as the night sets in. Or maybe not, it all depends on the weather and let's not forget that we're almost in April and that means 'April showers'.

While I took the train home last Saturday, I did manage two rides. Yes, the first ride was around nine miles on the outward journey to Oxted, on Sunday I rode to Tatsfield village to meet Andy, so I got out on both days and also mowed the front lawn (for the first time this year). One great piece of exercise, by the way, is lawn raking. I'll be doing some raking this coming weekend as the gardening doesn't stop until November. I normally stop in October but my neighbour said he always gives a last cut in November because it makes things easier when the cutting season comes around again.

I'm still not doing things and by that I'm saying that I keep meaning to do this and that but I never get around to it and I need to kick myself into gear. If I sit in a chair in front of the television I get cosy and sometimes I nod off and miss whatever I was intending to watch on the box. I've also got to stop eating marmalade. Yes, I'm back on it. I'm on my third, possibly even my fourth consecutive jar. I had planned to stop after the last jar, but a trip to a place called Graffham in West Sussex led me to a store that sold marmalade and I'm a sucker for traditional marmalade, you know the sort of thing, the gingham cloth covering the lid. I love it, but buying another jar set me on the road of having a couple of slices of toast and marmalade for breakfast every morning plus another couple of slices when I return from work. So, when my current jar expires, that's it unless I feel so demotivated that I feel tempted to buy another one. Comfort shopping, that's what it is.

This evening I read an article about the benefits of walking so I'm going to ramp up my walking. I used to walk a lot at work and recently I have started walking to Merstham from Redhill (it's around two miles). I might start walking 5km at lunch time and then the two-mile jaunt in the evening, every evening. And what about swimming? Well, I've not gotten round to that either and I need to and soon. Trust me, it's going to happen sooner or later. Sooner I hope. I think the key with exercise is to build it into your daily schedule. We'll see how things go.

What am I reading right now? Charles Bukowski. I started with Post Office and now I'm reading Ham on Rye I loved Post Office and I note that Bukowski wrote a book on writing, called On Writing. Will it be better that Stephen King's book of the same name? Who knows? One thing I will say is that I love books about writing written by writers. Consider This by Chuck Palaniuk is brilliant but there was one by Murakami that I really didn't like as he never really answered the big questions and I hated that. 

It's getting late, 22.23hrs to be precise and something else I mean to do is go to bed early. I messed up last night and possibly the night before too, but I've got to get into bed around 2230hrs, something I'm not going to do tonight by the looks of things, but then I can have a later start tomorrow as I'll be working from home, no commuting, so all should be well. I'm planning an early walk before work too as I want to get more steps in. 

Gotta go!

Lockdown, Part 32: Something Better Change.

The other day I decided to take a walk around the block, just a half-hour stroll to get some exercise having been stuck indoors all day working. As I walked, I found myself thinking back five years or so to the time when, for some reason, the joint below my big toe swelled up and I had great difficulty walking. It lasted for about two or three days, wasn't painful unless I put weight on it and that's about it. However, as I continued to walk - without pain and with no sign of the ailment I last experienced in 2015 - I said myself, something along the lines of: "I seem to have gotten rid of that big toe ailment I had all those years ago, must be cleaner living, not drinking and so forth." And with that I continued on my walk and when it was over I sat around, watched TV, all the usual stuff. The following day I had the ailment again. Now, perhaps it's coincidence, but I'm not so sure and I highly recommend people not to tempt fate because that's what I did, I'm sure. I started thinking about something and for some reason it happened. I hobbled around for the day, went to bed early and when I woke up in the morning, while the joint below the toe was still swollen, I was no longer in pain. Cue a 21-mile bike ride to Westerham during which I experienced no pain, nothing. However, as the day progressed, and I took a drive into darkest Sussex, the pain returned and I found myself limping around again. Perhaps I shouldn't have gone cycling, perhaps I aggravated it, so I resolved not to go today (Sunday). I was planning a ride to Woodmansterne Green to see Bon, sometime around 0700hrs, but in all honesty nothing had been arranged and my original plan had been to meet Andy at the Churchyard, hopefully an hour earlier than normal (at 1000hrs) although again, nothing had been arranged. So when I woke up I decided to give things a rest. Last week I'd cycled around 71 miles (my week is currently running from Sunday to Saturday) so I figured a day off might do me some good, although, even now, at 0928, I still feel like jumping on the bike and going somewhere. I'm going to resist the temptation.

War time memorial in Tatsfield Village last week on the Churchyard Chump

It's now 2019hrs, the Durrell's are on television (far too middle class for my liking) and I'm sitting looking out on the garden. There's blue skies and scattered clouds here and there, it's been a fairly pleasant day. There was a little drizzly rain this morning, but it's warm out and ideal cycling weather. I'm glad I gave it rest, though. I've been obsessing about it of late and what's the point? In fact, I'd say I'm getting irritated about a lot of things and I'm going to blame the 'lockdown'. Not, as I've said before, that I'm in any real state of lockdown. It's just the whole being at home thing, not getting much of a change of scene, although that's not true either: yesterday I drove to Petworth in West Sussex and mooched around a bit. Today I've been taking it easy, but I think it's the whole thing about working from 0800 to 1600, then going cycling (alone) then returning home, having dinner, watching The Sinner, falling asleep and then going to bed (repeat and fade). The swollen foot didn't help matters, but I've been a bit short-tempered (more so when I've missed a ride, although I did pretty well this week). I'm annoyed with the Government, annoyed with the state of popular music (just listen to Capital Radio and you'll know what I mean) and, most of all, I'm fed up with myself for all sorts of reasons. I need to achieve something, but I don't know what. I'm always reading about people doing 'great things' with their lives and I'm starting to feel a little small and insignificant in the greater scheme of things. But so what? Who isn't small and insignificant? I've been thinking back on stuff and berating myself on so many levels, but then, when I think about it, I've done alright one way or another, I've got nothing to complain about and there are plenty of reasons to utter the phrase 'and there, but for the grace of God go I'. I could do with a better night's sleep, that's for sure, perhaps a lot of this is to do with feeling weary and tired and in need of more sleep, get to bed before 2300. I don't know, but I'd better snap out of it.

On the green at Westerham on Saturday morning

On the cycling front, it's been good this week. I managed to get in four rides including yesterday's ride to Westerham, 21.05 miles. I sat on the green in the sunshine chilling before heading home up the hill. Prior to that ride I rode the Slines Oak Slogger, riding up the 269, turning right on to Slines Oak Road all the way to Woldingham and then hanging a left and heading for the golf course, bearing right on to The Ridge, riding to Botley Hill, crossing the 269 and then heading east on Clarks Lane but turning left on to Beddlestead and then tackling Hesiers Hill. In fact, that's not right. The ride before the Westerham journey was the Slines Oak Slogger, but in the other direction (coming down Hesiers and then riding up Slines Oak Road on to the 269, turning left and riding home). I did it the other way around earlier in the week, actually last Sunday if I'm not mistaken. So I rode Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. On Tuesday I rode the Churchyard Chump, a straight ride along the 269 to Tatsfield Village via the Churchyard, but circling it and riding through Tatsfield Village, emerging on Approach Road, turning right at the Bus Stop and heading home via Botley Hill, that was 17 miles. Thursday was the Slines Oak Slogger (17.5 miles) and Saturday was Westerham (21 miles). My week started last Sunday when I rode the Slogger via a steep climb up Hesiers Hill and, as I said, I repeated the ride on Thursday but in reverse. For details of all my rides, click here.

Village cricket on Wisborough Green in West Sussex on Saturday afternoon

There's two kinds of cycling as I've said before: cycling for the fun of it (which was the way Andy and I used to ride at weekends, early in the morning); and cycling to keep fit, which is what I'm doing now, riding alone, not stopping for tea and not really enjoying it. It might be another reason why things aren't right at the moment. Cycling, while fine, is a kind of necessity at present because I'm indoors all day and genuinely need the exercise. Often I have to force myself to go out because I don't particularly want to. The novelty has worn off I guess. I'm also riding in the early evening, which is problematic because we have dinner to sort out on my return and then there's nothing left but to crash in front of the television. The routine is starting to annoy me, perhaps that's it. As the Stranglers used to sing: Something Better Change.

To the Tatsfield Bus Stop on Saturday, but rear wheel puncture aborts Sunday's outing...

Yesterday morning, when I left the house around 0730hrs, I was amazed by how dark it was outside. It was pitch black. I put this down to the fact that the last few rides over the festive period were later than our usual departure time and, for some reason, I thought it would be lighter than it actually was.

Phil texted me just before I left saying he was coming and please wait for him. Not a problem. When I waltzed outside – I didn't 'waltz' outside at all, but it sounds good, even if it does make me sound a little dandy – there he was, bike parked by the kerb. He'd brought along the last of his Mary Berry Christmas cake, which we later enjoyed at the Tatsfield Bus Stop. Yes, despite New Year Resolutions it's still our preferred venue, although yesterday we reached it via the slow route.

An unwelcomed rear wheel puncture put paid to my cycling this morning

The slow route is fine if you want to chat and not worry so much about the traffic, as avid readers will already know, but there is one killer – Beddlestead Lane. Phil was out of condition and cited half a bottle of wine and some cheese and Port on Friday night, plus little in the way of cycling over Christmas – as the chief reason behind his sluggishness.

As we trundled up and along the tiresome Beddlestead Lane we chatted about this and that, but Andy powered ahead. It was a clear day and at one point I could see him in the distance ahead, his rear light flashing like a beacon, as Phil and I continued to chat and 'mosey along' trying not to over-exert ourselves. Eventually Andy returned to see if we were alright and we all cycled along together for the last 200 yards or so to Clarks Lane.

The weather was fine. In fact, the mild weather I've been going on about since November last year continues and while there was a few angry clouds dotted around, all was fine. Or rather it was kind of alright. It had been raining heavily through the night, leaving puddles everywhere – not ideal if, like me, your bike doesn't have any mudguards. Later, when we embarked upon on our ride home, there was a mild drizzle that quickly gathered momentum.

Once at the bus stop, however, out came the tea and biscuits and, of course, three huge slabs of Phil's interpretation of Mary Berry's Christmas cake. The guy is a genius! His culinary expertise knows no bounds – savoury or sweet – and it goes without saying that we all enjoyed the cake. We had a couple of Belvita biscuits too and soon it was time to head home in the aforementioned mild drizzle which, by the time we reached Warlingham Green, was bona fide rain.

Sunday morning...
And now it's Sunday morning and the time is 0646hrs. I was softly awakened at 0600hrs by Radio Four's Something Understood, which today, ironically, was all about 'sleeping on it' – something I wished for at that moment, it has to be said. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and then again around 0500hrs. I still managed to summon up the energy to jump out of bed, skip downstairs (alright, I didn't skip) make tea, toast and Weetabix and sit downstairs, at the dining table, laptop on, writing this post.

Today it's just Andy and I on the ride and, judging by a cursory glance outside, it seems to be pretty dry out there, which is good. Yesterday it rained on and off throughout the day and well into the night, so I'm hoping it'll need a rest this morning. The roads were dry and the trees were still, so I'm hoping for a trouble-free ride.

But then...
When I ventured outside to the garage and unpadlocked the bike I discovered a rear wheel puncture. How frustrating! I'd It would mean an 'abort' text so there would be no riding for me today, more's the pity.

Weather note: it's still fairly pleasant and mild, but of late there's been a lot of rain and today (Sunday) it's definitely turned a little colder and more in tune with standard January weather. As I walked back to the car park in Petworth, West Sussex, around 4pm this afternoon – after an enjoyable lunch in Tiffins – there was a cold wind and rain and it wasn't pleasant, especially considering my leaking Sports Direct trainers.

Memories of sunny summers on the South Coast of England

Quality weather in the UK at the moment and it looks like continuing for a few more days yet. Needless to say it makes for good cycling: no coats and scarves, no gloves and, this weekend, no backpack either. I guess I was taking a risk assuming that I wouldn't be getting any punctures, but on Sunday I was only going to Woodmansterne Green (still a good six or seven miles from home) and most of the cycling surface was tarmac. As Jon and I commented, it's amazing how you can have a bike designed for rugged terrain (hefty frame, huge tractor-like tyres) and yet, the Achilles' heel, the tyres and the constant threat of punctures.

Felpham beach as I'll always remember it. Photo: Simon Carey .

Anyway, no punctures were experienced. On the Saturday we cycled the long way to Merstham, meeting Jon, who was a little bit late, at Hunger's End. Jon's pedal was still broken and Andy had bought his old pedals to the caff but couldn't fix them. I'd ambled off to the guitar shop to ogle at the bass guitars and then, on my return, we paid up and headed for home. Going down Gangers Hill, through Church Town, up the Enterdent, along Rabies Heath Road on on towards Merstham was fantastic in the early morning heat, but Sunday was promising to be what tabloids call a 'scorcher', 32 degrees. England was due to play Germany in a knock-out match later in the day and it was hard to ask for more.

Andy couldn't make Sunday so Jon and I ambled around at Woodmansterne Green reminiscing on our childhood holidays on the South Coast at Middleton and Felpham in the days when all summers were scorching hot and seemingly never-ending. We were very young when we first started going to a house called The Heron in Ancton Lodge Lane, Middleton-on-Sea. It wasn't on the beach as later houses would be, but only a short walk. Jon and I both remember the metal garden furniture and I'll always remember the woman who rented us the house, Mrs Turtle. She lived in another house next door. There was also a clock over the mantelpiece that reminded us of the Play School clock, but Jon doesn't remember that; I'm sure Criss, our sister will remember it.

Dad traded up to house on the beach after the Heron and we moved a mile up the road to Seafront, a house next door to the Southdown Holiday Camp, which I think has been knocked down. We had some good times there – apart from the time dad found a dead body, that of of young bloke who lived further up the coast and, apparently, had endured an epileptic fit while out on his sailing dinghy in rough seas. A week later dad,  Criss and mum (I wasn't there for some reason and I'm not sure if Jon was with them) were out looking for crabs in the rock pools at low tide and dad spotted what he thought was somebody dipping their head in the water to see what life was like under water, but it turned out to be the body of the guy with the dinghy. He'd gone missing about a week earlier. The whole thing was weird: that morning we saw a white horse galloping rider-less on the sand followed by a group of nuns and the sea went a funny colour too.

Dad had to attend an inquest and he got himself a mention in the Evening Argus, but the weird thing was that nobody wanted to help him drag the body from the water and bring it ashore. I remember him telling us about how the fish had been eating away at the guy's eyes. Not a pretty sight I'd imagine. I think the whole thing bugged dad for some time afterwards, but we were very young and it didn't spoil our holidays at Seafront, which continued for a couple more years before we traded up again, this time Merryweather on the Summerley Estate where, arguably, we had our defining south coast holidays. In fact, whenever I go down to the South Coast, it's always Felpham and I often go down and take a look at a couple of the houses we rented.

In the early nineties we went back en masse when Dad rented a huge house on the coast called Georgia in Limmer Lane but we were grown up with our own kids and while the magic was still there in a way, being grown up made it different, although I know that whenever I go to Felpham, that old magic is still there.

Jon and I were trying to remember dates because in between the joys of the Heron, Seafront and Merryweather, mum and dad, for some reason, decided to try a holiday in Hastings in a house called The Croft. It was one of those old, three-storey affairs but none of us liked the house and we came home early and then took a week at the Heron to compensate. I remember how dad bought our Action Men new outfits by way of compensation for a crap week. I said it was 1974, but Jon said it was earlier and so did dad when we called him from the Green to see if he remembered.

I remember how we used to count the days down as our holiday got nearer. I certainly recall sitting in the classroom at school when the lawnmowers were out on the playing fields and there was that lovely smell of cut grass. We used to walk around the block chatting about it over the weekends and I clearly recall the phrase, "when you come to think about it, 70 days isn't much really" referring to the amount of time to go before we went on holiday.

I'll stop there as there are so many memories I could write an entire blog on the subject.