Thoughts on this and that...

It's hard trying to get back into the swing of cycling, especially now that the weather is closing in. We're in November, heading towards the middle of the month, but the weather seems pretty mild. Last Saturday I rode to Westerham and sat outside munching on a billionaire's shortbread. Yes, you heard me, a billionaire's shortbread. It was fantastic, so good that I didn't want it to end, but I started to realise that I'd been falling back into my old ways: no exercise for a start (or not much) and then the food. The snacks. The white chocolate cookie, the chocolate brioche rolls, the Wispa Gold, the stale cinnamon brioche bun from Costa the week before last and that's just the sweet stuff. I bought some ham as I thought I'd be making my own sandwiches for work, but in the end I couldn't face the ordeal of eating a sweaty homemade sandwich when I could simply walk to the caff and enjoy something a little more substantial. But I digress, the billionaire's shortbread: it was worth every penny and even now, five days later, I'm still thinking about it. During the week I raved about it to colleagues, under the mistaken impression that only I knew what a billionaire's shortbread was. I was mistaken, which made me wonder why I hadn't enjoyed one before. A few days prior to my Saturday ride to Westerham (I think it was Wednesday) there was trouble on the trains. Somebody had jumped in front of a train close to East Croydon station. The emergency services were dealing with it. For me it meant 'no trains'. I wandered away from the station in the dark and made my way to the Costa Coffee opposite the bank for a large English breakfast tea and a millionaire's shortbread. Fortunately, I had a decent book on the go: Dave Grohl's excellent memoir, which I have since finished. I sat in the Costa reading it and then moseyed on back to the station and jumped on a train. The problem had been sorted out.

Night sets in early

It starts to get dark around 4.30pm. I started thinking about riding the bike into work and while the morning ride would be fine, for a while at least, the return journey would be a race against time. It takes around one hour and 15 minutes to ride to work and roughly the same going the other way, so I'd be home around 5.15 and would probably be riding in the dark for roughly half of the ride. I can't say the idea appealed to me and I don't remember doing much in the way of night riding last year, apart from the odd Norfolk Nobbler, talking of which, I did one today, a 7.30-mile ride. It's always a bit of a work-out riding the Nobbler, thanks to the hills, but I always feel good when I get home. I went out around 1345hrs and the ride was around 40 minutes in duration. A good way of bumping up the weekly mileage is to ride short distances, like the Nobbler, and while fairly easy on a Thursday and Friday (when I'm working from home) it's a little more difficult on a work day. Would I be motivated enough to ride at 0600hrs before eating any breakfast? Well, I wouldn't get any time for my Alpen and fruit as when I get home it'll be time for walking to the station to catch my morning train. I should really stick to Washpond Weebles on Thursday and Friday lunch time, but today's exercise was to determine the mileage of a Norfolk Nobbler with a view to riding one every day. Big thoughts! But I know only too well that when I wake up in the morning the last thing I want to do is get on the bike without drinking tea, munching toast and eating my Alpen and fresh fruits. It's just not going to happen. Actually, I really must get my act together; what with the aforementioned chocolate bars, cookies and billionaire's shortbreads, I must seriously slap myself into shape. For most of October I avoided the cakes and while I've only just started to weaken, I must stop it. That stale cinnamon brioche bun from Westerham Costa last week put me off, making me wonder at the time why I even bothered. Perhaps I should have taken it back.

More mid-week Washpond Weebles are needed

It's Friday and if there's any justice in the world I should be looking at a Washpond Weeble at lunch time. Right now, as I write this, it's breakfast time and today I admit I went over the top: in addition to my bowl of Alpen and porridge oats topped with blueberries, grapes, raspberries and sliced banana, I enjoyed two slices of toast with honey AND a couple of fried eggs on two pieces of toast. I'm thinking about another cup of tea as I write this.

Rain stops play

Friday brought rain and in the end I didn't go out so it all rested on Saturday, but instead of my usual ride to Westerham, I rode a 9.72-mile 'special edition' Norfolk Nobbler, a local ride extraordinaire (basically three loops of the Norfolk Avenue/Arundel Avenue/Ridgeway route). Last Sunday I started my week as usual with a ride to the Northern Kent market town, which is my long-winded way of avoiding using 'Westerham' twice in the same paragraph, but now, of course, I've done just that. So my weekly total was around 38 miles (one 21-miler, one 7.20-miler and a 9.72-miler, you do the math).

Billionaire's shortbread in Costa Coffee

I love coffee shops

Coffee shops have taken the place of pubs in my world. While, in the dim and distant past, a pint and a cigarette used to be my idea of relaxation (it never ended well) I now prefer sitting in Caffe Nero or Costa with a large cappuccino or an English breakfast tea. Alcohol never did me any favours, quite the opposite, and now, four years after giving it up, I found myself in Caterham, home of Ross Cycles, sitting in a Caffe Nero (I think it's the best brand around) reading a new book, Willy Vlautin's The Night Always Comes, his sixth novel (I've read them all). A couple of weeks ago, when I walked from Ross Cycles to Caterham railway station after dropping off my bike for its silver service (click here and here for more details) I stopped off at the Caffe Nero for a large cappuccino and a slice of cake. It was chilled and cosy. Yesterday I found myself alone in the house and decided to jump on a train to Caterham and head back there, book in tow. Again, I ordered a large cappuccino and this time a millionaire's shortbread. There's a tinsel Christmas tree at the front of the store, making it that little bit more cosy. I loved it and I sat there reading until I'd finished my coffee and cake. I found myself on the 1450hrs train back to Purley Oaks from where I walked home.

Sunday: the start of my cycling week

And now it's Sunday morning, almost 0700hrs. I've been up since 0600hrs and managed to listen to Radio Four's Something Understood (I'm guessing the subject was commemoration). I've since switched to the World Service and I'm guessing the news is about to be broadcast. Time to hear more about what is essentially a climb-down on climate change now that COP 26 has come to an end. I'm about to listen to Weekend with Celia Hatton. Coal is being phased down, not phased out, thanks to India, but who can blame them? We've had our industrial revolution, let them have theirs. I just hope that industry worldwide continues with its plans to reduce emissions. I know for a fact that the global steel industry is doing more than its bit to reduce emissions.

But enough of all this. There's around 30 minutes before I need to ride to Westerham to meet Andy and start my cycling week. Hopefully I'll be able to put in some decent mileage this coming week.

Notes from the ride...

The ride in itself was absolutely fine. I rode the standard route along the 269 and down Clarks Lane and when I arrived Andy was inside the Costa drinking a large Americano. He was halfway through a toasted tea cake. There was a long queue and everybody was ordering complicated drinks so I decided to wait it out and chat with Andy before getting up and ordering my English breakfast tea. But the queue never quietened down and in the end Andy left and I had a dilemma on my hands: queue up again or just ride home. I started to queue again, but immediately got annoyed with the whole situation and decided to ride home. I considered the Tudor Tea Rooms, but what was the point? I rode towards the Velo Barn, turned left on to Pilgrim's Lane and then crossed Clarks Lane and followed Pilgrims Lane to Rectory Lane where I turned right and joined Clarks Lane again but a little further up the hill. Loads of stuff was going through my mind. Do I take The Ridge into Woldingham? Do I take Beddlestead Lane and Hesiers Hill? Do I take Beech Farm Road and Washpond Lane? Nothing appealed and I felt I wasn't quite ready or motivated enough to tackle any big hill. This has plenty to do with being overworked. Instead I rode the 269 and reached home around a quarter to eleven (1045hrs). We slobbed for a while, had burgers for lunch and then headed out for a drive to Ightham Mote where I (foolishly) ordered a large cappuccino and a gooey mince pie. I can't say I really enjoyed either of them and vowed there and then to stop cake, biscuits, bread and cappuccinos. On the bread front, no more than three slices a day. Dinner was a light pasta dish with a tasty tomato-based source, home-made, the perfect end to the weekend. Tilly Ramsay survived another dance-off in Strictly.

Returning home – where standards are in free fall...

Friday 10th August: Another fine day on the weather front. I woke up in Vienna on a beautiful morning and after checking the computer, I moseyed on down for breakfast – nothing fancy, just muesli, vanilla yoghurt and a mint tea. At Motel One, people were having breakfast outside, but I stayed in and afterwards returned to my room to answer emails and then pack up and check out. I wish I'd packed the night before, showered early and got out in the air, but I slobbed around and eventually checked out with about an hour to spare before I needed to head for the airport.

View from Room 103, Motel One, Vienna

I took a walk around streets I remembered from my previous visits and then took a last look at the fairground, which has a completely different vibe during the day; the rides aren't as colourful, there's less people, but the rides keep going and people continue enjoying themselves. Being there was a bit like taking one last look at the sea as a kid before dad drove us home from a fortnight in Felpham or Middleton-on-Sea and we had a long, hot summer ahead of us playing in the back garden. In the end, I resigned myself to the fact that I needed to get on the move and, sadly, experience the hassles of travelling again.

I went from Messe Prater on line U2 to Praterstern and from there changed to line U1 and rode to the hauptbahnhof where I picked up a train to Vienna airport. On the platform, waiting for the 1412hrs train, I met an employee of OBB, the railway company. He was on his way to catch a flight to Zurich from where he would pick up a train and ride back to Vienna. He was a nice bloke, wearing the company uniform, which was smart, and he told me he'd been working for OBB for eight years. Clearly he enjoyed his job. He spoke about long train journeys to Bucharest and Warsaw and all over Europe and I'll admit that I did envy him. He seemed extremely happy and clearly loved talking about his job as a train manager, in charge of dealing with unruly people, answering passengers' questions, checking tickets and generally being the guy to go to if you needed something. On the way to the airport he pointed out a huge oil refinery on the outskirts of Vienna. Here, he said, the country receives its oil from Russia. He said that Vienna was home to the largest cemetery in Europe and pointed it out. In between the trees I spotted the odd headstone.

Inside Room 103. Eat your heart out, Emin!

When the 1412hrs airport train arrived we parted company, but never shook hands as we simply got carried away in the crowd; he was heading for Terminal 3 while I needed Terminal 1. Here at Vienna, security is at the gate, which in a way is good as that whole tedious process is broken up somewhat. There's passport control and then nothing until just before you fly. I headed towards gate D22 where I discovered my flight was delayed, it turned out considerably delayed. Initially, though, just 20 minutes, so I sat in the restaurant close to the gate and ordered a chicken pannini and a mint tea. Once I'd boarded the plane we had to sit there for an hour waiting for 'our slot' to land at Heathrow. But eventually we took off and there was a lot of cloud. The seat next to me on the flight was vacant so I could spread out a little bit, which was good. I read a bit of my book, Don't Skip Out on Me by Willy Vlautin, but spent most of the time looking out the window at the clouds below. Eventually the high cloud cleared and the picture outside the window was the same as always: cotton wool cloud below and blue skies above. It was a pleasant flight as I was in seat 12a, an exit row, so I had more leg room too.

My phone ran out of power, which was annoying. On arrival at Heathrow T3 I found a Caffe Nero, ordered a teacake and a mint tea and sat there waiting for the phone to charge, but it didn't – the plugs weren't working. I was, after all, back in the UK where standards have dropped severely and were as nothing when compared to those in Austria. From a place where trains run on time and are spotless clean to a place were train carriages have a liberal sprinkling of crumbs and fast food wrappers on the floors and seats. From a place where people are well-dressed and smart to a place where people shuffle along in jeans and trainers and wear bleak colours; from a place where train travel is relatively cheap to a place where it costs £270 to travel to and from London to Liverpool – thanks to Virgin's old beardy. I could go on but I won't. Well, alright, I will go on. How about this: I've been wearing white shirts all week, wandering around Austrian cities and they've remained spotless clean. I was in London for no more than 30 minutes and a I found a grey stripe of dirt running from one end of my left sleeve to the other. Why? Because I was back in the UK.

Did you know that the healthiest city in the world is Amsterdam followed by Oslo? Me neither, but guess what, London doesn't make the top 25. Click here for more. Interesting to note how most of the cities in the top 25 are in Europe. One, Mangalore, is in Southern India, it came 24th. There are others outside of Europe, but not many. Wellington in New Zealand and Perth in Western Australia both made the list and were high up.

In the end, having finished my teacake and drank my mint tea I headed home. The weather was cooler than Austria's 35C, but that was the only plus point.

A clear day – so we head to Westerham and the Tudor Rose café...

When I first woke up this morning I clearly remember catching bits of the news in between drifting back to sleep. At one point I couldn't quite make out what was going on. The news had ended and I could hear music. There's rarely music on Radio Four, that's left to Radio One, Two and Three, so what had happened? I figured somebody had messed with the dial. For a split second I wondered what day it was and there was a temporary, mild disappointment at the thought of it being Monday until I realised it was Sunday, a whole day stretched ahead of me and I should be up and out of bed and preparing for today's ride.

Outside the Tudor Rose, Sunday 11th April

The music on the radio was from Something Understood, but because I'd drifted in and out of sleep I didn't catch the beginning of the programme, so I had no idea of what it was about.

Jumping out of bed I headed towards the rear window where I pulled aside the curtain to find a bright, clear day with little sign of rain. There was a light frost on the lawn, but it didn't phase me. Time to make myself a cup of tea. And now, here I am sitting at the dining room table, lap top in front of me, writing a few words for the old blog.

Yesterday the rain continued on and off for most of the day. A fine drizzle sprayed the earth and later on the day brightened up, but while I considered 'a late ride' I knew that it would have disrupted the day. That's why Andy and I get up at the crack of dawn at weekends, it's not only about less traffic, it's about having the rest of the day free to do family stuff.

We'd planned a visit to the Tudor Rose this morning, which was great news for me as it meant I wouldn't have to carry a heavy flask full of hot water plus a mug, tea bags and milk. And I tell you what, it was something else having a virtually weightless rucksack.

I messed around on the computer and answered the call of nature, which made me a little late. I didn't leave the house until around 0706hrs. By the time I was on the road it was easily 0710hrs so I decided to push it and raced off up Ellenbridge, into SouthCote, then Elmfield and Morley and up Church Way. I was putting in a decent pace and didn't stop as Church Way turned steep. As I rode past Sanderstead Pond, I ruffled a few pigeons' feathers and then, once on the Limpsfield Road, I powered towards the green, passing all the usual places, such as Hamsey Green. When I reached the green I couldn't see Andy, but I did take a quick glance at the clock and I'd certainly made up some time. Andy was already on the road and beckoning to me to keep going. This I did and as we made our way towards Knight's Garden Centre and the quieter, more rural parts of the 269 we both agreed it was 'heads down' until Westerham.

The faster pace continued as we both kept our heads down, watching the moving tarmac as we progressed towards Botley Hill. The weather was dry and fairly warm, there were blossoms on the trees – always a good sign – and not a rain cloud in sight. We rounded the roundabout and rode into Clarks Lane, past the Tatsfield Bus Stop and down the hill in Westerham. The speed was maintained down the hill and along the road into Westerham, there was no let-up and soon we arrived. The Tudor Rose café was under new management – and had been for some time – and it had a cosy appearance about it. There were cakes on display – bread pudding, carrot cake, iced buns, you name it – but I decided that bread pudding for breakfast simply wasn't cricket, so I opted for two slices of white bread toast and a pot of tea for two. Andy ordered a sausage sandwich.

Matt and Andy at the Tudor Rose café

The sun was out so we sat outside and chewed the fat about David Cameron and the European Union and then tucked in to our breakfasts. It was absolutely fantastic. If the truth be known, this was one of the best rides we'd undertaken in a long time and I must admit that I was truly energised. Clearly, not having the haul the heavy flask and the milk and the cup in my rucksack gave me a new found energy that was clearly having a good effect.

There were plenty of Lycra monkeys around. I checked the immediate surroundings in case there were any auctioneers in the vicinity, but I couldn't see any and that probably explained why nobody had shouted 'Gavel!!!!'.

We saw Phil's mate Steve, but he didn't see us. Andy, of course, didn't know him from Adam, and he clearly hadn't noticed me. Alright, I could have attracted his attention, but that might have meant explaining who I was and I hate having to do that. "You remember, don't you? About a month ago? You, me and Phil rode the long way to the Tatsfield bus stop? You had a puncture along Beddlestead Lane?" Perhaps the explanation wouldn't have been necessary, who knows, but he didn't see me so it's all academic at the end of the day.

We headed for home. The worst part of the ride from Westerham to Warlingham (where Andy and I part company) is the bit from the town centre to the bottom of the hill. It seems to take an age, but today we took it in our stride and then knuckled down for the hill itself, which continues all the way to Botley Hill. From there onwards it's a doddle and we flew along. The entire ride was energising in the extreme. Andy and I parted company at the green, vowing to ride out next weekend and then we continued on our individual journeys (Andy to Caterham and me to Sanderstead). I powered along the Limpsfield Road and made good time, arriving home around 1010hrs.

It was to be a chilled out day. I sat and watched Andrew Marr on the iplayer, listening to Nigel Lawson's interview about the European Union – he's a key Brexit campaigner – and then Jeremy Corbyn discussing the issue of David Cameron's hypocrisy and the wider problem of tax havens, like Panama.

There was little to do. I put a couple of lightbulbs into the ceiling lights of our bedroom and chilled until lunchtime when I made cheese salad and cheese and pickle sandwiches. Lunch over I drove to Banstead Woods, having decided that four quid for the Headley Heath car park was a fucking rip-off – thieving bastards! The woods were wonderful and, on reaching home, I've been chilling out, re-reading bits of Mike Carter's One Man & His Bike, the most wonderful book. I might even re-read it just as soon as I finish Willy Vlautin's The Free. I've read all of Vlautin's output and so far it's all good. Other books on my agenda? Platform by Houllebecq and Harvest Home by Thomas Tryon. I'd also like to read David Ceserani's The Final Solution, but it's thirty quid so I'll need to do a bit of saving.

Right now, I'm enjoying a glass of Malbec, sitting on the sofa in my conservatory writing this blogpost. Work tomorrow, more's the pity, but as my dear old dad would have said, "That's life I guess, that's life." Never a truer word and all that.