Things are slipping...

Last night a weird dream. Perhaps 'weird' is a bit strong, it wasn't weird. I was in a room with Chris Bryant MP and journalist Matthew Parris. Why, I don't know. Bryant had something of interest to Parris and for some reason I was standing in front of some book shelves looking for book on how to draw, a book that I bought for my daughter many years ago when she was, I don't know, around eight or nine years old. I never found the book and the dream was accompanied by something depressing, I know not what, but I awoke feeling depleted, down, dissatisfied with life. It was a feeling that worsened as I entered the kitchen and discovered there was no bread and that the cake tin (recently full of milk chocolate digestives) was empty. I picked it up and gave it a light shake and there was nothing inside moving around so I knew there was no point in taking it out of the cupboard and opening it. I'm getting bored of Alpen too so instead opted for Shredded Wheat and as there was no bread decided to have three with warm milk and sugar and instead of my normal green tea I chose a mug of PG Tips (decaffeinated) in my huge Sports Direct mug.

Things are slipping and for good reason. The winter approaches. The nights are getting longer, the darkness will soon arrive around 4pm and thoughts of not cycling except at weekends are beginning to enter my mind. Not that I've been cycling midweek of late. For the past two weeks, perhaps longer, maybe three weeks, I haven't been on the bike. My last ride was to the lakes on 18 September with Andy, but I'd already started to flag a little; my two midweek rides to work have slowed to a halt, stopped largely by rain and slightly colder temperatures than the heat of the summer past which saw temperatures soar to over 40 degrees. Long summers, like life, seem never-ending but then suddenly they're gone and there is nothing left but the countdown to Christmas and awful programmes like Strictly Come Dancing and I'm a Celebrity, which are there for one reason: to edge us closer to 'the big day' that massive anti-climax that is Christmas Day.

I wish I could be more consistent. During the summer months I ate mainly salads and drank green tea and cycled regularly, bringing my weight down to around 12 stone. Today, I haven't bothered weighing myself because I know the result will disappoint me and the last thing I want is to be disappointed. I simply need to kickstart things and get moving again. I've started thinking about lights on the bike and cycling home through the sticks in the dark hoping that cars will see me, but most importantly is the need for motivation. I need to have my stuff ready the night before so I can just go, but now, of course, I have to keep an eye on the weather and that awful symbol on the iphone that depicts rain and offers the likelihood in percentage terms. I kind of doesn't matter what the percentage is, as soon as I see the rain symbol I just know that if I ride the bike I'll get drenched and remember this is October not June or July or August. I won't be arriving at work feeling alive and ready for the day, I'll be a damp pile of anger wishing I lived somewhere else in the world, a wish more pressing because of the general state of the country with Liz Truss at the helm.

My diet has slumped of late thanks to two weeks (give or take) in Italy. I thought it would be the much-praised Mediterranean diet on show, but no, it was biscuits and baked goods that stole the show and cappuccino every morning instead of a green tea. In fact it was sweet things throughout the day. If I found myself in a cafe I'd order a cappuccino and a cream-filled croissant or if I was attending some function or other I'd be nibbling on some kind of cake. My problem is I can't stop. Why, for instance, did I have three Shredded Wheat this morning and not just two? The product is packed two to a pack so I had to make the extra effort to open a second one to have three biscuits in my bowl, but I did it nonetheless. A nasty combination of eating more and exercising less is brewing and I need to sort it out sooner rather than later. Admittedly, this week - Wednesday to be precise - I went down with some kind of food poisonings, or something in that ballpark. I won't bore you with the awful details, but it left me weary and I had to take the day off work so I could sleep it off. I didn't feel better until around 2300hrs when I went downstairs for toast and honey, my first meal of the day. At least I knew I had recovered as I sat in front of the television watching Top Gear with Clarkson and Hammond talking about the Lancia.

My plan was to ride to work on Thursday. It was a great day (yesterday) for cycling but because I was so weary after the day before I opted for the train and now it's Friday and I'm not cycling today either. The plan for Saturday is to ride to Oxted for coffee in the morning and I'm hoping for reasonable weather as I simply must kick myself into gear and get back out there; then there's Westerham on Sunday to meet Andy.

Andy has the right idea: he's able to go into the garage and ride on a 'turbo trainer'. I could do that but I'm leaning more towards joining a gym and using the stationary bikes as I could easily fit in two, possibly three, sessions per week and save the real cycling for the weekends. That's the plan.

To Westerham to meet Andy...

Last night I watched a great documentary on Netflix about the band Johnny Moped, all of whom hail from Croydon, not a million miles from where I live. The film starts with monochrome images of the Whitgift Centre back in the day of the Forum pub and the automated walkway that links the pub to the ground floor. Today, both pub and walkway have disappeared, but it's good to know that Johnny Moped lives on, or at least that's what I was led to believe by the last few minutes of the film, which shows the band playing a live gig somewhere 'today'. They're all older and wiser and some a little worse for wear, but I found the film joyful to watch, entertaining and very funny in parts. It's good to see a group of guys trying their best to make it in the world of rock n roll and to be able to say that Chrissie Hynde and Captain Sensible were part of the story. They managed to release an album, had a good relationship with the music press and at moments in their career were tipped for stardom, but the cookie crumbled a different way. Still, in many ways they were a success, a documentary was made about the band and I for one enjoyed seeing sights of Croydon as it was in the seventies (less cars on the roads, no pedestrianised shopping, just proper, old-fashioned high streets, Mk 2 and Mk 3 Cortinas and, of course, a lot less people.

Give or take, I left the house this morning around 0805hrs and was happy to be on the road, enjoying the uncharacteristically mild weather. There had been overnight rain that had left big puddles on the 269 but there was little in the way of traffic so I was able to ride in the middle of the road to avoid a soaking. As I free-wheeled down Clarks Lane heading towards my destination (Westerham) Andy appeared out of nowhere and we shared the last mile or two into town, stopping (as planned) at the Costa Coffee. Andy had some vouchers and stood me a cup of tea, which was nice of him, and because of the mild weather we sat outside and I confessed that I'd never seen The Blues Brothers. At one point in my life it was one of those films, along with Withnail & I, that I made a point of not watching because everybody else seemed to be talking about. Andy enthused about it and now I'm thinking I'll check it out, see what all the fuss was about. The reason we where suddenly talking about The Blues Brothers was because I had mentioned the Johnny Moped documentary and how Johnny Moped himself was often hard to pin down when it came to gigs or recording. He once queued outside the venue to attend his own gig. Andy said that John Belushi was equally 'difficult'.

Our friend the drummer, who we haven't seen for a few weeks, passed by the Costa and we chatted for a while about this and that; he said his Christmas hadn't been too bad and that he hadn't been teaching the drums for a while. He used to be in a band and he reminded me very much of the characters in the Johnny Moped documentary, that's why I mentioned it to Andy and that's how we were chatting about The Blues Brothers and then I mentioned Withnail & I, which Andy hadn't heard of before. I had a Wispa Gold in my pocket, which accompanied my tea and all was well with the world. Andy talked of how his 13-year-old granddaughter had made him vegan cup cakes (he was rightly chuffed) and no conversation would be complete if work wasn't mentioned once or twice. It was quite a wrench having to leave, but leave we did, heading back up the hill. I bade farewell to Andy and he sped off as I continued up the hill, turning left on to Pilgrims, then right into Rectory Lane, rejoining Clarks Lane further up and then heading for Botley Hill. There was very little in the way of traffic so I rode the 269 into Warlingham and then followed the road into Hamsey and then Sanderstead, getting home just before 1100hrs.

I didn't ride on Friday or Saturday, circumstances beyond my control. I don't like it when I miss a ride so I'll need to get my act together next week and try to ride my short six-milers daily. Last week I rode Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I really wish I'd riden on Friday and it would have been even better if I'd riden to Westerham yesterday (Saturday morning) but I didn't and there's no point fretting about it. The key is to get rides in as and when. Today is Sunday 2nd January and I've got tomorrow off work because it's a bank holiday. I might get up early and ride to Westerham again, which would be good, but let's not count chickens before they're hatched.

How many breakfasts?

On Sunday I rode to Westerham and when I got there I bought a large paper mug of tea and an almond croissant from Costa Coffee. I sat on the Green people watching and scoffing and then I got up and rode home. Earlier, if Andy is to be believed, I enjoyed three breakfasts. Not one, three. Now I would rather suggest that I had one big breakfast consisting of a bowl of Alpen with grapes, blueberries and sliced banana, a boiled egg and fingers, bread and marmalade and an orange cut into chunks. Andy thinks that the bowl of Alpen and a cup of tea would be one breakfast (and, indeed, it used to be for me); and that another breakfast would be the boiled egg and fingers. He would also suggest that I could (and should) pass on the bread and marmalade and he would be right. My take on all this is that my food intake has increased. There was a time, not long ago, when I did make do with a cup of tea and a bowl of Alpen and only occasionally having the boiled egg and fingers. There was a time when I gave up marmalade because of the sugar, I stopped, for a very very long time and, as a result, haven't had any fillings for some time. There was a time when I cut back on cakes and stopped eating them, but right now, for whatever reason, they've all decided to come back en masse. Alright, let's talk cake for a little while. I've always been partial to a slice of fruit cake, mainly round at mum's on a Sunday afternoon, but since lockdown that's been impossible. But hold on, I've also been partial to large chunks of coffee and walnut cake, mainly at National Trust cafes on a Sunday afternoon, and if I'm down on the South Coast, well, there's always the Lobster Pot where I might indulge my passion for buttered toasted teacakes. But Andy's right in a sense: I am eating a lot in the mornings before a ride and I suppose it could be argued that I'll burn it all off on the ride, but the fact remains that I'm eating more than I used to; even today I was handed another great passion of mine, a Waitrose cappuccino mousse, something I never knew existed this time last year. Fortunately, I cycle regularly (see last post for table of weekly mileages).

Longford Lake the last time I was there...

Why, you might ask, am I discussing all this? Well, it's simple really. Today, Bank Holiday Monday, 3rd May 2021, I cycled to the lakes, the best part of a 29-mile ride. We rarely visit the lakes together, Andy and I, in fact we normally go there alone. The last time I was there was during the first lockdown and I'm sure Andy's been there alone too; but today we agreed to meet there. I left the house around 0700hrs and I got there around 0810hrs and sat on a bench looking out across the lake. Is it Longford Lake or is it Chipstead Lake or Chevening Lake? I don't know. I think it's Longford Lake. But that's not the point. I reached the lake about 20 minutes before Andy did and sat there watching a man exercising with a personal trainer. There was a mat on the ground where he did various things, including 'the plank' and squat thrusts and there was a large black rope, which he later picked up and did various exhausting exercises. And what about the two bright yellow dumbells? He clasped one in each hand and pretended to box with them, apparently for one whole minute. The female personal trainer was clearly fit, unlike the man who had a protruding gut and was sweating profusely. I even wondered whether he might keel over, but he didn't, which was good. 

When Andy turned up around 0830hrs we both sat watching the spectacle of the man being basically bossed around by a woman in brightly-coloured and tight-fitting leggings. He was certainly getting his money's worth, we both thought, and eventually they both packed up and left, leaving Andy and I chatting about health and fitness; and this was when we got round to discussing my many breakfasts. I might have a try and not eating such a big breakfast, perhaps forgoing the marmalade or alternating between a boiled egg and fingers and the marmalade sandwich. You see, it's all about bread intake and mine has gone through the roof. I used to limit myself to three slices per day, which is roughly what my mammoth breakfasts allow: one slice for the fingers, two slices for the marmalade. But the problem is later in the day when I fancy another marmalade sandwich. I've even been known to have another bowl of Alpen, so things are getting out of hand and need to be reined in. Andy doesn't have a problem with the almond croissant on the green or the slice of coffee and walnut cake on the ride. Why? Because you burn off the calories, that's why.

It was time to head back home and as we made our way to the road a cavalcade rushed past, led by a police motorcyle outrider, followed by a huge, black Range Rover and another car and then more police motorcycles. Up the road is Chevening, which I think is the country retreat of the Foreign Secretary, so I'm guessing that Dominic Raab was on his way to Chevening House (if that's what it's called) for some peace and relaxation. Although it might not have been Raab, it might have been US Secretary of State Anthony Blinken who Raab was meeting yesterday. Perhaps he was being whisked from the airport to Chevening House to meet with Mr Raab. The motorcycle outrider leading the cavalcade was riding very fast for a small and sleepy village and I couldn't help but think: not another American involved in a fatal car crash on UK soil claiming diplomatic immunity. Well, all was fine and by the time we reached the end of the road there was just a solitary police car waiting there. 

Just a brief word about Pilgrim's Lane: it's wonderful on a pleasant day and a joy to ride along. Andy and I stuck together until we made the turn on to Sundridge Lane from Ovenden Road and then Andy decided to put his foot down, so to speak. He is now much fitter than I am, he's lost a load of weight and he rides a racing bike so I bade him farewell and continued on my merry way. Pilgrim's Lane is long and almost completely straight and this meant that I could see Andy's flourescent jacket far away in the distance until he eventually turned a corner and was gone. 

I reached home around 1045hrs and I was pretty tired. A cup of tea did the trick and then I found myself mowing the front and back lawns after which I made some pasta for myself as I was the only one in the house; but then, ironically considering what I was discussing earlier, I ended up having two lunches. A large tray of macaroni pie that I had made yesterday was being heated up and I wasn't going to miss out. I ate quite a lot if the truth be told and now, at 1914hrs I'm not in the slightest bit hungry, so that's a result. Today, then, if Andy's theory is right, I had something like three breakfasts and two lunches, but then I did ride the best part of 29 miles this morning and yesterday I rode 25 miles so I'm not doing too badly.

Shorter rides boost the weekly mileage...

Snow is about to fall, or so say the weather people on the radio and Andy prempted the whole thing by texting me yesterday, or it might have been Friday, to kind of abort the ride. Initially I said let's wait and see what happens, but it was cold out there yesterday and the thought of leaving the house at 0800hrs wearing the balaclava and heading for Tatsfield Village suddenly no longer appealed. We both agreed to do our local rides, which is what I've been doing all week, short bursts of around five or six miles and it soon adds up. I was doing variations of the Norfolk Nobbler this week, starting with a ride of just over five miles, then another of just under six miles and on it went. I missed one day (I think it was Wednesday) but then I rode for just over 10 miles on Friday evening (resorting to using my lights as it got dark approaching 1700hrs). And then yesterday I went for it and rode what I called The Super Nobbler, a ride of over 13 miles. 

You might think these local rides are a bit of cop-out, a bit 'namby', but they're not. The Norfolk Nobbler has many hilly sections that get the heart racing and the worst of the lot, believe it or not, is coming up West Hill from the north, as opposed to the steeper but shorter 'south face'. In fact, the hills are pretty bad in places, not mind numbingly so, like Titsey or White Lane, but they keep me on my toes, so to speak. Norfolk Avenue is a case in point. 

Ready for a 13-miler Nobbler...

In fact, I am 'a local legend' on Norfolk Avenue, according to Strava. Basically the hill never stops until it stops and by that I mean that the climb continues right up to the moment when it doesn't, there's no levelling off, no 'ledges', not until you find yourself on a downhill stretch, and this is both ways. When I've turned right out of Ridge Langley and then left on to Arundel Avenue, I cycle down towards the right turn-off for Norfolk Avenue, which bears right and is then a hill from the very beginning until the moment that it isn't a hill, if that makes sense. I'm a foot away from the summit and still climbing and then a foot more and it's downhill as I freewheel down towards Church Way. Coming back in the other direction, it's a hill all the way to the top and I'm still climbing as I make the left turn and then hit the downhill ride the other way. 

On yesterday's 13-miler I rode three laps, but encroached upon Sanderstead Hill and on the third lap I rode down the Upper Selsdon Road and then turned left on to Arundel Avenue,  finding myself back in what I like to call 'the world', meaning the secret world of winding suburban streets, hidden from view, that duck and dive on the Nobbler rides. 

The great news is that my mileage is creeping up again. Last week was absolutely piss poor, but this week I managed to creep over the 50-mile marker with something like 64 miles, probably a bit more, but I don't think I reached 65. It all goes to prove that if you chip away at the miles doing little rides day-by-day, the distances soon add up and then, if you throw in a bigger ride at the weekend, before your week is out, you can really get things moving. It's going to be a bit of a challenge this coming week, which starts today (Sunday) but only if I don't go out today) and, as I write this at 1022hrs I've looked out of the window to see snow falling steadily. If this continues and it starts to lay, well, it might bugger up the whole week, but let's see. Andy was certainly right about not going out today, he must have a sixth sense. Had we done so we'd be out there now, our faces aching with the cold and who knows, a puncture would have made it a whole lot worse. So, it's fingers crossed this week and let's hope the snow is 'just visiting' and not hanging around for the week. That said, I have a theory about snow at this time of year: basically, you might think you're getting a light dusting and that's all, but you can guarantee it'll back; so if, say, like now, it snows today, on Sunday, and it lays, but in the morning is largely gone, well, don't think you've got away with it. You can virtually guarantee that a heavier snowfall is on the way. 

Lastly, and talking about cycling clothing, not that we were talking about cycling clothing, on yesterday's 13-miler I decided to wear my Parka on the ride. It's not a real Parka, but a green hooded affair that is really my day-to-day coat in the colder weather. I put it on for the ride along with the green balaclava and an orange beanie hat and you know what? It didn't hinder movement, it kept me warm and you can bet I'll be wearing it again as the cold weather continues.

I'm more than happy with my 64 miles this week.

Riding Sustrans Route 21

Last night's ride home from work was interesting. I've been wracking my brains as to how to avoid White Hill Lane, a huge, steep hill on the return journey and it's always a trade-off. It can be avoided if I take lesser but still arduous climbs, but it also means more traffic elsewhere or a dangerous roundabout to circumnavigate. So, I'm on my way home last night, resigned to the fact that hills are coming and I see a sign for Route 21, a Sustrans route and it's heading to where I'm going. Why not? I decided to bite the bullet and give it a try.

Gravel pathways, surrounded on either side by trees and bushes, stretches of trails with sand dune sand sending the bike's rear wheel all over the place, gravel tracks causing the tyres to slip and slide and rooted pathways through dense woods, up hills and down, making life on the saddle very challenging. There were short stretches of country lane - and I mean short - because before I knew it I was back off-road and wondering when it was all going to end. At one point I found myself in the middle of a wooded area with paths to the left and right and one straight ahead of me. Instinctively, almost, I opted for the latter and miraculously I managed to stay on Route 21 throughout. There were places where there were no signs and I had to gamble, but every time I gambled correctly and sooner or later another Route 21 sign would appear. At one stage I met a couple of walkers and they assured me I was on the right track. I called Andy and he later confirmed that I was heading in the right direction. Tupwood Lane. I remembered that name from reading a map book a few days ago, it looked as if I was heading into Caterham, but even when I reached the suburbs, which I assumed were lurking somewhere, the route suddenly plunged me into the deepest countryside again (or so it seemed). Towards the end of the ride (and wow, what a ride!) I found myself within the grounds of the very grand Woldingham School, which was alive with school sports. A road that dissected the school grounds went on forever, but eventually I emerged close to a golf club on the outskirts of Warlingham and turned left, following the road towards Slines Oak Road, an old and familiar friend. At this stage in the ride I noticed another cyclist who, I'm guessing, was more familiar with Route 21 than I was. When we reached the golf club he veered off left and headed for the hills. I followed him, but when I saw the hill ahead of me and realised that the gravel path would mean dismounting, I turned back and stuck to the road, eventually climbing Slines Oak, as I had done over the weekend, and riding along the 269 towards home.

My journey time had been doubled and the mileage had increased from the expected 24.67 miles to just over 31 miles. Not bad, and in a way I'm glad that I got some extra miles under my belt, but I doubt I'll be riding home that way again, it was far too much of an ordeal for a ride home from work. My aim had been to avoid White Hill Lane and Tithepit Shaw Lane, but at what cost? The White Hill Lane route is a short, sharp shock, three punishing hills in total and a ride time of just over an hour. Yes, it's hard, very hard (on the return journey); so hard that I find it very daunting as I ride along Springbottom Lane anticipating the climb ahead of me. But once it's over, it's plain sailing and it never takes more than one hour and 10 minutes. I reach home invigorated and ready to stuff my face with anything that's available. Last night, I was amazed to get home at all - I was reminded of The Footpath to Dunton Green - and still stuffed my face like there was no tomorrow, but the journey time had doubled and I must have walked through the door around one hour after I would have returned had I braved the hills. So a lesson has been learnt: the hills home are bad, but they're doable (should that word be hyphenated?) and for that reason alone I shouldn't seek out longer, more complicated routes, like Sustrans Route 21. That said, I was amazed that I could get home from Redhill all the way virtually off-road. Even now as I write this thinking back to being in the middle of the woods, reliant only on a small sign with the words 'Route 21' written on it, I'm thinking how incredible it was to be 'out there' like that, no roads, no cars, no people. Incredible how these routes exist and that, by and large, they work. Perhaps not ideal for the commute home, but for a weekend ride? Perfect. I must tell Andy.

Lockdown, Pt. 38: The Dunton Green Growler...

I took a ride in the wind on Friday evening, the trees were swaying back and forth and when I moved out of suburbia and into the sticks I was greeted by fragrant hedgerows and the smell of cow parsley and hawthorn bushes. Tall hedges protected me from the gusty winds while riding the country lanes, but as soon as I emerged on to the 269, having riden leisurely around Beech Farm Road, the wind hit hard. I was on my last mid-week ride and I must say that I'd had a good week of cycling. First, there was my ride to the Tatsfield Churchyard on Sunday to see Andy, that was early. I left the house around 0700hrs and reached the green around an hour later. It's a time to chill and chat and it's a most welcomed break from the monotony of everything. As I write this, it's Saturday evening and I'll be meeting Andy again tomorrow at the usual place, I can't wait.

Just one mile to go before Bojangles...

On Monday last week I pushed the boat out and rode the slow way to Westerham, a bit adventurous for a Monday night, but all-in, a 22-miler and I was pleased with that, but baffled about the distance. I was convinced riding the slow way to Westerham would pile on the miles but no, it was only half a mile longer than heading straight along the 269, but who wants to do that? Not me.

On Tuesday I created a new ride, the Washpond Weeble, not as far as a Washpond Womble, but still a reasonably respectable 12-mile hoof along Beech Farm Road and hanging a right into Washpond Lane, then right on to Ledgers Road, left on to Church Lane and all the way round towards Warlingham Sainsbury's before joining the Limpsfield Road and heading home. After that I had two days off (Wednesday and Thursday). Sometimes I just can't face it: the thought of taking the bike up Church Way makes me feel tired and in the end I don't go, but I said to myself that I must do at least a 20-miler on Friday to put on the mileage before the Saturday ride. So I combined a Churchyard Chuffer with a Beech Farm Bastard and a Washpond Womble and covered just over 20 miles, putting me in a good position to hit the 100-mile mark for the week. In the end I rode a total of 103 miles as I decided today to head for Dunton Green in northern Kent, a place I haven't cycled to since the pre-blog days if I'm not mistaken. There might have been one ride, sometime in 2010/2011 but that would have been it. I used to work in Dunton Green and the office is now a housing estate. The route to Dunton Green is roughly the same, well, it IS the same as the ride to the lakes, except that you don't turn right to ride over the motorway and into the village of Chipstead (where the lakes are located), you simply keep riding and when you reach a roundabout you turn right and follow the road into the village. Having clocked up 70 miles during the week I needed a decent 30 + miles to ensure I made the planned 100 miles. Riding to Dunton Green made it 103 miles in total for the week and yes, I'm feeling proud of myself. 103 miles! It's a lockdown first!

Bojangles, Dunton Green: great food, nice people, I will return soon

Pilgrims Lane today was amazing. Wonderful cornfields, a vineyard, it's the best road in the world on a summer's morning, hardly any cars, perfect. Soon I reached Sundridge Hill and turned right and the road became Sundridge Road and then Ovenden Road and soon I was passing the turn-off for Chipstead village on the right and Chevening Church on the left. As I said, I continued straight, followed the road into Dunton Green, a sleepy little place, and then stopped at an excellent little coffee shop called Bojangles. Like a lot of hospitality industry operators, Bojangles has been having a hard time of it, but the good news is it will soon be re-opening as a sit-down operation having been a takeaway-only for a considerable time. When I got there I ordered a New York Deli sandwich, a slice of cake and a cup of tea and then sat across the road where they've set up a few tables. It was very pleasant and I enjoyed the lot, but especially the cake. Soon, however, it was time to ride home and I reckon that psychologically the return journey is the most gruelling. I must admit that as I made my way towards Sundridge Road I was beginning to feel a little daunted by the 16 miles I needed to cover to get home. It was made a lot easier by Pilgrims Lane being a pleasant experience, but when I reached the hill towards Botley, which Andy and I normally call the Westerham hill, I was beginning to feel it just a little bit, but took it in my stride and once I'd passed the Tatsfield Bus Stop on my right I realised that I'd almost cracked it and was on the home straight, just a short ride along the 269 and I'd be in Sanderstead. I decided to turn right on Beech Farm Road and follow it to Washpond Lane, turn left and then follow the twisting country lane to Ledgers Road where I turned right and basically headed for Warlingham Sainsbury's and the ride back along the Limpsfield Road. I was feeling good knowing that the ride was fizzling out and that I'd soon be home.

What great service at Bojangles, my sandwich, tea and cake...

I got back to an empty house around 1445hrs and then went shopping; and when I got back home it was Hot Cross Bun time! Perfect. The sun was out so I put up the parasol and chilled in the back garden reading the Guardian's Weekend magazine, a rare treat for me these days, but Tim Dowling is as good as ever. There were occasional gusts of wind that shook the parasol, but other than that the weather was warm and pleasant and I enjoyed sitting there doing virtually nothing until my wife and daughter returned and I made a chicken risotto.

This cake was absolutely perfect. I will return to Bojangles, Dunton Green

Right now, the light is fading, the wind has dropped and everything is still and cool. It's nights like these that I'd like to be camping out under the stars, but would I really do it, alone, in the back garden? I doubt it, not when there's a perfectly decent bed to sleep in. Or sleep on? Both perhaps.

I'm reading a great novel at the moment by Benjamin Myers called The Offing, it's the perfect book for an English summer. What to read after that I don't know, although there's a book by Sarah Moss that I might try.

Sanderstead to Dunton Green and back is 32.5 miles and the ride has been christened The Dunton Green Growler.

Lockdown, Part 35: A sense of doom

During the week I read that Michelle Obama was suffering from a kind of low-grade depression linked to the 'lockdown' and a sense of disappointment at the way things are moving in the USA. Well, I'm with her on that and I think the main source of what I can only describe as 'low grade depression' is a nagging sense of doom. I used to feel that way occasionally and whenever it arose I would wrack my brains to find its source. Normally, it was work-related, like when your holiday draws to a close and the spectre of work on Monday looms large.

When the lockdown started I was full of bravado about it. In short, I was loving it. I told readers here on the blog that it was great, like Christmas. I was eating a lot, cooking a lot and cycling a lot, all good in my book. But now I'm wondering whether I was putting on a brave face, making the best of things and, I suppose, being British. I kind of believed it, though. I got into a routine. I did the shopping, I was in charge of what everybody was eating, I developed weekly theme nights on Saturdays, set up a fictional restaurant, Handel's, and I started watching box sets (X Files, Ozark, The Sinner). I used to criticise people who watched box sets. I know people who do nothing else but watch end-to-end episodes for months and years on end, it's not healthy. Well, now I'm doing the same thing and I'm putting it down to trying to shut out the reality of the situation. Outside of lockdown, therefore, watching box sets all day is a sign that you simply can't handle the reality of your life.

Redhill on Saturday around noon...

The novelty of lockdown, however, has, as I've said recently, started to wear off. The cycling has moved from being a leisure activity to something I must do to maintain a certain level of fitness and suddenly the routine of everything has become oppressive. Everything has become monochromatic, the multi-faceted aspect of life has left the building and I'm left very down. Watching television, I find that there are plenty of reminders of a time when there was no lockdown. Sometimes, somebody actually says 'this was filmed before lockdown' and then there are shots of people in coffee shops or in crowded nightclubs and it's like watching people from another planet, another time. And now it's all made that little bit worse by television advertising for holidays and hotels and the fact that everybody is thinking: Yeah, fine, but what if we have to self-isolate on our return and what if the travel company goes bust? Suddenly, nothing is simple anymore.

The last thing I want to do now is fly. The idea of sitting on a plane wearing a mask is too much. I'd happily have a 'staycation' - now there's a horrible word - preferably on the south coast, but anywhere not too far away will do. I seem to yearn for a holiday more and more these days, much more than I used to, and that's probably because I'm working at home and home has become the office and a constant reminder of being at work.

I think the worst thing is knowing that nothing is going to change, not for the foreseeable future at any rate. The whole thing has been 'normalised' and people, as we all know, keep talking about the 'new normal' as if resigning themselves to a future of social distancing, self-isolation and treating everybody as if they were lepers. Wearing a mask and socially distancing are now part of life (until they find a vaccine) but even then problems loom. While I like reading about conspiracy theories I've noticed that I'm starting to believe them, especially the notion that a vaccine might be some kind of sinister plot by 'the establishment' or the so-called 'illuminati' to kill people off, reduce the population a little bit and ease up on the financial burden of pension payments. Perhaps that's what the whole virus thing is about, reducing global population levels, and I'm starting to wonder whether I'd take the vaccine if it was offered or simply take my chances with the virus as those around me start foaming at the mouth and dying from a mystery illness while world leaders smile slyly at one another at the next G20 meeting.

That feeling of being doomed persists. In the past it was an occasional thing and when I discovered that it was connected to work or a dentist's appointment I returned to the land of the living, now it's there constantly. I feel as if I'm always frowning and definitely always bad-tempered about something.

I kid myself that regular bike rides are making me superfit, but I'm forgetting that the bike rides are the only exercise I'm getting. In the good old, pre-lockdown days, I would be walking a lot during the day, walking to and from the station, walking around the office and sometimes walking a few extra miles at lunch time; and in the evening I might hoof it to the next station up the line from where I normally board the train. Cycling was, if you like, an adjunct to all of this - short rides to the bus stop or Woodmansterne Green to see Bon, it didn't matter as I was getting loads of other forms of exercise. But let's not be too harsh on my riding, the cycling is good whichever way you look at it and life would have been hell if my chosen sport had been swimming as all the pools are closed and I'd be left with the prospect of 'wild swimming' in some rat-infested lake.

Lunch at the Pop Inn in Redhill on Saturday

This week I rode around 67 miles, as opposed to last week's 88 miles. The weather has been extremely hot. On Friday it was 37 degrees and when it came to getting on the bike I shuffled outside, hot and bothered, and managed to reach the top of Church Lane before deciding it was simply too hot to ride the bike. I had been out on Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. Had I forced myself to ride the bike on Friday I would have been in line for a respectable weekly total of something like 91 miles, but no, I freewheeled back along the road and put the bike back in the garage. On Saturday morning I left early for Redhill. It took me about an hour to get there - on quiet and car-free roads - and 90 minutes to get back, thanks to massive hills that slowed me down, but it was a great ride and in between I visited the Pop Inn Cafe for a chicken fillet sandwich and a mug of tea. The Pop Inn hasn't suffered, they stayed open during the lockdown as a takeaway operation and then reopened as a cafe once things were allowed to open up a little. There's a couple of tables people can't use - the Pop Inn's nod to social distancing - and when I got there I decided to sit outside in the sunshine. Lunch over I got back on the bike and headed out of town, initially on the A23, but then branching off right and riding along Frenchies Road and then under the tracks and into Merstham before heading out of town and towards Warwick Wold Road and then over the motorway, right into Springbottom Lane, left on to White Hill Lane (a very, very steep hill) and onwards to Chaldon, Caterham, Whyteleafe and the ominous Tithe Pit Shaw Lane in where, Warlingham or Whytleafe? It's another massive hill, that's all you need to know. Unlike Prince Andrew, by the time I was on the level of Wentworth Road and heading towards the Limpsfield Road (B269) I was a sweating, blubbering hulk in camouflage shorts and a bright orange tee-shirt.

When I reached home I had a bowl of Alpen and then a shower followed by a trip to Waitrose to do the weekly shop. I was feeling good.

On Sunday, the plan was to meet Andy at 0800hrs at the Churchyard, our first early meeting in months. I left the house around 0715hrs and felt the cool early morning breeze on my face as I pedalled along Ellenbridge towards Church Lane. There aren't many cars on the road in the morning and soon I was out in open countryside heading towards Botley Hill, turning left on to Clarks Lane and riding down the hill towards St. Mary's. Andy was already there. We chatted about lockdown and our bikes. Andy's gear cable had snapped, but the bike was still fit to ride. I drank tea and ate a small wrapped cookie given to me by Andy, and soon we were on our way home. I rode back along the 269, but then took a right on Beech Farm Road followed by a left on Washpond Road, a right on to Ledgers Road and a left on to Church Road. Soon I was back on the 269 and heading for Warlingham Green. Andy had already said goodbye, at The Ridge, and we vowed to meet again next Sunday.

I haven't seen an early morning mist for many months and it was good to catch one today on my right hand side as I rode along Clarks Lane and started on my descent towards the churchyard. Had I stayed on the bike I would have descended further (into Westerham). I might have experienced a cool breeze on my face and arms as the road dipped and then levelled out and the temperature might have dropped momentarily before I reached the Northern Kent market town. But today it was the churchyard where solitude and sunshine rule supreme and always have done. It's a great place, especially on a summer's day, and with social distancing still on everybody's agenda, it offered both of us a wooden bench each.

I reached home before 1000hrs and painted the canopy over the kitchen window, it needed a second coat, and now it's done and drying in the heat of the sun. The heat has been constant this past week, culminating in Friday's 37-degree scorcher and continuing throughout the weekend. It was very hot on the ride to and from Redhill, and it was hot today too, but going early meant slightly cooler air, I think it was around 13 degrees when I left the house at just gone 0700hrs. There's rumour of stormy weather mid-week and I'm sure there will be loads of Daily Mail-readers saying it'll be good for the garden, my mum among them. Hot weather has characterised the lockdown and in many ways it's been a waste of a decent summer.

That word 'lockdown', of course, doesn't really tell it like it is. In a sense we're all still in lockdown, despite the various 'relaxations'. The 'new normal' basically means that we go out to go shopping, wearing a mask, and we can only go somewhere else, like the pub, if we have booked in advance. And when we get there we find food ordering via mobile phone apps and seats socially distanced from one another. This is the annoying and depressing reality, that things are the same, but they're not the same. And then, of course, there are large pockets of resistance, like the so-called 'covidiots' on our beaches cramming themselves on to the sand and throwing caution to the wind. And let's not forget those who refuse to wear a mask, just to be stroppy about it.

In the general scheme of things, however, I don't have much to moan about, it's just that I'm getting a little fed up with the way things are, and, like Michelle Obama, I can't say I'm too happy with the way things are moving politically.

It's now just gone 1800hrs on Sunday evening, it's still hot outside and I'm sitting in the shade of my living room thinking about cooking dinner, but then realising it's almost too hot to eat right now. Perhaps I'll put the oven on around 1900hrs when things have cooled down a little.

Another week of work beckons and the routine will be exactly the same as the last 20 weeks: work, ride, dinner, television, sleep... repeat and fade.

Lockdown, Part 34: To the lake!

Around three decades ago I bought a Supergrass album from Virgin Records (£13.99) and never really listened to it. The CD in question? In it for the Money. So I'm driving over to mum's and I've decided to listen to it, properly, in the way we used to 'listen' to albums back in the olden days. I remember how I used to listen to albums and how they changed as familiarity with specific tracks crept in. Well, here I am doing just that, but in a car. When I used to 'listen' to albums, it was 'back home' when I lived with mum and dad. I'd be in the bedroom playing whatever it might be over and over again, rocking with the rhythm and soon getting to grips with the good and bad tracks. But here I am three decades on, driving (a great place to get to grips with any album) and I've decided that the track Late in the Day is fantastic. In fact, while I say 'here I am', I'm not sitting in the car anymore, I'm now at home and I've found the track on Spotify. Let me level with you: I found the track on Spotify, I listened to it and now I've moved on, to the Charlatans, and before that I listened to Roll with It by Oasis, a top band if you ask me. Anyway, why am I telling you this? There's no reason really, no inner meaning, no hidden message, I've just been listening to Supergrass and found a great track on one of their albums. That's all there is.

The Honey Monster got there before me...

What's happening with the lockdown? Who knows? Well, the pubs have re-opened (I've been a couple of times, but to eat, not drink, apart from mineral water). Everything is opening up. In fact, I've lost touch with what you can and can't do. All I do know is that masks are now compulsory in shops and on public transport, although today (Saturday) I saw three people in Waitrose who weren't wearing masks. Very annoying. How come they think they're special? It's not worth saying anything, but they didn't look like people with 'special needs'. I think they were just waiting for somebody to challenge them so they could tell them to 'fuck off'. Something like that. But while things are supposedly easing up, we're hearing that a second wave is now a full-on reality we all need to be aware of; pubs, claims the BBC, might have to close so that schools can re-open. Eh? Why? It's all mixed messages. Johnson's going to try and tackle obesity, mainly because he's a fat bastard and nearly died as a result. COVID doesn't like fat people. My advice? Just eat fresh food, it's that simple, and it's cheaper than buying all that pre-prepared shit, which is full of salt and all sorts of rubbish.

Chipstead Lake, Saturday 1st August 2021 around 0925hrs...

I've done pretty well on the cycling front this week. But let's go back and look, roughly, at how things have been going since I got the bike out of the shop. After a week of no cycling when I didn't have the bike, I put in something like 64 miles, then last week it was 71 and now, this week, I've managed 88.15 miles. During the week I rode three 20-milers and I gave them all stupid names, like the Reverse Chump and Bastard - a direct ride into Tatsfield Village and then round to St. Mary's church, on to Clarks Lane, then back on the 269 and hanging a right on to Beech Farm Road, following the lanes round to Warlingham Sainsbury's then rejoining the Limpsfield Road (which is the 269) and heading for home. In essence I did this three times, with minor variations. The second ride I called a Slogger, Chump and Bastard and then there was a Beddlestead Chump Bastard Womble, all variations on a theme, setting me up nicely for today's ride to the lakes, which wasn't given a silly name (not yet at any rate). I've not riden to the lakes for a long time and as Andy and I have always said, we tend these days to ride to the lakes alone. Why that should be, I don't know, but it's true and I was there today, early and alone, arriving at 0921hrs and then just basking in the sun with the Honey Monster, just him and I, looking at the lake and soaking up a few rays. I brought a Vanilla Chai tea along for the ride and chilled for a good 20 minutes before packing things up and embarking upon the gruelling return ride. Make no mistake, a 30-miler to the lakes and back will take it out of you. When I reached home I made myself another breakfast. Having already eaten porridge and fruit around 0700hrs, when I reached home at 1100hrs, I added two Shredded Wheat, a slice of bread and butter and a cup of tea. Much needed. I'll be honest, I was feeling deliciously weary and tired, that lovely relaxed feeling that strenuous exercise gives you. I had a shower and then slobbed around for a bit, watching The Railway Children and then, around 1600hrs, going shopping to Waitrose, where I saw those three mask-less individuals.

Sheree's Store and Tearoom in Tatsfield village - closed when I got there!

I forgot to mention the tearoom I 'discovered' in Tatsfield  village on one of my mid-week rides. Sheree's Store and Tearoom looked rather good and one to remember for Andy and I when the early rides start up again. I got there just past 1700hrs hoping I'd be able to buy myself some mineral water, but no, it was closed. In fact, I realised that on a ride from my house into Tatsfield village, whether the fast or the slow way, once you've passed Warlingham Sainsbury's there's nowhere in hell where you can stock up on food or water so it's best to take stuff with you. It was hot during the week and I was thirsty, but I resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to wait until I reached home. Thirsty work.

The village sign and the pub...

The lakes was a great ride, seriously good, so chilled, especially riding along Pilgrims Lane. I could have sat there all day on the green in front of the pub and was reminded of a ride I did with Andy back in April 2011; that was a hot day too and we all had too much to drink, but in a good way. There's a Harvey's pub in Chipstead, right by the lake, and it offers great beer and excellent food. I remember once when Andy and I rode to the lakes early one morning and the waft of bacon sandwiches from the pub reached our noses, but they weren't selling them, it was too early, so we simply enjoyed the aroma and then headed home.

The weather has been amazing, not just of late but throughout the lockdown. I took Friday off because the temperature reached 34 degrees Centigrade, the hottest July 31st in 200 years, or so they say, which I'm guessing is when records began. Perhaps not. Today it was warm, not as hot as yesterday, but very, very pleasant. It's hot now. There's a cool breeze coming in from an open window and outside I note it's a full moon. It's 2145hrs and dark. Let's not forget, we've passed the summer solstice so it's getting dark again in the evening, very depressing. But there's still a lot of summer time left, it's now 1st August and the year has been flying by and everyone has been stuck indoors protecting themselves from COVID-19. The virus has ruined 2020 and it's such as shame because it's been a real scorcher.

While the lockdown is supposed to be easing, in essence nothing has changed for most people. There are still queues at the supermarket, people are still socially distancing and while the government is paying people to eat out and encouraging us to go back to work, there's now talk of a second wave and another lockdown. It's all getting very tiresome.

Woodmansterne Green
Sunday was another hot day and I rode to Woodmansterne Green to see Bon. We had a good chat about stuff and departed around 1000hrs. The ride from Sanderstead is 10.59 miles and took exactly one hour, that's 30 minutes each way.

Lockdown, Part 31: Fantasyland

I live in a fantasy world. I am always riding along in a dream, sometimes saving people from the soon-to-be burning wreckage of a private jet, other times being a rock star, admired and loved by all and sundry, and then other times living in a house on the beach, enjoying a lazy life of looking out to sea, going for long beach walks and breathing in the sea air. If it's none of the above then it's being a successful novelist, working only when I choose and living a life of solitude in a house with a huge, overgrown garden. The central thread running though these often quite vivid fantasies is financial security and not worrying or fretting about the future, and also relaxation and not having to do anything I don't want to do; it's not worrying about pensions or retirement but simply chilling, by the sea, taking each day as it comes and being at peace with the world. In a nutshell, I need a holiday.

This week, while roaming the aisles of my local supermarket, I decided to buy a copy of The Week, a weekly news magazine, and inside I found a page entitled Best Properties on the Market, a selection eight properties and only one within my grasp, a stone cottage in Inverness-shire with six bedrooms, a share in a salmon and trout river and some 89 acres of pasture and grazings. It's in the middle of nowhere and I can see myself there just doing nothing but cycling, eating and sleeping and having visitors up from the smoke to ride with me and generally chill out. Kilmonivaig Farm, that's the name of the place, and if I sold up I could afford it, but what the hell would I do stuck up in Inverness-shire as the weather closes in? How would I make money? Well, my view is never let the practicalities get in the way of a good fantasy and besides, I'm working remotely now, I could work remotely from Inverness-shire, as long as there's WiFi.

Fields at the bottom of Hesiers Hill...

If I'm honest, I'd prefer the nine-bedroomed Clarghyll Hall in Cumbria, a grade ll listed country house steeped in 500 years of history and crying out for me to be its new owner. I'd better get a lottery ticket next week because this stately pile is currently out of my reach, which is a little depressing. The Gart in Perthshire, Scotland, is also out of my reach, but it looks amazing and I can see myself there eating venison and drinking rich, red wine. Well, alright, I've given up drinking so a vanilla chai and a hot cross bun would have to suffice.

The Rockhopper at the bottom of Hesiers Hill

It's Sunday and I've been chilling this afternoon in the back garden, enjoying the sunshine. This morning I rode what I'm calling the Sline's Oak Slogger, which saw me ride all the way to Woldingham and then hang a left and head towards the golf course and, of course, Ganger's Hill, but turning left and following The Ridge all the way to Botley Hill and onwards to Beddlestead Lane. I rarely cycle from the Clarks Lane end of Beddlestead towards Hesiers Hill and for one good reason: Hesiers Hill. It's steep and not pleasant, but today I did it. Beddlestead is peaceful and quiet, once a few yards in there's perfect silence, apart from the tweeting birds and the whirr of a Lycra Monkey's wheels. There were a few of them riding up the lane and heading to Westerham, but there were many moments when I had the road to myself and could simply chill with a warm breeze on my face and the prospect of a nasty hill at the end. I took the ascent in my stride and soon I was at the top and winding my way around the country lanes, past St. Leonard's church and round towards Warlingham Sainsbury's and home.

Looking up Hesiers Hill

Yesterday I rode the Beddlestead Beach Farm Bastard, an 18-mile ride (as opposed to today's 17-miler) so I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself. Last week I rode a total of 60 miles and I'm slowly getting back into my stride after around a week off waiting for the bike to be serviced. Hopefully, this week I'll ride more, perhaps get up to 80 miles, who knows? It all depends on the weather, but everybody's saying it's going to be warm so here's to some pleasant evening rides.

The lockdown continues, or rather it doesn't. Who knows? One minute we're told not to use public transport and work from home if we can; and now we're being given money by the Government to eat out and get back to work, using the trains and buses if need be. There's a lot of mixed messages, but the general view is that things are getting back to normality (or rather the 'new normal' of social distancing and masks and booking up to visit the local boozer). Until they find a vaccine we've just got to get on with it.

The Rockhopper has been running like a dream since Ross Cycles serviced it

I think what I need is a holiday. I need to switch off completely and spend some time staring at the sea and not thinking about anything other than whatever book I'm reading and where my next meal is coming from. But I've got to stop eating for the sake of it, out of boredom more than anything else, that sneaky bowl of cornflakes, that slice of bread and peanut butter, a late-night bowl of Alpen or a Rachel's yoghurt, it's all surplus to requirements if I'm honest and it has to stop.

Lockdown, Part 15: It's all about food!

I've been keeping up the cycling. Every day I've been riding to Botley Hill and back and last night was no exception. Last week I rode 84 miles in total and this week I'm trying to go above that total. Surely 90 miles isn't much to ask of myself? As you know I'm riding six days a week with one day off, possibly today as the plan is to queue in the car park and (eventually) 'do the shopping'.

The worst thing about supermarket shopping during the lockdown is that people, including myself, simply don't distance themselves from their fellow shoppers. I have to admit that I get a little annoyed when I see somebody wearing a mask. There's something 'over the top' about it.

Healthy breakfasts are fine, but you can't beat Wispa bars and custard

The big news this week (if you can call it 'big news') was that it looks as if the 'lockdown' is going to continue for some time. The Government is alluding to months rather than weeks and I'm not sure how that makes me feel. There's a lot I miss about 'normal life', but then there's a lot I enjoy about being under 'lockdown', mainly because it's not that bad at all, as I've said many a time. The key, as I've also said many times, is having a bike. A bike brings freedom as long as you don't break social distancing rules and cycle in packs or with other people. I go out alone, after 5pm, and ride to Botley and back, it's become a default ride, and because the 269 is low on cars these days (apart from those who enjoy breaking the speed limit AND riding a little too close to me for comfort).

I realised earlier in the week how much I was saving. There are no train fares to work, no snacks, no meals at the caff, no mint teas while waiting for the train, nobody's birthday to contribute to, no lottery, nothing. The only thing that has 'gone up' in terms of money spent, is the shopping and that's because food and eating has become the focal point of everything, I'm even talking about it on Twitter and on Linkedin with colleagues past and present. In fact, since we've been on lockdown, I've eaten a lot more custard than I'm used to and I've reached the conclusion that Ambrosia Devon custard is far better than Bird's Instant Custard, although the latter could be improved with a teaspoon of banana-flavoured Nesquik. Also under discussion on social media has been Abbey Crunch biscuits. Where do they sit in the hierarchy? Are they better than HobNobs, are they trumped by chocolate HobNobs? It's all a matter of taste I readily admitted that when I was a kid I wouldn't think twice about eating an entire loaf of Mother's Pride bread, but I wouldn't today as there are far better brands to scoff. I remembered when I was kid and how, when ill (rare, but we all go down with stuff at some time or other) my mum treated me to a tin of Heinz Cream of Mushroom soup, often accompanied by slices of Mother's Pride. I loved it: a whole bowl of soup to myself. How we got it all in one bowl I'll never know, but we did.  When I was ill, the big mistake my parents made was leaving me with a little brass bell. I used to ring for room service miles too often and soon it was taken away. Tinned apple puree, now there's another one. And before anybody says there's an accent on one of those Es, I know, but I can't figure out how to type one on this laptop. My mum used to serve it up with warm custard, probably Bird's. One thing I haven't enjoyed for a very long time, however, is Heinz Egg Custard with Rice. As a baby, I loved it and I must say that if ever I find any I'm going to buy it and eat it raw straight out of the tin, just like in the old days. I remember having it as a baby, but I must have cajoled mum to get it when I was a little older as I distinctly remember it, probably when I was five or six, certainly under 10, but oh would I like some? Yes I would! I saw some once in Sainsbury's, a six-pack of it! For a few minutes I stood there until I eventually slapped my own wrists and moved on, but the temptation is there, folks. It's going to happen.

Moving on to current times and I must say that Charlie Bigham's is a great brand. We've enjoyed his bread & butter pudding and, if I recall correctly, his Bakewell pudding (or tart, although I think it's 'pudding'). Both great with custard. There's also a rather tasty cappuccino mousse in Waitrose and let's not forget vanilla-flavoured yoghurt. I'm prone to eat chocolate bars in the queue while waiting for the check out and then handing in my wrapper for scanning. Currently, my favourite chocolate bar is a Wispa, but I'm open to all suggestions. Something else I'm eating a lot of is Alpen. I noticed a huge sack of the stuff on the shelves and now find myself pouring it into a bowl whenever I feel like a snack. Sometimes it acts as a body double for my usual porridge, which must be a surprise for the grapes and bananas.

Anyway, it's now 0800hrs and I should be working so I'd better say goodbye, until the next time. I'm reading a great book at the moment, Uncommon People by David Hepworth. It's all about rock stars, a dying breed, and it's great.

* Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com

To Westerham - the long way!

There was no way in hell we were going out yesterday. Rain was promised for most of Saturday and sure enough, when I woke up there was rain hammering down on the roof of next door's conservatory (or extension or whatever it is). So I resigned myself to no exercise and later stuffed my face with venison and cappuccino cake and a few cups of tea. As the day progressed the rain lessened and all was looking good for Sunday.

Venison with mushrooms, pears and potatoes

Andy sent a text suggesting we ride to Westerham, the slow way - a first for us! I rattled off a reply, something along the lines of 'yeah, great, let's do it', but then I started to regret it. I knew I was going to have a late one on Saturday night and began to worry and fret and wonder whether I'd be sending an abort text in the morning. But all was fine. I woke up around 0515 and simply lay there until the birds started chirping and then I got up, checked the phone and went downstairs feeling surprisingly fine. Special K. It's easier than making porridge so I chucked a ton of the stuff in a bowl, poured in a bit of milk, chopped up a banana, made some tea and chilled before it was time. Time to get up and head outside.

There were problems. I need a new flask or some kind of container (or containers) to hold the hot water to make the tea. But not today. I text Andy saying let's go the caff, but when we get there the caff is closed and so is Costa, so we end up in Deli Di Luca munching almond croissants and these weird pastries filled with chocolates and almonds.

On the way down we talked about the Corona virus and then I noticed an Italian was sitting behind me in the cafe. What was he doing there at such an ungodly hour? Had he sneaked into the country, had he avoided being tested, did he have the virus? I was more interested in my almond croissant and eavesdropping on a couple of Lycra monkeys, well-to-do Lycra monkeys, talking about fitness regimes, among other shit. The cafe was busy, probably because nowhere else was open, and we sat there chewing the fat, talking about joining cycling clubs. Soon it was time to go and while I usually don't feel overly motivated about tackling the hill, it was fine and so was the weather: blue skies, sunshine, warmth. I didn't need the balaclava.

Nowhere else was open, not even the Costa

When we reached Botley Hill we stopped. It was time to split, time to say farewell until next week. Andy headed off along The Ridge, I rode the 269 and it was great. The sun was out, it was warm, there wasn't too much traffic around and soon I found myself circumnavigating the green and heading along the Limpsfield Road and then crossing the Addington Road and free-rolling down Church Way, doing no-hands and then coming to my senses as a car drew up in a side road. I turned into Morley then Elmfield, left into Southcote, right on Ellenbridge, left on Barnfield.

Tea, almond croissants

And now it's gone 1pm and it's Bon's birthday today, he's 59. I just finished watching Bill Burr, the American comedian, he's extremely funny, and now it's time for a fish cake or fish fingers and there's no mayo and it doesn't really matter.  Here's to next week's ride.

What a great day! The cycling was energising and to top it all off I watched Season 3, Episode 13 of The Grand Tour - really, seriously, television simply doesn't get better than this. Please watch and enjoy! Good night.

Woodmansterne and the very long way to Tatsfield Village – and a huge hill!

It's definitely colder. When I stepped outside on Saturday morning at some time past 0730hrs there was a distinct nip in the air. I felt compelled to wear a hoodie. Once on the bike, en route to Woodmansterne Green, the cool air went through my clothing and, yes, I was cold. Summer, I figured, was on the way out and it looked as if the Bank Holiday weekend would be 'changeable' at best. Those carefree days of extreme heat and scorched lawns were gone, until next year, perhaps, but who knows?

Foxley Lane in Purley is all dug up. I think it has something to do with the water supply. How do I know this? I saw a workman in orange overalls with the word 'water' written on his back. Alright, he might have been a dyslexic Water Mitty, but I doubt it. Once clear of the road works, which spanned the entire road, I reached the roundabout, crossed it and headed towards the lavender fields at the southern most tip of Carshalton and when I got there I turned left and rode towards the green.

Bon turned up after about five minutes later and we both drank tea and chatted about this and that. I told him that I'd be going to Felpham later and we roamed around the green for a while before Bon borrowed my pump to inflate his rear tyre and we eventually went our separate ways.

I did go to Felpham and visited every holiday home my dad had rented going back to when I was about six. It was a walk of over five miles, on the beach, and there were four houses to visit. All but one – the Heron – was on the beach: Georgia, Merryweather and Seafront. The Heron was still called The Heron, which was good to see.

The weather was good on Saturday, but it started to rain a little bit around 5pm. It might have rained overnight, but if it did, it had stopped way before I woke up on Sunday morning. I was going to abort the ride as I was feeling tired, having done all that walking and driving the day before and not getting home until gone 2200hrs. But I didn't abort. I texted Andy that I'd be running late and reached the green just before 0800hrs.

Sunday 27 August 2018, Tatsfield village

Andy was thinking about breakfast at Flowers Farm, but as time had moved on, the notion of riding the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop raised its ugly head. I didn't fancy Beddlestead Lane; it's long and seemingly never-ending, but we both decided to do it and off we went, saving any chat until we reached the quiet lanes that lead towards Hesiers Hill.

Andy spoke of a jobsworth 'Parky' who wouldn't let him take photographs in a Hampstead park and as we approached an off-road track on the left hand side of Beddlestead Lane – a track that would morph into Norheads Lane – I said 'let's take it and head for Tatsfield Village'. We'd come the other way before (and found ourselves on Beddlestead Lane). It was a while back, but I remembered an extreme hill and it was definitely Norheads Lane. The difference, of course, was that this time we were travelling in the opposite direction.

Norheads Lane took us into Biggin Hill, a place full of souped up Fiestas with lowered suspension and tinted windows parked in steep driveways. I quite liked it. We rode around until we saw a sign for Tatsfield and eventually followed Lusted Hall Lane, a long and very steep hill, which took us – the very slow way – into Tatsfield Village where we headed for the bus stop opposite the Old Ship pub and broke out the tea and biscuits. I had a banana and for good reason. Yesterday evening in a pub in Petworth (The Angel Inn) I ordered a chocolate brulée. It was huge – too huge, almost inedible huge – so I ate half of it and still felt like I'd done myself big internal damage. While the chocolate was very tasty, it was the consistency of putty and as a result, I left the pub considerably heavier. So before I left home for the ride I packed a banana on the basis that it would do me good, unlike the biscuits.

It was soon time to leave. We headed out of Tatsfield village and towards the famous bus stop at the end of Approach Road followed by a right turn on to Clarks Lane towards Botley Hill. Andy and I parted at The Ridge and I rode along the 269 on the off-road track, front suspension adjusted for the uneven pathway.

The plan was to ride on Bank Holiday Monday and I regretted the 'abort' text as soon as I'd sent it, but sometimes there's pressure to stay behind, although not riding always makes me short-tempered and today I found myself teetering on a bad mood most of the time. We'd planned breakfast in Westerham at the Tudor Rose and we'd been looking forward to it, but no, it was not to be. Andy's not riding next Saturday so I'll probably meet Bon and ride to Woodmansterne Green. Perhaps breakfast in Westerham or Godstone next Sunday.

To Westerham!

This weekend is going to be 'touch and go' on the cycling front. In fact I was fully expecting abort texts to fly and no cycling to take place. Why? Because of the rain, that's why. My iphone has a little cloud and rain symbol for the next few days, meaning it expects the Easter holidays to be a complete wash-out.

In fact, I'm amazed that we even got a ride yesterday (Good Friday) and even more amazed that we made it all the way to Westerham and back without getting a soaking. When I peered out from behind the curtain in the morning things looked sort of okay, but there was that 'it could rain at any moment' feeling going on as I trudged downstairs to make my porridge. Every morning I make porridge with blueberries, raspberries and a sliced banana. I might have mentioned this before, it's a good way to start the day, then I sit at the table with just one light on and check out the on-line world; well, alright, I look at the BBC website, check out what the papers say and then I might look at my emails, nothing special.

As always when I'm due to go cycling I check my phone for any abort texts and normally there aren't any so it's then a case of simply getting on with things: finishing breakfast, making the tea for the ride and then heading out to brave the elements. I was running 'mildly late' as I put it on a text to Andy, but all was fine as I headed along Ellenbridge, veered left and up Elmfield, turned left on to Morley, right on to Church Way and then roared, well, alright, I didn't roar, I trundled, along the Limpsfield Road towards the green.

As you can see I used a filter on this shot...

We decided to head for Westerham, mainly because we hadn't been on the bikes for three weeks – rain could have made it four weeks. On the way the ride was punctuated by the sound of gunshot from across the fields – pheasant shooting, I guessed, or possibly early morning clay pigeon shooting. I had a couple of close calls with cars driving too close so I used the off-road path for the last few yards of the 269. The ride was fine, albeit a little grey, but there was no rain and we decided to visit the Tudor Rose on our arrival, except that it was closed so we paid a visit to Deli Di Luca, a pleasant little caff, where Andy bought the tea and almond croissants, very nice. We sat there for around 30 minutes and then headed out of Westerham and up the hill towards Botley. It's always, without fail, a tedious ride to the top of the hill, but once we reach the 269 it's a straight road back to the green.

Once home the rain started and it didn't stop. It was one of those days: rain, rain and more rain. Nothing much was done.

Right now it's Saturday morning and Andy and I had both decided not to go cycling today, which is a shame because the weather looks good. Andy said yesterday that he wouldn't be going so I invited my mum round for lunch – it means driving over to Sutton and back twice plus getting things organised – so going for a ride is not a good idea. However, it's a clear case of Sod's Law: we don't go cycling and the weather turns out fine. You'll probably find that the rest of the Easter weekend is a wash-out, but the key thing is we got out to Westerham yesterday (a 22-mile round trip).

Here's hoping we'll get out tomorrow and Monday.

Two weeks out of the saddle – but I'm back!

Not good at all, but shit happens, don't forget, and sometimes you just have to get on with it; not that any shit happened, it was just a case of not being able to go and the usual stuff, such as waiting around for people or having to drive somewhere early in the morning.

Our bikes near a cornfield on the approach to Westerham hill

I didn't go out on Saturday morning, but on Sunday I met Andy at the green and we headed for Westerham. On leaving the house I noticed how out of condition I was as I struggled up Church Way, although I was alright, I just felt a degree or two worse than I normally feel when I tackle a hill. Hills are an inevitable part of cycling, of course they are, but they're still mildly annoying and even more so after a two-week break.

I made it to the top of the hill, crossed the Addington Road and cycled through the churchyard, emerging on the other side and riding past Sanderstead Pond and on to the Limpsfield Road where I shifted into top gear and set my sights on the green.

The weather was fine: not as sunny as past weeks, but warm enough to wear just a tee-shirt and not the paint-stained, blue hooded top that normally accompanies me.

Since we last met, Andy had riden from Caterham to Canterbury (see link on previous post) so we talked about this briefly before deciding to save our conversation for Westerham. It was a smooth ride all the way there and soon we were sitting on the green where I noticed there was a large horse – not a real one – that had made itself at home behind the statue of General Wolfe; it was there for charitable reasons and made for a surreal scene.

Andy took this shot of the horse...

Other than the horse, not much had changed at Westerham since our last visit, which wasn't that long ago. We sat there drinking tea and munching BelVitas (as always) and watching cars and bikes and fellow cyclists ride by on the A25. There was a bit of 'bike conversation' that I won't bore you with and soon we had no excuse other than to get back on the bikes and head for home – and that hill out of Westerham. But hills (or anything in life) are never as bad as you think they are and, as always, we made short work of the climb and found ourselves at Botley Hill.

The ride along the B269 was smooth and we stopped briefly on Warlingham Green to arrange next week's ride. Andy can only make Saturday next week so on Sunday I'll either head for mum's (where tea and cake awaits) or I'll head for Jon's where a puncture needs to be fixed.

Andy headed towards Caterham and I rode along the Limpsfield Road towards Sanderstead, sailing down Church Way and weaving my way around the quiet, leafy streets until I found myself opening the garage door, padlocking the bike and getting on with what was left of my weekend.

As I write this, at 0641hrs on Monday morning, the sun is out, there are blue skies and all is relatively still. Birds are chirping, I can hear a distant radio and all is well with the world. Film director George A Romero has died and so has the actor Martin Landau (aged 89).