Lockdown, Part Four: Cycling clubs flout social distancing rules

Another beautiful day so I decided to get out on the bike again, alone, for some solitary exercise. This time I thought I'd ride 'the slow way' to the Tatsfield churchyard and I decided to take some tea with me. For those of you unfamiliar with this blog, there are two ways to reach the Tatsfield Churchyard from my place, the fast way along the B269 and the slow way following the country lanes that lead to Beddlestead Lane and beyond. The latter is harder and longer, but it stays away from the traffic.

The ride was wonderful, like yesterday, if not better, as yesterday I was on the 269. The sun was shining, the skies blue and once again I found myself feeling the freedom offered to me by a bicycle. The ride to and from the churchyard is roughly 17 miles there and back. It means that this week I've so far riden around 53 miles and there's still one day to go before I start on my third week. Last week my total was 36 miles. My plan is to ride six days per week, with one day off. Last week I had Sunday off, this week it was Friday.

On the roads, the occasional lone rider like myself would whizz past in the opposite direction and we would briefly acknowledge one another with a slight nod of the head and then continue on our way, although I've noticed that there's less politeness these days, people think that 'social distancing' also means not saying hello for fear of catching something. It doesn't really bother me except that I hate it when I've made the effort to shout 'alright!' or something and there's no response. I always think: 'rude bastard!'.

Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday 5 April 2020...

When I reached the churchyard and had climbed the steps and walked through the gate, I was pleased to note there was nobody around and that I had a choice of around five or six wooden benches on which to sit. I chose the bench Andy and I normally use and then set about simply enjoying the moment. The only noise, give or take, was the sound of buzzing insects, other than that all was still and I soon realised that I should have brought with me some sandwiches, perhaps a newspaper and, of course, a radio. Had I done so, I'd still be there now. I did have a flask of hot water, some milk and a couple of teabags so it wasn't long before I was sitting there, alone, in the sunshine, listening to the sounds of nature and sipping tea from a bone china cup. Yes, a bone china cup. I noticed, however, that my flask was 'made in China' and that put a damper on things as it reminded me of the virus, something I'd forgotten up until that point.

And then, of course, I heard it. The dull murmur of the M25. Why, I started to wonder, were there so many cars on the road? They can't all be going to their local shops to buy food. Everybody's been told not to go out unless it's necessary, like shopping, but there's always a bunch of idiots that flout the rules and mess things up for everybody else. We're allowed to take exercise, alone, like I was doing, but what are people doing just driving around? They're probably the same people who buy all the toilet rolls and leave the shelves of supermarkets empty, they probably believe every word uttered by Boris Johnson and were certainly taken in by the message on the side of the bus during the Brexit campaign, a lot of them probably voted for the Brexit Party, I bet! They're also the sort of people that are likely to be calling the police to report their neighbours when they spot them venturing out for some reason or other. In short, they're cunts.

After my two cups of tea, I spent a little longer at the churchyard, chilling out and checking on a couple of the headstones that I could see from the bench I was sitting on. First there was Albert William Barton, born 3 February 1914 and died 7 September 1977, the Queen's Jubilee year. He was sharing the headstone with his daughter Gladys Jean Shrubb, known affectionately as Peggy. She was born on 18 March 1933 and died on 31 September 2014. I looked at the dates a little closer and realised that old Albert was only 19 when he became a father to Gladys. Underneath Gladys' name was an epitaph. "I've lived a good life and now I will have a good rest". I wondered why Albert had become a father so young, but then my attention was drawn to an adjacent grave, that of Walter "Wally" Simpson, born in 1936 and died 2015. He was sharing the stone with Ian Alexander Simpson, born 1963 and died 1976, at the age of just 13. Now that was tragic, I thought as I set about packing up and preparing for the ride home.

Back on the road with around 45 minutes left in the saddle - or at least that's what I thought at the time, it turned out to be 35 minutes - I was staggered to see a bunch of around 8-10 cyclists riding along and paying no attention to the social distancing rules imposed by the Government during the lockdown. It started to annoy me as, back in the churchyard, I had checked my iphone for news and noticed that the BBC was claiming that Health Minister Matt Hancock, aka Jiminy Cricket, was threatening to ban exercise out of the home unless the minority of people flouting the rules got their acts together. I couldn't spot the name of the cycling club (otherwise I would have reported them for sure) but they'd probably emerged from Beddlestead Lane and could have come from anywhere in South East London or they might have been local. Either way, I don't want a bunch of Lycra monkeys ruining my daily exercise. They were heading into Tatsfield Village where, if that was their stopping point, I'd imagine they would all be grouping together on the green or around the covered bus stop. There are probably people living in Tatsfield who notice them and are probably wondering, just like I wondered, why they were all together.

I put aside my anger for the ride home, which was very enjoyable. The good weather continued and the traffic was relatively light, although again I found myself wondering why there was a fair smattering of cars travelling along the 269 on, of all days, a Sunday. No pubs were open, nobody was allowed to visit other people so why so much traffic?

I'm hoping that Jiminy Cricket doesn't forbid solitary exercise outside of the home for the sake of a few idiots, although it has to be said that the UK has more than its fair share of idiots these days.

To Warlingham Green and then Woodmansterne Green...

I aborted on Saturday as I felt a little weary, but on Sunday, after a good night's sleep (that camomile tea must have done the trick) I was up with the lark and ready to rock. Tea made I headed outside, jumped on the bike and rode to Warlingham Green where Andy would be waiting for me, but when I reached my destination there was no sign of him. Not a problem, it was only just gone 0730hrs so I parked the bike and took a photograph of it, expecting Andy to arrive any second, just like he normally does, unless, of course, he's aborted, but ... I checked my phone. He had aborted, late last night, but for some reason I hadn't looked at my phone. Normally, it's the first thing I check, but not today.

Still, I was up and I was out of the house so I had to go somewhere and there was plenty of choice: Westerham, the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the Tatsfield Village, Godstone Green, Redhill, the list was endless. The world was my oyster. I could call Bon and meet him on Woodmansterne Green. Remember that I had a huge flask of hot water, a mug and four teabags in my rucksack – no such thing as 'precious grams' in NoVisibleLycra World – and that couldn't go to waste. I called Bon and he said he'd see me there in 30 minutes. Well, let's say 45 minutes.

Bike on Warlingham Green around 0730hrs this morning...

I rode past Warlingham School, down Tithepit Shaw Lane and into Whyteleafe then hung a right on to the A23 and headed towards Purley Cross, into Foxley Lane and straight ahead, turning left at the lavender fields on the outskirts of Carshalton and soon found myself approaching Woodmansterne Green. Bon had cycled down to meet me and we rode a few yards together back to the carved out old tree where we set up camp. I'd texted Bon and told him to bring a cup with him, but his idea of a cup was the top from a small flask, which was no bigger than a thimble, so in the end he did without. I was beginning to realise how Andy and I had become a team in the foodservice department: I provided the tea and Andy the BelVita biscuits – and the spoon, both of which were now noticeable by their absence.

"Normally the tea bag bobs around on the surface and it's easy to fish out," I said, feeling the full force of the spoon's absence.
"Sod's law," said Bon, as we both waited in vain for the teabag in my blue mug to surface. It remained on the bottom.
"Might as well just leave it in there," I said and started drinking.

We chatted about this and that, – and for much longer than normal – so I didn't reach home until around 1030hrs.

The weather was fantastic and it got better as the day progressed. There was sunshine, there were blue skies and I sat in the garden reading from a collection of short true stories in a compilation called The Moth. The trouble with sitting in the garden is that things get a little fretful. It's impossible to truly relax because there are jobs that need doing – weeding mainly – but it niggles and makes me restless. I made an egg and mayonnaise sandwich and a cup of tea and tried to chill out and then I drove over to mum's for tea and cake in a garden that needs very little doing to it (mum is and always has been, a keen gardener and she puts me to shame).

Bon and yours truly, Woodmansterne Green...

It's still hot now, at 1813hrs, and I might sit outside again and this time try not to be so fretful about the jobs that need doing. Earlier I thought about weeding a bed, but there's no point unless there's something to put in place of the weeds. If there's nothing then the weeds will simply grow back in a week or two (the futility of gardening, no less!) Still, mustn't grumble, the sun's out, the skies are blue, all is well and I managed to get a lengthy ride in – probably around 17 miles.

Next weekend it might well be Woodmansterne Green again as it's a great place in good weather and it's ideal for just chilling out, watching the odd passing jogger or old bloke going to buy a paper. There's the occasional caggle of Lycra Monkeys passing by and there's nothing better than sitting on the aforementioned carved-out tree sipping tea. Mind you with Andy not there until next Sunday I'll have to remember the spoon and some biscuits. Can't go cycling without biscuits.

To the Tatsfield Bus Stop! Yes, it's back!!!

On Wednesday the week before last (the day of the terrorist atrocity in Westminster, London) I was driving towards Westerham in Kent and found myself passing the old Tatsfield Bus Stop. Hold on, the council have finally put seats in! Yes, after some considerable time, Tandridge Council has got its act together and fixed the famous (in our minds) Tatsfield Bus Stop, one of our great cycling destinations. I related this information to Andy via text and it was only a matter of time before checked it out; in fact it was this morning.

The great Tatsfield Bus Stop now has seats again! Hurrah for Tandridge Council

The weather: Well tomorrow is supposed to be good, but today was characterised by rain showers and grey skies, although I didn't get any rain until I was riding down Church Lane having completed the ride. I'd left the house at just gone 0700hrs as usual, headed the usual route (Ellenbridge, Southcote, Elmfield, Morley, Church Way and then the Limpsfield Road all the way to the green. Andy arrived minutes later and we headed for NoVisibleLycra's traditional destination – the Tatsfield Bus Stop!

Avid readers might recall that a car (or something) hit the wooden bus shelter some time ago, easily a year, although I'll have to check for sure. Week after week, month after month, whenever we rode past, normally on our way to the bus shelter in Tatsfield Village (opposite the Olde Ship) or en route to Westerham, although we rarely visit the old Northern Kent market town these days, there was no seating. They'd cleared away the debris from the crash and fixed up the shelter, but they'd clearly forgotten about the seats – or so we thought. Since the crash we had both resigned ourselves to the fact that we'd never be enjoying our tea and biscuits at our old faithful bus shelter again, but hold the bus, there are now seats and what fantastic seats they are too. Made of sturdy, varnished wood with arm rests dividing what would otherwise be a straightforward bench into around five or six individual seats (I'll count next time we're there) the wood is a perfect resting place for all our tea and biscuits shit. There's nothing precarious, our tea cups can be placed on the surface of the seating without fear of toppling over – it's all good news.

And guess what? That great sport of seeing how far we can flick our used teabags off a teaspoon is back too (it should be an Olympic sport) AND we can watch the occasional idiots lose control of their cars when they rev up the engine as they attempt a right turn at speed on Approach Road. Once a guy with a Beamer lost complete control and ended up on the other side of the road facing in the opposite direction to his original plan. How we laughed!

We had decided to ride the slow way along Beddlestead Lane – always a chore – but it gave us a chance to talk about this and that without worrying about traffic, which can be quite dangerous on the 269 even early in the morning.

Last week Andy rode to Godstone Green on the racer...

On the return journey we rode the conventional way: up to Botley Hill and then down the 269 to the green where we parted company. Andy's not riding next week, I don't think. He's certainly not going tomorrow, leaving me to either ride alone OR take the urban ride to Carshalton to visit mum, although I've just been over there in the car listening to one of the best albums in the world, Generation Terrorists by the Manic Street Preachers. My favourite track? Condemned to Rock and Roll. Sheer brilliance.

Yes, it's me, Botley Hill, April 2008...

Weather report...
What is amazing is the way things have brightened up so quickly of late. It seems like only yesterday when I used to walk home in the dark, but yesterday (Friday) it was broad daylight as I trudged the half-hour walk along Hayling Park Road and up Jarvis to reach my house. Furthermore, the blossoms are out on the trees, including the one in my front garden. This a good sign because it means that summer is coming and we won't have to wear scarves and balaclavas and layer upon layer of clothing and have lights that work, not that mine ever do work properly. Normally either the batteries are flat or, well, that's about it, the batteries are flat, but now we don't need them at all. Ok, look, it's 1926hrs right now as I write this and it's still light outside. Wonderful! Soon it'll be tee-shirts and shorts weather, but hey, let's not forget this: it once snowed in April, back in 2008, and we were caught out in it. I still remember my face freezing up. Talk about face ache! But things are good, my California lilac is in full bloom, which is amazing, there are blossom trees lining the road, there's one in my front garden, and all is well with the world. I'll leave it there.

The perfect day

Chalk and cheese is the only way to compare Saturday and Sunday. Take a look at the previous post and you'll be able to read about the fog. It was thick. Very thick. Not just patches, it was everywhere. From the moment I set foot outside the door. There was also a calmness about yesterday. As I rode along Ellenbridge Road, en route to the top of Church Way, there was no wind. Everything was still and all that could be heard was the birds. The crows. Or rather one crow sitting on a branch in one of the trees. And let's not forget the mist that hung in the trees. There was no let up.

This morning – Sunday morning – there was a vast improvement in the weather. The skies were blue, the sun was out and it remained that way all day. I nearly didn't make it. I'd woken up at 3am and can't remember when I eventually got back to sleep. Unknown to me, however, I'd turned down the volume on the radio alarm clock so when it went off at 6am I slept on, waking suddenly at 0657 – three minutes to seven. In a blind panic I pulled on the nearest pair of trousers I could find, grabbed a teeshirt, socks and trainers and went downstairs to check if Phil was waiting on the doorstep – he wasn't.

I put the kettle on, resigning myself to missing my usual leisurely mug of tea and a slice of toast. Soon enough Phil arrived. I made the 'give me five minutes' sign and got on with making the tea and then I was outside, opening the garage door and unpadlocking the bike. We rode to the green to meet Andy and then headed for the Tatsfield Bus Stop. Yes, I know, it's getting boring. If it's not the bus stop it's the churchyard or the village. We've become very unadventurous, but for some reason it suits us fine.

Today was, however, the perfect day. For a start, Phil had made his legendary sausage sandwiches. He'd bought some extra water and some more teabags so we could all enjoy a second mug of tea, and Andy had bought the Belvitas. But it wasn't just the food that made things perfect. Yes, the weather was good, but it was more than that; the conversation, the chat, the camaraderie, it was all spot on this morning. We mentioned the England rugby team's disappointing performance – the first time in the history of the Rugby World Cup that the host has gone out during the qualifying rounds. Stuart Lancaster is considering his position, although the governing body has said 'no knee-jerk reactions'.

Then we discussed rugby and footy. If I had to make a choice it would be football. Surprisingly Andy opted for rugby. We all agreed that cricket was good as it was a sport that simply went on and on and on and in between the runs you could enjoy a picnic, a few beers, anything you wanted. I mentioned an old mate of mine whose father was a novelist who lived in Spain. Once or twice a year the dad came over to the UK to watch the cricket and would take his son along. They used to spend the entire day drinking beer.

We moved on to discuss the lack of 'rogues' and cheeky chappies in sport. No more John McEnroe or Nastase, no more Jimmy Connors, no more Boris Becker (he's looking a bit rough these days, Phil remarked) no more Botham or Tufnell and no more fat blokes like Mike Gatting. For some reason Paddy Ashdown was brought up and then the conversation turned to people who had made capital out of being 'bad boys' – meaning their bad behaviour hadn't done them any harm. 'Paddy Pantsdown', Bill Clinton and his Monika Lewinsky episode sprang to mind.

I brought up my encounter with Mr Ashdown on a train coming back from Salisbury, mildly intoxicated, with my pal Louie. It's been mentioned before on this blog so I summarised. We – Louie and I – had been drinking Wadworth's 6X having presented a pub with an espresso machine. As our train pulled into the station I spotted Paddy. We joined him and started discussing time travel and how it must be possible to travel back in time if you started in the eastern hemisphere and flew in a supersonic jet of some kind. How many times would we be able to celebrate the new year before running out of time? We contemplated various scenarios, unaware that Mr Ashdown had been listening to every word we were saying. We figured we'd end up in the middle of the Pacific somewhere and then Paddy interrupted us, giving us his interpretation of the scenario we had been describing. It was one of those classic moments, which I'm sure Mr Ashdown has forgotten. Click here for Mr Ashdown's first mention on this blog.

The reason we'd been talking about time travel was because Phil wanted answers. Something about clocks and planes and a discrepancy in time. We couldn't help, but the sausage sarnies, the tea, the biscuits, the chat and the weather made it a great morning at the old bus stop. We revisited the idea of (somehow) getting a decent-sized table to the bus stop so we could enjoy a plated meal one morning, accompanied by a glass of wine or two or Buck's Fizz – something resembling a Jack Vettriano painting. It would only be possible if one of our other halves drove to the bus stop in a hired van and deposited the table and the food, but somehow we didn't see it happening any day soon.

Andy parted company halfway along the 269 and Phil and I continued on the road towards Warlingham and beyond. It had not only been a great ride, but also a great conversation and brilliant weather – nobody had any complaints, put it that way.

Thick fog at the Tatsfield Bus Stop

Thick fog at Warlingham Green

One of my greatest fears when I wake up in the morning and make my way wearily downstairs to open up the house is finding a wild animal in the living room. I'm not talking about bison or buffalo, python or pig, but I am referring to a squirrel or a fox that might have unwittingly fallen through the chimney stack. I think the worst find would be a squirrel because of the havoc it might wreak once I've opened the door and it's scampered off to wake up the rest of the family.

Oddly, the fear only arises when I reach the downstairs hallway and discover that the door to the living room has been locked. I worry that on opening it I'll be confronted by an affronted, bushy-tailed rodent who then charges off and ruins my weekend – I'd certainly have to send Andy an 'abort' text and then set about the task of apprehending Squirrel Nutkin and ejecting him from the premises.

Fortunately, when I opened the living room door this morning there was nothng to be concerned about, although I do once recall finding a pigeon staring at me in a rather peeved manner and that wasn't too pleasant, I can tell you. I mean, it ruined everything. What was going to be a leisurely start to the day – some Shredded Wheat, a slice of toast, a cup of tea – had been replaced by manic panic while I desperately wondered how the hell the situation could be rectified.

It's October now and when I wake up at 0600hrs it is dark outside. Winter approaches, but so far the weather has been wonderful. All of last week was brilliant sunshine and, apart from a few 'chilly starts' – they really weren't that bad – you could say we've been experiencing an Indian summer. Throughout the working week I've been walking long distances at lunch time through wetlands surrounding Redhill in Surrey and I've trekked from there to Merstham a couple of times too. All-in-all, as Jon Pertwee used to say, "A perfectly excellent chicken korma."

My highlight of the week
A highlight of my week was on Thursday morning when I innocently boarded the 0827hrs train from Purley to Redhill and found myself face-to-face with none other than Michael Portillo, the former Tory Minister of Defence and now a media star in his own right. Portillo – a surname perilously close to Portaloo – is more well known these days for his programme Great British Railway Journeys. And that was why I found him on my train, complete with camera crew. He was on his way to Merstham where, he told me, Alfred Nobel tested his first ever stick of dynamite.

Michael Portillo

With brilliant weather all week, there was always the chance that the weekend would be appalling, but the television forecasters predicted that the good weather would continue over Saturday and Sunday (possibly getting a little cloudy on Sunday) but then the bad weather would kick in next week. All week there had been talk of early morning fog and today there was plenty of it. In fact I've never known it to be so thick and so widespread. On the ride along the Limpsfield Road towards Warlingham Green it was so dense that I couldn't see the Green until I was virtually on it.

As we rode towards Botley Hill there was no let-up. The fog stayed with us all the way to the bus stop where we had agreed to stop, drink our tea and relax with a BelVita biscuit. Well, alright, we had four each as there was no Phil this morning – he'd aborted, but promised sausage sandwiches for Sunday. The fog remained thick throughout our chill-out time at the bus stop. Passing cars simply disappeared within nanoseconds of passing us and we both knew that the ride home would be more precarious than the outward journey, mainly because of thick fog and increased traffic flow.

Steel, Syria, Religion and nationalism
Our conversation was multi-faceted covering the closure of SSI UK's steel plant in Redcar and the reasons behind the company's decision to shut up shop (cheap Chinese steel imports, punitive UK business rates – higher than in France and Germany – and, of course, equally punitive green taxes). We moved on to discuss the crisis is Syria and how the West should be supporting the Russian initiative (to eradicate ISIS but leave Assad in power) rather than adhere to ideologically-based thinking designed solely to create divisions and fuel unrest both regionally in the Middle East and on the international stage. That said, how can Assad remain in power when he is effectively the cause of the problem and the mass migration experienced in Europe these past few months. One could argue, however, that the West has caused all the problems and then effectively done nothing about it. We invaded Iraq (illegally and after Blair had weaved a pack of lies about 'weapons of mass destruction'. We had a big hand in the downfall of Gaddafi and we've been supplying arms to various rebel groups in Syria to fight Assad.

Thick fog at the Tatsfield Bus Stop

The conversation weaved its way around to religion and nationalism and how both are the root of all evil in the world.

Soon it was time to head home and we thought it best, once on the 269, to use the off-road track. This is a risky tactic because of the hawthorn bushes that line the path. We were both chancing it. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if we get a puncture," I said to Andy as we reached the roundabout near Warlingham Sainsbury's.

We rode to the Green where we resolved to meet again tomorrow morning at 0730, hopefully with Phil and his amazing sausage sandwiches.

Solo ride to the Tatsfield bus stop

With Andy taking part in Ride London – he cycled a total of 122 miles – I was left to my own devices on Sunday and was considering an early morning ride to mum's. But then I thought the Tatsfield bus stop would be a better bet, although I didn't take any tea with me, which always makes it a little depressing.

The Tatsfield bus stop

The ride was fine – and so was the weather, although not as good as Saturday when I didn't go out, although I did drive over to mum's, hence my reason for not riding there on Sunday morning.

Andy's Ride London route

Dawes Galaxy turned up and got off his bike. We sat and discussed nothing in particular and then, after saying our goodbyes, I took the shot accompanying this post and then headed for home.

The Tatsfield Churchyard with Phil and Andy, followed by a drive to the coast

On Saturday we rode to the Tatsfield Churchyard on what turned out to be a tremendous day. Phil met me outside the house at 0700hrs and around 0730hrs we were at Warlingham Green debating where to go; Westerham was a strong possibility, but I was a little reticent as I was planning a day out in West Sussex. We set off, however, intent on reaching the Northern Kent market town, but a few yards into the ride I switched and said the churchyard would be best.

Felpham, late afternoon, Saturday 23 May 2015

Andy had been away on holiday and we chatted about the heat of the Canary Islands and the pointlessness of buying a time-share holiday and then moved on to the subject of 'Golden Ages' and how most of them – politics and pop music being the most obvious – had gone, or was that because we were getting older? If it's all just a matter of opinion, I thought afterwards, then the entire argument is redundant. In 20-30 years from now, perhaps there will be people mourning the relative quality of X Factor contestants and the charismatic David Cameron and Nick Clegg, although I would argue that today the only charismatic politician is Nigel Farage, the rest are faceless, 'career' politicians who, let's face it, are basically dull. We said goodbye to Andy at the green and then Phil and I cycled on to Sanderstead where we bade each other farewell.

It was a pleasant day but the really good weather was yet to break through. That would come later on the south coast with the family: a flat, blue, almost Grecian, sea and a kind of muted sunshine that hugged the coast for most of the day. By late afternoon, dark and foreboding clouds had gathered inland and contrasted with bright skies over the sea casting a magical light on the water.

We enjoyed a packed lunch on the beach followed by a walk to Old Point and then, after tea and a cookie, a bowl of chips and a hot chocolate in The Lobster Pot (my favourite restaurant) we headed home.

Looking east towards Littlehampton from Felpham

Delays mean another trip to Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Warlingham Green, Monday 6th April 2015, 0730 hrs.

Andy was slightly delayed but it was enough for us to rethink our planned ride to Westerham. The weather was fantastic: blue skies and cottonwool clouds and the temperature much warmer than the rest of the Easter weekend. We decided to head for the bus stop again, although we toyed with the churchyard and the village, and when we got there we did what we always do: drink tea and munch BelVita biscuits.

Lycra monkeys. Give them a bit of hot weather and out they come; you see hardly any during the colder months of the year and then suddenly there they are in their Lycra shorts and sponsored tops, although they're not even sponsored, they're just wearing tops covered in logos. And what's with the new fashion of brightly-coloured footwear? Luminous footwear!

As we sat at the bus stop, watching a passing Lycra monkey who was wearing bright red above-the-knee shorts we wondered what must be going through his mind as he pulls on his gear in the morning. Can he really think he looks good? And as for those idiots in the brightly-coloured footwear, what must they be thinking? Clearly, they must all think they look really good otherwise they wouldn't wear such awful clothing. Instead, they'd look like us in our Tesco ASBO specials (well, MY Tesco ASBO specials). Perhaps all that 'precious grams' stuff is because they know that if they put on a bit of weight they wouldn't look so good in their Lycra garments?

Later in the day I drove to Westerham and the weather was still wonderful. There was bright sunshine and plenty of people wandering about, enjoying the weather and the attractions on offer in this Kent market town.

Next Saturday Andy's riding to Brighton, leaving me to motivate myself to get out and ride the bike. I'll probably ride to the bus stop again, unless Phil's up for a longer ride. Andy should be back on Sunday so we might finally reach Westerham. I'm not even sure if we've been to Westerham in 2015 yet. Hold on a second while I check the archive...and the answer is no, we haven't riden to Westerham this year. In fact, the last time we were there was Sunday 30 November 2014.

Time for tea at the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Forgetting the clocks went forward...

I went to bed early, disillusioned, as always, with the poor quality of British television. I have vague memories of listening to radio four and then I awoke, suddenly at 0530hrs, not by the alarm, but by the sound of my iphone vibrating. I'd received a message from Andy saying he was going to be late. What?  At 0530hrs in the morning? Oops! The clocks had gone forward – it was really 0630hrs.

I hastily wrote back admitting my failure to remember the beginning of British Summer Time and we agreed to meet at 0730hrs on the green, a loss of 30 minutes and that meant a ride to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the long way was the only real option open to us.

Not getting up on time meant a slow ride to Tatsfield bus stop.

The weather this weekend has been fantastic. Bright blue skies, hot weather. Amazing. But yesterday I didn't ride out. I would have been on my own had I done so as Andy and Phil weren't going, but that's no excuse. Riding alone, even if it had been to the Bus Stop or Botley Hill and back or even to the Green, would have been enough, but I didn't go and, as a result, I was a bit grouchy for most of the day and the grouchiness was accentuated by having to mow the lawns – the first cut of the year, which is always a pain as the mower gets clogged up and keeps stopping and starting. I decided upon a strategy of mowing the back lawn about half a dozen times, starting on a high setting and gradually stepping it down to a short setting. It worked! And now all that remains is the front lawn.

So, this morning, I rushed out of the house, got the car out of the garage and set off for the green where Andy was waiting, looking a little bit Lycra monkey if the truth be known, although, on closer inspection, I let him off. He was wearing a high visibility top (with the word 'Prudential' on it (always a bad sign)) and his shorts, but was a far cry from the brightly coloured, all-in-one Lycra outfits we've seen on recent rides.

Why? That's what I want to know. Why does anybody get up in the morning and put it on? We saw a bloke today kitted out from head to toe in sponsored Lycra, but it goes without saying that he's not being sponsored, he just likes wearing the stuff. Last week there was the guy at Westerham with his brightly-coloured boots in addition to all the faux sponsorship. Mid-life crisis or what? It looks utterly ridiculous, of course, but why don't they see it? Perhaps, as they pass the hallway mirror in the morning, en route to the garage to retrieve their Conalgo or Bianchi, they stop, on seeing themselves, and are quietly chuffed by how tasty they think they look. But they don't look tasty, they don't look macho, they don't look anything – other than completely stupid. And still they jump on their bikes and ride down the street on the basis that, somehow, being on the bike in some way detracts from the way they look or, indeed, somehow defuses the ridiculous nature of their outfit BECAUSE they are on a bike and other people, out walking dogs or getting the Sunday papers from the local newsagent, would put two and two together and make four. "Ah! It's alright, Ethel, he might look a prat, but look, he's riding a racing bike so it doesn't matter, that's what they all wear. Precious grams and all that. Now it all makes sense!" Well, granted they would look even more foolish if they were out walking the dog while dressed in their Lycra nob-cheese clothing, but jumping on a bike doesn't make things any better.

We rode the long way to the bus stop and it was pleasant, even if Andy felt that Beddlestead Lane was never-ending (sometimes it seems longer than other times, he said). For me, oddly enough, it went by pretty quickly and soon we were sitting at the green drinking tea and munching cereal bars.

It was Phil's birthday yesterday and he went out for a curry. A text said he'd eaten twice his body weight in Indian food and would probably have difficulty getting out of bed in the morning.

The weather was just as good today as it was yesterday. The blossoms are on the trees, there are daffodils everywhere and the summer is truly on the way.

Andy and I parted company at Warlingham Green, but we will be back there next weekend for, hopefully, a couple of rides to Westerham on Saturday and Sunday.

Today is Mother's Day in the UK and I'm later heading off to Sheffield Park for a mosey around after re-heating (and eating) some of yesterday's paella for lunch. Can't wait.

Fantastic Saturday, rainy Sunday

This weekend the BBC weather people got it right: they said – or rather their map indicated – that there would be rain during the night and then, by around 7am, the rain would move north, leaving the South East clear. I remember the rain in the night. It poured down and I could hear it hitting the conservatory roof, but by 7am, while wet and grey outside, the rain had stopped. When Phil arrived we both look skywards and while there was a nagging feeling that we might get a soaking en route to the Tatsfield Bus Stop (always a safe bet destination in rainy weather because it's covered) I put my trust in the weather people and headed off to Warlingham Green where Andy was waiting (and feeling a lot better after his cold).

From left: Andy, yours truly and Phil at Tatsfield Bus Stop, Saturday.

As we headed off along the Limpsfield Road, the skies above brightened, revealing blue skies and white clouds. We turned left just after Warlingham Sainsbury's and took the slow, more scenic route to the bus stop, albeit a slighter harder route in terms of general exertion. The quiet roads are far better than the 269, which always has cars racing in both directions. With the more scenic route we can talk more, except when we reach Hesiers Hill, which needs all the concentration we can muster. Hesiers is dangerous: a steep downhill lane with a couple of nasty blind corners. Only fools would descend without a wary hand on the brakes.

Once at the bottom, like a roller coaster, the road takes an upward curve and becomes Beddlestead Lane, a long, slow climb towards Clarks Lane, but very scenic with empty fields left and right and sunshine creating a strobing effect on the eyes through the gauze created by the shrubs and bushes.

Last week mist and horses, this week a hazy sunshine.

Reaching the bus stop is always a delight, especially once the tea and cereal bars are brought out. We chatted about what we'd do if won many millions on the EuroMillions. I said I'll buy a huge house on the South Coast, one with plenty of space, and then I'd build a ghost train and have it so that the entrance and exit – you know, the swing doors the trains crash through – are on either side of a grand fireplace.

I've given up buying Lotto tickets because I don't believe in the ticket price rise from £1 to £2. It's all about greed, hence my decision to no longer bother, although I will continue with EuroMillions at work   and I might buy a Lotto ticket once a month. However, whenever I'm in a supermarket I always think, 'ah! I'll buy a Lotto ticket!' And then I remember that it's now £2 and I think of the fat cat bastard – there must be one at the top of Camelot – and then I decide not to bother.

Andy's bike on Warlingham Green

Sunday – rained all day, 

The same BBC weather forecasters who predicted Saturday's weather were equally right about Sunday's. What was annoying about Sunday was me leaving my mobile phone in the bedroom as both Andy and Phil sent out messages. Andy's was 'abort' due to rain; Phil's read, "BBC forecast is 'mist' 7am to 8am then 'heavy rain' 8am to 6pm. Just thought I'd ask what the likely consensus might be before I start the bacon sandwiches!"

Now, had my mobile phone been on the desk or anywhere downstairs I would have read this (and Andy's text) and sent back an 'abort' to Phil.

Moments later Phil sent another text, which again fell upon deaf ears; "Past the point of no return. Bacon going in now..."

I, meanwhile, had prepared the tea and was ready to go out. But now I'd checked my phone and seen Andy's 'abort' text. Phil was on the doorstep in high viz jacket and waterproofs. The rain had started, he said, and it sure had. "Let's not go, it'll be unpleasant," I said – or words to that effect – but as Phil was up and dressed (and certainly prepared for a ride) he said he would press on, so respect is due to Phil for a second ride in the rain, alone.

Before he set off, Phil gave me my bacon sandwich. I had a bit of work to do so I ate it in front of the computer screen. In fact, the only bonus in there being rain this morning was that I got my work done early and could chill for the rest of the day. I didn't do much: we had stir-fry and noodles for lunch followed by a drive to mum's for fruit cake and tea, then we bought a cake in Waitrose and the plan now is to sit and watch The Mayor of Casterbridge on television.

A strange-looking mist on Sanderstead Green last weekend.