Vueling Flight VY6307 1350hrs Bilbao to London Gatwick Airport

I've been having strange dreams these past two nights, dreams I can't really remember a great deal about. One involved Mulder from the X Files appearing from inside one of those office water coolers, that was a bit weird, I can tell you. There were others, but I can't recall them exactly. None of them were fretful. It must have something to do with being ultra-chilled out last night in the hotel (see previous post). I really must make a point of reading more often instead of watching television. In fact, I haven't looked at any television or, for that matter, newspapers, since Sunday last week. In that sense, you could say that I've been minding my own business and simply getting on with the business of getting through the days, travelling from city-to-city by train, checking into hotels and engaging with various people along the way. That's probably why I'm so chilled out. I haven't been subjected to media crap, be it television news bulletins, talk radio shows like LBC or chat shows or awful programmes like The One Show with it's horrible presenters and guests. Already, you can see that by just thinking of them all, I'm getting a little ratty. That said, my current chilled out state of mind saw me sail through security without getting irritated and now, at 1100hrs I'm sitting in Giraffe on the air side of Bilbao airport sipping tea and eating, yes, I know, a chocolate croissant. I didn't want any of it, but I needed somewhere to sit down so that I could pass the time of day for a little bit. There's not much here to be honest, only Giraffe as far as I can see and couple of high-stooled bar operations. 

I awoke early and then fell asleep, waking again at 0724 or something along those lines. I showered and headed downstairs for another great breakfast and then I returned to my room to start packing away. This didn't take me long and then I headed for the airport in Taxi number 232. It was only around 20 minutes.

Outside, the skies are blue, which is nice to see and, oddly, I'm sitting in roughly the same place I was sitting the last time I flew out of Bilbao. How do I know that? Because there are four conifers that were there when I was last here a few years ago. On that occasion, I'd been further west along the coast at Aviles, green Spain they call it and it is green, not sun-scorched and barren like down in the south.

I'm flying back with Vueling and I have a window seat, seat 17F, that's on the right hand side of the plane. They're a good airline, I've flown with them once, possibly twice before. I do need to find out what gate I should flying out from, that should be on the notice boards soon I hope, in fact, I might go and look now just to see if I'm in the right place, I'm likely not to be. Hold on... I can't find anything that gives the flight details, it's not even on my boarding pass, although it might be Gate B10. I'm in Boarding Group Two and we start boarding at 1310hrs, that's a good two hours from now.

It's amazing how there are blue skies on one side of the airport and grey cloud on the other side. And guess which is which. Yes, you guessed it, the air side where the planes take off is the cloudy side. Of course it is! 

That Bilbao airport has a Giraffe restaurant is great news, but I won't be using it for more than that tea and croissant and I won't be having any in-flight snacks either. The fact that I'm flying into Gatwick means (hopefully) no circling over the airport for hours until a slot to land becomes available. It also means I'm down the road from where I live. Well, not down the road, but it's much easier than Heathrow. I'll probably get the train to East Croydon and cab it from there.

I might come back here once I've established that my plane will take off from a "B" gate. There's a crappy 'jazz' version of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen playing and it's not at all festive. I want my Christmas carols sung properly by a choir, not some second rate jazz band.

Christmas beckons. One more week at work, which should be pretty chilled, then I'm off and I can relax and not think about work stuff. I'll certainly be reading, as I've found a new author, although he's not that new, his name is Eric Ambler. He's old school, his novels feature people who sport a pince-nez and the last time I enjoyed a book of this ilk it was way back and it was Graham Greene. I love Greene, Our Man in Havana, A Burnt-Out Case, Ministry of Fear, The Quiet American, Stamboul Train, The Heart of the Matter, there's many of them and I've read most of them. Ambler writes along similar lines but without the obsession with Catholicism.

I'm going to take a wander, but might well come back here later to either add more to this blog post or to have something to eat, although I very much doubt the latter; more likely I'll be back here updating this post, but in all honesty I can't think of what I would add, I was clutching at straws anyway.

The flight home was fine, no turbulence and, once above the clouds, clears skies and even clearer skies as we approached the UK. We flew over Brighton and I could see the pier clearly and then, within a few minutes we landed. I was so engrossed with Eric Ambler's Epitaph for a Spy that I was the last person to get off the plane, well, almost. I found a Pret a Manger, ordered tea and an avocado and egg mayo baguette (my lunch) and finished it before catching the train to East Croydon and a cab home.

For all of my Spain posts I'll sort out photographs on my return to England as for some reason I had a technology meltdown in the hotel room and now I have to 'browse as guest' to be able to access the blog.

Night boat to Helsinki, part two...

Last night's dinner in Bon Vivant (and yes, I still hate the name) was absolutely amazing and arguably the best meal I've eaten outside of my own house. I started with potato and oyster mushroom, but there was no mention of 'soup' and I was wondering exactly what I'd get. A jacket potato with mushrooms? Surely not. And no, it wasn't that, it was a soup, which was very tasty even if it didn't look that appetising. It had made the mistake of fine dining establishments in the UK from the early noughties onwards: that of serving up something that resembles gob. Or as fine dining establishments like to call it, foam. I hate it! And yes it does look as if somebody (the chef probably) has gobbed in a dish, added a bit of garnish and shouted 'Service!' But it tasted good. It tasted great but it wasn't particularly substantial. I've enjoyed better soups, put it that way, but still, it was good and that's all that matters. For my main course, I chose beef and plum and again the description was deceptive. What was I going to get? A piece of beef and a plum? Well, yes, I suppose, but it was much better than that: a huge slab of beef cooked to perfection with a very tasty slab of potato 'cake' on which was resting a large sprig of brocolli. Is that right? A sprig of brocolli? Anyway, it was the most amazing main course and I loved every bit of it, even if the waiter did arrive a few moments later to say he'd given me the wrong sauce (I hadn't noticed) and said it didn't matter a jot. I finished with a rice pudding dish – 'rice and gooseberry' – and it too was amazing, far better than I expected and easily the healthiest dessert on the menu. An alcohol-free Heineken and a large bottle of mineral water finished off the meal and I must say I sat there for a long time chilling as the ship steamed its way towards Helsinki.

Icy waters surrounding the port in Stockholm

After dinner there wasn't much to do unless I fancied the noisy cabaret act or the fruit machines in the casino. There's nothing worse than a casino, especially on a ship, because the reality is there are no 'high rollers' just chancers in ill-fitting clothes, you know the sort of person, they used to hog the pub fruit machine and knew far to much about when to 'nudge' and when to collect, always had pockets full of tokens jingling in their pockets. They're not James Bond, they're not George Clooney or anybody else who looks good in a dinner suit, they're just fools who will eventually lose whatever they win. Gambling, like drinking, is pointless. So with a toss-up of cabaret or casino I decided just to wander around. I checked my flight to London, added all the information the airline wanted to know and then put the finishing touches to yesterday's blogpost. It was soon time for bed, not that I really wanted to return to the barren cabin, but all the shops were closing for the night and it was almost 2300hrs. I lay on my bed, resting my head on the one pillow provided, and listened to the noises of the ship (which were mainly people flushing toilets in nearby cabins). 

Ice surrounds the ship

Outside it was dark and all that was visible was the bright white bow wave of the ship as it ploughed through the inky black sea. Eventually I fell asleep but I awoke around 0300 and by and large that was it, I never got back to sleep. I looked out every now and then and saw distant ships that I imagined were going back to Stockholm from Helsinki, but that was it. Prior to that moment (and probably much earlier on, possibly around midnight) I remember the ship slowing down. When I looked out of the window there were lights and a port and it reminded me of that scene in Apocalypse Now when Martin Sheen arrives in a strange, illuminated part of the jungle where the soldiers are dropping acid and I think Dennis Hopper turned up taking photographs. My memory of the movie is sketchy at best. I remember it being 0600 and 0700 and then I noticed that my watch was losing power, the battery needed to be replaced. 

Fast Lane restaurant...

At around 0800hrs I jumped into the shower. I wasn't expecting anything great, but it turned out to be the best shower of the trip, far better than the Birger Jarl hotel's offering. The space was cramped, however,  and the plug appeared to be blocked so the tray filled up and overflowed – but then I saw a plug on the floor and assumed it was a 'wet room', although that doesn't excuse the shower as there was a plug in the shower that clearly wasn't working. I decided not to shave, I just couldn't be bothered, and besides, I needed to get out of the cabin and down to breakfast in the Fast Lane restaurant. I'd imagine that Bon Vivant is closed and who wants a fine dining breakfast for heaven's sake, miniscule portions of food that should be piled high on the plate? Fast Lane was making big claims about its breakfast and to be fair it delivered on them. Porridge with berries and yoghurt fitted the bill nicely, throw in a pastry, a banana and a mint tea and I was in my element again. But then I wondered, when am I not in my element? Probably when I'm hungry. I kind of regret the pastry, but other than that all was well.

The view from cabin 9212, Thursday 8th February, 0800hrs.

The sea is flat calm and there's a mist that limits visibility. It's 0939 and there's about an hour to run. I'll need to get back to my cabin in order to pack stuff up and make ready to disembark. I must say I've enjoyed the ride, it's been a great night on the high seas and far better than being in a hotel, and I think I probably exaggerated the more unsavoury elements of the trip. It wasn't the ship's fault that one of its passengers decided to have a noisy shag and I suppose I ought to forgive the man in Fast Lane for belching, he was only human after all. 

The perfect main course...

Was it a party boat? Well, I suppose for some it probably was; there was certainly a lot of entertainment and with entertainment comes drinking so I'm guessing there are a few people with sore heads this morning wishing they didn't have to disembark, but in so many ways it was very civilised, far more civilised than it might have been if the ship was English. The passengers on the Silja Symphony were a little more sophisticated, considerably less lairy and drunk than their English counterparts. There's a mixed bunch here in Fast Lane this morning: a young family with a baby and their parents, the odd married couple, two kids playing on their own by the window, a man with a pony tail and beard playing with his iphone, a couple of slightly older people, probably married, a woman on her own, her case already packed and by her side, drinking tea, and many other variants of humanity going about the simple task of eating whatever they consider to be 'breakfast' be it a cup of tea or a bowl of porridge.

It's getting very close to the time when we disembark. Looking out of the window now I can see a lot of land, lots of snow and houses and hills and bare trees. We're in Finland that's a fact and it looks very cold and bleak, much bleaker than Stockholm so I'm glad I've brought the Russian hat with me and that I'm wearing a thick jumper and my UniQlo trousers, which are padded and warm. I'd better go, it's been good and I'd definitely do it again, that's a fact.

Minus 14 degrees in Helsinki...sea's frozen up

It's seriously cold out there, I thought as I surveyed the port area of Helsinki. My iphone said it was minus 14 degrees and the sea had frozen up. There were huge chunks of ice covering every inch of the sea and it was amazing how the boat managed to get through it all, but it did. Foolishly I had left my charger and adaptor in the cabin, which was mildly annoying as I'd spent a lot of time surveying the cabin for anything I might have left behind. I failed to check the power point. But no matter, I simply went back in and retrieved it and no time was lost.

Breakfast on the boat...

There was ice on the ground in Helsinki – a lot of ice – it was much, much colder than Stockholm and I had to be careful in case I slipped and fell. Fortunately I didn't fall and it was only a matter of time before I found myself at Helsinki airport after a brief meeting with a colleague. The check-in procedure was pretty straightforward and there was a queue for security, but it soon dwindled into nothing and eventually I was through and sitting in Nordic Kitchen where I ordered a salmon sandwich and some Fazer chocolate, not forgetting a mug of green tea. I might buy myself a bottle of water for the flight. Earlier, I ordered a cab to take me from London Heathrow to home (£79). That will save a gruelling journey with a suitcase on public transportation. I should be home by around 2200hrs.

I'm flying Finnair and if I remember correctly they hand out a small circular piece of chocolate in a red wrapper. I'll be looking forward to that. Having said that, I've had a couple of small bars of Fazer with my salmon sandwich in Nordic Kitchen so I don't want to be overdoing things. In fact, all this eating of rubbish simply has to stop, but I just can't resist it, especially if I'm hungry. I need to start swimming and upping the cycling as the weather warms up, but I can't keep talking, I must act.

New Year's Eve ride to Tatsfield Village...

The weather app says 12 degrees, which is reasonably warm for this time of year, but what about that wind? It's not warm, I can tell you, it's cold and it went right through me as I pedalled along the 269 early on New Year's Eve. I left the house around 0813hrs and reached there about an hour later. The skies were dark and grey and yes, I did think about a possible downfall, but I didn't think too hard, mainly because there were encouraging signs in the skies above: breaks in the cloud, sunshine and potentially clearer skies. There had been overnight rain, I discovered, once I'd passed Sainsbury's in Warlingham and found myself on the more rural bit of the 269 that would take me all the way to Botley Hill and beyond. Roadside puddles were like black treacle, forcing me to take to the off-road path for a short while rather than risk straying into the middle of the road and being hit by a car. The wind was unpleasant, especially when I rode along Approach Road towards Tatsfield Village, but it wasn't long before I reached Sheree's and she knew my order. "Pot of tea?" I said yes and paid up. Andy had already ordered his latte and he had a few Biscoff biscuits in some silver foil, three for me, three for Andy, and a great snack it has to be said.

Library shot of Sheree's in Tatsfield village...

We chatted about Christmas and falling asleep in front of the television and then we moved on to talk about medical procedures, remembering Andy's hospital experiences when he broke his hip after coming off the bike earlier in the year. Was it this year or last? Catheters were mentioned and clearly overheard by Ken who came over to tell us all about his, not that we really wanted to know, and then he kept on talking about this and that ailment, eventually telling us that he was 82 years old and how he kept fit by walking, with professional-looking sticks he'd left outside. He was a nice guy and a regular at Sheree's, but I hope that doesn't mean we have to talk about end-of-life ailments every time we go in there; let's hope not.

I'll be honest. I don't want to hear about illness and poor health and catheters and the pointlessness of the human condition, or Mortimer and Whitehouse going on and on about it on television. Why talk it all up? I just don't want to. I'm not ready to be an old man just yet. I'm not old! I ride a bike, I walk a lot, I'm still working (and I love it) and I just don't want to hear anything negative or depressing. I used to like watching Mortimer and Whitehouse's Gone Fishing until I realised that eventually they will start whingeing about their aches and pains and ailments. I don't want to hear about 'your bad knees' or how you can't do this or that anymore, I don't want to hear it. I can't be bothered with it anymore, it's not funny, it's depressing, and it's made a lot worse at this time of year when it seems to me as if the grim reaper is working over time, killing off various celebrities so we all have to put up with 'people we lost in 2023'. I think I mentioned that bit in a previous post, but it seems to be inescapable at present, what with Mortimer and Whitehouse - yes, that's the third time I've mentioned them since I started writing this paragraph, and Ken at Sheree's. Andy and I have had our fill of it, it has to be said, and to be fair to us both, we never mentioned our own personal tragedies today (for mine, click here) In fact, I made a point of steering clear of the subject and I think Andy was doing the same. Perhaps our chat about catheters was ill-advised, not that we were to know that Ken would come over and expand on the conversation. I got the feeling we might have been there all morning, but Andy visited the bathroom, which set the ball in motion for us to start preparing to leave. I stood up, Andy returned and we headed for home. We're now on first name terms with Sheree. Andy introduced himself and so did I so it's all good. I couldn't tell you the names of anybody at the Costa in Westerham.

Taking shelter from a downpour...

A few hundred yards into the ride and it started to rain. As I reached the covered Tatsfield Bus Stop it was getting fairly heavy. So heavy that I decided to take shelter there, it was like old times minus Andy and the flask of tea. The rain and the wind combined and what was initially vertical rain became almost horizontal, forcing me to sit on the back rest of the bench and lean back against the rear wall of the shelter. I was there for around 20 minutes, watching the rain fall and fall and fall and then suddenly the sun came out and the rain stopped so off I went. While it did start again, it wasn't that heavy so I put up with it, deciding to take the off-road path rather than get drenched at close quarters by the passing cars. But I was mistaken if I thought I'd keep dry on the off-road path. Oh no, I got drenched by passing cars as they whizzed past, kicking up a shed load of spray. I might as well have asked somebody to throw a bucket of water at me at regular intervals. Even though I was a considerable distance from the cars, the water thrown up was like a wave and it hit me square on the side of my face every time. I wasn't safe until I reached Warlingham Sainsbury's and rejoined the road.

The bike sheltering from the rain...

I can't remember exactly what time I reached home, but as soon as I did I stripped off my wet clothes and made myself some marmalade on toast, just what the doctor ordered. The plan is to ride tomorrow, weather permitting, and visit Sheree's again. We like Sheree's because Sheree herself is an excellent person who brings that much-needed personal touch and some much-needed happiness. All of a sudden, Sheree's has become our go to venue for a weekend ride. Alright, it's not as far as Westerham in terms of fitness, but it's a pleasant experience and that's what it's all about at the end of the day, being relaxed, chilled and happy.

I've got a fish finger sandwich on the way and I can't wait, then it's another night of sitting in front of the television until I feel tired enough to hit the sack. Knowing me I'll probably watch Jools Holland, I always do, but the problem is it's so 80s, as indeed is Jools himself. I'm hoping not to see Ade Edmondson and Jennifer Saunders and also that self-proclaimed twat, Dawn French. How boring was Imagine? Very! Anyway, here's hoping there will be some good music and not all that obscure stuff he crams into Later... but I'm not holding out much hope if I'm honest. I'd like to see Glen Matlock playing bass so here's hoping!

It's past midnight now, so Happy New Year to all my readers. Guess what, Hootenanny was poor, no Glen Matlock, unless he's on now. If so I wouldn't know because I've switched to BBC1 to watch the fireworks. Bed beckons. Good night.

The wrong mindset...

The ride to Tatsfield village was par for the course. Fortunately, there was no rain, although I half expected it at any moment. The skies were grey but there was hope as I could see the sun, or rather the effects of the sun, illuminating the heavens and that meant (perhaps) that I wouldn't get a soaking, not on the outward journey at any rate.

It was Sunday and I'd missed a ride on Saturday for no reason other than my own indecisive nature. I even got ready and was standing around in my cycling gear until around 0900 when I decided I wouldn't bother. What a travesty! A perfectly decent day and I simply didn't go out. I should have struck while the iron was hot and left the house around 0800 or even 0700. 

Tatsfield village pond in the summer time

On Sunday, then, I rode to Tatsfield village to meet Andy and the weather held out. When I reached Sheree's I noted Andy's bike was already there – I spotted his bike parked outside, but to be fair, I had already seen the orange forks of the Kona Blast from a long way off. Judging by the fact that his latte was untouched, however, I knew he hadn't been there too long. As for me, well, I was running a little late, possibly around 15 minutes, and noting that Andy's coffees were untouched I knew I'd still managed to keep a reasonable time. I wasn't slacking in other words. Or, to be clearer, I hadn't really lost any of my 'fitness' even if I have been fretting about it for some time. I'm always fretting about it – and other things too. I'm a worrier and I wish I wasn't one, but I am. I keep things on my mind, silly, irrelevant things in the greater scheme of things, when I should confine them to the waste basket, and there lies my problem. There are many things on my mind, constantly, and I never seem to resolve them, they just stay there, nagging away at me. In short, I need to resolve things. But let's make no mistake: these are what is known as 'first world problems', which is shorthand for 'none of my problems have any real substance when compared to those, for example, of the good people of Gaza who are being shelled by the Israelis and there are people much closer to home who have bigger problems than I do, including my own sister, so let's get that straight from the get-go.

My current big fret is how to maintain a level of fitness during the winter months when the rain will inevitably stop play. There are many solutions:-

• Buy a bike trainer from Evans Cycles, hook up the old Kona to it and enjoy hours of cycling in the garage. But first, fix the Kona's rear wheel.

• Join a gym and use their exercise bikes AND combine with a swim (get that upper body back to what it used to be).

• Rely entirely upon riding the Norfolk Nobbler during the week, rain or shine, light or dark. Combine this with more walking, i.e. from Sanderstead to Purley in the mornings and from Purley to Sanderstead in the evenings.

• Buy an exercise bike and put it in the garden room (it's not a conservatory).

Well, starting from the top, Andy's preferred solution to my problem is the trainer from Evans Cycles. I'm not keen on this option because I don't fancy being the garage, alone, working out in the cold. In all honesty, I'd rather ride the Nobbler fives times a week and be done with it.

Joining the gym appeals as I'd be in the warmth on a decent exercise bike and then I can have a swim afterwards and a hot shower. But will I keep up the hard work? Or will I simply get bored and eventually find myself forking out £40 a month for nothing?

Relying 100% on the Nobbler is the cheapest option as there's no financial outlay; I'd just have to grin and bear a bit of cold and rain should it occur and that shouldn't bother me too much as the ride lasts around 35 minutes and surely I can take a soaking for that minuscule length of time? There are downsides, like would I feel like doing it in the dark after a hard day at work? Probably not, but that's where mindset comes in to play. I've simply got to bite the bullet and stick to it rather than wimp out and do nothing other than fret about not doing any exercise.

Buying an exercise bike and putting it in the garden room appeals, but a decent one will set me back a few bob and I've never got any money just floating around.

So, all of the above (and other matters I won't bore you with) are constantly harassing my mind, normally when I want to get a good night's sleep – something that eludes me a lot these days – even if, of late, I've taken to sleeping in outer space with BBC Radio 3 for company. This has worked a treat and only came about when I decided that I didn't want to catch a heavy cough and a cold which had invaded the household. I speak to you today as somebody who has managed to avoid illness through sleeping in a different room to the person infected and (I'd like to think) my daily intake of oranges, grapes, blueberries, bananas and an orange sliced into segments, not to forget Omega 3 fish oil and multivits too. It all seems to have done the trick and even if I've felt a sore throat brewing now and then – the tell-tale sign of coming down with a cold and a cough – I've somehow managed to avoid it. That said, I mustn't get smug about it.

Back to today's ride and when I arrived at Sheree's I ordered myself a tea and went to join Andy who, as I said earlier, had a latte and shot of espresso too. "I'm knackered," he told me and I can imagine he was considering the amount of mileage he puts in on a daily basis using his garage-based trainer and taking into account all the other things going on in his life that add stresses and strains to his existence.

We chatted about hills and cycling-related stuff and Andy quite rightly said it's all about mindset, it's about not feeling miserable and despairing as you reach the bottom of the hill, it's about, possibly, cranking the bike into a higher gear to see if your fitness level can be improved and it's about not feeling depressed at the very thought of a hill. To be honest, hills don't depress me. Fine, I think about an approaching hill if I know it's coming, I psyche myself for a big hill like Titsey or White Lane or White Hill Lane or Tithepit Shaw Lane and I get on with. I can't remember the last time I took a hill and gave up, unless it was one of those situations where I selected the wrong gear or didn't change down in time or lost momentum or a car came the other way and I had to dismount, but generally I'm fine with hills. Gone are the days when I can't handle them.

We finished our tea and readied ourselves for the journey home. While it didn't rain for most of the return journey, there was a light dusting of rain as I left Sheree's, but by the time I reached Botley Hill it was over and the rest of the ride was plain sailing.

It's 1437hrs on Sunday afternoon and I can hear the rain outside the window. There's been a lot of rain of late but so far it hasn't affected the Sunday ride, which is good. As avid readers will know, I did get absolutely drenched not long ago.

It's now 1853hrs, I've been watching the Robbie Williams documentary on Netflix (which is good) and I've been to see mum, she's fine. On 23 November she'll be 94 years old; at some stage I'll have to think about what to buy her.

It rained throughout the night. I remember being awake at 0400hrs listening to it. It was still raining in the morning but then it stopped and now, at 1159hrs on Monday 13 November, the rain has stopped and the sun is out... let's hope it stays that way.

Too weak to resist biscuits, cakes and cappuccinos...but I've been on the trim wheel!

I've been sleeping well and I put it down to Celestial tea, which I purchased back in May at a CVS in Detroit. I included in my purchase some Sleepy Time tea (known by me as Sleepy Time Bear tea because there's an illustration of a bear sitting in front of a real fire making himself cosy and warm). Not that you'd want to be 'cosy and warm' on a summer's day. Anyhow I bought the tea and I've almost finished the lot. The Sleepy Time Bear tea ran out about three to four weeks ago (I used to have one around 2200hrs and then hit the sack - and it worked!) Then there was a box of Celestial tea, a kind of assortment pack including a few sachets of Sleepy Time Bear and now they've gone except for around two, possibly three camomile teas (which are really potent). These past few weeks I've been sleeping well. Hitting the sack around 2300hrs and not waking up until around 0600hrs. That's good enough for me; an unbroken sleep, that's what counts, and it makes me feel better generally. So I'm going to buy some more of these great teas. Yeah, I know, I could simply go to the supermarket and buy some Pukka teas, but they're not as good and now I'm of the opinion that stuff in the US (and I'll include over-the-counter drugs like Nurofen and other painkillers) is a little more potent, a bit stronger than what you get over here. Anyway, that's for later on. I'll sneak on to Amazon and load up with Sleepy Time Bear teas. I might also get myself some of the camomile tea as it's great and there's nowt better than getting a good night's sleep.

"Number three crop, please!"

I woke up this morning around 0600hrs and then must have drifted off again because I awoke again around 0649hrs. Alright, that 0649 was such a precise time that I'll admit the word 'around' doesn't come into it, not one bit. I woke up at 0649hrs. The only way 'around' could have come into would have been if I awoke 'around' 0650hrs. You can be vague and precise at the same time, it's either around 0650 or it's bang on the nail 'I woke up at 0649hrs', one minute before 0650hrs. How much more precise would you want me to be?

I'll admit that sometimes when I wake up and make my way downstairs to the kitchen that I start to want some kind of change. I think it's the breakfast I eat. Every morning I have the same thing and sometimes I can't face it: Alpen with sliced bananas, a mug of tea (either green or black), an orange cut into segments, a glass of warm water and two slices of bread and marmalade (or honey). My big problem at present is bread. I've gone from eating three slices a day to eight: two in the morning, two with sandwiches at lunch time, two when I get in from work and possibly another two if I'm still feeling hungry. At the moment I seem to be hungry all the time, so much so that in addition to my sandwiches, grapes and an apple at noon, I then go out and have a large English breakfast tea and two ginger biscuits in Costa or...a large (albeit 'regular') cappuccino and a slice of carrot cake with orange icing in Busy Beans (an artisan coffee shop). Then there's always the M&S cafe where a cappuccino and an iced bun always go well together. And let's not forget the caff where I go for a cup of tea if it's raining and this week it has rained a bit so the walk was cancelled and the Pop Inn came into play. Sometimes, in addition to the mug of tea I might have a slice or two of toast with marmalade, but not this week, it was just the tea. And just when I thought it was safe to go back in the water, what about those Grenade bars? What about them? Well, first there's the cost, which varies depending on where you buy them, they appear to range from £2.85 to £3.00 per bar but they certainly do the trick. Eat one of them and your hunger will disappear. On one day last week I had a custard Danish instead of the Grenade and ever since I've been trying to work out what is best, the pastry or the Grenade? Certainly where cost is concerned, the pastry (at £1) is best, but you know what? I prefer the Grenade even if I could have three pastries for the price of one Grenade.

Coughlans Oxted... it's not a bad place. Note bike on right

With all this eating going on, I console myself with the fact that I take the bus home for nothing, reducing my weekly fares by £25/week AND I have a good walk (every night) when I get off the bus (around 1.6 miles). If there's torrential rain, as there was earlier in the week, I'll call home and see if I can get a lift.The other day, the heavens opened and I mean opened. Let's just say it was torrential. It was so bad that the bus sent waves of rain water from the gutters on to the pavements, proper breaking waves, it was unbelievable. On that day I asked for a lift and was glad when it came even if I was thinking it had calmed down enough to make completing the walk feasible. So, I've been doing the 1.6-mile walk every week day now for some time, possibly for one month and when I get home the first thing I do is make that toast and marmalade in the kitchen and then take a seat in the living room where I watch either the One Show or the early evening news on the television. Last week I restarted watching Detectorists. I reckon I've seen all series at least four, possibly five times.

Something else I've started up is a trim wheel. I've been rolling backwards and forwards on my Gold's gym trim wheel on and off all week, although I have missed a couple days too, but not today. I'm going to keep it up and I'm also considering swimming too (if I can get my act together to sign up for monthly membership. I just hope I don't have to use the app to book a slot like I had to during the pandemic, which basically meant I never bothered going. That said, a few weeks back I went to a leisure centre and they said the app thing was still the only way to get a swim, which annoyed me, so perhaps I'll stay away. 

It was too early for lunch...

Despite the lack of cycling today and the fact that it's raining and that August looks as if it's going to be just as bad as July, it's turning out to be a really nice day in other respects...although that is partly because, again, I've gone and over-indulged on the cakes. Well, an almond croissant. This morning I noticed that there was a huge Starbucks next door to and M&S Food store so I convinced my wife, pal and saviour (that's just one person by the way) that we should pay a visit, which we did. And while I should have ordered a tea and nothing more I decided to order a cappuccino and the aforementioned almond croissant. It's as if I can't help myself. In fact, less of the 'as if', it's purely a case of I can't help myself. But, forget the croissant and the coffee, it was all about the chat and relaxing and starting to feel good about things in general and now I'm home having 'done the shopping' and I'm sitting at the dining room table, lap top in front of me, another cup of tea and (dare I even mention it) a slice of walnut cake and I'm thinking about nothing in particular. While in M&S I picked up a copy of the Economist only to discover that it was their 'summer special' and cost a ridiculous £9.99. Remember 'Summer Specials'? I'll always remember the Beano and the Dandy summer specials: twice the size of the conventional comics, they invariably featured an illustration on the front cover of a Punch & Judy show on a beach with bright yellow sand and a star fish somewhere to be seen and I loved them because it always meant that the summer holidays were coming and we were off to the beach somewhere on the south coast. Happy days!

I'm hoping tomorrow will be better weather. I think it will be. The plan (as always on a Sunday) is to meet Andy in Westerham. Unfortunately, Andy has aborted the ride so it's to me to motivate myself. Let's see (let's hope). Last week I managed two rides. The first was an interesting one because it started off as just a ride around the block, but extended itself as it went along. So instead of doing the Nobbler I continued up Church Way with a view to doing a Washpond Weeble in reverse. I turned left into Ledgers Road from the 269 but instead of turning left again and heading back home I turned right on Washpond Road and then right again on to Beech Farm Road, travelled the length of it and then hung a left on the 269 riding towards Botley Hill where a stark choice lay before me: do I hang a right on to The Ridge and ride home very Woldingham OR do I go straight ahead and down the hill into Oxted? I chose the latter as I needed a haircut and figured I could kill two birds with one stone. Titsey Hill was fine but when I reached the bottom I found the road to be closed. Fortunately, it was really only closed to cars so I managed to edge past the roadworks and sail safely into to Oxted where, once again, I was tempted by Coughlans bakery and a coconut Bakewell and a cup of tea. Across the road was Oxted Barbers so I nipped in for a quick number three crop and then finished off with another cup of tea (I felt that elated!). The barber only accepted cash and the haircut was £17 - that's up £7 from what it was just a year or two ago. With the remaining three pound coins I decided upon another tea, but not another cake. Unfortunately for me, the only newspaper in the racks was the Daily Mail (exposing the political leanings of Coughlans customers) so I sat in the sunshine reading the awful Boris Johnson's rubbish column in which he stated "Get Rwanda Done" - it was an old copy.

The ride home took me up the very steep Chalkpit Lane. Once at the top I turned left, rode into Woldingham and down Slines Oak Road to the 269 where I turned left and followed the road into Warlingham and then Sanderstead.

On Sunday Andy and I rode to Tatsfield Village and sat outside chatting for over an hour drinking tea and coffee and munching some Biscoff creams (if that's what they're called). Again, I fell at the first fence and went and bought myself a packet. I munched half of it before we rode home and spent the rest of the day feeling slightly guilty.

Last Sunday I rode into Tatsfield Village to meet Andy. He had met with an accident whilst on a short cycling break to the Isle of Wight, but nothing stops Andy, which is good. Thankfully, it was only cuts and bruises, but I don't like it when he meets with an accident especially after his broken hip just over a year ago. Still, he seems fine, which is all that matters.

My exercise during the week was just walking. On one day (I think it was Monday) I walked over six miles but for the rest of the week it was the 1.6-mile walk from the bus stop to home, but that has been a regular fixture for around a month now. 

I drove to Tunbridge Wells this afternoon along a rain-sodden A21. Once there I strolled from the shopping mall down the hill to a music shop close to the station. There was a persistent, drizzling rain, but fortunately it was only around 10 minutes' walk. When I reached the store there were no bass guitars to look at; I've always had a desire to learn how to play one, but (as with everything I want to do) I simply never get around to it or have other things to spend the money on. Other frustrations include the purchase of a Harley Davidson 883 Hugger, although, admittedly, I'm rather glad that little hobby, make that obsession, eluded me as I'd probably be dead now, not that I ever had the spare cash to buy one.

Today's rain was both persistent and sporadic. As I made my way back up the hill towards the mall, the sun was shining, but later, as I drove along the A21 heading home the rain was heavy, so heavy that I had to slow right down. 

Now home I've been listening to BBC Radio London and Gary Crowley's show, all fairly chilled. I need to be chilled now and then as I spend all week working and it's good to be on the stepping stones of Saturday and Sunday before wading back into the maelstrom on Monday. And on that note, I'll sign off.

Random thoughts from Lazyville...

You know when you come across as depressed or down, there's always somebody there to remind you that there are others worse off than you are? Well, there is something flawed about that position as basically it's stating that if, for some reason (or reasons) you're feeling down or depressed or pissed off, that, in reality, you shouldn't be in such a state, that it's wrong, unjustified, unreasonable, and so forth. So, in other words, whatever is bugging you, you shouldn't be depressed or upset or pissed off about it because of old so and so or this or that person who has something 'real' to be worried about. I understand that entirely and I'm sure that everybody who feels a little down or depressed occasionally, knows of somebody who's in a worse position than they are and that those people deserve all the support they can get. Think of those in Ukraine, for example.

I'm in the basement, thinking 'bout the government

I'm feeling aggrieved, depressed, annoyed, angry, pissed off, down and dejected for all sorts of reasons, not least the state of the UK and the awful government which has presided over the country since the days of David Cameron, Britain's third worst Prime Minister next to Boris Johnson and (at the top of the list) Liz Truss. I feel powerless, there's nothing I can do about it and, as I write this, I realise that there are a lot of people in this country who, for want of a better word, (although I realise this will sound very arrogant on my part) are basically ignorant (in my opinion). I'm talking about those who really thought that Boris Johnson was fit to run the country and those who support the current Tory government.

Harry and Meghan 

Then there is all the nonsense surrounding the royal family and in particular Prince Harry and the revelations from his book Spare, which publishes tomorrow. He's really let the side down and for no reason at all. What has he got to moan about in the overall scheme of things? He's got money, he's wealthy, he hasn't got to worry about where the next meal is coming from, he's living in a huge mansion in sunny California, he's married, he has kids and yet he feels the need to moan about his lot when, in the UK at this very moment, there are people who are nowhere near as well off as he struggling to pay their bills, there are people living on the streets and even ordinary, run-of-the-mill people like me dealing with the cost of living crisis, the strikes and so forth.

Why are we all so gullible?

The media is so obsessed with Harry and Meghan because they know that their stories will sell newspapers, it's that simple. And why is that? Because of the gullibility of the British people and, indeed, the people of the world who lap this sort of stuff up, particularly women for some reason who like nothing more than a gossip over a cup of coffee. There's nothing worse than gullibility. Why are we all so gullible? Why are we happy to go out on the days leading up to Christmas to buy stuff from shops, at extortionate prices, and then, a day after 'the big day' the shops that sold us that stuff are suddenly selling things (and the stuff we bought) at up to 60% off? There was I yesterday looking at the goods on offer in a clothes shop in Sevenoaks, a place where I had bought an expensive jumper only a matter of weeks ago, only to discover that everything in the store was now far, far cheaper. Ironically, the jumper I bought was still the same price. Perhaps next year just a small present to put under the tree (for the sake of appearances) and then a return trip to the shop (and others like it) a few days after Christmas to get greater value for money, perhaps two jumpers for the price of one and so on. But no, everybody is gullible. I wonder how many people will buy that awful book by Prince Harry? 

Looking out from Sheree's in Tatsfield Village, 8 January 2023

Cost of living crisis

The cost of living crisis is a nuisance. Every time I go out I have to fill up with petrol, restaurants are now charging extortionate prices (I say 'restaurants' when I mean cafes, snack bars, traditionally low-spend establishments). Tea at almost £3 a cup, sandwiches for around £8 - with a sad-looking salad garnish and some crisps so we all think the high prices are justified. Rail fares are going up. Can you believe that? All of last week there were no trains and we've all been inconvenienced, but they have the audacity to put up the fares, which are already extortionate. Once the weather improves and the evenings get lighter I'm going to ride to work like I did last summer, except I'll start earlier this year and make the most of it. I've bought waterproof trousers and shoes and there's nothing stopping me but my own lack of motivation, which is probably exacerbated by a lack of exercise brought on by the bad weather, those endorphins need to be stimulated but instead I'm sheltering from the rain.

Pot of tea at Sheree's in Tatsfield

Sunday 8th January 2022

Well, not today! Yesterday (Saturday 7th January) I'd checked the iphone weather app and realised that today (Sunday 8th January) there was a window of dryness that would enable Andy and I to get out there and ride the bikes. Now, it's worth pointing out that unlike me, Andy has continued riding throughout the bad weather using his trusty trainer in his garage. I should buy one too but I'm not sure it would provide me with much more motivation than a real bike to get out there and exercise despite what Andy says about how he warms up fairly quickly and even has to shed clothes as his exercise continues. I'm sure that's true. In fact, I know it is because whenever I jump on a stationary bike in a hotel gym I leave the place drenched in my own sweat. It works. But going out into a cold garage on a cold day is not easy and Andy understands this and it's good to know that somebody has my back and wants me to keep fit. Believe me, that means a lot. And the options are there: start swimming, by a trainer device, buy an exercise bike and put it in the conservatory, ride the Nobbler of an evening, all six miles of it, rain or shine, hot or cold. The easiest is the latter and the crucial ingredient is, of course, motivation. The best thing, of course, would be if the bad weather lifted, like it did this morning. I'll say this, I've felt on top of the world today and I put that down to the ride, the exercise. Remember: my last ride prior to this morning was Boxing Day. Something has to be done and Andy's right to bring it up. The other problem, of course, is the dark. If I opt to ride to work (and believe me I've seriously considered it for tomorrow (Monday 9th January) it will mean riding in the dark and that in turn will mean charging up my lights (both of which are USB-chargeable). Then all I need is some high-Viz clothing, but the lights should be enough. Am I going to ride to work in the morning? No, I'm not, but I might just get on the bike and ride the Nobbler when I get back home. It's no more than 35 minutes of hell and then I'll be back in the house with around six miles under my belt and that lovely feeling of achievement.

Tuesday 10 January 2022

It's Tuesday night, it's raining and I haven't been out since Sunday. I've checked out gym/swim membership at a leisure centre close to where I work, it's £34/month, not bad when you consider I could spend £8 per day on lunches, totalling £45 in a week, so if I take sandwiches then I save and can spend the money on the membership. But will I go? Or won't I? I might start off with all the good intentions, but then things will fall by the wayside and I'll stop, like most people do. I might not, of course, and if I can go just three times a week (and throw in a couple of lunch time swims while I'm at it) then it could be worthwhile. And when the days brighten I can ride to work and all will be well with the world. I might not need the membership for more than a couple of months. Either way I need to act, perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, I can't do anything as it's Tuesday night, it's 1919hrs and I'm waiting for dinner. I'm hungry. I've already eaten a toasted Marmite sandwich, two slices of toast and honey, one hot cross bun and that's all because I only had a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and a cup of tomato and basil soup. I don't know why I ate so much on coming through the door, but I did and, fortunately, that hot cross bun has done the trick. I won't eat any more until dinner is ready, in about 40 minutes or so (chilli con carne with rice). Then I'll be fine, I'll probably have my Snore & Peace tea, watch the box (or read) and then hit the sack.

Lord Chatham's ride: a big disappointment

Having studied my maps and discovered Lord Chatham's Ride, I've been champing at the bit for some time, fired up with the thought of experiencing what looks like a great ride through the woods. So, while I've had a couple of false starts over the past few weeks, yesterday (Saturday) I took the plunge after a pretty piss poor week, managing to miss my target of a respectable 70 miles by around three miles. I even considered going out and doing one lap of the Norfolk Nobbler just to knock me across the line, but then I thought no, what's the point? Just accept you've not been as fortunate this week when compared to last and crack on. The chances are that next week's rides will be good as the bank holiday Monday gives me the chance to get out there on a day when I would normally be going to work. In other words, I reckon I'll make the 80-mile marker at the end of the coming week, who knows?

Will I find Lord Chatham's Ride?

It's important to point out that while I didn't cycle until Friday (giving me a Sunday/Friday/Saturday scenario that totalled just over 67 miles) I did engage in other forms of exercise, namely walking, which is really exhausting. I was clocking up five miles per day, so 15 in total between Monday and Wednesday. On Thursday, rather than ride the Washpond Weeble (which was the plan) I mowed the lawn with my new Mountfield Princess 42-inch Rotary Mower (with rear roller). The grass looks amazing and once again I must take my hat off to my dear old dad, God rest his soul, for telling me once, many years ago, that my garden was my gym; he was right, it gave me a good work-out on Thursday afternoon as I mowed the front and back lawns and got the shears out to trim the edges, and don't forget, the grass hadn't been cut for a while so I was up and down the lawn like a yo-yo. I tell you what, though, it looks fantastic and afterwards I was whacked out. So, walking, lawn mowing and then on Friday a Washpond Weeble - during which I spotted some weird-looking stuffed scarecrows - saw me in reasonable shape for Saturday's ride.

This ain't Lord Chatham's Ride...

I left the house at 0905hrs and there was no rain, it was warm and fairly bright, although cooler than of late to be fair. I followed the slow way route to Westerham, along Beddlestead Lane, and then down Clarks Lane, but not riding down the hill towards Pilgrims Lane as usual. I had to go via Knockholt. Andy and my only recollection of riding to Knockholt (in pre-blog days, pre-2009) was driving rain and a punishing hill as we followed Sundridge Lane to Main Road, having riden along Pilgrims Lane from the bottom of Clarks Lane as it turns towards Westerham. There is only a village hall and a general stores in Knockholt. Oddly, the last time I was there (a couple of weeks ago, alone) there was more driving rain and I was soaked through, with only a Snickers bar and bottle of mineral water to keep me company. I remember standing in the pouring rain munching on the Snickers bar (I prefer to call them Marathon bars). While it was raining hard (and didn't really stop) it wasn't cold so it was little bother. Somewhere along the line I've digressed and lost my thread, all I'm really trying to say is that there's no need to encounter hills on a ride to Knockholt from where I live; not if I follow the wooded road that leads to the Park Wood Golf Course from close to the Tatsfield churchyard and then take the left fork and follow it until it meets Westerham Hill. I then cross the road and follow Grays Road or Grays Lane, can't remember it's exact name, towards the beginning of Main Road and then I kind of roll into town, well, Knockholt. 

...nor is this

Unfortunately, there's no caff in Knockholt or Knockholt Pound, for that matter, although they are really one and the same, but it's in the latter that I found Chevening Lane. I knew it would lead me to Lord Chatham's Ride, but I was to be disappointed. Chevening Lane was a No Through Road and for good reason: at the end of it there was Chevening House which, if I recall, is the country seat of the Foreign Secretary (currently Dominic Raab). So when I reached the end of the road where I was expecting to find a big sign proclaiming (in neon lights) 'Lord Chatham's Ride', all I found was a gate saying 'private, no entry' or words to that effect. It was very disappointing as I was hoping I'd have a story to tell Andy, but it wasn't to be. There was, however, a footpath that was probably not open to cyclists as it proved very hard to get the bike through the initial gate (and subsequent gates). Once through I was initially riding on a track with corn fields on one side and woods on the other. I met a few walkers on the way, none of whom seem bothered by my presence. Could this be the way to Lord Chatham's Ride? No, but it was the beginning of a complex network of bumpy, root-laden tracks through thick, dark woods. Some of the tracks were dead ends and others led me round in circles. The bike took a bit of a beating if I'm honest and eventually, fed up with the whole thing and realising that if Lord Chatham's Ride existed at all it was behind the locked gates and within the grounds of Chevening House, I decided to give up, which wasn't easy. There was a tall metal gate that I heaved my bike over, but I had to leave it hanging by it's front wheel until I used the adjoining walkers' gate to escape the depressing wood. I unhooked the bike from the larger gate and rode into Knockholt for a second time (why I don't know) and decided - after considering a further two-mile ride into Dunton Green - to go home instead. I had contemplated Bojangles for tea and cake, but the misery of not being able to tackle Lord Chatham's ride had depressed me somewhat and I preferred the idea of just going home and forgetting about it. 

Escaping the woods!

Tea and cake at Sheree's Tearoom made things a lot better

Instead of retracing my steps along the private road that led to the Park Wood Golf Club, I followed road signs on a parallel road to Tatsfield and found myself on a hilly up and down country lane that plonked me bang in the centre of the village, which was bustling with cyclists and villagers. Andy and I are normally in the village early in the morning, back in the day, sitting inside the wooden bus shelter munching biscuits and drinking tea from a flask. Sheree's Tearoom is normally closed, but now, at around noon, it was busy with cyclists some of whom sat on the wooden tables on the green while others sat outside the tearoom, their bikes parked in front of it. It all seemed very agreeable so I stopped for tea and lemon cake and sat at a wooden table overlooking the lake. I phoned home to let them know where I was and then, after eating the cake and drinking the tea I rode out of Tatsfield following the usual route towards Botley Hill, but turned left on to The Ridge and followed the road into Woldingham, not looking forward to the steep but manageable hill at the far end of Slines Oak Road. I was home around 1300hrs.

One of many sinister roadside figures

On Friday, incidentally, I managed a Washpond Weeble in the morning, leaving the house at 1037hrs and getting home just before noon. I had made a snap decision to take the day off and that meant I could get the ride out of the way early and not feel tired and weary and demotivated, as I tend to feel around 4pm when a ride looms. I'm not saying I don't like cycling (I love it) but the Washpond Weeble, while pleasant, is a fitness ride, not so much a leisure ride (like riding to Westerham to meet Andy). While out I noticed that some people had made these strangely sinister stuffed figures and left them outside their houses or in fields. It was like something out of a horror movie (see photos for evidence).

Why was the road closed? Flytippers, that's why. But bikes not affected.

The Washpond Weeble is far better than doing the Norfolk Nobbler, which is restricted to suburban streets, but that extra 2.5 miles often makes me think (certainly if it's late in the day) that perhaps I'll just do five miles or, better still, nothing whatsover; instead I'll take a drive to Oxted and have a Millionaire's Shortbread in Caffe Nero or Costa. There's nothing worse than feeling tired and weary because it lurches towards despairing, feeling pointless and trapped and worthless and when I feel like that the last thing I want to do is jump on the bike. Ironically, however, jumping on the bike and riding for roughly one hour cures me so it's worth pushing myself when feeling down and getting out there.

Dunton Green? No, I'll go home...

And now it's bank holiday Monday and while it's looking a little overcast outside and I remember hearing heavy winds last night while I lay in bed, there doesn't appear to be any sign of rain, which is good as Andy and I are meeting again at Westerham and it's all seriously good news for this coming week's mileage. Yes, I missed my respectable 70 miles last week, but with today's ride I'm a good position to push things into the 90 miles bracket, and one more Westerham would take me over 100 miles, so here's hoping.

It's now Tuesday evening and I'm contemplating riding to work tomorrow. I don't know why I'm thinking about it because it ain't going to happen. I've yet to kick myself into gear on cycling to work and soon the clocks will go back, the nights will draw in and the time available to go cycling will be limited, which is very depressing. Winter will be winging it's way and soon there will be cheap tinsel Christmas trees in shop windows and people will be counting the shopping days until Christmas and all the greedy bastards will be ordering huge turkeys from the supermarket and stockpiling Paxo and then toilet rolls when it becomes obvious that Boris Johnson's gamble with the public's health was just that, a gamble. We'll all be in lockdown again and our mop-topped nutter of a Prime Minister will be stuttering out his excuses to a gullible public who will quite happily vote the nutter into office for another five years, whenever the next General Election is due. It's a long way off, but that makes it all even more depressing.

A view of Tatsfield pond while munching lemon cake and drinking tea

... and I did get out there! I rode to Westerham and there was no rain!

My last post was pretty depressing if the truth be known. I'd woken up and not really given any thought to riding the bike until I saw raindrops hitting the birdbath and that made me feel a little down. I almost resigned myself to not riding today (see previous post) but then things started to brighten a little and while there were spits of rain when I eventually plucked up the courage to get out there, the weather was fairly pleasant. It was warm for a start, which always helps, and while I did feel the odd drop of rain occasionally, the ride was perfect. 

Inside Costa Saturday morning

Having not riden since last Sunday I felt uncharacteristically energetic as I bombed along Ellenbridge in preparation for the climb of Church Way and when I reached the top I sailed through the churchyard, along a short stretch of Onslow Gardens and then right into Blenheim. A right turn and then a left and I was on the Limpsfield Road heading for Warlingham Green and then onwards towards the roundabout at Chelsham, just past Sainsbury's. From there I followed the country lanes which wound their way towards St. Leonards church and then I took the plunge and headed down Hesiers Hill towards Beddlestead where the ferns cascaded on to the road and where the occasional Lycra monkey whirred past me.

I take Beddlestead in my stride these days, but it's still fairly long and the whole thing is a hill. But soon it was over and I turned left on to Clarks Lane and rode downhill into Westerham. I noted that Pilgrims Lane was closed so I had to follow the traditional route into town and when I got there it was its usual self: lots of people milling around, queuing for a Costa, sitting on the green or looking in shop windows.

I know I was moaning about my diet in the last post, but that didn't stop me weakening and ordering an English Breakfast tea with a cinnamon brioche bun. I sat indoors, keeping a weather eye on the bike that rested outside and enjoyed my tea and bun. I could have sat there all day if the truth be known, but I knew I'd have to be getting back. There weren't that many people there: straight ahead of me two men were chatting. I think they were old pals catching up. To my right at roughly one o'clock was a couple, a man and a woman, who didn't seem to have much to say to each other. The woman had long blonde hair and the man a kind of grey/black Brillo pad. There were two young girls sitting at roughly ten o'clock and at nine o'clock a couple with a toddler who ordered some kind of breakfast bap each along with a drink. To my right, or at roughly three o'clock, a solitary man and that was it apart from those queuing.

Tea and a cinnamon brioche bun...

In the end I plucked up the courage to leave and found myself riding out of Westerham following the same road I came in on. The hill was fine and soon I reached the roundabout close to Botley Hill and had to debate whether or not to follow The Ridge into Woldingham. I decided to risk the 269 instead and soon I was in Sanderstead High Street and then back in Blenheim, Church Way, Ellenbridge and home. 

It never rained. Alright, there was the odd spit, but nothing more and now I'm home and penning this unusual second post in one day. Total mileage today was 22.21 miles, add that to the 12.32 and you get my weekly total of 34.53 miles. Not brilliant, but I'll improve on that next week.

On Sunday the weather improved considerably and I rode to Westerham again to meet Andy who was back from his holiday in Cornwall. We chatted again about Andy's 'dawn to dusk' plan and I started to warm to the idea myself. Once again, I decided not to ride home via The Ridge and instead risked the 269. I was home around 1100hrs and then got cracking on mowing the lawn. The weather was fantastic yesterday and the only disappointment was England losing in the Euro 2020 final on penalties. We scored first, making it 1-0, the Italians equalised and then there was extra time followed by the penalties and of course we lost, we always do. Better luck next time, England.

A few thoughts on the past week...

I've slowed down on writing for this blog and put it down to writing 'other stuff'. With lockdown it's fair to say that nothing much has happened. I've been working from home for most of the day, I throw in a walk at lunch time and then after work, which is around 1630hrs, I might go for a ride on the bike. The week before last I managed 81 miles. This past week just 22 miles, but that was deliberate. For some reason I was tired and thought I'd give it a miss, which I did. I should have gone out on Saturday, to Westerham, but instead I slobbed around and didn't ride again until Sunday when I met Andy in the Northern Kent market town. Our habits are changing. For a start, we only meet once a week, on a Sunday, but we also meet at our destination rather than at Warlingham Green and now there's a new habit: not bringing tea along on the ride. For the past God knows how long I've been humping a huge Stanley flask of hot water all the way to wherever we're going, but over the past few weeks that flask is now staying in the house. Instead, a large English breakfast tea and an almond croissant and a cappuccino and almond croissant for Andy.

But nothing else has changed. Our conversations are still in good shape. In the past fortnight we've discussed Harley Davidson motorcycles, mainly because a whole bunch of them turn up and park outside the Costa. Andy doesn't like them. I do like them. Andy says they're old man's bikes. They are. Harley riders invariably have grey hair and beards or no hair and beards and they all wear the uniform, trying to look like hard men and that's where the problem arises. They're not in America and that, of course, is the issue. You have to be in America to ride a Harley in my opinion. Over here they look out of place. Andy's other gripe is that technologically they're pretty much old hat and they're heavy and, he says, the engine and gear box are separate. Andy says they've missed a trick and that their demographic is old blokes, they're not appealing to younger riders. Andy says he'd get a Royal Enfield if he did buy a bike again. Me? I like the Harley, I'm afraid. I'd probably spend more time polishing it than riding it, but I'd have an 883 Hugger with buckhorn bars. I like 'the traditional Harley rumble' and that's really it: I want to make a lot of noise on a highly polished motorcycle.

Not quite finished, I still had a lot of raking to do and the edges

Last Sunday we discussed something a little more boring: social media, well, Linkedin specifically and who knows what we'll be discussing this coming Sunday, which is still a way off (I'm writing this on Tuesday 13 April). Yesterday I went back to the office for the day, working from 0800hrs to 1700hrs with a half hour lunch break. Today I'm back home again and will be for the next fortnight and then I return to the office for a day and things will go on like that until the lockdown eases completely. It was good to be back in the office and I managed to get a fair bit of work done, which was good and when I left I felt good, which was something.

I'm still watching movies on Prime every night, sometimes two movies a night. It's an escapism thing. I'm trying to escape the monotony of everything, which is hard. I'm largely watching indie movies, American indie movies, but I've also watched a few mainstream movies too, like The Intern with Robert De Niro and Anne Hathaway and Bucket List with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. It all amounts to the same thing: escapism. I sit there with my camomile tea and then hit the sack some time between 2300hrs and 2330hrs.

Our blossom tree is in bloom...

Weatherwise, things are improving. We're now operating on British Summer Time, there are blossoms on the trees and the weather is warming up, although, having said that, as I drove to work yesterday (12 April 2021) there were blizzard conditions. It snowed hard for most of the morning and stopped by lunch time. On Sunday (11 April) I managed to mow my rear lawn and managed to get it all done before the snow hit, which was good going. It's trimmed and so are 'the edges' and it's looking good. Mowing the lawn will be a major part of my life now until October. I don't mind doing it if the weather's pleasant, but we'll need a new mower one of these days.

And hopefully cycling will also start to pick up a little. The bike is fine and I've been enjoying the rides both with Andy on Sundays and alone midweek. The VeloBarn has reopened but apparently you have to log on with the test and trace app and all that mularkey so I'm avoiding it and sticking with Costa or the Tudor Rose in Westerham, the latter open for takeaways on a Saturday morning.

Not much else to report at the moment.

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.