More meaningless words...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gotta go!

London to Dusseldorf by train...

The day, Wednesday 31st May 2023, started with a negative edge in the shape of a train strike. I don't even know why there was a strike. I thought things had been sorted out weeks ago. But no, they clearly haven't been, and as far as I knew when I woke up, the strike was total and there was no way I was going to get a straightforward ride into town from my local station, a mere seven minutes' walk from where I live. I don't like taking taxis at the best of times: first, I think they're a rip-off and should only be used if absolutely necessary, like last month's trip to Detroit, which started with a cab ride because I had too much 'stuff' to carry. But when it's just a suitcase, depending on its weight, I prefer public transport, not that it was on offer. 

"I haven't got a cab for at least an hour," said the man at the other end of the telephone when I called my local cab company. Fine, I'll have to work something out. Another reason not to like taking a cab is the racist small talk. I don't want to listen to some Brexiteer moaning about the Mayor of London or referring to the capital as 'Londonistan'.

31/5/23 leaving London at 1104hrs.

I managed to get a lift to East Croydon (from where there were no trains) but I had already figured on using the Tramlink service to Wimbledon and then jumping on a tube train from there, all the way to St. Pancras International. I was supposed to 'tap in' with my debit card before I boarded the tram (I later discovered) but had been told otherwise by a woman on the platform; and I'm now starting to wonder whether she deliberately fed me with duff information, she was, after all, a seasoned tram user herself (or so I initially thought) and should have told me to tap in on the platform, like she had probably done. Anyway, it was all academic as the inspectors rarely jump on the tram (a friendly postman told me) and it turned out he was right. In other words I managed to dodge the fare all the way to Wimbledon and that was simply because I didn't want to risk getting up, running to the tap-in point on the platform and then missing the train and watching it pull out of the station with my suitcase full of clothes and a laptop. I think I would have preferred a fine to that awful fate. Still, it never happened and I jumped on to the platform at Wimbledon to discover (much to my surprise) that there were trains from Wimbledon into town. Good old South West Trains, I thought. I was advised to alight at Vauxhall, change to the Victoria Line and ride all the way to King's Cross, which is what I did. Perfect! 

I had arrived with loads of time to spare, but then again, not really. They were already beckoning people travelling on the 1104 to Amsterdam to 'go through security' so in I went and soon I emerged on the other side. I was up very early, something crazy like 0500hrs, so five hours later I was in need of sustenance and a cup of tea. I also invested in an almond croissant, but I started to wish I hadn't. Sometimes I wonder if I need to eat or whether it's a comfort thing. My sister called. We talked about mum who had fallen over again, she's fine though. I then sat there awaiting the time for boarding and soon I was travelling up to platform 9 on the moving walkway and looking forward to taking my seat in coach four (seat 98). Everything was smooth-running. Eurostar, incidentally, was not on strike. I was travelling to Brussels Midi and the plan was to pick up another train to Dusseldorf from Köln (Cologne). 

A beer in Brussels

As I emerged from the tunnel and found myself on the European side of the English Channel I noted, as always, that the roads were empty. We whistled through Calais Frethun, a station I remember from a trip I took some time ago when editing another magazine. I remember sitting there on the lonely, quiet and virtually empty station drinking a bottle of Kronenbourg 1664. I can't remember where I was going or why, but I'll always remember the desolation of the platform and a strange sense of being stranded in the middle of nowhere. 

It's been four years since I was last in Brussels just ahead of the lockdown. I think it was November 2019. I remember looking at watches in a Swatch shop and eventually buying one (in London) that I'd seen while in Belgium's capital city (at least I think it's the capital city). 

I decided not to get the 1425 train, which ultimately stopped at Frankfurt and was about to depart for Dusseldorf from platform 3. Instead I waited for the 1622, which would get me into Dusseldorf at 1900hrs. My decision was influenced by the fact that I couldn't book a seat, it was too late for that, and I didn't fancy all the potential grief of standing up and not being able to sit down. A seven o'clock arrival time was still early in my book. It was, therefore, time for lunch in La Brasserie de la Gare across the road from Brussels Midi station. I'd been there before, although I know not when, but certainly pre-pandemic. I ordered a pasta dish, which was very pleasant, and two small bottles of Leffe 00, which turned out to be very nice indeed. The sun was shining down, there were blue skies and, as it was only hours away from being June, I guess it was the perfect summer's day.

Waiting for the Koln train...

I needed to buy an adaptor but couldn't find a shop that sold them and almost risked missing my train, so I pulled myself together and vowed to check out the electronics shops in Dusseldorf if there was time. There wasn't. There never is. The journey was pleasant, mainly because nobody was sitting next to me, although I didn't have a full window, which was annoying. I sat there reading Murakami, eating a Twix and drinking English Breakfast tea from a paper mug. Having experienced the journey before by train I immediately remembered Liege when the train arrived. I remembered Aachen station from a trip I took ages and ages ago; I think I was en route to Dortmund and then a place called Ludenscheid (that was a drunken trip if I recall. I was 19 years old). I stayed in the Hotel Zum Adler and probably still have the receipt as I think it was my first ever trip abroad way, way back in the mists of time.

The train took me as far as Köln and I had a 15-minute wait for a local train to Dusseldorf, arriving around 1900hrs.

It was good to be back in my favourite German city and I wasted no time in walking to the Novum Madison Hotel from where I write this post. It's not a flash hotel by any means, but I've stayed here before (during a very hot summer's week in June 2019) and it was all I needed. I'm not one for flash hotels, can't stand them, especially those huge corporate places full of suits. Don't get me wrong, the Madison is not dirty or down at heel in any way, it's just an average hotel close to the central station and it offers proper room keys, none of that key card crapola. The check-in was easy and I took the small and silent lift to the third floor and room 304, which was literally on my right as I stepped out. I felt a bit miffed at the fact that my room was so close to the elevator as it meant that I would hear everybody who passed my door, even if they arrived late or were coming back from some drunken revelry in the early hours. Again, I wasn't really bothered as it's quite pleasant lying there in the dark listening to the comings and goings of strangers. I remember once, in a Quality Inn on the wrong side of town in Pittsburgh, listening to a couple arguing in the next room. I wondered whether one or both of them were packing pieces and whether the sound of gunfire might have disturbed the peace of the early morning. Nothing happened. 

Room 304, Novum Madison

My room at the Madison was very similar to the room I had here four years ago – in fact it was identical – and for a while I thought it was the same room, but it wasn't as the room I had in 2019 (room 416) overlooked Karlstrasse, the road on which my favourite restaurant, Da Bruno, resides. Check out how similar the two rooms are by clicking here.

After sorting myself out – and by that I mean putting all my clothes in the wardrobe and kind of 'setting up shop' – I was ready to go out and have dinner. Da Bruno hasn't changed a bit. In fact it's the same people running it and they remembered me, which is always good. They do have more competition than when I was here last. For a start, the sex supermarket across the road has gone and has thankfully been replaced by a restaurant, and there were two or three new eateries virtually next door. I had the strange feeling that they wouldn't be as good as Da Bruno so I didn't bother investigating. I certainly had no intention of 'pulling up a chair' as I was intent on enjoying 'my favourite restaurant'. By and large, it hasn't really changed, although I did wonder about the portion sizes. I ordered Parma ham and melon – yes, I know, a very dated dish if ever there was one, and I swear it was smaller and less impressive than the same dish I ordered four years earlier. It wasn't worth complaining about. In fact, less ham is far better for me, so I accepted it, not that I would have said anything. For mains I chose pappardelle with mushrooms and I didn't bother with dessert. I took the liberty of booking a table (for one) for the following night (tonight) at 2000hrs as I really can't be bothered to go trawling around the city looking for somewhere decent to eat. Perhaps I should do that, I've done it many times before but have always ended up settling for second best and then feeling disappointed and eager to pay up and get back to the hotel. It's currently 1921hrs, so in around 40 minutes from now I'll be heading on over there. Perhaps Da Bruno had simply lost the pizzazz of presentation, perhaps there had been a change of chef, I don't know, but it was still my favourite restaurant whichever way I looked at it even if the mushrooms in my pasta dish were just bog standard, nothing special, which, perhaps, they might have been four years earlier. In truth I don't know.

View from room 304

Today is Thursday. I spent most of Wednesday travelling and I'll be honest, I prefer it to flying. Cost-wise there's not much in it. The 188 Euros I spent on a return ticket to Dusseldorf from Brussels was less than the two £80 + taxis I would have needed to ferry me to and from the airport – and I would definitely have taken a taxi to the airport yesterday rather than endure public transport during a strike (the ride to St Pancras sans strike is a doddle depending on how much luggage I have and how heavy it is).

A sleepless night awaited me. I awoke around 0200hrs – I didn't know what time it was until I turned on the television as my iphone had run out of power and I didn't have a watch. I remember looking at my watch before I left home and thinking 'do I need it?' No, I must have thought. Note to self: always wear a watch on foreign trips.

Having woken up in the very early hours, I spent a fretful time hoping that if I did fall asleep I would wake up in time to get a train to Mönchengladbach. I was worried about the journey because I couldn't find a thing on Trainline and started to think there might be some kind of problem. So I drifted in and out of sleep, having strange dreams I can barely remember in great detail. I was out of bed by around 0530hrs, but then I simply lay there until around 0600hrs when I had a shower, shaved and got ready for the day ahead.

Starter at Da Bruno

Breakfast was fine: a bowl of cereal with added strawberry yoghurt plus two mini pastries and a mug of green tea. As I sat there, in a kind of sleepy daze, a bespectacled old crab appeared in front of me and started to berate me for leaving the water tap on when I made my tea. In all honesty I'm not sure this is 100% true as it's a natural reaction to turn the tap off, ie stop the flow of water, before removing the cup, which is what I did; so whether it somehow came on without my knowledge after I'd gone back to my table, I'll never know. But basically I took the bollocking, if that's what it was. Well, it wasn't so much a bollocking, just her telling me I did it and me sitting there looking dazed and confused and dressed like a clown with huge red shoes and a red nose (not really). Rather than continue sitting there on a kind of metaphorical 'naughty step' I got up and left.

Breakfast over I headed for Dusseldorf Central Station, mere minutes from the Madison, and jumped aboard the 0848 train to Mönchengladbach after spending a considerable amount of time messing around with the ticket vending machine. I spent most of the day in a meeting before walking a good 7km from the meeting place back to the railway station in the afternoon heat, hoping for the joy of a friendly gust of wind, always most welcomed in the summer heat. I took a suburban train back to Dusseldorf and then, after a little bit of work, I went out for my second sitting at Da Bruno. Today I ordered Mozzarella with tomato followed by a rather staid-looking spaghetti bolognaise and finished off with tiramisu. Yes, I wish I hadn't bothered with dessert, and because I was feeling so guilty about it I decided to walk to the Alt Stadt (old town). I reached the Rhine, took a photograph and then walked back and now I am in my hotel room, tired and ready for bed. I hope I burned off a few calories to compensate for that dessert. I'd better hit the sack. I need to be out of the hotel before noon as that's when my train for Köln departs. It's 2245 as I write this and I have my phone working again so I can set an alarm, although I don't really need to as there's no work tomorrow. I'll probably take a wander around town but in a different direction, check out a few shops, possibly have a coffee somewhere (I've been drinking a lot of English Breakfast tea) and then head for the station which, as I said, is but a five-minute walk from the hotel. It'll be a long day tomorrow but not half as stressful as flying. I'll sit on board the train, I've got a book to read, I don't need to be preoccupied with a flight and what's going on outside the window, I can just relax and chill, which is all I really want to do.

On my way to the old town after dinner, burning calories...

It's now Friday morning, 2nd June 2023 and it's 0602hrs. I'm going to throw some warm water over my face and then head down for breakfast. After that it's anyone's guess what I'll do next. I'll definitely pack things away and then check out and I'll probably leave my luggage with the concierge, not that there is a concierge at the Madison, it'll be whoever is on the front desk. Lots of hotels don't have a concierge and the word is often used in connection with leaving bags to be picked up later. I'm looking forward to the journey home because trains are involved. I don't have to be there two hours before take-off, I don't have to take the Sky Train to the airport, go through security, keep an eye on the weather, there's nothing fretful apart from the trains being late, which I hope they won't be. Germany's pretty good on stuff like punctuality, but let's not count chickens.

Maxplatz...

I often ask myself why I like Dusseldorf and why I refer to it as my 'favourite city'. One reason is its closeness to the UK. A flight from London varies from 55 to 70 minutes and once you land it's only a short journey to the centre of town, unlike the deal in London when you've got an expensive taxi ride into town. Then there's the fact that it's relatively safe here, that's why I wandered alone towards the old town last night. People are out enjoying themselves in the bars and restaurants that line the streets. Last night my stroll started on Bismarckstrasse – now that's an interesting road – and I walked in roughly a straight line all the way down to the Rhine and then back again. I've stayed in a few hotels here too, the Burns Art Hotel, the Friends hotel and the Mercure, and probably others too, and they've all been pleasant. Then there's my favourite restaurant and, of course, the generally friendly vibe of the city. I used to say my favourite city was Portland, Oregon, because of Powell's Books, the world's biggest bookstore and for other reasons, such as the Ace Hotel on First Avenue, but I haven't had cause to return and things, sadly, have taken a turn for the worse, thanks to Fentanyl addiction and possibly other forms of dereliction. I've been watching a few reports on YouTube and it's sad to see a city fall from grace in such a big way, but that won't stop me returning there one day, if only to spend the night in the Ace Hotel. I'd better get ready for breakfast.

I reached the Rhine as the sun started to set...

"Plans that either came to naught..."

 Arguably one of the best songs ever written was Time by Pink Floyd on their Dark Side of the Moon album. The headline of this article is taken from the lyrics. It's relevant because this week I had great plans for daily exercise, but they were thwarted by 'stuff', they were plans that came to naught.

I now have to work three days a week away from home, meaning I get up at the crack of dawn to be at my desk by 0800hrs. To achieve this, the best bet is to walk from my house to Purley station, that's around 2.5 miles and takes me something like 40 minutes. There's a train at 0734hrs, which means I need to leave the house before 0700hrs to have any chance of catching it; and there's also a high probability that the train will be cancelled. I can do the whole thing around 30 minutes later, catching instead the 0804hrs train and being at my desk around 0830hrs.

Cutting down on bread led to me to a chilli jacket potato at the caff.

Before leaving the house I need to eat breakfast, so any thought of riding before I eat is just crazy. I'd have to get up at 0500hrs, leave the house by 0530hrs and then I'd get back around 0645 (when I should be leaving the house to catch the 0734. If I hung around for the 0804hrs train there would be a window of around 15 to 20 minutes to eat breakfast and get showered, unless I changed my routine and showered and shaved the night before, but that's always a bit hit and miss. The only way to get a ride in between Monday and Wednesday is to do it in the evening after returning from work and while that's possible, as the nights draw in and the clocks go back it's going to be out of the question: cycling is not without its dangers, we all know that, but night riding just adds to the problem. 

This sickly bun in Filtr made me rethink what I was eating.

Let's face it, we've got rain, snow and cold weather to look forward to, plus dark nights and dark mornings and it's going to drag on for months. I hate it. The only way, possibly, to get a ride in while working is to ride to work, but for how long? The clocks go back next month. I need to check what kind of cycling I was doing last winter and that might help me plan for the next six months. Last winter I seemed to be fine in October, but things sloped off a bit in November, there's a lot of 'If I ride after work then I might put in a respectable mileage' and indications that weekly mileage nose-dived to under 50 miles, thwarted by the rain, and this post in November 2020 rather sums it up (click here), the headline reads 'Not riding as much...'. It all makes me wonder what I should do. That November post suggests I shouldn't fret about it so I'll do my best on that front. I've thought about joining a gym or starting swimming again or just blending walking with cycling. 

The bike outside of Filtr, Sanderstead

On the positive side, winters are fairly mild and last year I was riding to the Velobarn late in the year and sitting outside with a cappuccino reading Consider This, by the author of Fight Club (Chuck Palahniuk) - a book I found very inspiring - so I mustn't lose hope on this, I've just got to get in as many rides as possible, increase the walking and possibly even look at swimming, although I think I'll hold out on the winter being mild (thanks to global warming!). Andy talks about buying some kind of contraption, hooking it up on the old Kona and then working out in the garage when it's raining. It's not a bad idea, although 'the old Kona' is in a severe state of disrepair. I think I'll maintain as positive an attitude as is humanely possible, get out there as often as I can and try to do local rides, like the Norfolk Nobbler.

Looking at last December's rides, I managed a trip to Sevenoaks so things weren't too bad (click here for more). 

This week, the long and the short of it was this: I had intended to ride daily, but things got in the way. Monday was the first day back at work so the whole 'ride to work' thing was out of the question (too much to carry). However, I took Monday off so you might think getting a ride in would be a piece of cake, no sir! For a start, I took the day off for a reason: to paint the bathroom. I thought I'd get it all done by around 4pm and then I'd scoot off for a ride to Westerham, but it was not to be. Why? Because I was still hard at it around 6pm and, as usual, there was all the clearing up to do and washing the brushes. In short, I never had the time to do anything else.  The plan was then to start on Tuesday, but that wasn't to be either (I went out for a meal (at Cucina, Oxted) and was picked up at Purley station, no chance of a ride). Wednesday? Nope, just being at work put paid to that and I didn't leave at 4pm (I never do). So it was all down to Thursday and Friday and thank God I did that, I rode the Washpond Weeble on both days and, as I write this I'm about to embark upon a ride to Westerham; I should be able to put in respectable weekly mileage. But listen, it's not to do with now, it's to do with the coming weeks when the days draw in, the temperature drops and the heavens open. I guess I'm just going to have to deal with it. The truth of the matter is pretty simple: stop moaning and get on with it (as my dad used to say). Incidentally, it would have been dad's 92nd birthday last week (8 September).

I ought to explain the photographs

The first one, of chilli con carne on top of a jacket potato was my lunch at the caff during the week. Last Sunday while chilling in Costa Coffee in Westerham, Andy and I spoke about dieting and exercise and I said I was going to stop eating bread and buns. Well, I kept up the buns and I won't be having one later when I arrive in Westerham on my Saturday morning ride, but I weakened on the bread (yesterday, Friday) and I had toast and honey for breakfast this morning. However, the odd bit of bread is fine. I also had a couple of cheese rolls for lunch yesterday. No, the key thing is not to eat cakes and so far I've managed, in fact I don't see there being a problem. So the chilli con carne and jacket potato was instead of my usual chicken fillet baguette and yes, I know, I would have been far better off with the chicken baguette. The next photograph, the one of the bun and the cup of tea in Filtr in Sanderstead High Street, was taken after a Washpond Weeble last week the week before last. The bun was so sticky and awful that it prompted me to weigh myself the following morning. I was 13 stone! Shite! 13 stone! That realisation led to the diet conversation with Andy last Sunday and during the week just past I did well, trying not to eat in between meals (but that was another reason for that jacket and chilli: I hadn't nibbled biscuits or anything so I figured a decent lunch would prevent me snacking in the afternoon. I hasten to add that my stomach felt a little dodgy after that chilli. The shot of the bike outside of Filtr is just that, nothing special, just saying, perhaps, that I had just rode the Weeble, perhaps a justification for the bun, but there's no justification for the bun at all and that's why, for the past week, just over, I've stopped cakes and biscuits and wrapped chocolate bars (like Twix, Wispa, Twirl etc).

This morning I rode the slow way to Westerham, following Beddlestead Lane and then branching off of Clarks Lane and on to Pilgrims Lane. I turned right on Westerham Hill and followed the road into town where I stopped at the Costa, took a seat by the window and sat there gently sipping my large English Breakfast tea while listening to the chilled out music being piped through the sound system, so relaxing. I didn't want to get back on the bike, but I did, riding back the way I came and turning left on to Pilgrims Lane. I followed Clarks Lane to the Botley Hill roundabout, hung a left on The Ridge and rode through Woldingham, tackling with ease the steep hill at the 269 end of Slines Oak Road and then riding into Warlingham and then Sanderstead and home. It's now just gone 1pm, I'm alone in the house just finishing off this blogpost, which I'd earlier checked on my iphone while in Costa and found it wanting. Hopefully it now reads fine.

Lockdown, Part 29: Getting the bike back from the shop...

I've had a week without the bike. A whole week of not cycling. And while I said in a previous post that a bike equals freedom, there's something free about not having one too. Everytime I started to feel guilty about not getting exercise, I remembered that I didn't have a bike and, therefore, it didn't matter. I substituted cycling with walking, but I never kept it up and eventually any kind of fitness regimen I might have thought I had, crumbled around me and I simply got on with being a slob. It's amazing how quickly you forget 'being fit', although I'm guessing that a week out of the saddle is meaningless in terms of 'losing fitness'. That said, I think it's the case that when you stop exercising you very quickly find yourself out of condition. The downwards spiral develops quicker than the upwards one, I'm told, which is, of course, the essence of Sod's Law, like when you drop a slice of toast it always lands butter side down. The only thing I did notice about not exercising, having cycled almost daily since lockdown, is that I get depressed quicker than when I was keeping fit. It's easier to despair and to think the worst and to fall off the happiness stall when you're not generating endorphins or whatever is that exercise generates. I feel like I haven't been writing as much either, certainly not this blog and, to be fair, not anything else.

You can see my bike resting against the window

I was beginning to wonder whether or not I'd get the bike back. The guy in the store said he'd email me, but he didn't so eventually I called and there appears to have been some kind of confusion based on somebody else having an identical bike, it wasn't clear, but yes, my bike was ready and I could pick it up tomorrow (Saturday). "But wait until I send you an email," he said, although I didn't. I called again and he said come round now, so I did. He was shutting up shop at 1300hrs and when I looked at the clock that's exactly what time it was. "Are you sure?" He said yes, he'd be there faffing around for a while so I drove over there, it's just under six miles, with all the family in the car so that somebody could get the car back as I rode home.

What had been done? Well, the brakes for a start, they were main reason it went in, but I asked for a bronze service and a clean too, might as well keep the bike looking neat and tidy, I thought. The brakes were fixed but there had been some scoring of the disc, which he said we ought to keep a watch on. I was expecting him to replace the disc, but he didn't. There was also a new chain and block and that was it. The bike is four this year (I bought it in October 2016, it's a long story) so a service was on the cards. I paid up an additional £54, added to the £61 I'd already paid for the bronze service and clean and off I went. It was good to be back on the bike and I must say that it rode well. I'd go further and say it was like riding a new bike. While the ride over was 5.7 miles, the ride back was 7.1 miles and this was largely due to me getting lost. I followed the road left from the bike shop and then took a left and thought I'd pass the Esso garage that I use as a landmark, but no, I didn't. In fact I'm not sure where I ended up. I stopped, turned around and cycled past the bike shop again, past the big Tesco on my left and then hung a right at the lights and rode towards Auckland Road (where my pal Dave used to live) and headed towards Whyteleafe Hill, from where all was fine. The ride back involves a killer hill, Tithepit Shaw Lane, but like everything in life it's not that bad when you're doing it. I managed to escape the rain, which was good, as it was raining when we left in the car. It took me 40 minutes, whereas the outward ride had taken me 38 minutes. It's little facts like these that make having the Strava app on the phone so worthwhile.

The outward ride to the bike shop

And now it's Sunday morning and the sun is shining out there. I've thought about going early, like in the olden days pre-lockdown, and I still might go early, but the plan is to ride out later, at around 1000hrs and meet Andy at the Churchyard for 11am. Going back to my rides with silly names (see previous post) this means the Churchyard Chuffer, a straight ride along the 269 and then Clarks Lane that covers 15.5 miles. I'd thought about going earlier, riding to the lakes, but no, not today, possibly next week and possibly earlier, get the riding out of the way early.

Next week I'll hopefully get back into the stride of things with a few Ledgers Double Loops, the odd Washpond Womble and possibly even a Beech Farm Bastard, we'll see. I've just eaten breakfast (no-sugar Alpen with black grapes and sliced strawberries thrown in plus a cup of decaff tea. All is quiet at 0710hrs, I haven't put the radio on. The sun is filtering through the curtains, it's around 12 degrees out there and the weather has cooled down since the heat of last week. I took Thursday off and drove to the beach where I swam in the sea, the first time since Copacabana Beach in 2015. The sea was warm and I stayed in for around 30 minutes, it was wonderful. As always I wish I'd been staying down there for the night so I could repeat the process the following morning, but no, I had to drive home, which is always a bit of a pain.

The lockdown is being eased some more. By July 4th the pubs will re-open, there are already more cars on the road and things are (sadly in so many ways) returning to normal. It was great having hardly any cars on the road, but now they're back and I'm hoping all this talk about more cycle lanes is not just hot air. People have started to talk about going back to working in an office and to be honest it doesn't bother me. The worst thing about the current set-up is that I'm stuck in the house ALL day, that's why I'm exercising daily on the bike, to keep fit and active. I won't say I'm not getting bored with it. 

Mowing the lawn was one substitute for riding the bike

I meant to take two days off last week, but only took one, so I might take my second day next week. The weather's not as good next week, but I'm going to keep an eye out for the sun and if it materialises I'll quickly arrange some annual leave and possibly head for the beach again.

Mooching around New Delhi...

The poverty in India is depressing. Outside of my hotel there is a really old woman who lies on the pavement covered in rags. She has white hair and I wouldn't want to guess at exactly how old she might be, but I'd say easily in her eighties. I think about my mum, now 89, back home, recovering from a hip replacement operation, and I start to wonder whether the woman outside the hotel will live a long life, probably not. I'd like to think that she gets by, but what a terrible existence. The only good thing is that the weather here is warm, even in winter, but the temperature plummets at night, I'm told, although it can't be as bad as it is in the UK at the moment; it's been described to me as 'cold and crisp' but you can't fool me, it's fucking freezing, that's all I'm saying.

The old woman just about manages to beg. I'm not even sure if she can stand up as she seems to be swathed in blankets on the floor. In the UK I would fear for her safety, but here in India she's part of the furniture, so to speak, and is probably known by all and sundry. There are other 'beggars' who are a little more subtle. For a start they say they're not beggars as such and they claim that they're not after money, but I can tell by the way they talk that they want my cash, if not immediately then when I leave the hotel. They might subtely bring into the conversation that they don't earn much or that they're not at school because they need money for school books, all stuff designed to pull a little bit on the heart strings of those they try to attach themselves to. They don't dress too badly either, but it's obvious they're experiencing hard times, although one, Naresh, has a decent Samsung mobile phone so life can't be that bad, but I'm sure it is.

Out of the two people I've met, Naresh seems to be more genuine than the other guy, whose name I can't remember, but he spoke good English and claimed he was still at school studying English and then possibly computer studies. Anyway, he simply wouldn't leave me alone. He was constantly asking questions: Where are you going? What are you looking for? Questions I could have asked him. He provided directions to emporiums, he was always there. He was, it has to be said, good company and his English was good too, so we managed to converse fairly easily, but they're hard to shake off these people, they must be standing around waiting for people like me to emerge from emporiums, shops, what have you, and now I find that when I head outside, I look both ways to see if they're around. I've exchanged telephone numbers with Naresh, but I don't expect him to call me any time soon, although I'll probably see him later if I forget myself and walk in the wrong direction, they just appear out of nowhere. His back story is that he works at my hotel as a cleaner, but he's never in the hotel, he's always outside it, standing around. "Can I take you to my uncle's shop?" Well, no, I've done all my shopping now, I won't be buying anything else. I could have bought a made-to-measure suit for £135 – but decided not to; in many ways I wish I had because I desperately need a decent suit.

I had lunch today at a posh restaurant bizzarely called Kwality Restaurant & Ice Cream. It's on Connaught Place and was closed when I first peered through the window. Outside the place is described as a Tea Shop, but it was a top-end restaurant, so I ordered a chicken curry with rice and some mineral water. Not bad, but not brilliant, although, that said, the bill was only Rs2000 - that's about twenty quid.

Afternoon tea at Mister Chai...

It's Monday, my day off, and I needed to locate a hotel, the Shangri-La. The guy on the front desk says it was not far and gave me some directions (basically turn right, then left at the lights and it's there. Well, yes, sort of, and I did eventually find it AND I managed to avoid people hassling me on the street, a common problem here in New Delhi. It's a nice hotel, very grand, and I'll be there all day tomorrow. I liked it so much I stuck around for afternoon tea and a pastry, not forgetting a few biscuits (two to be precise). I ordered mint tea and a Black Forest pastry, which was very, very good and then I simply chilled out, perusing the map I'd picked up from the front desk of my hotel on Parliament Street. I'm annoyed that I missed the Taj Mahal, but I'm determined to visit the Red Fort some time tomorrow. I'll probably take a cab there. Either tomorrow or I'll fit it in somehow.

It's nearly time for dinner and I'll probably stay in the hotel like last night. As always, it's boring being alone. Oddly, I don't mind so much in Europe where everything is a little more familiar, but here in New Delhi where it's a little strange, it would be great to have somebody to wander around with; I reckon that two people will keep away the hasslers better than one. The hasslers are everywhere, waiting for an opportunity to ask a question and once I answer, they're with me for the entire evening. From now on I'm making a point of steering clear of them. I won't have to see them tomorrow because I'll be working all day and on Wednesday I have two meetings. On Thursday it's back to Indira Ghandi airport and a nine-hour BA flight back to Blighty.

New Delhi is a crazy city by European standards; what with the occasional monkey, the stray dogs basking in the sun on the pavements, the parakeets and the tiny squirrels, the hasslers trying to grab my attention, either to sell me something or ask me a question that they think gives them the right to be at my side ALL DAY LONG, it's fucking Crazytown. It's a real effort trying to shrug off the hasslers - that's pronounced 'hass' not ''hazz'' -  but they're friendly enough.

There a good smells and bad smells wafting around here too; sometimes the smell of fresh tar, which is pleasant, but then a waft of something resembling rotten eggs, and then a pleasant perfume. It's a city of contrasts on so many levels.

It's approaching 2000hrs and I really ought to be thinking of dinner. It's a shame that the Shangri-La hotel is just a little too far to walk otherwise I'd head there now and sample another of their food and beverage operations. I had my afternoon tea and cake in the appropriately named Mister Chai.

A colleague has just texted to ask whether I've had the shits yet. No was my response. And on that note, it's time for dinner!

In Budapest, day three...

Thanks to airport security restrictions I invariably find myself in a foreign hotel without toothpaste or shaving foam. Normally, I've had to hand in such dangerous substances prior to reaching the X-ray machine and it's not until the following evening that I realise I can't clean my teeth. A phone call to the front desk follows and I often end up with a tiny tube of tasteless putty that will have to suffice until I find the nearest chemist or, as they often refer to them outside of the UK, pharmacy.

Budapest's Liberty Bridge

Yesterday I found myself searching the streets for a Lidl, which I never found, but I did spot the familiar pharmacy green cross logo and bought my toothpaste there. It's odd how, whenever I enter a pharmacy abroad they seem like much more sacred places than they are in the UK where companies like Boots and Superdrug have lessened the experience of visiting the chemist, a bit like modern churches – there's nothing worse – have taken something away from the religious experience one gets in a proper old church with its cooling stone floors and rickety old pews.

But here in Budapest (and elsewhere in mainland Europe) it's still pretty sacred entering a chemist. Invariably I'm the only customer, as I was on this occasion, and behind the counter there was a quietly spoken woman dressed in a white uniform not dissimilar to those worn by nurses. There was a certain hush about the place and, of course, a pleasant smell of talcum powder. All the products were behind glass and when I asked for toothpaste the woman in the white uniform behind the counter led me to the back of the shop and a wooden cabinet with glass panels behind which were a variety of different toothpaste brands. She unlocked the cabinet and ran through each brand one by one explaining their various attributes and in the end I opted for Sensodyne (it was the only brand I could recognise). I made my purchase back at the counter and left the store, which, I'm guessing, reverted back to its hushed silence blended with the smell of the talc.

Yesterday I switched my flight and I'll be flying back today instead of tomorrow. There was no point staying until Thursday when it looked highly likely that I'd be able to catch the Wednesday flight home.

Alföldo Vendéglo – unpretentious food

Something I do a lot of is walking and yesterday I put in the miles through the late afternoon and into the evening. In the end I tired myself out so much that I felt strangely low and depressed as I searched for somewhere to have an early dinner before hitting the sack. I found Alföldi Vendéglo, a traditional Hungarian restaurant with some other English guests. It was a fairly basic, no-nonsense sort of place with a friendly old white-haired waiter and offered unpretentious food at reasonable prices. Because of all the walking I'd been doing I had a lentil soup with bread to start followed by a Hungarian beef stew with dumplings and a draught Hungarian beer and finished with apple pie and ice cream.

I headed back to the hotel using the SatNav on my phone, which can be confusing when I'm tired, but I got back fairly quickly and went straight to bed, although I did clean my teeth with my new Sensodyne toothpaste first. I needed the sleep having walked around the streets for miles and miles prior to finding Alföldi Vendéglo. My trekking prior to dinner took me across the Liberty Bridge to Buda (or was it Pest?) and back across the Danube and the further I walked the more depressed and despairing I got. Drinking that beer in the restaurant prior to getting my beef stew was wonderful. Now I know how John Mills felt when he downed that glass of Carlsberg in the film Ice Cold in Alex.

This morning I resumed my walking and went over a lot of old ground, eventually stumbling across Alföldi Vendéglo, but it was miles too early to be considering lunch, I'd only just finished breakfast. On Sunday or Monday, or even yesterday, I can't remember which day, I went out in search of a Starbuck's. I wanted to chill out with a cup of tea, a cake and a book, but I couldn't find it. Needless to say I'd been putting in the miles on foot prior to using the iphone's SatNav to find the place and was having no joy. I was getting that despairing feeling of complete hopelessness that I tend to get when I'm abroad after a couple of days away from home and it's because I get lonely and bored when I travel alone. I gave up on the Starbuck's and went back to the hotel where, I realised, that my despair and hopelessness was little more than tiredness. My problem is I don't know when to stop walking. The up side of this story is that when I found Alföldi Vendéglo yesterday I also found the Starbuck's, but it was too late for chilling with a book and besides, it's fine when it's spontaneous, but take my word for it, when it's not spontaneous it becomes little more than a poorly put together sequel of previously good times.

So right now, as I write this, I'm moments away from leaving the hotel. Outside there are blue skies and sunshine. My bags are packed, I've asked reception if the taxi drivers take credit cards and they do and while I was going to take the metro and then a bus to the airport – like a real traveller would – I decided that a last walk around town would be a better idea.

Budapest's Bike Share Scheme
Just to say that the bike share scheme in Budapest was far too complicated, meaning that I couldn't simply take a bike out. The process involved logging on to a website or getting hold of some kind of access card so I didn't bother. The hotel receptionist told me it would be easier to simply hire a bike from the many companies offering the service. Time was running out so I didn't bother.