Things are slipping...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday afternoon...

Well, I've tested negative, twice, and that's positive. All I have to do now is get out on the bike in the morning. I've checked it out, the puncture I fixed is holding firm, the bike's fairly clean and, weather permitting, I'll be heading for Westerham in the morning for a 22-miler. I've had a couple of walks around the block, I've eaten a bit of coffee and walnut cake from Waitrose, I've even bought a lottery ticket - who knows, I still might be able to buy that remote cottage in the Outer Hebrides, there still might be time to stare at the sea after all). Listening to music, all sorts. Rocks by Primal Scream, Temptation by New Order, Land of Confusion by Genesis, Who by Numbers, all the good stuff in other words. It's the first time I've felt like listening to music in a while and now that I'm testing negative, well, I feel good about it. School by Supertramp, that whining mouth organ, it's on now, it's dark outside, gone 5pm, wailing saxophone, piano, what's not to like? There's something weirdly pleasant about wintry Saturdays, like wandering around malls or IKEA, muddy footprints on terrazzo flooring, or visiting fireplace shops or sitting in a cosy coffee shop with a mug of tea and a slice of cake as it starts to get dark and you can see into people's houses as you pace the streets wishing you were home, in the warmth, chilling, safe behind that double-glazed, triple-locked door. 

It's different in the summer, lighter for a start, and the grass is green, the shadows long as evening approaches, but it has it's own charm. There's no need for coats and scarves, hats or gloves for a start and there's often the distant sound of Greensleeves playing from an invisible ice cream van. Or there used to be when I was a kid. I always remember the bell ringers in the local convent school, now that was a magical sound coming from the other side of the railway track, not far from where I lay in bed as a child listening to the day calming down, evening setting in, dad yet to come home from work, rapping his familiar rhythmic rap on the front door as we lay in bed staring at the ceiling tiles, longing for morning, which was a long way off, far over the horizons of time, it wasn't even dark and the daylight still seeped through the curtains. I haven't heard those bells for a long time and I often wonder whether I'll ever hear them again. I wonder if they're still there or whether they are long gone, cast adrift forever from those who listened to them back in the day. Where are they now, I wonder? 

Playing with time...

As we approach the time when the clocks are turned back, the weather is still sort of okay. We've had a bit of rain during the week – always a tad depressing – but otherwise it's been alright and pretty warm too. However, it's dark out there at 0642hrs as I sit in the conservatory and while I've already detected one of those wonderful morning skies of streaked grey cloud and, as yet, no sign of rain, I'm still debating whether to simply miss the ride today or go out somewhere. The fact that I'm debating it at all is due to both Phil and Andy aborting, leaving me with the awful task of self-motivation, although it often means that I ride to mum's for an early morning breakfast and a chat with Jon, if he's there. That's fine, but I always rather despise the ride home when things are busier on the roads and that early morning feeling has been replaced by a mildly fretful journey through the suburban landscape of Wallington and Croydon.

I'm always caught unawares by the clocks going back (or forward for that matter) and I often find myself living in the future (or the past) for a few days until I finally get round to altering all the clocks and existing in the present day. It's a shame that when they put the clocks back or forward it's only by one hour; it would be much more dramatic if they moved, say five or six hours, creating a form of jet lag for everybody. A silly idea, I know, and it wouldn't achieve anything other than complete chaos. Imagine, for instance, if one minute it's seven o'clock in the morning and the next it's midnight? It might work when the clocks go back, but probably not when they go forward when 7am has suddenly become twelve noon and you wake up not to breakfast, but lunch, having slept through the entire morning.

October is a funny month. Not only do the clocks go back, bringing winter into sharp focus, but I always find myself debating whether to take a coat or an umbrella when I venture out and usually end up either carrying too much to work or simply getting a little too hot having donned cardigan and raincoat, bobble hat and umbrella and then clunking and clattering along the road with an awkward gait, dropping something like my plastic sandwich box on the hard pavement and constantly swapping umbrella and bag from one hand to the other – nothing streamlined about it, just a chaotic amble rather than a purposeful walk.

Umbrellas are horrible things. When you buy them new (as I did this week) they look nice and neat, all folded up and as streamlined as a walking stick; but once opened they never ever go back to that state and if you've bought one of those small black umbrellas that can fit in your bag or case, they soon look as if you're carrying a dead crow around with you rather than an essential piece of equipment designed to keep you dry in a rain storm. I prefer a hat, but they too make me look stupid. I have one that makes me look like a High Court judge and another, purchased in Milan, with the words New York on the front. As a colleague at work asked, why doesn't it read 'Milan'? Good point.

When the clocks first go back there are lighter starts, but soon the darkness returns and the misery of winter is then here to stay until March when the clocks, joyfully, go forward and I find myself wandering around the house changing all the clocks again and possibly living in the past for a day or two, although it's better to live in the future as that way I won't be late for work.