I love the Guardian's Q&A page in Weekend magazine...

I love Saturdays. Once I return from my early morning cycle, I nip down to the newsagent and buy the Guardian and then return home, sit in the conservatory and read Weekend magazine; it's the best! First, I read Tim Dowling's column, then I take a brief look at Your Pictures before reading the Q&A, possibly Experience (this week's 'I nearly died after eating wild mushrooms' was good) and then I switch to the back and read the excellent Snooping around column by Anna Timms; I love Wreck of the Week and often imagine myself buying some strange and remote cottage on the Northumberland coast. I can't be bothered with Blind Date, but I love Oliver Burkeman's This column will change your life and then I read the Review section of the newspaper – or rather, I give it a quick flick through, stopping, perhaps at Author Author or one of the main features. I have to admit that I am still mourning the loss of Writers' Rooms. Why was it discontinued? I loved reading about and looking at the rooms where accomplished writers write – so if anybody on the Guardian is reading this (which I doubt) please reinstate it.

The best feature is the Q&A and I've often sat there in my conservatory answering the questions myself and suddenly thought: what a great idea! I'll answer them for the blog and invite other readers to answer the same questions. So, here's my answers – email me yours and I'll publish them too.

When were you happiest?
On holiday in the seventies in Felpham, West Sussex. Mum and dad used to rent a house right on the beach and for some reason, the sun was always shining.
What is your earliest memory?
My younger brother Jon returning, newly born, from the maternity ward, concealing a toy train under his shawl for me: I was three years old.
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
A tendency towards laziness and just doing nothing.
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Uncalled for stroppy behaviour.
What is your most treasured possession?
My Kona Scrap dirt jumper that I bought on a credit card in 2006 and haven't stopped riding since. My pal Andy has a Kona Blast and my brother Jon a Kona Fire Mountain so perhaps I should apply for a job as a salesman with Kona UK.
Where would you like to live?
In a house on the beach on the South Coast of England.
If you could bring something extinct back to life, what would you choose?
My father-in-law, Norman Woodley.
Who would play you in the film of your life?
It's a toss-up between Kevin Spacey and Nicholas Cage. Although Andy Kaufmann would do a good job if he was still alive.
What is your favourite smell?
A freshly creosoted fence; the smell of hops from a pub doorway; and the sea.
What would be your fancy dress of choice?
I don't do fancy dress parties.
What is the worst thing anyone's said to you?
Once, many years ago, a man called David Peachell told me I had little going for me when I went to see him at a recruitment agency in, if I recall correctly, Liverpool Street in London.
What do you owe your parents?
Everything.
To whom would you most like to say sorry, and why?
Anybody I was obnoxious to after one too many beers.
What does love feel like?
The answer would, out of necessity, be too pretentious for words.
What was the best kiss of your life?
With my wife when she was my girlfriend, on a bus.
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
Quite a lot of unsuitable expletives.
If you could edit your past, what would you change?
I'd go back and get a decent education – and I'd definitely go to university.
How often do you have sex?
I couldn't possibly comment.
What song would you liked played at your funeral?
Pop Music by M. "Mix me a Molotov!"
What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
Don't mess around at school.
Tell us a secret.
I can't, for obvious reasons.

Quick! They're coming! Head for the fields!

"Where is he?"

The deepening greyness of the sky above lent an air of foreboding to our brief excursion to Tatsfield. We'd met, as usual, on Warlingham Green and decided that the bus stop was as far as we'd be going today – there was evil in the air and we wanted no part of it.

"Who's that?"

As we headed up the deserted B269, trees on either side of us in the early stages of the ride, we both kept our eyes peeled. We were on the look-out for Lycra-clad, Power Ranger cyclists on lightweight racing bikes. You know the sort: concerned only about 'precious grams' and how fast they can get from A to B and not in the slightest bit interested in tea and cakes and riding large, cumbersome mountain bikes with no hope in hell of gettting anywhere fast, let alone be a part of the Tour de France.

"That's him! He's the culprit!"

The weather remained grey and uncertain as we broke into open ground and found ourselves exposed. Fortunately for us, there were no power ranger types to be seen; not this early at any rate. Give it half an hour, though, and they'd be out in force, chatting about pensions and golf as they made their way towards Westerham or further afield, who knows? Certainly not us; we were more concerned with reaching the shelter provided by the old wooden bus stop just outside of Tatsfield Village. 

The rain continued to hold off and both Andy and I knew we'd reach the relative safety of the bus stop where we could enjoy a cereal bar and a cup of tea, but we'd have to be careful, the Power Rangers would be out soon and that meant we'd need to be on our guard.


As we sipped our tea and threw our teabags on to the grass in front of us, we knew it wouldn't be long. And then, as if we had willed the situation into reality, two Lycra-clad Power Rangers approached riding Specialized racing bikes and chatting about Legal & General. Fortunately, we were ready for them: tea finished, cereal bars eaten and packs on our backs, we were prepared for the journey home, but we weren't ready for what happened next.


When you're a roughly-dressed, unshaven member of NoVisibleLycra, the urge to say something occasionally gets the better of you; and so it was for me this morning; I couldn't help but exclaim, within earshot, some nastiness towards our Lycra-clad enemies, not really expecting them to hear me, but they did; there was a screech of brakes and we knew they were coming after us.


"We'll never beat them on tarmac," said Andy.
"Then we'll have to go off-road," I said, mounting my trusty Kona and remembering a sticker on the side of an old Land Rover: "You can go fast, but I can go anywhere." It certainly applied on this occasion as Andy and I headed for the open ground of the fields beyond the bus stop.
"They're gaining on us," said Andy.
"I know," I said as we both positioned our bikes in the deep ruts left behind by agricultural machinery. "Stay within these tracks," I advised Andy and we pushed on, making good ground.
Suddenly, they appeared and the chase was truly on.
"Come and have a go if yer think yer hard enough!" I exclaimed, foolishly, while sticking up two fingers at our approaching adversaries. The comment angered them even more and it wasn't long before they were almost upon us.


Thick mud hindered our progress and soon we both realised that we'd have to simply turn around and fight. We stopped and reached for the heavy-duty spanners we always carried in our rucksacks in case of a puncture; they would be our only weapons, but we figured that, being concerned about their 'precious grams', the Power Rangers would have nothing heavy duty in the tools department. In short, we were sufficiently 'tooled up' and ready for them.


As they drew nearer, however, we figured that combat was not our strong point, and that they, the Power Rangers, were much fitter than us; there was, in other words, nothing for it – we'd have to wait until we could see the whites of their eyes and simply throw our bikes at them...To be continued!!!

Excuse the late post...

Large quantities of strong dark ale proved to
be my downfall at a beer festival in Manchester

I've been a bit busy of late, travelling to different parts of the UK, getting a little over-the-top drunk on one occasion and, of course, I've been in the dog house at home as a result. Anyway, things have blown over and now I've got a little time to discuss last week's cycling.

Andy and I went down to Hunger's End in Merstham on Saturday of last week, that was November 6th, and then on November 7th we headed on down to Woodmansterne, a destination we haven't visited for a long time. We met Jon there, which was good, as we hadn't seen him for a while.

Andy near Merstham taking a photo of me taking
a photo of him.

For some reason we got chatting about prison, probably something to do with my drunken antics on 29 October when I attended a beer festival and, how can I put this, I had one too many and lost control of things. I rarely get drunk these days and the whole situation was rather embarrassing – you know the score, you drink too much, you kind of go on to automatic pilot and can't remember how you got home, what you said to people on the way, that sort of thing.

When I reached home in the early hours, I must have sobered up, but I had to sleep in the spare room and you know that horrible feeling when you open your eyes, think everything is fine and then you remember? It was like that. I felt okay, a bit weary, perhaps, but I didn't have a hangover and I spent most of Saturday trying to avoid any embarassing conversation with the missus. The whole incident has put me off drinking for a while and I'm now trying my best not to drink throughout November.

This picture sums up the season here in England at
the moment. In other words, it's the autumn.

During the drunken journey home from the North, I managed to text Andy to abort the cycling as there was no way that I'd have been fit enough to get on the bike and then on the Sunday (October 31, Halloween) I think it was raining. The worst thing about the Saturday was that the weather was fine, making it all the more irritating that I'd allowed myself to get into such a state and then not be able to go. On the Sunday, got half way up Church Way when Andy called and said it was pissing down over in Caterham and then, of course, it started to rain where I was in Sanderstead, so I turned round and went home, but that was the Halloween weekend. Last week it was Merstham and Woodmansterne and it was good fun on both days.

The St Helier Arms, Carshalton. It's not there any more.

The reason we were talking about prison was something to do with me being drunk on the 29th. We moved to discuss people we knew from our school days who had since 'done time' and that moved us on to various 'faces' from the past and some dodgy, high profile criminal types currently residing in prison. From there we started talking about a notorious pub in Carshalton called the St Helier Arms, a pub that has since been knocked down but was one of those places where you couldn't avoid trouble if you made the foolish decision to go in for a beer.

Dad's not been well, which is always a little worrying, but he's on the mend now, thank God, so generally speaking, things are good. Cycling tomorrow, of course, and probably Merstham and Hunger's End and then a shorter run on Sunday – weather permitting – but I think we'll escape a soaking this weekend.

Rain stops play

I think this photograph says it all. This pic was taken from
http://blogs.eveningsun.com

If it hadn't been for excessive drinking on Friday and not getting home until the early hours, then I'd have gone cycling yesterday as it was, if I recall a nice day. Sunday, however, is a different kettle of fish. Here I sit in my conservatory listening to the rain hammering down on the felt roof and I'm thinking, this ain't going to blow over soon.

To be fair, I'd gone out and noted the deep grey skies with interest, realising that I should have put my waterproof gear on, but I figured I'd escape a soaking for some reason. The rain started within five minutes of leaving the house, but not heavy, so I took cover underneath some trees and checked my phone, which was on silent, to see if Andy had called: he had.

Over in Caterham where Andy lives, it seems to rain harder and earlier than over here, some six miles away. He told me it was hammering it down and that, sooner or later, it would be over here in Sanderstead too. He was right. Fortunately, I was only on Church Way and decided, after some faffing about (during which I thought I'd push on to Botley, but fortunately wised up) to return home.

And here I am, writing the blog instead; so it looks as if I'll have to wait until next week.

24 October 2010 – to Tatsfield Village

There are various ways of working out that it's winter – or there would be in a world devoid of people and the media. If the nightmare world depicted in Cormac McCarthy's The Road ever became reality, then, apart from no leaves on the trees and frost on car windscreens, there's always the fact that Andy stops wearing his shorts. On the morning of Sunday 24 October, Andy stood on the green minus his shorts – but fortunately not minus his trousers.

The green at Tatsfield Village as seen through the frame of my Kona.

We hadn't been cycling on the Saturday and I can't for the life of me remember why. It was probably raining and we just thought, no, not a soaking, not today. But Sunday was different. In fact, it was very pleasant and one of those days that somehow characterise our cycling.

I've started wearing my gloves and a jumper. Andy and I stood on the green wondering where to go. To be honest, this week I thought Jon would be going as we spoke on the phone and I was awaiting his familiar ring tone on the iphone, but it never came. Had it done so, we'd have probably 'done a short one' to Woodmansterne Green, a journey Andy and I are never that keen on because it's so suburban and, quite frankly, boring – until you reach the green, which is a pleasant enough sort of place and for me holds pleasant memories of chewing the fat with Jon in the cold weather leading up to the last Christmas. If you check back on this blog you'll notice that we, Andy and I, went there on Boxing Day.

Andy and I reached Tatsfield only to find two blokes drinking from cans of Stella – at 8 o'clock in the morning! Now, we've all done it, I know, but there comes a time when drinking strong lager for breakfast just isn't cricket and I found myself inwardly looking at them with disgust while thinking 'how could they do that?' Mind you, not that long ago I was in Munich, or just south of it, and I visited a fantastic hotel where the traditional breakfast is white sausage, sweet mustard and, wait for it, a huge, trumpet-shaped glass full of really decent German lager – fantastic! Did it 'set me up for the day'? Probably, but drinking a can of Stella, without the white sausage and the mustard while standing up in a pub car park – well, it doesn't have that ring to it.

The Pope – he's Catholic, you know!

We were in a jovial mood as Andy reminded me that he'd be going to Jamaica over Christmas – meaning that on Boxing Day I'd be cycling alone this year, freezing cold, no doubt, as Andy basks in the Caribbean heat. For some reason we got to talking about the Pope. Why, I don't know as neither of us are Catholic, but it revolved around that phrase, "Is the Pope Catholic?" It's used to emphasise the obvious. "Apples? Green? Is the Pope a Catholic?" "Karl Marx? Left wing? Is the Pope a Catholic?" And so on, but Andy suggested a scenario whereby he finds himself exclaiming, "Is the Pope a Catholic?" only to notice that his retort has been met with an awkward silence, prompting Andy to say, "He's behind me, isn't he?" Meaning the Pope. For some reason it became the theme of the morning chat.

We talked about IVF treatment and people who can't have kids and Andy says it shouldn't be available on the NHS – and nor should boob jobs, he added. I agreed with boob jobs, but I'm not sure about IVF, but its a debate that could run and run.

Tea drank, cereal bars eaten, conversation over there was nothing for it – we'd have to cycle home.

Cycling over 16 and 17 October – an uneventful weekend...

Tatsfield won Double Gold in the 2010 Britain in Bloom competition.

A brief word on last weekend's cycling. Last Saturday, nothing, but on Sunday Andy and I went to Tatsfield Village where we drank some tea, had a chat and ended up back home. Not a good weekend for cycling, but hopefully we'll make up for it this weekend. Jon's back from his holiday (I think he went to Sorrento for a week) so we might be heading off for Hunger's End and a nice breakfast.

Generally speaking, the weather is getting colder. I've noticed the car has frost on the windscreen now, which is a sign of bad weather. Andy has stopped wearing his shorts and I think that this weekend I'll definitely be wearing my gloves.

It's also getting a bit dark in the mornings, although this weekend I think the clocks go back – another sign of winter! Dark mornings mean that Andy will start reminding me that I don't have a rear light. I need to get that sorted immediately – but then again, I've been saying that for the past four years.

Smithy, the no-nonsense racehorse – and me!

Yours truly (on the left!) with Smithy, the John Smith's No Nonsense racehorse.
This shot was taken at the stables of Ginger and Donald McCain, two extremely
good racehorse trainers. Ginger, who turned 80 recently, was the trainer behind
the great Red Rum. Suitable captions please! But come on, what a great-looking
horse – and I don't look too bad either!

Blue skies and sunshine – in October

Blue skies along Pilgrim's Lane on Sunday 10th October 2010

Just thought I'd throw in this shot taken around 10.30am on Sunday morning, October 10th, just to show how amazing the weather was last weekend.

To Hunger's End and Longford Lake...

In another shameful display of either sheer laziness or pure fatigue – although more likely a bit of both – I took the train home from Merstham after our cycle to Hunger's End where we enjoyed tea and toast and a read of The Sun.

Map shows Merstham High Street, home of Hunger's End
and, of course, Merstham Railway Station.

As promised by the weathermen, the weekend was good. Not sunny on Saturday (as predicted) but not raining and not cold. Andy is still wearing his shorts, put it that way, and I'm not yet reaching for the gloves, so the weather's been pretty mild and we've yet to get a soaking. In fact, as we discussed, we've managed to avoid a soaking since the beginning of the year. I say the beginning of the year, but it was probably something like April or May, I'll have to check the archive. I've checked and, believe it or not, it was August 1st on the way back from Westerham.

I wasn't really up for cycling to Merstham to be honest as I'd not slept well and had woken up around 0350hrs and then found it difficult to get back to sleep. The week prior, I'd managed to walk the best part of 30 miles (roughly six miles a day, five days a week) and that must have contributed to my general state of weariness, although the lack of sleep the night before the ride did it for me.

Shameful evidence! My bike spotted by the fitness police
outside of Merstham Station, Saturday 9 October 2010.

The ride was good and we decided to go 'the short way' by turning right on the A25 and not going across and down towards Church Town and the Enterdent.

After bidding farewell to Andy who, to be fair, had a shorter return ride than I would have had, I loitered around the music shop looking at the bass guitars before free-wheeling down to the station and buying a ticket to Purley, from where I cycled home.

At Purley, one of the minicab drivers outside the station stopped me to discuss my unusual saddle. He was refering, of course, to the Spongy Wonder. We chatted for a while and then off I went home to work out what to do with the rest of my weekend.

Off-road outside of Westerham, en route to Longford Lake.
The sun shows through the trees around 8am, Sunday 10 October.

Sunday saw us riding along Pilgrim's Lane towards Longford Lake in Chevening, Kent. A nice ride and I was feeling much more alive. We talked about this and that but our main topic of conversation, which we'd started in Merstham, was the EuroMillions British winner of the £110 million jackpot. What, we wondered, would we do with such a huge sum of money? We both agreed that we could offload around £30 million to friends and family, but that would still leave £80 million.

My plan would be to invest in property as I simply don't trust the banks anymore. I'd probably build a few housing estates for those who can't afford to buy their own house, holiday lets, that sort of thing; and I'd definitely travel around the UK visiting hospitals and finding out what they needed in the way of scanners and such like. I'd like to see whole hospital wings built using my money and possibly named The Moggridge Ward or whatever, some kind of lasting memento of my philanthropy.


Our big question as we returned home from the lake was how Camelot hand over the money. Do they place it electronically in the winner's bank account or hand them a cheque? How worrying it would all become in the sense of not being able to trust the banks. There is, of course, a £50,000 limit on monies refundable should the bank or banks go bust, meaning that you'd have a load of different bank and building society accounts. I reckon that you could put away a couple of million in that way, ie £50,000 in the Halifax, Lloyds, Nat West and so on, then, of course, you could whack away £30,000 in premium bonds, but remember we're dealing with something like £70 million after you've been generous with friends and family. Oh, and all that philanthropy would bring it down a bit too, but what a headache! I wonder if Camelot has it's own bank? The Bank of Camelot. That simply doesn't sound right. A bit like Toytown Bank when you were a kid and I know I wouldn't invest my hard-won cash in THAT bank!

My bike resting against a fence along Pilgrim's Lane.

I wonder if winners get offered a choice, ie would you like several cheques of £50,000 made payable to different banks and building societies? Yes, please!

Either way, it made no difference to Andy and I as we didn't win. I don't think Andy got any of the numbers and I only got number 35. In fact, the only reason I bought a Euromillions ticket (I bought two, one was a lucky dip) was because a man with no right hand in Belgravia made me a cup of tea and brought me one of the slips to fill in. I figured: man with one hand, this could be some strange soothsayer from another dimension offering me fame and fortune, so I filled it in and exchanged it for a ticket and then hoped for the best.

Andy on Pilgrims Lane, Sunday 10th October 2010.

But Andy and I cycled home, in the heat (Sunday was like a mid-summer's day) knowing we'd both be going to work on Monday and not having to worry about how we would keep track of hundreds of bank and building society accounts and fretting about how the banks might be trying to swindle us. In many ways, I think we were both glad we hadn't won the jackpot – but no, I think that's a load of old rubbish as we'd both love to have the headache of simply looking at bank statements once a month.

The lottery is like a religion, it provides false hopes to millions.

Hot weekend promised...let's make the most of it!!!

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

The weathermen are promising a hot weekend in the UK, so let's make the most of it!