Twats of the Antarctic...what were we thinking?

People sleepwalk through life; I know I do. Take Saturday morning, for instance. I woke up around 0600hrs, got out of bed, went downstairs, made myself a mug of tea, put an egg on the boil, made up some fingers, boiled some milk for a couple of Shredded Wheat and then sat down and watched BBC Breakfast while enjoying my very early breakfast. Outside it was dark. Not that I knew this for an absolute fact as the curtains were drawn and, as the clock edged its way towards my departure time (0700hrs) I'm sure it was getting brighter out there, but other than the darkness I saw through the kitchen window earlier, I wasn't sure what was happening outside. For all I knew it could be raining and that's a real downer for cycling. Nothing worse than getting wet through. But Andy hadn't sent any text messages warning me of the weather...or had he? Hold on a minute, what's all this? I'd picked up the iphone and spotted a couple of texts just as I was walking into the conservatory (now fully dressed and ready for the ride) and then I saw it: snow, lots of it, and it was hanging around too. The grass was getting progressively whiter as the iphone began to ring. Well, vibrate, as it was on 'silent'. It was Andy.

Twats of the Antarctic –my cycling outfit does me no favours whatsoever

"I can't believe this," I said. "It's snowing. I think we'll have to abort."
"Really? Are you sure? I say we go for it, head for The Ridge..."
"Well, we could, I guess. Let's aim for reaching the green and take things from there."

So off I went without any waterproof trousers or top, just me in my Tesco ASBO specials and the M&S hooded top, my rust-coloured old jacket, a baggy old jumper and, of course, the 'New York' beany hat – my Peter Storm flappy hat, incidentally, was absent-mindedly left on a train earlier in the week.

The bikes on their own. Note the snow... everywhere! Pic by Andy Smith

Outside, while I noted that the weather was oddly rather mild – certainly not balaclava weather, although I hadn't left that on a train – I also noted that the snow was relentless: laying on front lawns, covering parked cars and dissolving on my lips like chilled Disprin. But I ploughed on: along Ellenbridge, up Elmfield, up Church Way, along the Limpsfield Road to the green where I found Andy who, like me, was covered in snow. What were we thinking? The last time we experienced weather like this was April 2008 – something I always bring up whenever the subject of snow raises its head. "Well, we've had snow in April before, you know," I will remark smugly, and the response is often, "Really? That's late!"

The off-road bit I despise so much!

We stood there on the green wondering what to do when what we should have done (apart from turn around and go home) was head for somewhere offering a bit of cover, ie the Tatsfield bloody bus stop or the village, but for some reason we opted for a couple of exposed benches in a car park far, far away, on The Ridge, a stone's throw from Al Fayed's gaff. This meant riding down Slines Oak Road and along a lengthy stretch of off-road track that I absolutely abhor. It's part of our route to Godstone, a place we rarely visit because of the punishing hill on the return ride, but off we went nonetheless, the snow raining down upon us. It wasn't long before I was wet through and dreaming of having mudguards, but no, I didn't have any mudguards and I wasn't wearing any protective clothing. And while I wasn't cold as such, I was getting increasingly uncomfortable and there was to be no salvation, no nice, warm bus stop to shelter from the snow, and even if there had been a covered bus stop, sitting down would have been unpleasant. As unpleasant as, say, having a bath and then getting dressed or, worse still, getting back into bed, without drying myself. As unpleasant as being in a crowded train with a few sausages under the grill or eating an unexpectedly soft pickled onion.

View to the right of the bike along the off-road stretch

When we reached our destination there was no cover. There were no leaves on the trees and all we could do was stand under the bare branches of some shrub or other trying to pretend everything was alright, the sun was shining and we had a nice cup of tea and some BelVita biscuits to eat. We DID have a nice cup of tea and we DID have the biscuits, but it wasn't in the slightest bit pleasant and, after taking the shots that accompany this post, we mounted our trusty steeds and headed along a short stretch of off-road track (not the one pictured) before rejoining The Ridge and heading for Botley Hill and the return ride along the exposed 269 towards Warlingham Green. By this stage, of course, as any seasoned cyclist will tell you, we'd resigned ourselves to being wet and uncomfortable. I think I was more uncomfortable than Andy as his bike has a sensible pair of mudguards and, give or take, Andy was 'nice and comfy' – he certainly didn't have a cold, wet behind like I did.

View to the left of the bike along the off-road stretch I dislike

The roads were largely clear of snow and, as we headed home everything was getting wetter and wetter. There was still snow on the grass verges and in front gardens along the route, but it was thawing and within 30-40 minutes people would look puzzled if I suggested that there was thick snow everywhere only half an hour ago.

Andy and I parted at the green, vowing to meet up again on Sunday, weather permitting. I rode home and saw a sensibly dressed, clean, tidy and (more to the point) dry Phil about to drive off to Southampton with his daughter. I felt decidedly under-dressed in my wet-through Tesco ASBO specials, my face speckled with mud and, let's make no bones about it, I looked a complete mess.

A discarded Coke can heightened our sense of desolation

"Respect is due," I said, explaining how it really wasn't that cold, but who was I kidding? After bidding farewell to Phil I waddled off, locked the bike in the garage and then peeled off my wet clothes, chucked them all in the washing machine and made myself a cup of tea. Now don't get me wrong. I didn't just strip off and stand in the kitchen with no clothes on, making myself tea; I dried off first, put on some clean and dry clothes and then headed for the kitchen.

Bare trees meant little in the way of shelter

Later in the day I noticed that I was developing a sore throat and all because I hadn't really looked after myself. I was Twat of the Antarctic and if I caught a chill it was nobody's fault but mine.

Shortly after leaving the house the snow began to fall...

Sunday – to the Tatsfield Bus Stop
On Sunday we rode to the Tatsfield Bus Stop – where we should have headed yesterday. Mum had given me a couple of slices of Christmas cake so we enjoyed tea, cake and BelVita biscuits. Andy had a puncture close to where he lives and was sorely tempted to abort, but we agreed to meet at the Tatsfield  bus stop as I didn't fancy standing around in the cold. I pedalled off from the green alone, but while the snow had gone, it was much colder than yesterday. I had the beany hat and balaclava combo on my head today, a scarf, the aforementioned rusty old jacket, a pair of trousers covered in white paint and an uncomfortable pair of gloves that were still wet from yesterday's lunacy.

On the way back we saw what looked like a nasty car accident. An ambulance and police car were in attendance and there was a small car – something like a Renault Clio or a Corsa, or even a Toyota Aygo – upturned in a field and some way from the road. How? That was the question we kept asking ourselves as we cycled past. It must have happened after 0800hrs, although Andy reached the bus stop from along The Ridge, not the 269, so he wouldn't have seen anything. We were guessing but the car must have been travelling very fast, lost control, mounted the verge, smashed right through the Hawthorn bushes and turned itself over. There were other cars parked up on the verge so I'm guessing they were involved or purely witnesses.

How seriously hurt those involved in the accident might have been we didn't dare to guess, but when we reached the junction at Beech Road the ambulance passed us slowly and without its sirens blazing – it could have meant that all was fine and that there was no need to rush or that there was no point in hurrying back as those inside were dead.

Slow way... to, yes, you've guessed it, the...

... Tatsfield Bus Stop! And why not? I'm still climbing through the turbulent clouds of slothfulness left over after a long Christmas break, it's been a bit chilly on the weather front and I need a bit of warmth, I need the clocks to go forward before I fully embrace the ecstasy that is cycling in the Surrey and Northern Kent countryside.

We were going to ride to Westerham, but in all honesty, while I went to bed at 2100hrs last night (Saturday) and had a fairly good night's sleep, waking refreshed and finding myself singing (if that's what it was) while downstairs making myself tea, a boiled egg and two Weetabix at the crack of dawn, I was thinking about the ride, getting back early and all the usual preoccupations. When Andy and I met on the green at 0730hrs we decided to head for the Tatsfield village. I was armed with fruit cake, Christmas cake to be precise, made by mum, and I suggested that if we have cake then we'll need somewhere dry and sheltered with a seat in order to stuff our faces in a civilised manner. Who wants to stand up when there's cake to eat?

The weather was damp and foggy. It was much foggier than Saturday – when we rode to the Tatsfield Churchyard – meaning that benches exposed to the air would be damp, like they were yesterday,  and we'd have to stand up. There's no cover at Westerham and there's no cover at the Tatsfield Churchyard meaning that it was down to the village or the bus stop. We opted for the latter.

Customised NoVisibleLycra frame transfers – you know you want one!

On the way we didn't see any Lycra monkeys. Andy believes that most of them shun the cold and foggy weather and prefer to stay indoors on their 'turbo trainers'. But we're not wimpy like them, we're out there in all weathers, taking the rough with the smooth.

Beddlestead Lane in the fog – it was thicker than it looks

Going the slow way, around the lanes towards Hesiers Hill and then up Beddlestead Lane, is a hard work-out for early on a Sunday morning. In the fog it was difficult to see where we were, but sooner or later we emerged on to Clarks Lane and virtually free-wheeled to the bus stop where the tea, BelVita biscuits and cake were brought out and we sat there discussing how the internet, by and large, was a complete and utter waste of time.


Take Linkedin, for instance; I've had an account since 2009 and has it done me any good? No. It's just full of pretentious posers pretending to be dynamic and 'on the ball' by posting links to articles and stuff they want me to think they're very interested in. It's so boring! And then there's that bit where it tells you who has been looking at your profile; and while I might know some of the people – and find myself wondering 'why are they looking at my profile?' – most of those interested seem to be recruitment agents and they never, ever, get in touch. Not that I particularly want them to.

Matt and Andy at the Tatsfield Bus Stop...the fog cleared

And what about this blog? What about it you may well ask? While I tend to get around 25 to 50 hits a day, sometimes more than double that depending on whether or not I tweet a post on my Twitter account, it's really a waste of time outside of the fact that it's a kind of diary of our cycling over the past God knows how many years (I think it's six years this coming August, not sure, I'll have to check). I've never had the call from some guru or other (not that I want one to call me) saying wow! your blog's amazing, you must accept this £150,000 salary and come and join us! Wow! You're brilliant! No, nothing of the sort, and I have other blogs and they're equally as nowhere as this one. In short, being online, having an 'online presence', whatever you want to call it, is a complete and utter waste of time.

Fortunately, because it's online and not in print, it's not a case of 'woodman, spare that tree' and to be fair – and I don't know why, but probably because there's a stronger element of an 'audience' online when compared to the paper equivalent – I have kept the blog going, updating it at least weekly and sometimes daily. I've tried keeping paper-based diaries before and I tend not to get very far into the year before I lose interest, so in that sense alone, the blog has been worthwhile. With this blog we have a record of our cycling 'adventures' that we can refer to, glance at, whatever, at our leisure, even on our smartphones. Yes, I'm that sad! And I'm sure that Andy is too. Jon and Phil are a little more divorced for the whole thing.

But then why should one expect anything from anything? Why should there be any kind of end result to anything we do or say? I've often wondered whether my blog (or blogs) have ever directly affected anything in my life and I can say, almost without doubt, that no, they haven't had the slightest affect on anything. I wonder how many people, having arranged a meeting with me, have then Googled my name and found this blog? Actually, I'm sure people have done that – we all Google people, after all – but has it in any way altered their actions. "Quick, give that guy a call, I don't want to see him next Tuesday, he's taking the piss out of Lycra monkeys and (ahem) I'm a Lycra monkey!" Or, "Hold on a minute, if he's the bloke in the Tesco ASBO specials and the flappy hat and balaclava combo then he's not getting an interview with me!" Hmmm...come to think of it, some people have cancelled meetings. Perhaps...but no, I really don't think so. This blog is pretty harmless one way or the other. It's just a diary of my weekend cycling with Andy and Phil and my brother Jon. Alright, there's a few 'humorous' articles – well I think they're funny – a few satirical sketches, a few limp and misguided political commentaries, nothing that's going to set the world alight, but I can't believe that any of it would in any way negatively alter the course of my life and career. Why should it? And more importantly, why should I expect it to? And that goes for any other bloggers out there in cyberspace. We all do it because we can, perhaps there's a little vanity in there somewhere, I don't know, but ultimately that's about it. It's a distraction, a hobby, something to do, a way of giving stuff structure.

Red leather Converse All-Stars...

So what is the internet good for? Well, booking cheap flights, selling stuff on ebay, looking at the BBC news website instead of buying a newspaper, emailing people, social media (don't get me started on social media, although I suppose a blog is 'social media'). I don't have a Facebook account, but I do have Twitter and it's also a total waste of time. People on Twitter think their tweets are going to make them famous or rich. The reality is the complete opposite, I'm afraid. Alright, of late I'm a little guilty of going on Twitter and commenting on tweets left by pals and associates and reading Russell Brand's Trew News occasionally, but ultimately it's a waste of time and is getting me (and everybody else) nowhere fast.

Where it does come in handy is at work. Being a journalist, life is so much easier these days, thanks to the worldwide web. Finding addresses, reading news from around the world and not just from the UK, setting up Google alerts on certain subjects, having relevant articles to what I'm writing/researching at my fingertips...it's all far easier than relying upon a telephone directory and the Yellow Pages to reach the people I need to talk to; and then there's 'digitalisation' and the fact that photographs can be emailed and I no longer have to rely upon the post (or 'snail mail' as it's called). Remember those stiff, cardboard-backed envelopes required to post off photographs?

Yes, in a work sense, the internet has made things a lot easier on all levels, but unless I come up with the next Google or the next Ebay then I can safely assume that while the internet makes my working life much easier, it's not going to bring me fame and fortune and, you know what? I don't want fame or fortune, just good health and happiness.

And on that bombshell, we headed for home, the fast way. The thick fog, which had engulfed the entire area around the Tatsfield Bus Stop and beyond had lifted. Only minutes earlier we watched bikes and cars disappear into the thick 'pea souper', but now, disillusioned as we were about anything connected with the word 'online' we pedalled off towards the Botley Hill Farmhouse and the road home. We parted at the Green and vowed to be back there next weekend for another exciting episode of NoVisibleLycra.

Until then...

A cold and frosty morning as we head for the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

The start of the year is, as I've probably said before, slow. Slow in the sense that I'm always feeling a little lethargic and still trying to kick myself into gear after the Christmas break. Cold weather doesn't help as it makes me want to lie in bed rather than jump out of it and ride the bike.

At the Tatsfield Bus Stop in the frosty weather...

Last week, because of the trip to Morocco, I didn't ride out at all, although this was partly due to the cold weather. While Saturday's no-show was to do with getting home at 0100hrs from North Africa, Sunday morning's laziness was purely down to the cold weather outside. The cars and the ground were frosted over and I had to reach for the phone and type out the word 'abort'.

It's now Sunday morning and it's 0913hrs as I write this. I didn't go out, but that was because I awoke at 0300hrs and had a devil of a job getting back to sleep. I started to think about getting up and going cycling and I knew that, if I did fall asleep, I'd be in a right state of weariness when the alarm rang out at 0555hrs. I've set the clock to this time because I really enjoy Tweet of the Day on Radio Four, which comes on just before the news. But I missed it, if it was on today, but when I did regain consciousness at 0739hrs (I'm only precise because I have a digital clock) I started having the usual regrets and the usual fretful conversations with myself: perhaps I should get up now and ride to the green and back, or call Andy, find out where he is and arrange to meet him somewhere along the route. But in all truth, I was tired and when I did get up I realised that I wouldn't be riding anywhere.

Yesterday it was freezing cold. There was frost everywhere: on the cars, on the grass, on the pathways and on the road, but I was up early (around 0530hrs) and raring to go. I made myself tea and Shredded Wheat and after watching the television (BBC Breakfast – not all of it) I sorted out the tea, packed the old rucksack and rode out towards Warlingham Green wearing the flappy hat and green balaclava combo. I also had on FIVE layers: a tee-shirt, a normal shirt, a thick jumper, a hooded sweatshirt and my rusty-coloured jacket, not forgetting a scarf and the Tesco ASBO specials. The only part of me that was cold was my feet.

It was a clear day, a crisp day, and when I reached Warlingham Green there was no sign of Andy. When he arrived he complained about his bike's gears and said that he was fed up with always having to fix something. I agreed. There was always something wrong with our bikes and it was normally related to the gears. You've read previous posts on this blog in which I've moaned about gears and bottom brackets and brakes and Andy's right, it's a constant in our lives and that's leaving aside punctures. Punctures are like Voldemort, we tend not to talk about them because as soon as we do we feel we're tempting fate. I mentioned to Andy again, yet again, that we'd be better off with 'normal' bikes with mudguards and block brakes and at that suggestion we headed off for the good old faithful Tatsfield Bus Stop.

Sanderstead Pond was still icy as I rode home

It was a good ride. We went the fast way as I don't think either of us could face the long climb up Beddlestead Lane; and after damaging my left foot the other week (I blame Hesiers Hill) it was a route I didn't fancy taking, even if it did allow us to engage in conversation, safe in the knowledge that there were no cars around.

When we reached the bus stop we sat and drank tea and munched on our Belvitas (I love Belvitas). A man walked by talking into a mobile phone to somebody or simply talking into a dictaphone, we couldn't see properly, but he said something like "...and the temperature is one degree Centigrade." He was wearing a complete, body-hugging Lycra outfit and carrying a rucksack. We watched as he crossed Clarks Lane and walked down White Lane and then, after laughing at a few of the entries from my Viz Das Krapital 'profanisauris' we mounted our bikes and headed home, parting at Warlingham Green and vowing to be back on the green at 0730hrs the following morning. Sadly it was not to be as I awoke in the middle of the night and had trouble getting back to sleep. But this, of course, is where you, oh humble reader, came in. Until next week, when we really MUST get our acts together. Alright, not 'we' but me.

'We're off on the road to Morocco...we certainly do get around!'

29-30 January: Air travel is probably the closest we're all going to get to time machines, apart from ignoring when the clocks go backwards or forwards and then spending some time in the past or future.

Within the grounds of the Le Meridien N'Fis Hotel, Marrakech

On Thursday morning I flew out of London Gatwick to Marrakech in Morocco, North Africa. I've never been to Africa before. The weather in the UK was cold. Snow had been threatened and, as usual, I was not really dressed for the occasion: the cold wind howled right through me whenever I found myself out in the open air.

Le Meridien N'Fis, Marrakech

It had been a busy schedule from the word go mainly because I'd decided to spend Tuesday night in Leicester so that I could attend a small seminar and exhibition the following morning. It was cold in Leicester too and while I should have stayed in the hotel for dinner, I foolishly ventured out and rather than arrive at my destination chilled, I was blast-chilled and then I had to endure the cold again for the walk back to the hotel.

An orange tree inside the hotel grounds

When I reached home on Wednesday night the power had gone off. Well, not all of it, just stuff that was linked to a specific 30-amp fuse. I didn't have any 30-amp fuses so I spent until 10pm driving around the streets of Croydon in a desperate search so that my family would be able to use things like the iron and the oven. No joy. It also meant that I couldn't iron any clothes for the trip to Morocco and time was running out.

The labyrinthine streets of the Marrakech souk

I was due to fly out of Gatwick for Marrakech on Thursday morning and, as usual when an extremely early start is involved, I didn't get a good night's sleep. I was up at 0400hrs slinging a shirt or two in a suitcase and getting together all the things I thought I would need for the trip. The blown fuse meant that I couldn't use the power shower the night before so I resorted to the olden day practice of having a bath, which was quite pleasant. Bathing and shaving the night before saved time and when a colleague from work, who lives locally, rang the doorbell at 0500hrs I was virtually ready to leave.

Looking down on the souk

We drove along the A23 towards the office where we met our other work colleagues and jumped into a coach for a short ride to Gatwick airport. Within around 15-20 minutes we were there and I had what amounted to breakfast: a large paper mug of tea and an almond croissant from Starbuck's before heading to the gate and flying off to Marrakech.

Another aerial view of the souk – check out the rugs

The flight lasted just three hours and it went by pretty quickly. The skies were clear, there was very little in the way of turbulence – none, in fact – and we arrived safely in Morocco where the sun was shining and there was neither cloud nor snow.

Yours truly on the main square, Marrakech

How incredible when you sit and think about it: just three hours from Gatwick airport and I was in North Africa looking at camels and snake charmers, monkeys dressed in suits and men wearing hooded garments and those hats made popular in the UK by the comedian Tommy Cooper (the Fez). It was even more incredible that I was there for just one night, although, effectively, with such an early flight, we would have the best part of two days in an environment reserved for the likes of Peter Laurie, Sidney Greenstreet and Peter Ustinov, not forgetting Bob Hope, Bing Crosby and Dorothy Lamour (the last three from Road to Morocco).

Avenue Mohammed V1, Marrakech...nearly back at the hotel

Our hotel was a short drive from the airport and it was an oasis of palm and orange trees, trickling sprinklers keeping the lawns green and the pleasing and calming sound of birdsong from the lush foliage of the flora and fauna. In short it was another world; a world far-removed from what I was used to, but a world strangely appealing. Like in most hot countries there was the sound of whining mopeds on dusty roads, but there were camels and snake charmers too.

Only yards from the hotel. Out of shot to the left is a shopping mall

The hotel room was roomy and luxurious, like any hotel you might find in the western world. There was the obligatory Samsung flatscreen television and a fully-stocked minibar and decent and proper coathangers. Two things that bug me about hotels everywhere is a locked or empty minibar and those awful coathangers that don't have proper hooks. Both are signs that the hotel doesn't trust its guests, but not the LeMeridien N'Fis in Marrakech. It was perfect. I didn't get much of a chance to sample the food other than the breakfast – fresh fruit, yoghurt, cereal – and a club sandwich, but what I did try I enjoyed, especially the Moroccan mint tea – if you haven't tried you really must. I know that Whittard's sell it. In fact, let's have a little rave about Moroccan mint tea. It's amazing. I had my first glass when I arrived at the hotel (it's the way the hotel greets its guests). It's minty and sweet-tasting so I'm assuming there's plenty of sugar, but it's wonderful. I had a pot of it in the souk and the pot was crammed with mint leaves, but there's more to mint tea than mint leaves and hot water and I'm guessing the extra ingredient is sugar. I'll have to check it out online, but next to Twining's Lemon & Ginger tea and some amazing jasmine tea I enjoyed in Qatar, Moroccan mint tea gets a tremendous thumbs up from yours truly.

We had the whole of Friday as free time as our return flight didn't depart until 8 o'clock. There was plenty to do: a bike ride into the Atlas mountains had been mooted and I was kind of up for it, until I realised that it wasn't an organised trip with other like-minded individuals but one of the guys in the office checking out a route on his iphone GPS, and besides, who wanted to ride 56 miles to and from the mountains when there was a risk of kidnapping in Morocco's remoter outlying regions (I'm guessing that means the Atlas Mountains)? Well, what about a spot of quad biking? Rik Mayall immediately sprung to mind and so did Ozzie Osbourne, both of whom had quad bike accidents. Ozzie is still with us and so was Rik until recently and it is widely believed that his quad bike accident contributed to his sad demise. Alright, well, what about horse riding? I've never riden a horse but I know people who have and one of them fell off and broke her back. Not pleasant. She's alright now, but why take the risk? I wasn't alone in my cautious attitude. A group of us headed into town to mooch around the famous souk where Moroccans sold everything from leather holdalls and handbags through to woollen hats and it was well worth it. The souk was like a kind of shanty town: narrow, dark alleys twisting and turning and never seeming to end. I love mooching around too. I do it all the time. Mooching about. If I had the financial wherewithal I'd be a professional moocher.

We wandered around and eventually stopped for a cup of tea in a restaurant offering an aerial view across the top of the souk – corrugated iron roofs, satellite dishes, rugs draped over the sides of buildings and a hazy blue sky. Temperatures reach almost 50 degrees C in the summer but now, in January, it's a pleasant 20 degrees, just like a summer's day in England.

The people are pretty friendly too. In fact I wouldn't mind returning to Marrakech for a holiday.

Left to right: Martin, Jezza and Jason on the main square, Marrakech.

After a while I decided to walk back to the hotel, which took about 20 minutes in the warm sun. After a club sandwich and a jolly decent glass of draught ale, the name of which I can't recall – although the bottled Casablanca beer was also very pleasant – I waited for the coach to the airport, then endured the usual airport security and the long wait until the flight was called.

The journey home was fine, but I was tired out and wanted to get home. We were in the air for about three hours and because it was a night flight there was nothing to see out of the window. When we eventually landed we all queued for passport control and because I only had hand luggage the whole process was fairly smooth. A colleague gave me a lift home and at around 0100hrs I hit the sack. I was so glad to be home, even if it was freezing cold.

Over the weekend I decided to take it easy and not go out cycling as it was far too cold.

As for Marrakech, it was fantastic and if you haven't been there yet, I suggest you book a flight immediately.

In Leicester...watching Celebrity Big Brother!

...yes, I'm in Leicester. Not very exotic when you consider some of the other places I've been to, but next on the agenda is Morocco. Marrakech to be precise. But that's later. Right now I'm sitting in a budget hotel watching Celebrity Big Brother on Channel Five. People in my office don't like Perez Hilton, but I do; he's brilliant. A million times better than the awful Katie Hopkins, his nemesis, and her crew. And right now the ads are on and there's an eviction coming up. It won't be Perez as he's currently segregated from the rest of the house on some kind of secret mission set by Big Brother.

Anyway, I'm sounding pretty sad. It's not that I'm a Celebrity Big Brother fanatic, never have been, but when you sit down and watch a few minutes you get hooked and that's just what's happened to me.

On a completely different subject, if ever you find yourself in Leicester, go to The Globe on Silver Street. It's excellent. Oh, hold on, Celebrity Big Brother's back on. A live eviction! "The results are now in." But who's coming out? "It's time to talk to the house. Celebrity Big Brother House, this is Emma...".

"The viewers have spoken. Your fate is sealed. I can now reveal the two housemates with the most votes and, therefore, safe from eviction are....Nadia and....Katie Hopkins!" But who's going out? Hold on, it could be Cami Lee, Patsy, "one of you is about to leave the celebrity big brother house." But who? It's...Patsy! Patsy Kensit has 30 seconds to say her goodbyes.

I have to say that I like Patsy Kensit. She's got a bit of style about her, unlike most of those in the house. So let's hear what she has to say...after another ad break.

Great Aldi ad with a bear in the woods talking about toilet paper. Do bears shit in the woods? Of course they do!

It's back on! Is Patsy pleased or disappointed to be out? Pleased. She says it's stressful and madness (in the house). "The problem was I just didn't want to get involved in the fights," Patsy says. "I'm really happy to be out."

Is this boring? It is, I know, but here I am sitting in a budget hotel in Leicester. Although, to be honest, I've been watching it at home too. The last time I watched Celebrity Big Brother was in 2005 (or 2006) when Pete Burns was in the house.

Anyway, back to Patsy, she likes Cami Lee (boos from the audience).

"I'm safe, I'm calm and my intention is good," says Patsy while in the Big Brother House.  Mind you, what's with all the 'give peace a chance' stuff? A bit out-dated, don't you think? But hey! I like her calmness.

"My time in the big brother house has been a little bit surprising but I'm glad I did it," she says and now the fun begins as the housemates are about to find out that Perez hasn't left the house, as they all thought – he's back and the Perez Show continues, although he's now permanently up for eviction. Not that he cares! If he does get evicted he still gets paid.

A cold and frosty morning as we ride...to the Tatsfield Bus Stop

No cycling for yours truly on Saturday and it was kind of welcomed in a way. The problem with missing a week is that you enjoy a lie-in and so, when it comes to getting up early in the cold weather to go riding, there's a strong reluctance to get out of bed. But I had a valid excuse: an early trip to a shoe shop near Claygate. Andy rode to the churchyard, non-stop.

Lopsided, but pointing in the right direction

Sunday was game on, however, and even though I admit to feeling a little reluctant to hit the cold air – and it was cold – as soon as I'd jumped out of bed and had the kettle on downstairs, I realised that I was looking forward to getting out there.

I wrapped up warm, opting once again for the flappy hat and terrorist balaclava combo to keep out the cold and soon I was riding along the sparkling roads towards Church Hill. I was constantly concerned about my left foot (see previous post) although things are much better now. My problem is that I know whatever was wrong with my foot is still there, it's still lingering, waiting for another opportunity to play up. What could it be? It's hard to tell. A sprain? Possibly. Arthritis? Could be. Rheumatism? Maybe. But it's definitely not gout. Hooray!

Andy's walking boots

So I tried to use my right leg more than my left in an effort to reduce stress on my left foot and it seemed to work, although the only part of my body that was cold appeared to be my feet. I noticed that Andy had taken to wearing walking boots and thicker socks; this might be the answer – at least until the weather warms up and who knows, it might be the cold weather that's causing the problems.

Talking of the weather, yesterday (Saturday 24th January) was very pleasant. It was a big shame that I didn't go out. The sun was shining the weather was mild in terms of the temperature and I started to regret my decision not to venture out, especially as today it was cold and frosty outside. Not that I really noticed as the balaclava and flappy hat kept most of the cold at bay.

The Tatsfield Bus Stop

We rode the fast way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop mainly because I didn't want to put the stress of Beddlestead Lane on my left foot. It was pleasant enough and, as usual, when we reached our destination out came the tea and biscuits and we chatted about this and that before taking a few photographs and heading home again.

The road to Westerham...but not today

I reached home around 0930hrs and saw Phil in his front garden. He admitted to his dislike of the cold weather and said that Andy and I were putting him to shame. I told him that Andy was missing his sausage sandwiches and then put the bike in the garage until next week. No cycling next Saturday but we're both back on the road next Sunday.

Generally speaking the bike is alright, although it's still a little temperamental in the gears department. For some reason it chose today not to change down to the lower crank at the front. The last time this happened I had to walk up Hesiers Hill. Still, it's riding well other than that and I'm loathe to send it back to the bike shop as, invariably, something else tends to go wrong as a result. The last time, for instance, I think the block they put on was slightly higher geared than the block it replaced, making my ride just a little bit harder. Things are best left alone.

For next week I might sort myself out with a pair of those heavy duty walking socks and some new laces for my walking boots, the ones with the steel toe caps purchased in Brixham back in 2010 from Shoe Zone (my favourite shoe shop). You won't catch me wearing any trendy brand names as I don't see the point.

Weatherwise now, at 1116hrs on Sunday morning, the sun is shining but the weather people say it will cloud over and that tonight we can expect rain, which is making it's way down the country from 'ooop Narth".

My left foot...

Late February 2012 was the last time I recorded there being anything wrong with my left foot and if there is any kind of pattern developing (assuming that cycling and the state of my foot are in some way linked) then it has to be steep hills and possibly pushing things a little too far. Back in 2012 Andy and I rode to Limpsfield village following an off-road route through the Titsey Estate. On the return journey we had no choice other than to ride up Titsey Hill to reach the plateau and Botley Hill Farmhouse. The following day I was in the same state I found myself in last Monday – unable to walk. In a nutshell all of this week I've been hobbling around. It started Monday and got progressively worse as the week progressed. It was so bad that I was quite literally dragging my left leg behind me and it took me an inordinate amount of time to get anywhere. Fortunately my wife picked me up each night from Purley station, saving me the agony of the longish walk home. I say 'longish' because any walk, be it a short stroll to the local shops, is like trekking across the Himalayas. It wasn't pleasant and night times were just as bad as a dull, mildly throbbing ache meant that it was difficult to get to sleep. I resorted to Nurofen but was clearly not taking enough. In fact, I ought to relate my Nurofen story. In essence, all we had in the house were Nurofen melts, which, for some reason, didn't really appeal. Now you might say that if I was desperate, surely any port in a storm and all that, but for some reason I wanted basic Nurofen. So, at 0200hrs, I hopped out of bed – and by 'hopped' I mean I hopped out of bed on my right leg, wary that as soon as I put any kind of pressure on my left foot I'd be in total agony. I couldn't even put a shoe or trainer on without shrieking with pain. Suddenly the peace of the night was shattered. Arrrrgggggggggggggggghhhh! In the end I resorted to wearing my slippers.

At the foot of Hesiers Hill – perhaps I was over enthusiastic.

This shot was taken in the summertime.

Outside it was cold and quiet and the halogen street lights created a kind of lunar landscape in a suburban setting. I limped to the car, jumped in and drove off, passing a couple of gas stations and pulling in to their deserted, brightly-lit forecourts to see if they were open. It was hard to tell and the last thing I wanted to do was get out of the car and try walking if there was no point. The pumps were on; I could clearly see the digital read-outs of the meters, the forecourt was ablaze with light but there didn't appear to be anybody in the shop. I drove out and later found another gas station equally deserted. There was only one thing for it: the 24-hour Tesco in Purley – which, in all honesty, was where I was heading anyway. The huge car park there was virtually empty so I drove to the nearest parking space next to the store and then limped off in the direction of the shop floor. Fortunately I was directed to a small counter selling Nurofen Express, which I figured were good enough (although why 'brand extensions' exist I'll never know). There were no cashiers, just self-service machines, which required me to limp for a few yards more to pay. Clasping my much needed drugs I limped to the car, drove home, took some Nurofen and went to bed. It was around 0300hrs before I fell asleep, possibly later.

The week was characterised by limping everywhere and by Wednesday I figured a trip to the doctor's was in order so I booked up and found myself waiting almost an hour in the surgery's waiting room. GPs tend to be pretty useless as they don't really know what's wrong with anyone, they simply ask a few questions and then suggest that it might be X or Y and that anti-inflammatories are the best bet to start with. "Come back if you've still got it next week," she said and I limped away.

The last time this happened (back in February 2012) I went to a doctor in Croydon, at May Day hospital, and asked them if they thought it might be gout. I was told no, not gout. If it was gout, she said, I wouldn't be able to touch it. Phew! But this time round the subject raised its ugly head again mainly because, over the Christmas period, I had stuffed my face with tangerines and oranges and other acidic fruits. I wished I hadn't mentioned it because it led to the doctor saying that perhaps I should consider a blood test. I hate blood tests. But she said it wasn't necessary so I haven't bothered. What she did say was 'no cycling', not this weekend at any rate, so I resolved not to go. Andy wasn't going on Saturday and, as it turns out, the rain was falling on Sunday, which meant it was likely that we would have aborted anyway. It was one of those damp mornings when everything had that wet look and the back lawn in particular took on a sponge-like appearance.

Fortunately, my foot is now better. I can walk virtually normally and I'm no longer in pain. There's nothing worse than being out of action for health reasons – in this case a dodgy left foot. It makes you realise the importance of good health at all times.

It also makes me realise how lucky I am to be able-bodied and how these things shouldn't be taken for granted. I'm levelling the blame for my left foot at Hesiers Hill on last Sunday's ride and, perhaps, I was overdoing it a bit. To be honest, I don't know the real cause, but that's the only thing I can attribute it to. Fortunately for me, it's over now. I'm feeling better, I'm not limping, I'm not in pain and I'll be back on the bike next weekend – weather permitting.

Stars in the early morning as we head the slow way... to the Tatsfield Bus Stop

Warlingham Green, Sunday 11th January around 0730hrs.

Like the beginning of most years, it's looking as if 2015 will be a slow start where cycling is concerned. Last week we only went out on Sunday; this weekend was no exception and it looks as if next week will be the same. It's a mixture of Andy not being able to make it and then yours truly deciding to lie in and not go riding, but then, ultimately, the weather proved to be so awful that neither of us would have gone out anyway.

I enjoyed my lie-in: for a start, I needed it. I fell in and out of sleep and it was just before 1000hrs when I finally found it in me to get up and start the day.

Last Saturday it rained all day. This weekend it was wind and rain and who knows what next week will bring? Hopefully not snow.

Trees near St Leonard's Church, Chelsham

Today's weather was fantastic and having enjoyed my lie-in yesterday I was raring to go. I was up at 0527hrs and downstairs before 0600hrs enjoying Shredded Wheat and a large mug of tea while watching BBC Breakfast News – there was some bad news during the week when some Islamist terrorists decided to attack the offices of Charlie Hebdo in Paris, France. The radical magazine's cartoon depictions of the prophet Mohammed led to a handful of the magazine's cartoonists being gunned down in cold blood. While this was happening, another Islamist terrorist took hostages in a kosher supermarket on the other side of town in what looked like a co-ordinated attack. Needless to say it all ended badly. Innocent people were killed and the French security forces managed to take out all the Islamists bar one, a female, who escaped and is believed to be in Turkey. There's been a march through central Paris today attended by world leaders (including Buzz Lightyear) and, once again, the world is on high alert.

The mayhem has put me in a subdued state of mind, reinforced by some personal uncertainty in the family, which we're all a little anxious about. The weather is much improved over yesterday. The wind and rain has gone, the skies are clear and when I left the house at 0700hrs there were stars clearly visible above me as I pedalled towards Sanderstead High Street at the top of Church Way. It was still dark and my front and rear lights were both flashing, creating a strange strobe effect.

Andy on the return journey near St Leonard's, Chelsham

At the green I had time to take a few shots of the bike before Andy arrived. I could see his flashing front light a mile off and soon we were on our way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop (the slow way). As we headed towards the turn-off point at Chelsham the skies brightened up and we wound our way around the country lanes towards Hesiers Hill and then Beddlestead Lane.

At the bus stop it was business as usual: tea, BelVita biscuits (this week we had the chocolate-flavoured variety, which reminded me of Coco Pops). Coco Pops in biscuit form – what could be better? 

Surprisingly – and for the first time in NoVisibleLycra history – we didn't see a single Lycra Monkey on our outward journey; they didn't make an appearance until we headed back along Beddlestead Lane towards Hesiers Hill. And they certainly made up for their earlier absence. We found ourselves constantly nodding and saying 'good morning' or 'alright?' and other pleasantries.

For some reason my gears were working again and I managed to ride up Hesiers Hill without dismounting, unlike last week when I had to walk up. We weaved our way around the country lanes near Saint Leonard's Church and back into Chelsham where a woman walking two dogs asked us to keep a look-out for a beagle that had seemingly escaped bail. We saw the fugitive dog crossing into woods but there was little we could do, other than offer it a cigarette or a light, so we headed towards the mini roundabout at Warlingham Sainsbury's and then right along the Limpsfield Road towards the green.

Andy won't be around next Saturday so if I'm going to take a ride I'll be alone. I'm already thinking of a ride to mum's, but if the weather's good I might even head for the churchyard or the village or, if I'm feeling really adventurous, Westerham.

The first ride of 2015 – slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop in thick fog

Andy on Beddlestead Lane

Ghostly tree on Beddlestead Lane

First, let's deal with Saturday 3 January. In a nutshell? Rained off. I awoke around 0600hrs to the sound of rain outside. In all honesty, it was a kind of blessing in disguise. I rose from bed, peered out the window and spotted a puddle on next door's conservatory roof being hammered by raindrops. It was raining! Time for a quick 'abort' text and then back to bed. I was fast asleep by the time Andy responded with a simple 'ok'. It rained for most of the day.

Sunday was a different story. No rain but there was fog. Serious fog. It was probably the foggiest it had ever been on one of our rides – 'since records began' (in this case late September 2009). Thick fog from the moment I stepped outside until the moment I returned just before 10am. Visibility? Probably about 25 yards, but at times it was almost magical. It was certainly dangerous enough to warrant a ride to the famous Tatsfield Bus Stop the slow way. The 269 would have been far too dangerous. We even rode back the slow way after our usual tea and biscuits. In fact it was on the return journey, as we rode along Beddlestead Lane, that I noted the magical quality of the weather. It was almost like being in the clouds and there was a watery sun in the sky.

Thick fog at the Tatsfield Bus Stop

A ghostly sun over Beddlestead Lane

The trees were ghost-like in their appearance, virtually concealed from view by the fog except for a ghostly outline as if sketched with a pencil on white paper. Everything looked different. It was hard to recognise sections of Beddlestead Lane and it was strange to see the normally familiar mobile phone towers sticking out of the fog like weird skyscrapers as we headed towards the bus stop. In fact, it was difficult to see the bus stop. Cars disappeared into the fog as we sat sipping tea, prompting our decision to ride back the slow way, which meant Hesiers Hill. Not pleasant at the best of times, but I had to walk up thanks to my gears letting me down: they wouldn't change down to the lower crank at the front. In all honesty I don't think I lost any time.

Once I re-mounted we wove our way around the country lanes towards Warlingham Sainsbury's and then back on to the 269 where, thanks to the suburban landscape – and street lights – it was a little safer than out in the sticks. The fog was a little less dense but not by much and after saying goodbye to Andy at Warlingham Green I headed towards Sanderstead and my last day off work before Monday, which would be my first day back in at least three weeks. We drove to Danehill and Trading Boundaries and then all that remained of the Christmas holidays was dinner followed by Sunday television.

2014 – a review of the year

2014 kicked off with bad weather and 'abort' texts. The first post of the year (Saturday 4 January) spoke of severe weather warnings and extensive flooding in certain parts of the country with people being washed out to sea, fallen trees and travel problems. But there was also the first of the year's 'Respect is Due' awards to my brother Jon who rode out on New Year's Day 2014 and, as I wrote at the time, "took a major soaking in the process". Having dried his wet clothes on the radiator round at mum's, Jon put them back on and took another soaking getting home.

Sanderstead churchyard, Jan 2014

The following day there was a lull in the weather and a ride to the Tatsfield Bus Stop for Andy, Phil and yours truly and this led to one of 2014's iconic blog images (see pic left). On this particular ride, Phil provided Christmas cake on what proved to be his first ride with us since November 2013. It almost goes without saying that the weather closed in again, but not until we had all returned safely to our respective houses.

January 2014 was a time for excuses and, arguably, the most ridiculous excuse of the lot: Phil aborting because he was up most of the night waiting for his marmalade to boil. It was also when the BBC reported the stabbing of a 40-year-old man in Tatsfield, Surrey. His injuries were described as not life threatening and his attacker was arrested on suspicion of grevious bodily harm (GBH).

While Phil waited up for his marmalade to boil, I adapted well to my new 'bus wanker' status. No car meant I had to rely upon the buses, which in many ways was good news (I walked more and spent less) but the weather during this period was atrocious and when I eventually bought a car in February (a Toyota Corolla), I was more than happy to surrender my Oyster card. As I wrote on Sunday 12 January, "Not having a car has its advantages. We walk a lot more than we used to, which is good."

I became a seasoned 'bus wanker'

The poor weather meant a lot of rides to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, although we did manage an 'urban ride' to mum's in January and Andy and I found ourselves discussing how it was just like being a kid again, "It was odd that Andy and I were both on our bikes, as we might have been aged 13 or 14, cycling round to my house, perhaps, after school or on a Saturday afternoon. It would have been strange, in a good way, if Andy had referred to mum as 'Mrs Moggridge' as he might have done aged 13, but there we were, windswept and hungry and eagerly awaiting our tea and cake."

In February the bad weather continued with plenty of dramatic skies and rainy and blustery weather. Somerset, Devon and Dorset were virtually cut off from the rest of the country and our shorter rides continued. Flooding in the Woldingham area meant that Andy resorted to meeting Phil and I at the top of Slines Oak Road rather than Warlingham Green, just like the old pre-blog days.

Matt and Jon at mum's house

I managed to lose 21lbs having cut out bread and sweets from my diet (something I persevered with throughout the year). Oddly, the strange knocking noise that might well have been a dodgy bottom bracket, ceased and has not returned. I've put this down to losing weight. I look and feel better and I've gone down a shirt size. Nice work!

In March, while rides to Tatsfield continued, we did manage to reach Westerham on a couple of occasions over the weekend of March 22/23. On the second ride I managed to get our first puncture of the year (Sunday 23 March). It was late March and the weather people were still predicting temperatures of minus three degrees – a week before the clocks went forward.

April was characterised by yours truly taking a week off work and cycling every day. In fact, I cycled for nine consecutive days, the weather had improved considerably and all was well with the world – well, alright, the world wasn't well at all, we had ongoing problems in the Middle East (Syria, Israel, ISIS) and while the UK economy was said to have improved, it hadn't really. But leaving aside world affairs, we still managed to get, as I put it, 'a major soaking' on a ride to the bus stop on Sunday 6 April and rain stopped play completely over the weekend of 26/27 April.

My first 2014 puncture

The highlight of May was riding around Indianapolis in the USA using the city's recently introduced bike share scheme. I took major advantage of the bikes and managed to cover a great deal of the city where dedicated bike lanes have been introduced. In fact, NoVisibleLycra found fame (not fortune) in Indianapolis as my two posts on the city's bike share scheme were posted on the Urban Indy website.

In June I found myself riding around Berlin, which was excellent – especially riding through the Tiergarten to the Reichstag and spotting a red squirrel – and, back home, while we were still riding to places like the Tatsfield Bus Stop, Westerham was putting in more regular appearances. On Sunday 15 June we headed to our favourite North Kent market town and ate sausage sandwiches, courtesy of Phil who, it turned out, is quite a gourmand. As summer progressed we were treated to his excellent corned beef pie and a rather tasty Bakewell tart and let's not forget the efforts of one of Phil's daughters (he has three, but I can't remember which one) who made an excellent honey cake. Phil and I enjoyed it with our tea at the Tatsfield Churchyard on Saturday 21 June – the longest day. The following month, on 20 July, we all rode to Westerham and Phil brought his Mary Berry's Christmas cake along. The weather was cloudy but warm and bright with sunshine expected (and delivered) later in the day.

Riding round Indianapolis, USA

In August, Andy braved torrential rain for Ride London and later wrote an exclusive report for the blog. "The euphoric feeling I was getting as I cycled through Whitehall and rounded Trafalgar Square was incredible. The finish line at The Mall lie ahead and as I crossed the finish line I realised that this was easily the hardest charity event I had ever done – a real test of mental strength."

September saw three rides to Westerham and a couple of suburban rides to mum's, not forgetting a solo ride to the Tatsfield bus stop for yours truly. The weather was still very good, prompting me to write that "We've been blessed with what can only be described at this time of year as an Indian summer." But it wasn't just the Indian summer, the whole summer had been wonderful and it seemed like a long time in shorts and tee shirts before we began to consider gloves and jumpers again.

Andy braves Ride London 2014

October was pretty uneventful, but we did manage a 'heads down' ride to Westerham on an autumnal Saturday morning (11 October). While there were certainly leaves on the ground at the green, the weather was still very mild and the gloves didn't go on for some time.

In November my gears started to play up. It wasn't so much the gears but the block, which had worn out, and the chain. The end result was a new block and a new chain and now all is well again, but it meant a week of no cycling while the bike was in the repair shop. Once fixed, however, we headed for Westerham where the shopkeepers had started to prepare their shopfronts for the festive season. The weekend of 30 November was good for cycling. Andy and I rode to Westerham and then I rode to mum's alone – covering 34 miles in total.

Cycling in Berlin

Soon it was December and the bad weather started to kick in; it got colder, prompting Phil to make it clear that we probably wouldn't see much of him until the spring. He hibernates, just like Freda, the Blue Peter tortoise of times gone by. I can see him now packed away in a long cardboard box covered with straw.

Jon's bottom bracket on his Kona failed and he had to buy a new bike as a result. Andy and I braved the cold but kept the rides short. Yes, we were back at the Tatsfield Bus Stop again and I had to don the famous flappy hat and balaclava combo to keep out the cold, foregoing the use of my crash helmet based on Boris Johnson's advice that it's not really going to make any difference if I meet with an accident. Not sure about that, Boris, but I'll go with your advice as warmth is crucial. 

Flappy hat and balaclava

Andy received another Respect is Due for riding out alone on Christmas morning – a first for NoVisibleLycra. He rode to Chipstead Lake. Actually, on the 'respect is due' front, Phil also scored rather highly thanks to his culinary flair – Mary Berry's Christmas Cake, Jamie Oliver's Bakewell tart, the aforementioned honey cake produced by one of his three daughters, and his excellent sausage sandwiches.

Andy and I  rode out on Boxing Day to Tatsfield Village, armed with mum's Christmas cake, and took the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop on 28 December. I've considered a New Year's Day ride (which would be a first for us) but in all likelihood I'll probably stew in bed and ride out on Saturday 3 and Sunday 4 January 2015.

All things considered it was a great year for riding. On a personal level I managed to ride around Indianapolis and Berlin, not forgetting Amsterdam last month. Andy succeeded in completing, among other long-distance charity rides, the Ride London 2014 event and, as a team, we upped our game and embarked upon more regular rides to Westerham although, in all honesty, we need to do more trips of over 20 miles and perhaps in 2015 we need to up our visits to Chipstead Lake.

Phil's Bakewell tart

If we are to make a collective New Year Resolution, it has to be something along the lines of more cycling, greater distances, more regular rides to Westerham, find new destinations – the latter, I think, being very important. We haven't been to Godstone Green for a while – because of the hill coming back – we haven't braved Marden Woods, we should throw in a couple of Woodmansterne Greens to see Jon and Jon (if you're reading this) you should be coming over this way once in a while. It would be good to see you on a ride to Westerham or the famous Tatsfield Bus Stop.

It's 1109hrs on New Year's Eve 2014 as I write this. The frost has gone and the temperature outside is much warmer than it was earlier this morning and yesterday. I think it's going to be milder over the next few days, but let's not forget that over the next three months the weather is likely to get a little more severe. Snow is surely on the cards and we're going to get plenty of rain, fog, ice and sleet before the clocks go forward and the decent weather arrives. However, if this year is anything to go by, we'll probably manage to avoid a major soaking as these days we're rarely caught out – call it a sixth sense or call it just lucky.

Phil's corned beef tart

The bikes have all performed well. My Kona Scrap could do with a full service but it's generally fine. The block and chain were replaced recently at Cycle King, I've got new (bright yellow) handle grips – or rather I've got one new handle grip (I've yet to replace the one on the left hand side) – and I have front and rear lights working. At this time of year there are dark starts and they will continue until March (or thereabouts).

Andy's Kona Blast is still in need of a good clean (it's always caked in mud). His racing bike, on the other hand, is nice and clean. Jon, as I mentioned earlier, has recently bought a new Cannondale.

Phil guarding his tart

I keep going on about how my Kona Scrap, while amazing, is totally wrong for the sort of riding we do; invariably we don't go off road so a more sensible steed would be more applicable, but since when have I been sensible about anything? Besides, I like my bike, even if it is a little juvenile in appearance and attitude, and have no intention of changing it. In my opinion, it does the job and if that job is made harder by thicker tyres, a heavy frame and just 16 gears, then so be it – at least I'm getting more of a work-out than I might be getting with a more sensible machine. Perhaps 2015 will be the year I purchase some mudguards, who knows?

In Amsterdam, November 2014

As for the highlights of 2014, I guess mine would have to be the cycling abroad, especially in Indianapolis and Berlin. I haven't asked him, but I'm guessing that Andy's highlight would be the Ride London event in August and as for Phil, it's hard to say what he'd pick – although his bakery skills were certainly among our highlights.

For now all that remains is that I wish all readers of NoVisibleLycra a Happy New Year for 2015. When I check the statistics I note that there are readers all over the world, some of whom have already celebrated the start of the new year. I'm thinking, of course, about Simon Cotter over in Australia. We haven't heard much from Simon of late, or our pal in Boone, Iowa, Greg Bowles, but here's hoping all is well for them both.

The much maligned Tatsfield Bus Stop