The First Euroflat Hotel, Brussels...fine, but no hot water in the shower

You can be staying in a fantastic hotel, in a great room, with a sofa, a balcony, a table, a minibar, wall-mounted television, a couple of cooking rings, a domestic-sized fridge, a decent enough view and even a few empty bookshelves to stack up should your stay be longer than a couple of days. But it's amazing how things can very quickly 'go wrong'.

First, the check-in: it was perfect. Quick is crucial and this involved a small form to be filled in and then being handed my key card. The elevator was quiet. Very quiet. So quiet I wondered if it was moving, but it was and soon I was on the fifth floor looking for room 510, which was on the left at the end of the corridor. The key card was good too: not a slot affair that doesn't work on the first two or three attempts, but like an Oyster card. The door never failed to open. Then the room. It was great and very spacious (see previous paragraph).

The European Commission – very close to the Euroflat

When I arrived at the First Euroflat I took note of the four stars that adorned the side of the building. Oddly, however, there was no restaurant, which, as I've said many times before, is not always a bad thing, although I'll admit that there's nothing like a decent hotel restaurant. It means you don't have to 'go out' and seek a decent meal and it means you can chill out and then jump in the elevator and head for bed.

The fact that there wasn't a restaurant, however, meant that I did have to go in search of a decent restaurant for dinner. It wasn't a problem as everything was close-by; sometimes taxis are involved and it's winter and that makes it all a little depressing, but it's the summer – it's July and there's still daylight, so all is well.

After dinner I returned to the hotel and went straight to my room. I watched TV and then, after using the spacious bathroom, I hit the sack. I got a reasonable night's sleep and headed down for breakfast around 0730hrs. The breakfast room on the ground floor was busy and it took me a while to find a table for myself. It looked as if I might have to ask, "Is this chair taken?" but fortunately I found an empty table. Five minutes later somebody asked me, "May I join you?" or something along those lines and of course it was fine.

The breakfast offering was fine as there was a wide selection of stuff: fresh fruit, cereal, cheeses, scrambled eggs, sausages, something else hot that I couldn't identify, pastries, bread, hard-boiled eggs, tea, coffee, fruit juices, the usual set-up and it was quite pleasant.

There was only one thing wrong with the hotel: the bathroom. Before breakfast I turned the tap of the shower and expected hot water, but all I got was cold. I let it run, but it was still cold. It took an age before things warmed up and where the shower was concerned I switched it off so that I could shave first, but when I turned it back on again, it was cold and I couldn't wait around so I went without. 

There wasn't much else negative about the First Euroflat – apart from the bar downstairs. There was never anybody there enjoying a drink or anything for that matter, and nobody manning the bar either. Not exactly welcoming. The only good thing about it was a tank full of tropical fish.

Check-out was as straightforward as check-in. I left my case in the storage room down the corridor from the front desk and went about my business, picking it up later when it was time to head home.

Excluding the bathroom issue, the First Euroflat hotel was fine: ideally located near to a handful of decent restaurants and about two minutes on foot to the Schuman railway station where a short journey took me to Brussels Midi and my Eurostar home. 

Would I stay here again? Probably, yes, but I'd be wary about the cold water issue. The rest was fine.

Still in Brussels...

After finishing writing my last post I headed out in search of some dinner. In a way I was spoilt for choice, but with such variety often comes disaster as what can only be described as culinary Russian roulette took place. I passed by a number of good places, one being a steak house, which I've never been keen on, plus a couple of bars, a German restaurant and an Indian restaurant (of which, more later). In the end I settled for an Italian restaurant, one of those places that offers a laminated menu. It was pretty standard Italian fayre: pizza, pasta, minestrone soup and so on, and would have been wonderful had I opted for something simple, like a pizza and a beer. But no, I went for the grilled salmon, which, to be fair, was pretty simple – the sort of thing I'd eat at home with mashed potato and green beans. I had a minestrone soup to start, which was very good, paving the way, perhaps, for a decent main course, but no, the salmon was undercooked and 'slushy' in the middle, just the way I hate it. The last time I ate salmon like this I think it may have contributed to my 100-yard sprint to the toilet along Pittsburgh's Penn Avenue back in May. That, my friends, could have been very embarrassing as there was no way I was going to get to my room. I had to hope there was nobody in the public toilets on the ground floor – there wasn't – but somebody did enter the room as I was in full flow, so to speak. Fortunately, they left before I emerged, meaning that I retained my anonymity.

But getting back to Brussels, and moving away from the subject of poo, the meal in the Italian restaurant – I won't name it simply because I've already given it a bad review on Trip Advisor and don't wish to rub salt into the wound – was, I suppose, disappointing. I finished off with Tiramisu, which was fine, but way too much. I ate half of it and then paid up, making the big mistake of leaving my jacket on the back of my seat and not realising until the following morning as I packed my suitcase. Fortunately, it was still there at lunch time (complete with my return Eurostar ticket) when I went back and retrieved it, feeling slightly guilty about that bad review, even if it was at least 48 hours away from being published. Look, I'll be honest, it wasn't a bad restaurant and had I not had that under-cooked salmon I would probably have given it a good review, but that salmon being under-cooked annoyed me, prompting my rather vitriolic prose.

Spicy Grill – the best Indian restaurant... in the world!

Because this was a whistle stop trip of just one night – the very worst kind of trip – there's not really a great deal to say about anything as I didn't really do a great deal. Normally, when there's a couple of days involved, I get around the town a bit, I use the bike share scheme, and I generally 'do stuff', but not on this trip. I spent the morning 'on business' and then, after picking up my jacket from the Italian restaurant around noon, I wandered around looking for somewhere to have lunch. I opted for a place called The Spicy Grill, an Indian restaurant where I sat and enjoyed poppadums, a naan bread, chicken jalfrezi and Bombay aloo, not forgetting pilau rice and a cold beer – perfect! I've reviewed The Spicy Grill on Trip Advisor (they have been given a glowing review for food, service and ambience of the highest order). In fact, I think I've found the best Indian restaurant... in the world!

Suitably refreshed I walked back to my hotel, which was no more than five minutes away on foot, retrieved my suitcase from the storage room on the ground floor, wrote the aforementioned Trip Advisor review for The Spicy Grill and then took the train from Schuman to Brussels Midi where I found time for a mug of English Breakfast tea and a Danish pastry. I could have done without the pastry. I met a man from Holland on his way to a Star Wars Convention in London. "I have the full Darth Vader costume in my case," he said proudly and I wished him well.

Soon I found myself en route to the UK in coach 3, seat 88. I had two seats to myself all the way back. We stopped at Lille and then Ashford in Kent and soon I was back on the platform at St Pancras International reading all about how Michael Gove finally got his come uppance for his treachery and was sacked alongside other 'villains' George 'we're all in this together' Osborne and Oliver 'I'm straight out of Dickens' Letwin, but sadly not Jeremy Hunt, who retains his incompetent ministerial role of Health Secretary.

Kwack beer at the Spicy Grill – wooferama!

I travelled across town on the tube and jumped on a direct train home from where I now write.

I know there's been issues with terrorism, but I like Brussels. The presence of soldiers at Brussels Midi was, as I said yesterday, reassuring. There's some pleasant little eateries around the European Commission area and you really can't beat Belgian beer. I enjoyed a Chimay Bleu last night at the Italian and at lunch time today a Kwack beer followed by another Chimay. Needless to say I was suitably chilled out for the rest of the afternoon.

On the Eurostar home a cup of tea and a bottle of mineral water sufficed. The rest of the time – it only takes two hours 'door-to-door' – I gazed out of the window at sunny green fields and cotton wool clouds.

For me the only disappointing element about my trip to Brussels was the fact that the UK voted to leave the European Union. I felt kind of guilty about it, even though I voted to remain and it wasn't my fault. Guilty and, of course, depressed. I felt even more depressed when I learned, late last night, that Boris Johnson had been appointed Foreign Secretary. That means that Johnson, an overweight, bumbling buffoon of a man, is a kind of PR man for the United Kingdom – he is being put forward as the face of the cuntry. Nicola Sturgeon and Alex Salmond must be seething, and rightly so. I wouldn't put it past the Scots to vote out in a second referendum to go it alone, and who could blame them?

What hope is there for the United Kingdom if the rest of the world thinks we're all like Boris. But let's not forget the chant of the Brexiteers: "Let's make Great Britain great again!" Somehow I don't think so.

In Brussels for the night...

I arrived at the Eurostar terminal in London with about 40 minutes to spare – or so I thought. My first problem was to obtain a ticket, albeit a free one. My fare had been paid by somebody (a rarity, but also a pleasant surprise) and all I had to do was key in the reference number and hey presto! But nothing is that simple. Or rather it is, but not today. It didn't work so I queued up to find out why and was quite prepared to simply go home if it all went pear-shaped.

Outside Bruxelles Midi station – the reassuring presence of the military

Fortunately, thanks to the very helpful woman on the information desk, all was well and soon I was through security with around 30 minutes, probably less, to grab something to eat before the train headed towards Brussels on roughly a two-hour journey. But that wasn't to be either and this time it kind of worked in my favour. There was a delay. The incoming train was late arriving and they put back the boarding time until 1530hrs. Fine by me! I ordered an egg and mayo sandwich and a millionaire's shortbread plus a cup of tea, but this was when I thought there were just minutes to spare. Once I knew I had time to relax and enjoy a leisurely snack (Caffé Nero's Millionaire's shortbreads, by the way, are to die for) I did just that, but it was pretty boring if the truth be known. I couldn't be bothered to read so I just sat there, munching the sandwich, chomping on the Millionaire's shortbread and sipping the tea. It meant, of course, that I could indulge in one of my favourite travelling pastimes – a glass of Merlot. Throw in a bag of sweet chilli potato chips (crisps) and, well, it was great, although still pretty boring.

The view from room 510...

The train boarded and I was in seat 73, coach 2. I thought, bearing in mind that somebody else was paying my fare, that I'd get a first class ticket, so it was pretty darn depressing when I noticed the figure 2 under the word 'class'. That's me, I thought, a second class citizen, but I wasn't really bothered. My aisle seat allowed me to stretch out a bit and en route I read a bit of Chomsky's Who Rules the World, it's a great book as it opens one's eyes to what's really going on, although, oddly, it's all stuff you kind of knew was true anyway.

Stuff like the so-called New Spirit of the Age, which is basically 'gain wealth forgetting all but self'. This led to what Chomsky describes as major industries devoted to the task of "'gaining wealth forgetting all but self' – PR companies, advertising, marketing, all of which contribute to what the political economist Thorstein Veblen called 'fabricating wants'. In other words, convincing us, the general public that we need and want things that we don't really want. It is, of course, all about putting the public in it's place – marginalising and controlling people who 'the establishment' (even to this day) regard as too stupid and ignorant to run their own affairs. "That task was left to the 'intelligent minority', who must be protected from "the trampling and the roar of [the] bewildered herd," the "ignorant and meddlesome outsiders" – the "rascal multitude, as they were termed by their seventeenth-century predecessors. The role of the general population was to be 'spectators', not 'participants in action, in a functioning democratic society."

The lush hotel garden below me...

What is amazing about Chomsky's book is the fact that, while 'the establishment' go on all the time about how great 'democracy' is and that's what we fought for in two world wars, the reality is that the further away from democracy we are, the better (for the establishment).

"A primary domestic task has always been to "keep [the public] from our throats," as essayist Ralph Walker Emerson described the concerns of political leaders when the threat of democracy was becoming harder to suppress in the mid-nineteenth century. More recently, the activism of the 1960s elicited elite concerns about "excessive democracy" and calls for measures to impose "more moderation" in democracy."

But enough of Chomsky (for now). After a pleasant journey in that lovely 'out of focus' state of mind easily captured by a large glass of Merlot, I stared out of the window, looking at wind turbines, which seemed to be rotating in slow motion and, in the process, slowing everything else down too. The train arrived at Bruxelles Midi around 1900hrs and I the first thing I noticed was the military presence – armed soldiers patrolling the station. It was strangely reassuring. I jumped into a taxi and the driver was a pleasant man in his early sixties who told me there were traffic jams around town and they were all to do with the erection of a fairground in the centre of town. After about 15 minutes we arrived at my hotel on the Boulevard Charlemagne, the First Euroflat, and all was wonderful from the word go.

My bed for the night...in room 510.

I noticed before entering the hotel lobby that I was literally a stone's throw from the headquarters of the EU – that familiar-looking building with loads of flags outside. It was a wonderful evening: blue skies and sunshine and things were made even better by an efficient check-in. I was directed to the elevator and was more than plesantly surprised by the room. It was huge. There were two electric cooking rings, a sink, a large fridge, a glass table (on which I guess I could enjoy dinner, cooked by myself if I so wished) and then there was a huge sofa, a desk, a double bed and a bathroom. And let's not forget a full minibar, free and easily accessible WiFi and a balcony. The view from the hotel was wonderful too and if I looked down there was a pleasant garden with a pond. I couldn't really ask for me if the truth be known.

My sofa and desk... a great room

To Tatsfield Village...

It's been a great day. From the very beginning to the very end. I woke in the middle of the night – well, I can't have it all, can I? I don't really know why, but I had a fretful dream of some sort and I awoke suddenly, heart racing. It might have been the heat so I opened the window to let in some fresh air. The other day we'd spoken about how sleeping in the open air was so, I don't know, so fresh and so relaxing.

As avid readers of this blog will already know, I'm obsessed – if that's the right word – with the idea of sleeping under the stars. I'm intrigued about finding the right spot in the woods, pitching my tent and then chilling out, perhaps burning a few logs, as the sun goes down before hitting the sack and getting a good night's sleep full of fresh air and the sounds of nature going on around me. I like the waking up when the sun rises, the smell of the dew and that refreshed feeling.

Phil fixes his puncture just past Botley Hill.

Yesterday evening, glass of beer in hand, the weather perfect, I strolled to the top of the garden where there's a large patch of ground that would be a perfect place to pitch a small tent. I could have sat there until dusk, drinking that beer, possibly having another one, before climbing into the tent and settling down for the night.

I'm not sure what the compunction is, but I think I'm seeking some kind of comfort, I can't figure it out. Walking around the block earlier in the day – or it might have been last week, I'm not sure – I found myself looking a patches of ground where, had I been homeless, but in possession of a tent, I might have considered spending the night. People close to me think I'm crazy. Perhaps they're right. In fact, I think they are right. And let's be honest, the reality would be different from the fantasy. I think initially I'd be listening out for potential enemies, but eventually, having found a secluded part of a wood, I'd settle down, I'd get used to the way things are and soon it would become second nature. But who am I kidding? Swapping a warm bed in a nice house for a Millets tent and a field? What am I on? Faced with the choice of a tent or a house, I know I'd choose the latter. What I really need to do is slap myself around the face with a large trout and then jump in pool of cold water for good measure.

So today it was going to be just Andy and I, but Phil joined us. He wanted a leisurely ride as he, like me, had been suffering from some kind of bug – the same bug that had given me a cold and a sore throat – in July.

The weather was good, in a cloudy, overcast sort of way, and completely different to yesterday, which was a hot, balmy day full of sunshine. It was warm today and there was greenery everywhere, cascading like fountains by the roadside. There's been a lot of rain lately and it's made everything grow and overflow.

Andy and Phil en route to Tatsfield village...

Phil and I had a short wait at the green, but soon Andy arrived and we all agreed to head for Tatsfield village. It was a good ride, the roads were relatively clear, the air was wonderful and the only downer was Phil getting a puncture just past Botley Hill. It took around 20 minutes to fix, probably less, say 15 minutes, and soon we were riding along Clarks Lane towards Approach Road where we hung a left and headed into the village.

The conversation was varied and we only discussed 'Brexit' for about five minutes – it's had enough air time on this blog and elsewhere. Most of the conversation revolved around electric bikes – for me, a bit like putting an outboard motor on a rowing machine – and how electric bikes have been used to cheat in major cycle races. And there was a bit of chat about Formula One and I said something about the Wimbledon Men's Final, which I later watched (Murray won in straight sets).

We drank tea and we munched biscuits and soon it was time to head for home. While it was warm it was also very foggy and there were odd spits of rain occasionally, but we didn't get a soaking. Once back at the green we said goodbye to Andy. Phil and I continued along the Limpsfield Road towards Sanderstead and home.

It's been a great day. The weather improved so I found myself mowing the front lawn – I did the rear lawn yesterday. Later, I sat in the garden with a chilled can of Stella, enjoying the moment. Right now I'm watching the news: the Dallas and Baton Rouge shootings, problems in Sudan and Kashmir and, as I write this, it's the final of Euro 2016 between France and Portugal*. At the time of writing, Ronaldo has been taken off the pitch due to injury and the score is still nil-nil. There's been some kind of trouble as tear gas has been used, but all seems well.

Heading back along Approach Road to Clarks Lane

It's 2128hrs and there's a wonderful light outside, almost like the Northern Lights. It's still warm out too, so I stepped into the garden and yes, you guessed it, I felt it was the perfect night to spend under the stars. It's warm enough to sleep out there in a bed with a decent duvet, let alone in a tent, and I can't think of anything better to do, except that I'm not prepared or anything. It would be great, lying on my back looking up at the stars (assuming its a clear night – tonight's pretty clear) and just chilling out. I know I'd get the best night's sleep ever, that's for sure.

* Portugual won 1-0 in extra time.

No cycling, but there's plenty going on in the world...

It's Saturday morning. The weather is fine but I'm not on the bike. It's almost 0900hrs and normally I would be in Westerham drinking tea and munching biscuits, but I'm not. I'm sitting in my living room, at the table, writing. I'm not ill; that was last week, but I am feeling a little stuffed up, a little chesty, that's all. I'm not cycling purely because I had to take somebody somewhere and I think, shortly, I'll be taking other people to somewhere else. So no riding today, although I'm planning on being back in the saddle tomorrow (Sunday).

There comes a time with cycling when I find that we're all slacking a little bit. Suddenly, I notice that we're only going once a week and I feel something needs to be done before we stop going altogether, not that anything drastic like that would ever happen. In many ways, of late, I've been the chief culprit: giving people early morning lifts, having a cold, things must change.

So, with no cycling comes a boring post. You might have noticed recently how I've been a little angry about the Brexit vote. Well, I'm getting over it, just, although I notice that Leadsom – one of two women fighting to be Prime Minister following David Cameron's lily-livered decision to step down – has been shooting off about how she's the best bet for PM because she's got kids. Well, the fact that Teresa May, the favourite for the job, hasn't got any children – and clearly had trouble getting to the point where she realised she wasn't going to have any – escaped Leadsom's mind. Look, she's a banker and a Brexit banker too, she's not the woman for the job. May was a 'remainer' and while some say that's not a good qualification for the job (as she's got to negotiate our exit from the EU) the fact remains that May is a proper politician, not some jumped up banker (let's not forget that bankers are THE problem, not immigrants). Bankers are why we have austerity. So why have Leadsom in charge? Let her get back to looking after her children.

In a sense, of course, the country is rudderless. While we have a PM, he's keeping his head down, so the sooner the leadership contest is done and dusted, the better.

The British political system is in state of upheaval at the moment. Not only is there no real PM in charge of the country, we've got an opposition party that is falling apart. Half of the shadow cabinet – probably more – has resigned, the leader of the opposition should resign, but is staying put despite being urged to go by many leading figures of the Labour party, but he's hanging on. My view is he will never be the Prime Minister so he might as well go now and save the country from more Tories.

Leadsom – she's a banker so no way!

And then, of course, there's 'Brexit'. As I mentioned earlier, it's all dying down a little bit as people get used to the idea that we're coming out of the EU. Oddly, going back to Leadsom for a minute, she said in an interview with the Times newspaper that she would make a good PM because she has kids. She spoke about how she'd be looking out for her kids and I found myself thinking that she can't care that much about them or she would have voted to remain in the EU and not 'leave', but there you have it. To continue briefly with this digression, I think it's obvious that I'm all for Teresa May. I don't know why, I like her, she has a bird-like face, she's been on Desert Island Discs, her dad was a vicar for heaven's sake. What's not to like? Leadsom = banker. Not to be trusted.

And then, of course, there's upheaval of a different kind. Since the Brexit vote was announced there has been a marked increase in the number of racist attacks in the UK as those who believed the Brexit vote gave them carte blanche to tell foreigners to 'piss of back to their own country' and 'stop nicking all our jobs' decided to make their feelings known. For a lot of people, immigration was the big issue in the EU referendum and while it would be unfair to say that all Brexiters are racists – they're not – so-called 'Brexit' did provide those with racist tendencies (I doubt if any racists voted to remain in the EU) with a kind of mandate to up the racist ante a little bit.

What is slightly worrying is the spate of resignations that followed the EU referendum result. First Cameron sloped off, rather than stay and keep the country on course, thus triggering the leadership election. Then there was Boris Johnson – once the leadership contest was underway he stepped down having been shafted by Orville lookalike Gove who himself has been knocked out of the leadership contest. Then there was Nigel Farage, leader of UKIP. He said he wanted his life back. In my opinion, all of these people have one thing in common: they all fucked up the country and then buggered off and the last one will be Leadsom. She'll lose the leadership contest and crawl back under her stone.

No mention of resignations would be complete without mentioning Roy Hodgson, the manager of the England team at Euro 2016. He was managing a typically rubbish English football team and it goes without saying that the team lost and was sent packing. Immediately after they left the pitch, Hodsgon resigned his post. Leave voters say "Let's Make Great Britain Great Again", well, my view is that they won't make it great again, it's impossible. If you're outside of the UK, the best way to get an impression of what this country is all about is to watch an episode of Eastenders and/or a football match involving the England team – together they sum up what this country is all about. Oh, and throw in Britain's Got Talent too, another example of how it is IMPOSSIBLE to make Great Britain great again.

Teresa May should be the new Prime Minister

Meanwhile, in America, more racist attacks, this time policemen shooting black people and then black people shooting white policemen (five dead before the gunman was killed by some kind of robot). You reap what you you sow, remember that. Policemen shooting black people is common 'over there' and it's not good, but it's common – and it all ties in with the swing to the right that appears to be happening on both sides of the Atlantic. Over there it's 'let's make America great again' while over here it's been 'let's make Great Britain great again'.

Nationalism, incidentally, is the most dangerous thing there is and that's what this is all about. The reason it is happening is because our politicians have been too arrogant for their own good. They haven't been listening to the people, preferring instead to pander to big business and the banking community and ignoring the wishes of the people. That's why we're out of Europe – the masses have spoken – and it's a similar story in the USA. In the beginning Trump was a rank outsider, but I said it back then and I'll say it again, he WILL be the next US president. Where politics is concerned I've always felt that if I think about the worst thing that can possibly happen, it will happen. And sure enough, we're out of the EU and, I believe, Trump will be the leader of the free world. It's a bad place to be, but because our politicians simply aren't very good – nobody trusts them and they have no idea of how ordinary people live their lives – we're in this mess.

Micah Johnson – you reap what you sow

Trust in politicians is at an all-time low in the UK and it's a distrust that goes back to the invasion of Iraq and the likes of Tony Blair and Jack Straw, the two eternal villains of the piece. They lied to Parliament and the public, took us into an illegal war and didn't have an exit plan other than to simply up sticks and leave the Iraqis to get on with it – a bit like Cameron, Johnson, Gove, Farage and all those who figured they could take us out of the EU and then simply walk away.

This week saw the publication of the Chilcott Report – the long-awaited Chilcott Report. Basically, Lord Chilcott told us what we already knew, but it was good to see Blair squirming in front of the media and, on Channel Four News, to see Jack Straw apologising to camera. What next? Who knows? But one thing is for certain: nobody will end up in jail.

And now the sun is shining, it's just gone 1000hrs and I'm still sitting at the table writing this post. Next up? A trip to London to pick up a tent, a muddy tent that went to Glastonbury a few weeks ago. All I can say is that there will be a ride tomorrow.

Sore throat means no cycling this weekend...

Friday I noticed I had a slight sore throat. Saturday morning it was a little more pronounced and I wasn't feeling good. In fact I cancelled a ride I'd been planning with Phil to Westerham. During Saturday a Lemsip made things bearable and then, on Sunday, I had to abort a second ride. Phil's stag night, what a great occasion: a few beers and a curry, nothing over-the-top, but I wasn't feeling good and by the time I got home around 0100hrs or thereabouts, I hit the sack with a runny nose and that aforementioned sore throat. I sent an abort text to Andy prior to going to bed and now, here I am, at 1009hrs, Lemsipped up and feeling a little better. There was no way I could have riden anywhere this weekend and I really can't wait until next week when hopefully I'll have shaken off this awful cold and sore throat. It's early July, the weather in the UK has been appalling and, what's worst, we've left the EU, although as it sinks in I'll admit that while still a little angry, I'm coming round to the reality of the situation.

Robertsons Coffee Shop, Oxted, Surrey.

A new review has been posted on my Teashop and Caff blog – click here for more.

Teashop and Caff is another blog of mine. It's been going for roughly the same time as NoVisibleLycra but it's all about teashops and caffs, as the name suggests. And it's international in its scope as you'll see if you scroll through past posts.

More thoughts on 'Brexit'...

Things are calming down on the Brexit front as people start to realise that 'democracy' has spoken and we've just got to get on with it; although, that said, there's a lot of tension out there as the country has clearly split into those who voted remain and those who voted out and neither side particularly like one another. The remain camp don't like the Brexiters because, they say, the battle was fought on the basis of immigration and the likes of BoJo and Gove and Farage lied to the public and now we're out of the EU. But the Brexiters believe that immigration is the big thing, they talk about how the country can't accommodate a constant influx of both EU and non-EU migrants and that an Australian points system would be best for the country. Remainers cite trade deals and the future for our children, unity and so on. It's one of those 'six of one, half a dozen of the other' arguments.

I admit that I wavered a little bit on polling day – or rather just before polling day. It's really odd, because in many ways perhaps I should have voted out. I'm always getting annoyed about the bankers and 'big business' and that whole notion of the EU being undemocratic. The way they have treated the Greeks, the uncertainty surrounding the Euro, the fact that 'free borders' has meant that places like Bruxelles and Paris are inflicted with the scourge of terrorism – there are lots of reasons to vote out. In fact, to stick it to the man, perhaps the best thing would have been to vote out.

Never trust anybody who bears a slight resemblance to Orville...

There are so many paradoxes. In many ways, the EU should be a 'left wing' thing – something borne out by the fact that bands at Glastonbury this year used the occasion to make their feelings known about 'Brexit', saying they were against it. In times past, the rock establishment has always come out against right wing politics and policies. But 'left wing' also in the sense of the EU being a huge bureaucracy, a massive 'machine' that takes an age to decide upon anything. The left, traditionally, likes 'the state' whereas the right is all for 'small government' and deregulation. There's also stuff around workers rights that attracts the left, which makes it odd that Jeremy Corbyn is a 'fervent anti-European' and I found it odd to discover that Lord Owen was the same. Perhaps I'm not as left wing as I think I am, but then I've always been middle-of-the-road politically. I can see the wisdom of the thinking on both sides, but I do tend to be 'left leaning'.

I seriously thought about voting out, a lot of the time wondering what would happen if we did – a bit like switching off your car headlights for a split second in the dark while driving along a country lane. Now that's scary. I like the idea, to a degree, about taking a step in the dark, although, ultimately, I think it's a bad thing – or rather it is at the moment. Things might improve, but I'm not holding my breath.

Walking to work of a morning I've started to play a new game. Spot the Brexiter. It's easy. Anybody who is old and gnarled and bad tempered-looking and any thick-set bloke with tattoos, a shaven head and a football shirt. And that, of course, is the other interesting thing about the Brexit vote: it's the little man standing up to the political elite. Big business has lost out. Soros (and others) have lost millions and that gives me a strange degree of satisfaction as that whole thing about the EU being an elite club, foreign workers being shipped in to bring down wages for the fat cats and so on. In a way Brexit is a kind of revolution, although I can't help but feel it will be short-lived. People forget that they're dealing with Tories and the Conservative Party (the party of 'business'). And we all know what 'business' is all about; it's about hiring and firing, making a profit, saving money, keeping wages down and so on, and the EU is designed to make life easier for business and fat cats.

But what about democracy? What about 'the people' of Europe? Remember Cecilia Malmstrom, the chief negotiator – or one of them – charged with the task of making TTIP happen? She told the Independent newspaper, not that long ago, that she didn't take her mandate from the European people, an odd thing to say, and it was concluded that she took her mandate from corporate lobbyists. There's a lot of corporate lobbyists in Bruxelles and I've always felt a little uneasy about that.

So perhaps going it alone is a good thing. Only time will tell. What lies immediately ahead, of course, is the negotiations, but with the country divided and it's political system in turmoil we need to get our act together first. I can't say I relish the prospect of the country being led by any of the Brexiters, certainly not Gove or Leadsam – and I'm glad that BoJo is out of the competition and has no chance in hell of reaching the 'judges' houses'. My favourite would be May, although, ultimately, I want the Labour Party to get its act together, appoint a 'proper politician' – like Alan Johnson or Hilary Benn – and boot out the Tories once and for all as they've made a right mess of things.

Post Brexit – we head for Tatsfield Village.

I didn't get out on Saturday due to personal commitments, and while Phil had initially been up for a ride, he went down with some kind of flash sore throat. But having met him during the week I told him I wouldn't be going until Sunday – so we never saw him.

Andy and I met at the green as usual and decided to head for Tatsfield Village, probably because Tatsfield Bus Stop is still in a state of disrepair since a car decided to plough into it a few weeks ago.

Andy was out on Saturday too...

The weather was good, which is amazing when you think of all the rain we've had in June, some say the wettest June 'since records began'. For me the weather is reminiscent of 2012 and, looking ahead, the phrase is 'sunshine and showers'. So far we've avoided a major soaking.

It was our first 'post-Brexit' ride and we both tried to avoid the subject, although once we'd brought out the tea and biscuits, we got started. I'd written a rather angry and incendiary piece for the blog in which bad language featured strongly. I was firmly in the 'remain' camp and while Andy admitted that he did waver, he voted out. Despite being on opposite sides, we did have plenty of common ground and after listening to some of Andy's views I did go back and revise my article. In fact, it's been revised numerous times since it was first posted last week.

I'm quite depressed about the result of the referendum, but I suppose at some stage I'll have to knuckle down and forget it. My last few words on the subject would be that I don't think it's going to be good for the UK and it doesn't make me feel 'proud to be British'. Phil, incidentally, feels the same way.

Now, of course, we're all 'Little Englanders'. I must remember to organise a subscription for the Daily Mail and, of course, consider membership of the British National Party. After all, we don't want any of those foreigners coming over here and nicking all our jobs, do we? I'll also have to remember to harp on about how England was a better place in the 1950s.

Article 50 has yet to be triggered, so officially we're still in the EU and are likely to remain in for the next two years while the next nob cheese of the Tory party sets about negotiating a better deal for England. He or she, of course, will be mindful of the phrase, "Let's Make Great Britain Great Again", which, in my mind is impossible. One clear example of how Great Britain isn't great, of course, is the football. The England team is so shit it can't even beat a bunch of Icelandic people who only have one decent player, apparently. We're now out of Euro 2016 as well as the European Union. Well, however rubbish the Icelandic team is supposed to be, it isn't as rubbish as England. Roy Hodgson has resigned.

Let's make Great Britain great again! Photo credit: The Sun.

But there are similarities between England and Iceland. Let's not forget that we both have corrupt prime ministers who have resigned after being rumbled by the public.

What else is there to say? Oh yes, the leadership election for a new arse face to run the Tory party. Eight contenders and, with the the exception of Teresa May, they're all Jeremy Hunts. In fact, Hunt has thrown his hat into the ring.

There's a lot of bad feeling in the country at the moment and that might even trigger a 'flash' general election. The problem, of course, is that the Labour Party is in a state of disarray and Jeremy Corbyn is standing fast rather than doing the right thing and standing down. I say get Alan Johnson or Hilary Benn in place – or both of them as leader and deputy leader respectively – and then boot the Tories out. They've got to go.

I console myself with the fact that all the extreme right wingers who voted for Brexit (none of them would have voted the other way) will be sorely disappointed to discover that nobody with a tanned skin or a foreign accent will be queuing for a train, ship or plane out of the country. In fact, there's a strong chance that more will be coming in rather than going out, certainly over the next two years. This, of course, will trigger racist attacks (there's already been a few) and that in turn will make the populous realise that those who voted to leave the EU are grouped in with a load of shaven-headed, fat, tattooed, football shirt-wearing nutters. Stupid, uneducated people and OAPs – they voted Brexit. It's a dire situation.

But Brexit aside, there's still cycling. I'm looking forward to the weekend and possibly a ride to Westerham – or even two rides to Westerham.

We're out of the EU. What now for the country?

At 0416hrs on 24 June 2016 I found myself wide awake. The daylight had penetrated the thick curtains and I was fully conscious. Keen to find out how the UK voted in the EU referendum – and confident that we'd still be in – I pressed the 'on' button on my bedside radio and discovered that we had voted to leave. I jumped out of bed, legged it downstairs, put the television on and then found myself both angry and depressed about the decision as the news unfolded.

I thought initially that the bigots had won the day and I was very angry about that. I still am. I know a few 'fervent anti-Europeans' who might be considered 'borderline racist'. People whose anti-European Union stance is predicated on the immigration argument and that age-old dispute we've heard so many times. You know the rap, "Coming over 'ere and nicking all our jobs!"

A lot of Brexiters won't stop blaming immigration for all the country's woes. Immigration and, of course, the European Union, go hand-in-hand in the Brexiter's book. But is it racism? Well, yes and no, but more often than not it's the former. A lot of people with right wing views can quickly be revealed as racists, whether borderline or full-on nazis.

Is it any wonder, therefore, that when I think of 'Brexiters' – those who want out of the European Union, and in particular those who want the UK to leave the EU because of immigration – I consider them to be racist on some level? A sweeping generalisation? Yes, of course. I know other people who voted out and they're not racist and some who say they're not racist, but clearly are.

In my opinion, one of the worst and most dangerous things in the world is nationalism and, at this moment in time, there is a huge surge of it happening globally and it's all based around phrases like 'Let's Make Great Britain Great Again'. Nationalism implies exclusion, us and them, black and white, and there lies the problem. And while the immigration issue is a concern, I can't help but feel that the Brexit camp has more than it's fair share of racists in its ranks.

The media, particularly the right wing tabloid media, play on people's fears and, in a sense, have the potential to stir up racial tension among those ignorant enough to believe everything they read in the newspapers.

I must make it clear, however, that I do understand the non-racist argument about controlling the numbers of people flooding into the country and the fact that, sadly, it seems we have to leave the EU to achieve that objective. In fact, the EU's insistence on 'free movement' of EU citizens, even if it means losing the UK (as it clearly does) shows the outright arrogance of Brussels. Despite wanting the UK to remain a part of the 'club', the bureaucrats of Brussels were simply not prepared to budge on the issue. Result? We've upped sticks and left.

Daily Mail readers were no doubt rejoicing at the referendum result. Little Englanders were too, peering out, perhaps, from behind the net curtains, unaware that the British Government has always had total control over non-EU migrants – those who featured on the recent UKIP poster – and that they are by far the biggest chunk of people coming into the country.

Do you really want this overweight, idiotic buffoon running the country?

I find it hard to hold back the laughter sometimes and this is because it is highly likely there will be very little change to immigration into the UK, certainly not for the next few years. We'll be seeing plenty more burkhas on our streets and I wonder how long it will take those who voted Leave to realise that, on some level or other, they've been conned by those masterminding the Brexit campaign. Already we're hearing about broken promises as some of victorious politicians who spearheaded the Vote Leave charge have admitted that X was a mistake and that Y was simply not true. It's already starting to unravel.

Soon the Brexit voters will realise that nobody is going to 'make Great Britain great again' and will ask: was it ever great? Remain voters might argue that if it wasn't for the Americans we'd all be driving Volkswagens and might go further and describe the Brexiters as a bunch of Captain Mainwarings who think they are something special, something a cut above the rest, but, ultimately, they're just a bunch of inward-looking, small-minded people living on a tiny island separated by just 20-odd miles of sea from mainland Europe – and a huge, single market that we're no longer a part of.

David Cameron – or 'Dodgy Dave' as he will always be known – is the main villain of the piece on this occasion. Scared of losing votes to a vocal UKIP headed by Nigel Farage during the run-up to the 2015 General Election, he offered the electorate a straightforward in-out referendum, purely out of self-interest and self-preservation. He wasn't bothered about the future of the country, he was more concerned about the future of the Tory party.

That said, it was also the arrogance of the political elite that lost it for the Remain camp. They had it on a plate – Farage conceded defeat before I hit the sack on Thursday night – but throughout the campaign they tried to scare and patronise the voting public into voting to remain rather than focus on the benefits of EU membership. Fed up with being talked down to, pissed off with being ignored, and highly suspicious of politicians generally, the British people voted to leave the EU.

Once the campaigning started, it was clear that those voting to remain in the European Union were being led by somebody distrusted by the people. Cameron is widely recognised a master of saying one thing and doing another. We've all heard about his stance on Turkey's future membership of the EU; he wanted them in and was pretty vocal about it. While Turkey's membership was a long, long, long way off, the seemingly more vocal Leave campaign seized upon every opportunity to worry the hell out of the working class vote – 75 million Turks would soon be heading our way, they lied, but everyone believed them because they simply didn't believe anything Cameron and his cronies said.

Nobody is saying that uncontrolled immigration isn't an issue and you don't have to be racist to want to sort something out, but to leave the EU is, in my opinion, not the answer. Better to remain and lead reform from within – but it's too late for that now and who's to say we'd get reform. No, the country will simply have to make the best of it.

Cameron was piss poor as the poster boy for the 'remain' campaign. Let's not forget his tax affairs, another example of him saying one thing – we must cut down on tax evaders/avoiders and close down foreign tax havens – and doing another – conveniently having cash stashed away in a Panama tax haven. Not only does Cameron have no shame, he takes us for fools and that, my friends, played into the hands of the Leave campaigners and their brainwashing call for us to 'vote Leave and take control'. Cameron was a major contributory factor behind the UK leaving the EU.

Cameron's resignation – he leaves in October – brings into question who should be running the country. Just think about it for one minute: Boris Johnson, that fat, Port-swilling Tory buffoon. Can you imagine him in charge of the country? What about Orville? Michael Gove, the man who has co-authored a book on privatising the NHS, the man who played havoc with our education system? Surely not.

Perhaps we should have a general election and attempt to get rid of the lot of them, but what would be the alternative? The Labour Party? What a mess they've made of everything. Sticking with the EU referendum, where were they? What message did they put across? Where was Jeremy Corbyn? Corbyn, a fervent anti-European of old, seems to shirk the media spotlight – not a good stance if you're the leader of a major political party.

What is to become of the country? Nobody knows. Moody's has given the UK a negative credit rating, Ford is considering its position, the pound is on shaky ground, the Chinese are saying Brexit is bad news for globalisation and there's nothing anybody can do about it. The people have spoken and now the country must go forward and make the best of the mess Cameron has left behind.

What we really need is find some decent politicians. Where the fuck are they? Think about it for a moment, there aren't any! They're all a bunch of Jeremy Hunts with nothing but their own self-interests at heart. They're not doing the country any favours.

But how did we get to this point? Why is it that we've exited the EU and it looks as if Donald Trump might just make it to the White House in November? Well, it's simple: nobody is listening. The EU – or rather those Brussels bureaucrats the Brexiters keep going on about, they're not listening. They're fully aware of the fact that the British are concerned about free movement and how the country is being overrun with EU and non-EU migrants as a result, but they're not prepared to budge.  Cameron pledged to keep immigration in the tens of thousands, but over 300,000 are coming in annually and they're over-burdening the system, which can barely cope as it is. Wages are coming down, local landscapes are changing beyond all recognition, but the EU is simply not prepared to meet us half way. Our political leaders aren't listening either and perhaps they never will.

The only good thing about the result is the fact that it's clear we DO live in a democracy. If nothing else, it was a victory for democracy. Shame on all those who went to vote with their own Biro pens in fear that government agents might be altering the ballot papers.

As I mowed the front lawn a neighbour who, like me, voted remain, came over to say that he was still very angry about the result. "Me too," I said. Now it's fair to say that votes were cast, a democratic process was observed and we should, of course, move on. And it goes without saying that we will move on, in time. Right now, though, people are smarting at the news that we're out of the EU. Others are rejoicing.

Why did I vote remain? Because I believed in being a part of Europe and not being isolated and I believed that, going forward, was the right thing to do for future generations. The last thing the British want to be is inward-looking and xenophobic. I get a strong sense, however, that the British people have been conned by the far right and that, sooner or later, the full extent of voting out will become clear to them. I don't think it's a good move, but perhaps I'll be proved wrong.

As I continued to mow the lawn, my elderly neighbour joined me for a brief chat about the garden, but soon we broached the subject of the European Union. "I'm old, I remember the war and being bombed by the Germans and that is why a lot of older people have voted out. But I voted remain, not for myself, but for the younger generation," she said. Good on her, I thought, as I considered the selfish attitude of those I know who have voted out.

Perhaps it's unfair to slag off the Brexit voters just because I voted to remain. Yes, some probably are racist bigots, but there are people out there who are genuinely concerned about the way they believe their country is changing. People living in Boston, Lincolnshire spring to to mind. For them the fact that uncontrolled EU immigration was not going away UNLESS we voted out of the EU gave them little in the way of options. Others were worried about democracy and sovereignity and wanted to 'take back control', a phrase I think I will always abhor. Is it really an argument about democracy and sovereignity? Yes, there are faceless Brussels bureaucrats, but surely they're accountable to the member states?

Watching Glastonbury later on iPlayer James – what a brilliant band – completed most of its set and then one of the band members said he saluted all of those who voted remain, but said good riddance to those who voted out – or words to that effect. There was a huge cheer from the crowd and I couldn't help but think that the country had let down the younger generation once again, but only time will tell on that one.

"Dip, dip, dog shit, you are not it!" Or how to vote in tomorrow's EU referendum...

I think the entire EU debate has been shameful, particularly the last few days, as the 'in' campaign – aided and abetted by the BBC – has used the murder of Jo Cox MP as a reason for us all to remain in the EU. Alright, not as a 'reason' to remain, but they've certainly tried to make political capital out of it and establish connections between the murderer and the more extreme ends of the Brexit following.

But that was the most recent development; what I can't stand about the entire in/out campaign is the way that the remain camp has steadfastly refused to accept that immigration – a key issue in the eyes of the voting public – cannot be reduced if we remain in the EU. I hate the way that they weedle out of the question and I hate the way that the BBC refuses (often) to take them back to the question, leaving the person who asked the question high and dry.

Bojo and Dodgy Dave – two complete wankers!

Let's look at the Brexit Brigade, especially at last night's big debate in Wembley, where they all continued their quest of brainwashing the public by the constant repetition of the phrase, 'let's take back control'. It's quite obvious that somebody, somewhere, sat them down, came up with the phrase and told them to keep saying it, like in 2010 when the Tories didn't stop going on and on about the mess they'd inherited from the Labour Party.

What about the lies of Boris Johnson, the deception behind the £350 million and other stuff that simply isn't true? In all honesty I don't know where I stand. I've always been keen on remaining in the EU – along the lines of 'the better the devil you know' – but my recent purchase of Noam Chomsky's Who Rules the World? has changed my view a little bit. The fact that 'the establishment' – and I'm talking globally now – abhors true democracy unless it meets with their social and economic objectives is worth thinking about. The American establishment often talks about 'the world' in the sense that 'the world agrees that X, Y and Z...' but 'the world', argues Chomsky, is basically the US and the UK – likewise the 'international community'.

The US, for example, doesn't want true democracy in the Middle East because it knows that the vast majority of the Arab people are against the Americans, it's only the elite in the region who say everything is fine where the Americans are concerned (and that's all to do with money).

So, back to the EU, which Chomsky also believes has no interest in real democracy – look at the way Greece has been treated, he argues, but also look at the whole 'unelected officials' element of the EU and how TTIP has been negotiated behind closed doors and how Cecilia Malmstrom (the chief TTIP negotiator who is unelected) has told the media that she does not take her mandate from the European people. No, she takes her mandate from corporate lobbyists.

To quote Chomsky from Who Rules the World? "As long as the general population is passive, apathetic, and diverted to consumerism or hatred of the vulnerable, then the powerful can do as they please, and those who survive will be left to contemplate the outcome."

The above quote is very important, especially where the EU referendum is concerned. With real unemployment at depression levels, says Chomsky, the bankers are getting richer and richer and if they mess up they can always rely upon the taxpayer to bail them out. But to keep the public away from the truth – that wealth is concentrated in the hands of the top one per cent of the population (think CEOs and hedge fund managers) – diversions are required to keep the masses 'subdued'.

Teachers, says Chomsky, are always fair game, but so are immigrants, especially at times of economic crisis. It is important for the establishment to create in the populous a sense that 'our country is being taken away from us' – think, "Let's Make Great Britain Great Again' – and the idea that the white population will soon become a minority.

As Chomsky argues, "One can understand the anger of aggrieved individuals, but the cruelty of the policy is shocking."

And then remember that the remain campaign has been backed by the big banks and that the whole idea of free borders is designed to encourage immigration and keep wages low in the process. In short, I've started to view the EU in a different light.

Caroline Lucas (the Green Party) annoyed me last night (on the big Wembley debate) – and again, nobody questioned what she was saying. She said that open borders work both ways and argued that it was amazing how we can all up sticks at any time and work anywhere in the EU! Wow! Well, not true. Most people in this country are restrained by one thing – language.

We often hear people talk about a 'United States of Europe' as if the idea is for us to be like US citizens, capable of moving from state-to-state, should they so wish, and work and live somewhere else. Fine in the USA where everybody speaks the same language, but not in the EU, I would argue.

I'm a magazine editor, theoretically I don't need an office. I could work anywhere in the EU, but only if I was merely working remotely from the office in the UK. I couldn't move to Paris and work in, say, a McDonald's because I don't speak French and would come unstuck pretty quickly. So, yes, I could move around the EU, but I wouldn't be able to work in the EU. Conversely, most Europeans speak English so them coming here to the UK is a no-brainer – better money, better conditions and so on.

I'm wondering what to do on Thursday. I can't say I like the personalities involved on either side of the debate. I think David Cameron has let himself down in a big way and shown his true colours, that of somebody who simply cannot be trusted. If we vote out, I hope he goes. But equally, the lies on the Brexit side of the argument and the likes of Boris Johnson and Nigel Farage all make me think: do I really want to vote for something that they (Johnson and company) believe in? Equally, do I want to support something supported by Cameron and Osborne? Why should I trust the EU? Why should I support the EU when it's supported by people like Soros, Branson and so on? They are the rich elite, and they want me and my fellow citizens to accept lower wages so that they can make a bigger profit – that's why they want to remain in the EU. But then do I want to support the out campaign that is supported by right wing extremists? I'm tempted not to vote at all or simply go to the booth, pick up a pencil and then, holding it in my right hand, start to chant out loud: "Dip, dip, dog shit, you are not it."