Back to Tatsfield Village, but no sign of any rain...

I overslept and I know why. Well, there were two reasons: one, a kind of broken sleep. Things that go bump in the night and all that jazz led to me wandering around the house in the dead of night securing doors and checking things out. The second reason? Well, it's to do with the clock radio alarm that sits on my bedside table. It's good, don't get me wrong, nothing wrong with the technology, although, I don't know about you, I find clock radios baffling. There are times when, for whatever reason, I can't turn the damn thing off or when it suddenly springs to life for no reason. But not this time. It was my fault. On Saturday morning when the alarm went off and Radio 4's The Today Programme arrived in the bedroom, I turned down the sound after listening to the news headlines. I did this for one reason: I knew that the radio would mysteriously switch itself back on again and I didn't want to disturb those still asleep. The problem was that I didn't turn the sound back up on Saturday night when I hit the sack. Result? I almost woke up too late.

I awoke to find it was 0645hrs and that I only had 15 minutes to make the tea, drink a cup myself and chill before the ride. So I sent Andy a text along the lines that I'd be leaving the house around 0715hrs, giving myself time for a much-needed cup of tea and the aforementioned chill.

By 0715hrs I was ready to head out. The weather was roughly the same as yesterday. It had rained overnight – there was a puddle on next door's conservatory roof – but outside it was dry and overcast. We met on the green and decided to head for Tatsfield Village again. That way, if it did rain we'd have some cover.

It was warmer than yesterday, but there was a mist lurking in the trees as we made our way along the 269 towards Botley Hill and the left turn on to Clarks Lane.

When we reached our destination we chatted mainly about conspiracy theories, although we touched upon Gear Acquisition Syndrome again, see previous post, but also click here. Did I really need a new bike? Well, yes I did, so GAS didn't really count, I said. I rarely fall foul of GAS, it must be said. I'm not a consumer, not one of those people who buy things for the sake of it. You won't catch me with a new Apple iphone 7, not for at least five years.

As for consipracy theories, I was fired up by the BBC not coming out and stating, in a news article, that the recent Minnesota shopping mall stabbings were an Islamist terror attack. In one sentence they said that the motive was unclear, but that the man who stabbed people was chanting God is Great and referencing Allah. Definitely not a terrorist attack, then. And we went on from there discussing the way the media is basically a tool of the government designed to generate fear in the populous with a view to controllling everybody and restricting freedoms – and I mentioned Alastair Campbell's appearance on Question Time last week and how he said he really cared about the Labour Party. John McDonnell was there too and he said that Campbell was the reason why people didn't trust politicians (think 'dodgy dossier', think WMD) and that was why Jeremy Corbyn was leading the party.

We finished our biscuits, drank our tea and soon it was time to head home. The weather held out, we didn't get soaked and it was just as well as my rear mudguard failed and had to be taken off, although that happened on the outward ride. I put it into the rucksack and carried on.

Andy's not riding next Saturday, which means I'll be heading to mum's for an urban ride. Hopefully, Bon will be there.

To Tatsfield Village, but not without a soaking...

When I was a kid, probably around 11 or 12 years old, I can't recall exactly, my dad bought me a new bike. I'd never had a bike before and, while I didn't know it at the time, the bike he bought me was pretty progressive. It was called a Moulton Mini, a red one, and the best way to describe it, by comparison with bikes today, would be that it looked a little bit like a Brompton, but it wasn't a foldaway bike. It had small wheels and, well, it was my first ever bike. It was only recently I read that the Moulton Mini was one of those breakthrough bicycles and that there was a guy called Moulton who really pushed the old envelope when it came to design.

A healthy breakfast before the ride...

Going back to my young self, however, all of this would have been lost on me. All I wanted – hell, all I was excited about – was having a new bike. The only trouble was it was December. My birthday is 10 December, always has been, and yes, like all of us, I was born when I was young. It's a lyric, from a band called Spirit.

So I had a new and unconventional-looking bike, but because it was December it was raining outside and I had this brand spanking new bike that I didn't want to get wet or dirty, so I didn't take it out. Not even to the end of the Cul-de-Sac. I was waiting for drier weather. I wanted to keep the tyres like they were in the bike shop. I wanted that bike to look new all the time.

I'd love to know where that bike went. I can't remember giving it up, although I know that when I joined 'big school' I bought a more conventional bike, with ape hanger bars, and then myself and my pal Alan set about transforming it into what everybody at the time called a 'track bike' – the forerunner of today's mountain bikes. Tracking cogs, cow horn bars, an old leather saddle that had seen better days. My bikes went through many different phases. Sometimes I had a fixed wheel, other times not, but one thing was for certain, I enjoyed many a carefree day riding here, there and everywhere.

The difference between then and now is my ability to fix things. Back in the day, I used to take bikes apart and build them up again; but ask me to do it today and I wouldn't know where to start.

The point of all is this is simple: when I have a new bike I don't like getting it dirty. Similarly new shoes, by the way. Anything for that matter. So now I have the Specialized Crosstrail Sport Disc, I don't particularly want it covered in mud – or rain for that matter. Ever since I bought it the sun has shone brightly and the bike has remained nice and clean. Until today.

Virtually identical to my Moulton Mini. Wish I still had it!

I left the house later than usual and rode to the green where Andy was waiting. The skies were grey and it was an overcast day. It looked as if it would rain so we decided to head for Tatsfield Village. We might have chosen the bus stop, but it was still taped up, like a police crime scene, ever since some idiot drove into it a month or two ago, probably longer. This morning, however, we didn't know that it was still taped up, it's just that every time we've passed by recently it has been. And sure enough, as we passed by today it was still taped up.

We'd been riding no more than a few minutes when the rain started. Spitting rain at first, but soon it was heavier and I remarked that it didn't matter because at least it wasn't a cold day. I can't recall the temperature exactly, but it was probably something like 18 or 19 degrees. We kept on riding, doing our best to ignore the weather and soon we found ourselves on the final stretch before reaching the village. We were soaked through, but thanks to that rear mudguard, the one I transferred from the Scrap, I didn't have a wet arse. The rest of me was drenched through.

Tatsfield Village bus stop...

Under the cover of the wooden bus stop we drank tea and ate Belvita biscuits – no sausage sarnies this week as Phil was not on the ride.  We chatted about this and that and then Andy brought up the subject of 'Gear Acquisition Syndrome' – or GAS as it's known. GAS means buying 'stuff' just for the sake of it, but don't take my word for it, read Andy's own blogpost on the subject by clicking here. The rain eased up and stopped and the warm temperature meant we soon dried out. The roads were wet, but there was no more rain and eventually we headed home.

The Botley end of the 269 was blowy and Andy remarked how exposed it was; he was right. There was a strong wind blowing and we didn't really escape it until the road dipped and we descended a little. We parted company at the green and rode our separate ways, Andy to Caterham and yours truly back to Sanderstead. I put the bike in the garage and yes, I'll admit it, I gave it dust-down with a dry cloth.

Here's to a drier day on Sunday.

A Viennese whirl...

Tea and a Bakewell tart, Costa Coffee, South Terminal...

The first problem was getting confirmation. I needed confirmation before I could open up the lap top and book my flight and hotel. A week prior to the trip – and only one day after returning from Vienna – I sat at home and I knew that in seven days I would be back in Austria. Or would I be? Biting the bullet and booking the trip would have been a mistake. What if the meeting was cancelled? So I left it and the lack of any real confirmation continued. As the uncertainty mounted, the flights got more expensive.

I wanted to fly BA, like last time, but as time moved on, the likelihood of those Island Bakery Lemon Melts and a small bottle of red wine – for no extra money – and not forgetting the dulcet tones of the Biggles-like BA pilot, were fading fast. There was, I knew, just one option: easyJet.

I nipped in here to buy a Skipper's Tablecloth

And sure enough, when the meeting was finally fixed and set in stone, the BA flight was far too expensive. so I was left with no other choice than easyJet. Look, I'm not anti-easyJet, it's just that they're not as good as BA. Full stop. But I found myself online, booking my flight and my hotel and quietly regretting the whole thing.

On the train towards Vienna Hbf from Vienna Airport...

It was going to be a rushed trip. Flying out on Sunday evening at 1735hrs, getting into Vienna at 2050 and then jumping on a train to a place called Linz. Last week, somebody in my hotel (the Austria Trend Europa in Vienna) said it was an hour, but the reality was one hour and 52 minutes and that wasn't including the train from the airport to Wien Hbf. But hey, if the flight had been on time, there might not have been a problem. But the flight wasn't on time. It was late. I arrived in Vienna later than scheduled and it had a knock-on effect. I took the train to Wien Hbf, that was fine, but the train to Linz wasn't until 2255hrs. Time for an ice-cold fish burger! I was starving and you might be wondering why. I'll tell you. Once airborne, the easyJet cabin crew calmly announced that they would not be accepting credit or debit cards and were unable to provide receipts. Well, sod that, I thought. I was starving – and while I had a tenner in my wallet, I wanted to use my credit card, because that's what I use when I'm on business and the ten pound note was for my own private use. Furthermore, I didn't want to give those capitalist scum my money, not after being so inconvenienced. So I sat there. I couldn't even stare out of the window because, by the time we'd reached 'our cruising altitude', it was dark. I didn't even read as there was no in-flight magazine for my seat, and even if there had been, I wouldn't have read it. It wouldn't have been anywhere near as good as BA's High Life and yes, I was yearning for John Simpson's monthly column.

Crap wine and the remains of a cold fishburger

When the plane eventually landed, I found a Spar store – another brand, like Lipton's, that you no longer see in the UK (another sign of our decline as a nation) – and bought a cheese and ham sandwich for the train ride to Vienna Hbf, but I was still hungry when I got there, and now I was tired too and the thought of two hours on a train to Linz made me seek solace in a Nordsee fish burger. It looked great in the photograph over the counter so I bought one and a bottle of cheap 'rot' wine (plus a plastic mug). I took the food and drink to a table and it was there, having taken a large bite out of the burger, that I discovered the awful truth: it was stone cold. With an unpleasant expression on my face as if I'd been sucking a Seven Seas Cod Liver Oil lolly, I approached the counter. "This is stone cold, can you heat it up?" The woman looked at me as if I'd stolen her last Rolo. "No, sorry, we don't have any ovens," she said. No ovens? You mean everything is sold stone cold? Well, I didn't ask that question, I simply skulked back to my table and finished the burger, having realised that the Austrians DO eat their fish burgers cold. How do I know? Because as I sat there, pulling a face with every bite, I watched as other people bought the same fish burger, although I did wonder whether they were planning on taking their burgers home to a microwave oven.

And then there was the train journey to Linz. Not one hour, but two, in a train that might well have been in the movie The Great Escape. It was mainly a sleeper train and oh how I would have loved a cabin to myself and a ticket all the way to Bregenz on the border with Switzerland, the train's ultimate destination. But I was alighting at Linz, the first big stop, and sitting in one of the two compartment carriages, like something out of a Harry Potter movie. I shared a compartment with two elderly people, a man and a woman, who got off a couple of stops along the line. Then there was a beefy-looking bloke in a tight tee-shirt, and a fat guy with smelly feet who later stretched out, taken off his shoes and tried to get some shut-eye. He, like me, was travelling to Linz and eventually it was just the two of us in the compartment: him snoring and me sitting there playing with my watch, unable to take in the view outside because it was so dark.

A cold fish burger? No ovens to heat it up? Get out of here!

So let's have a recap. First, no food on the delayed easyJet flight. Then a cold fish burger, courtesy of Nordsee – I won't be going back there in a hurry – and now something else to add to the party. I found my way to the taxi rank, told the driver my destination – the Austria Trend Schillerpark – and what did he say? "That's just five minutes away, you can walk!" So off I went, my suitcase rolling noisily behind me. It was almost 0100hrs when I reached the hotel and the fact that I found the hotel was only thanks to the fat guy from the train who I caught up with while walking. He pointed me in the right direction and soon I was in a lift, heading towards room 306 and a few hours of sleep.

Room 306 of the Austria Trend Schillerpark

The following day I had a hearty breakfast of cereal, a croissant, scrambled egg with two sausages, fresh fruit and a small pot of tea. Later on, after my meeting was over, I made the same journey but in reverse. I took a train from Linz to Vienna Hbf and then a train to the airport where I checked in and then sat in the restaurant next to the gate awaiting my flight. I had around two hours to kill and fortunately time flew by as I'd met Mark – on holiday alone in Vienna – and we passed the time of day (or night in this case) chatting about motorcycles and travelling before it was time for me to stand in the queue, go through security at the gate and then wait to board the plane. It was delayed again, this time for longer than before due to a mechanical issue with the landing gear, and while we were scheduled to depart at 2130hrs, it was nearer 2230hrs when we were finally airborne.

The flight was pleasant enough. The cabin crew accepted credit cards so I enjoyed tea, cookies and some fizzy lemon drink in a can, although somehow I managed to get chocolate over my suit trousers – odd when you consider that the cookies were on the tray and my lap was underneath tray. We landed at Gatwick at past 2300hrs and after queuing for the electronic passport control, my taxi driver failed to show. He eventually arrived having gone to the wrong terminal and soon I was on the last leg of my awful journey. By the time I got to bed it was 0130hrs. Needless to say I went in to work later the following day.

To Westerham...

We were, it has to be said, expecting sausage sandwiches on Sunday morning. Having been let down by Phil's spot of streetside auctioneering on Saturday, we were primed and ready to take on board one of his specials. Sadly, he aborted, leaving Andy and I with our staple diet of Belvita biscuits and tea. Not that it mattered and, besides, they ain't good for you, so in many ways we gained.

Comparing Sunday's weather with Saturday's is like comparing chalk with cheese. Saturday was dark and foreboding, but Sunday was absolutely perfect with clear blue skies and sunshine. We met at the green and roared off in the direction of Westerham, riding 'the fast way' along the 269 and racing each other along stretches of Clarks Lane.

We reached the northern Kent market town around 0810hrs only to discover that overnight rain, which had dried up along the roads, had lingered on our wooden table and chairs opposite the Grasshopper pub. It was standing room only so we strolled over to Churchill's statue to stuff our faces with tea and biscuits.

Just before 0900hrs we pulled out of town and up the hill towards Botley, chatting briefly with another cyclist on a Carrera who said he lives in Warlingham. I'm still annoyed at the fact that people, like this guy, suddenly appear and then, without much in the way of effort, quickly manage to steam off and be not only miles away from us, but completely out of sight. Even with my new Specialised Crosstrail Sport Disc, this guy left us standing, not that we were racing, but he wasn't either. So, somewhere, something ain't right. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm lugging a huge metal flask full of water that's holding me back? Perhaps I don't use the gears properly. Who knows? Who cares?

Talking of the old Crosstrail, it now has a rear mudguard and a front light fitted. On the former, I eventually worked out how to take it off the Scrap. When it comes to 'things mechanical' I'm completely useless. But then again, anything, such as DIY and fixing things in general leaves me dazed and confused. I'd rather get somebody in to do it.

Overall it was a great ride on a great day and we'll be back in the saddle next week for more.

To the Tatsfield Churchyard – and we avoided the rain.

It seemed as if the threat of rain looming above us would eventually deliver and we'd get a soaking. That would have been a disaster for yours truly (when isn't a soaking a disaster?); a disaster because I had yet to transfer my rear mudguard from the old Scrap. The skies were dark and grey throughout our ride to the Tatsfield churchyard, passing the taped off Tatsfield Bus Stop en route. I wonder if they'll ever get around to fixing it?

We had met on the green as usual and rode along the Limpsfield Road, heading south. There were other cyclists around, but not many, and Phil had decided to do a spot of streetside auctioneering and wouldn't be joining us.

Yours truly admiring my new bike at the churchyard...

Dark skies and churchyards seem to embrace one another and for me there was something dismal about our surroundings, but it was warm and that was crucial. While there was a wintry appearance to the world around us, the temperature told a different story, but I needed Andy to remind me of this fact as I was quite content to play the winter card when, in reality, the summer was still very much alive, albeit waning slightly.

We sat and drank tea, but only had three tea bags instead of the usual four. The deal is simple: when Andy and I ride alone there's enough water for two cups each. When Phil joins us there's only enough for one. Thinking that Phil would be joining us, I decided not to bring that fourth tea bag. We made do, of course, and managed two cups each using a discarded bag.

It's easy to get comfortable at the Tatsfield Churchyard – or anywhere to be honest – and I think we both could have sat there for a while indulging the grey skies. We were both confident that we would avoid a soaking. Soon, however, it was time to go and it wasn't long before we found ourselves on Clarks Lane, heading west towards Botley Hill. And then we saw Phil and Steve, although I didn't recognise Steve at first, but Phil was wearing a brightly coloured striped tee-shirt as he raced past us, heading down the hill towards Westerham.

We carried on up the hill, past Beddlestead Lane where Lycra monkeys congregated and when we reached the roundabout we turned right and powered down the 269 towards Warlingham and, ultimately home.

Not long after locking the bike in the garage the rain started. It was a fine rain but it carried on for some time. Fortunately, we missed it.

To Westerham!

Having returned late from Vienna on Friday night I decided to abort the Saturday ride. Andy rode to Godstone Green alone while I lazed around at home. On Sunday I was up around 0600hrs and an hour later I was out and heading for Warlingham Green.

Westerham around 0800hrs, Sunday 4th September 2016

"Westerham?"

Why not? So off we went. We made it in 30 minutes from the green, not bad going, and sat down at the wooden table to enjoy our tea and biscuits while we chatted about a programme Andy had watched on the Discovery Channel. A guy with a beard cycled around the UK coastline from Devon to Scarborough on a bike made out of bamboo and then he jogged from Scarborough to Brighton before swimming in the sea back towards Devon, making a complete circle of the country. But there were issues with the bike. He'd decided to ship over a bike made of bamboo in Asia with a view to being right on and saving the planet, but Andy figured it was a silly idea. For a start the bike had some kind of malfunction: the wheels were out of alignment, but he still rode it all the way around the country, clockwise, to Scarborough. Andy said he'd have been saving the planet more if he'd not had the bike shipped halfway across the world and burning all those fossil fuels in the process. He had a point. Why didn't he go to Evan's Cycles, get himself a top-of-the-range hybrid, like my Specialized Crosstrail Sport Disc, and ride that instead?

I wanted to watch the programme and hoped upon hope that it was on terrestrial TV, but it wasn't, it was on the Discovery Channel, Andy later texted me.

A big fat bloke dressed in Lycra arrived in a huge black van from which he took a racing bike and joined a group of cyclists congregating outside the Westerham Cyclery. "Some people eat more than they exercise," I said, munching a Belvita biscuit.

The weather was good, although we thought we might get rained on, but we didn't. On the return ride we noticed that the hay bales had gone, the ones we used in the post about summer leaving the building. Summer really is fading fast, we're now in September and while it's still tee-shirts and no gloves weather, the rain and the wind and the sleet and the snow will soon be heading our way. When we reached the 269 there was a blustery wind blowing, but it didn't stop us racing the length of the road before slowing as we hit the Limpsfield Road and suburbia. Alright, a slight exaggeration: we just overtook each other occasionally, nothing fancy, but it was good fun and now that I've got a lighter bike, it feels good.

We're on for a ride next week, both days hopefully, and we parted company on that note. I rode further down the Limpsfield Road, down Church Way and home.

I don't like 'temporary'...

"Let's talk about our favourite things," she said as we walked along the street. It was a pleasant afternoon, late in the day, and on the verge of creeping twilight.
"Yes, okay," said I, sauntering along the path, wearing the same clothes I'd worn earlier in the day when I rode to Westerham with Andy. I can be quite slobby at the weekends.
"I like it when it's winter time and we're watching one of those American movies that seem to go on all afternoon," she said.
"With some cake, don't forget."
"Yes, definitely with some cake, and it's raining. Remember that day when we walked to the supermarket in the rain when we didn't have a car?"
I did remember. It's an uphill walk on the way out and a downhill stroll on the return journey and it happens now and then, like when it snows and the car's stuck on the drive or when, for some reason, we don't have a car because it's in for repairs.
"I like flying too, especially the take-off," she said.
"I like settling in to a long haul flight," I said. "The meal's arrived, I've got one of those small bottles of red wine and there's about five or six hours to go."

Image: LaurenoLauren

"Clean sheets. I like getting into bed when there's clean sheets," she said, and I remembered my childhood.
"When I was a kid I used to like Monday nights – or maybe it was Sunday – when mum had washed all the bedclothes and it was the summer and we used to go to bed when it was light and the bedclothes were fresh-smelling," I said.
We turned right on to Morley and headed towards The Ridgeway and then a left on Arkwright.
"What about things we don't like?"
"Why be negative?"
"Because it's fun. I don't like British movies," she said.
"I know what you mean, but there are exceptions, although I can't think of any right now," said I.
"Chris Nighy, I don't like him," she said.
"You can't just not like somebody. You have to have a reason," I said.
"You said you don't like Jodie Foster," she said.
"Let's walk that way," I suggested, pointing in the direction of Arkwright, but not the stretch we'd just walked along; the other bit that leads down to the main road.
"I don't like Jodie Foster, but it's because I've never really liked her movies," I explained.
There was a girl in a small car sitting the wrong way around in the driver's seat.
"Wow! Now that's a nice house," said I. There was a woman inside and the house was new, possibly a new-build or a total refurb job. We passed by.
"I didn't like it," she said.
"What do you mean? It was great," I replied.
We turned into Willoughby.
"I know what I really don't like: temporary."
"Temporary?"
"Yes, you know. Like my room having no carpet, it's temporary."
"But that was your choice, you decided to take it up."
"I know, but it's still temporary."
"Yes, but you made it temporary," I said.
We headed towards Ewhurst and walked up towards Morley.
"I know what you mean about temporary. I can't stand it when somebody buys, say, a new car and then they say, 'It's okay, but I'll probably sell it next year', I find that too unsettling."
"That's what I mean," she said.
And it's true, I don't like it when people say things like that because it makes things unstable and not forever, temporary, just like she said.
"Renting, that's temporary," she said.
"Everything's temporary. Life's temporary. Where's granddad Gerald gone, for example?"
"What about gardening? That's temporary; you mow the lawn but it grows back."
"That's not temporary, that's a whole different argument, that's all about the futility of gardening. Take our house, we've been there 18 years and I mow the lawn every fortnight and yes, the grass grows back, but the garden's still the same garden, it's not temporary," I explained.
We turned on to Morley.
"Let's walk to West Hill," she suggested.
"Okay," I said and soon we were home again and it was just gone 6pm and already dark outside. The winter was coming.

Coming home...

Vienna airport. It's one of those places where you don't go through 'security' until you reach the gate. Not ideal in my book as, while you will need a boarding pass and a passport to get this far (I'm at the gate now) there's no stopping anybody from getting this far with a bag of guns and a stash of bombs. Still, if all goes well it won't be long before the cabin crew is handing out those Island Bakery Lemon Melts biscuits with the white chocolate icing – not that I'll be hungry. Right this minute I'm tucking into a chicken with blue cheese panini (EUR6.60) with a little dish of ketchup that I simply don't need. I'm enjoying a beer too, make that two.

The waitress acts efficient, but the service is slow, not that it's her fault, the problem might be further up the line, like in the kitchen. To add insult to injury, a fly has arrived and he's sniffing round my panini. I bet he hasn't got a boarding pass or a passport.

From noon today I was a free man. Free to walk around the city. I headed for the Danube, only to discover that it wasn't blue, but roughly the same colour as the Thames. Who can you trust these days, eh?

I was on my feet for over an hour and somehow found myself on Taborstrasse, a road that deteriorated the further I walked along it; one minute all was fine, but soon there was graffiti, the odd beggar, odd shops – like one selling dentists' chairs – and cheap-looking pizza joints. Eventually it fell apart and was a jangling mess of tram lines so I turned back and walked towards the river, crossed it and found a quiet Italian restaurant, Cavalieri, where I enjoyed a glass of Chianti, a small bowl of pasta and a cappuccino.

Vienna's famous Ferris wheel

There was still time, I figured, to do something 'touristy' so I headed off towards the big Ferris wheel, as featured in the film of Graham Green's The Third Man. It seemed to be very slow so I didn't take a ride and simply stood there watching the roller coasters and wishing I had three Euros in cash to have a go on the Dodgems, my favourite fairground attraction. In the end I decided to head back to my hotel, pick up my bag and then head for the airport and my flight to London Gatwick.

And now here I am, about ten minutes or so away from finally going through security. I'm sitting in Café Bistro Johann Strauss, it sounds more glamorous than it is; the reality is a place selling paninis, Berner Würstel, Gebackenes Schnitzel, cheeseburgers and something called a Vegetarian Wok. Reasonably priced and Suzanne Vega is playing as I write this, or rather a CD of her song My Name is Luka ('I live on the second floor') is playing. It's one of those songs that's always good whenever I hear it, there are many songs like this, tinged as they are with a little sadness, but good nonetheless.

The 1840 Vienna to Seoul is 'now boarding' and I don't envy those travelling on that plane, the very thought makes me want to go to bed. Fortunately my flight is around two hours so I'm not complaining and I can't wait for those Island Bakery Lemon Melts and a cup of tea. There's another flight, the 1935 to Taipei, and the 1850 to Doha (I've been there), a flight to Sofia (in Bulgaria) and, of course, my flight to London Gatwick, which is not a million miles from where I live. There's a huge queue of people ready to board the Taipei flight.

I'd better get myself through security. See you on the other side, as they say.

The Austria Trend Europa Hotel – it's very good
I must give the thumbs up to the Austria Trend Europa hotel. It was very good, centrally located – I mean really centrally located – right next door (almost) to the Stephansplatz underground station, and a couple of stops from the airport express station, not to mention the shops (there's loads of good shops here) and not a million miles from anywhere if I'm honest.

Room 1411 on the fourth floor... very good

The room was good, everything worked, there was free WiFi, a decent television (that I didn't watch) a pleasant bathroom, coat hangers that behaved themselves and, best of all, a very decent breakfast offering, not forgetting an 'executive' lounge that I never used.

If you're coming to Vienna, it's a sure bet and so easy to reach from the airport: simply take the airport express train – the CAT – (16 minutes) to the centre of town then transfer to the underground, keep an eye out for Stephansplatz and it's a very short walk from there.

And if you're the sort of person that likes shopping, then this hotel is ideally placed for you, bang in the middle of all the shops you'll ever need. And that means all the big brand names too, like Zara and Mango and, well, you get the picture.

I'm now through security and it's 1900hrs, but there's no sign of the plane. Apparently it'll be slightly delayed, according to the man who checked me in earlier, so, like everybody else, I'm amusing myself with technology. Most people are playing with their iphones or tablets, but me and one other person (as far as I can see) have our laptops out – both Macs. Some people are reading books, others are distracted by babies and some are just checking through their bags.

Room 1411, Austria Trend Europa, Vienna

There's a coffee machine branded 'cafe + co' and a vending machine selling packaged sandwiches and chocolate bars, but I'm hanging on for those Island Bakery Lemon Melts and a nice cup of tea.

Biscuit of the Week!
The award for best biscuit of the week goes to the Island Bakery's Lemon Melts. Fantastic! A lemon biscuit dipped in rich white chocolate – to die for!

For further information, click here now!

In Vienna...

Took the train to Gatwick airport, enjoyed a chicken sandwich and a glass of Merlot at the airport – by the time I was through security it was lunch time – and then I flew off with British Airways to Vienna in Austria. Great flight, the highlight being the Island Bakery biscuits that were handed out by the cabin crew. I was tempted to ask for more, but from bitter experience I knew I didn't want the portion control conversation. Besides, it was only a one hour, 55-minute flight so I wasn't going to starve to death.

The flight itself was amazing – British Airways always is amazing. Clear skies all the way and no turbulence – it's always good when there's no turbulence.

Mr & Mrs Feelgood's home-made cheesecake – excellent

We landed safely and it took me a while to get my act together and find a taxi, having taken the Express train to the centre of Vienna. But eventually I found one, and 12 Euros later I arrived at my hotel, which at first I thought was going to be a little suspect, but within minutes I realised it was – and I get accused of saying this about everything – a really good place.

My room was one of the so-called 'executive rooms' and it's nice. The bathroom door is made of frosted glass, which, for some reason, I like, and guess what? The hotel has everything covered, something I always worry about. Thanks to the threat of terrorism I didn't bring any toothpaste with me; always a problem, and unless I check my bag in to the hold, I'm scuppered if I bowl up with a tube of toothpaste. But I was ahead of the game as I didn't have any toothpaste when I started out. The plan was to buy some when I arrived in Vienna, but of course I forgot. So it's late, I've had a cheap and cheerful meal in a Nordsee outlet close to the hotel – it might well have been my first ever visit to a Nordsee – and I'm back in the hotel wishing I'd remembered the toothpaste. Why is it that hotels NEVER have any toothpaste in the bathroom? They have everything else, even a sewing kit – does anybody ever use it? I know I wouldn't, because I can't sew to save my life. And then it happened! My hotel DOES have toothpaste! Top marks!

There was a minibar – always good, not that I go mad and work my way through all the beers like I might have done in the past, but I like minibars. There are hotels that offer the fridge, but it's either empty or, worse still, locked, and to me that means just one thing: the hotel doesn't trust its guests.

Free WiFi is available – great if you're a blogger, like what I is – and the bed is okay too, although European hotel duvets are just like making do with a paper napkin to keep warm. What is good is the lighting, particularly the desk light; and let's give a bit of credit to the coat hangers as they're not at all unruly and are currently holding my shirts and stuff without complaining or making a fuss.

There's a safe, containing my passport, and there's a wall-mounted television – an LG. They're always LG, but all the stations bar CNN are foreign or dubbed and besides, I'm not a television sort of guy, unless I'm in the USA where the programmes are so bad it's worth watching. More on the hotel breakfast later.

I brushed my teeth, jumped into bed and nothing happened. I was wide awake, and while I might have nodded off for an hour, I awoke at 0100hrs and couldn't get back to sleep so I got up and worked. Yes, I worked! I wrote three news stories (I won't bore you about my job, though). By around 0245hrs I flopped back into bed and I must have got around four hours sleep before the alarm on my iphone shook me awake. I showered, dressed and hit the breakfast room. Wonderful! The whole works! It was all there and why wouldn't it be? Cereal, cake, fresh fruit, tea, fruit juices, croissants, yoghurt. I could have enjoyed a cooked breakfast, and almost did, but my pig detector went off so I settled for what I'd already eaten – which was virtually everything else, including a piece of cake. I like Europe. They eat cake for breakfast in Europe.

Vienna, of course, is a very cultured place; even the buskers here are classically trained musicians belting out Vivaldi's Four Seasons on street corners. There are some pleasant things to look at in the Austrian capital, like St Stephan's Cathedral – a short walk from my hotel – and it goes without saying that this city has a lot to offer. But I guess I'm not going to see much of it on this trip; there's no time to get around the city before flying back to London. All I'm going to see is shop fronts (yes, they're all here, Mango, Zara, a woman's dream, they've even got shops that left the UK a long time ago, like Spar supermarkets where, incidentally, they don't appear to sell any Lipton's Yellow Label tea. I bring that up because virtually everywhere else in Europe it's for sale, but not here in Vienna. I'm sure Unilever has its reasons, but who I am to know what they might be? In fact I'm sure Unilever has it's reasons for not selling Lipton's Yellow Label tea in the UK, but why not, I don't know. Perhaps it is available, but I've never seen it.

Nope, it's not a mosque...and it's in Vienna, not Abu Dhabi

With breakfast over I walked for about 25 minutes, well, possibly 20, and then I reached my business destination. Now I'm sounding like a SatNav. At odd intervals during the day I managed to get out and walk around and on one excursion I found a bike shop selling those 'sit up and beg' Danish bicycles with chain guards, mudguards, dynamos and all those things you rarely see on bikes these days. Even Brooks saddles! I spent time chatting with the shopkeeper and he said that the more upright you are on a bicycle, the wider the saddle you'll need. Now I didn't know that before. I also didn't know that Brooks saddles can soak up water, so if you have one you'll need to cover it with a plastic bag if it looks like rain as, apparently, they soak up the water and remain wet for days. Not pleasant.

I popped into Mr & Mrs Feelgood, a kind of coffee shop with a health slant to it, selling drinks with the word 'Detox' in the title as well as a pretty amazing homemade cheese cake, among other things. I ordered the last piece and a cup of Earl Grey, the only black tea on offer.

All day I've been feeling depressed and sorry for myself and it's made me not want to be here. And the fact that I'm not going to get any time for sightseeing increases my overall 'down in the dumps' mood. I've kind of been looking forward to this moment all day, sitting here in front the computer in my hotel room, the sound of Vivaldi playing somewhere out there (seriously, it's playing now) and chilling out with a bottle of mineral water and a small bottle of Pago orange juice from the aforementioned minibar. It's almost 2200hrs and I'm looking forward to brushing my teeth and hitting the sack.

Normally, when I'm feeling a little more upbeat, I try to find a coffee shop from where I can read my book – currently Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest – and I chill with a huge mug of tea and a cookie. But not today, although I did find a Starbucks. Perhaps later. No, all I want is, well, I don't know what I want if the truth be known, but I do want peace and serenity more than anything, so I guess I do know what I want and I'm just kidding myself by saying I don't.

Somebody is out there, in the streets below me right now, this second, playing Vivaldi on a violin. I hope he keeps it up as I'd imagine there's nowt better than lying on my back in bed, 'adopting the position' and hearing the Four Seasons, live, and only a few feet away from me.

One thing I would like to see – and possibly experience – is that Ferris wheel that features in the film of Graham Green's novel The Third Man, which was set in Vienna. I've read most of Green's novels and I'm wondering now whether it was The Third Man that features a hotel room in which there was a painting of the Bay of Naples on the wall. Weird if it is, because here I am in Vienna and only a week or two ago I was in Naples. A long time ago I was on the Greek island of Spetses reading John Fowles' The Magus, now there's a coincidence (which you'll only understand if you've read The Magus).

I'm hoping I'll be in a more upbeat mood tomorrow.

Because the date and time is often out of kilter on this blog, I'll let you know now that today is Wednesday 31 August, it's currently 2155hrs and I'm about to hit the sack. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I should be out there drinking in one of the many bars close to my hotel, munching a Viennese Whirl, perhaps, and listening to Vivaldi. Well, I'm doing the latter right now, but I'll give the bars and the cake a miss. Perhaps tomorrow, but in all honesty, I'm travelling alone, not that I'm complaining, but when you travel alone you walk a lot – or I do. In fact I've walked a lot today and now I'm feeling a little weary, and there's nothing better than hitting the sack when I'm feeling weary, so goodnight all and we'll talk again tomorrow.

The signs of summer's passing...

Monday 29 August: Riding back from Westerham yesterday morning and Andy and I noticed the corn rolled up like huge, rustic old drums, slightly surreal in a sense, but also a sign that summer is preparing to leave the building – for some, me included, a depressing thought, as our bikes pick up speed, metaphorically speaking, and roll downhill towards Christmas and that Jona Lewie song.

Our bikes in the cornfield just outside of Westerham in Kent

We pulled off the road and Andy took the shot accompanying this post before we re-mounted and headed up the hill, me on my new Specialized Crosstrail Sport Disc. Earlier we'd taken around 25 minutes to get from Warlingham Green to the green in the centre of Westerham and had stuffed our faces, as usual, with BelVitas, washed down with a couple of mugs of tea.

We discussed many subjects, including casual racism, and watched as market stall holders erected their stalls in preparation for a summertime festival featuring live music, a fairground, chainsaw sculpture, Celidh dancing (featuring women with muffin top midriffs) and, of course, food.

Westerham early morning is an interesting place at the weekends as there's always something going on, somebody doing something in preparation for a fayre of some description: stands are erected, vans arrive, people congregate and then we leave and invariably we don't come back for the festivities.

It's been a long weekend. I took Friday off and today's Bank Holiday Monday. I didn't ride anywhere on Friday, but on Saturday I took the Crosstrail on its first urban ride to mum's where breakfast was laid on (boiled egg, fingers, bread, an orange and, of course, a cup of tea). Sunday (yesterday) was the Westerham ride with Andy (Phil's away and I'm feeding his fish) and today the plan is a bit retro as I'm planning a ride to Woodmansterne Green to meet Jon and then possibly we'll ride to mum's for tea and, who knows, another breakfast.

The Specialized Crosstrail on Woodmansterne Green...

Outside there is nothing but stillness, not even a breeze. Nothing moves. Yesterday leaving Westerham Andy and I both thought we'd get rained on as it was very dark, but nothing happened, things brightened up a bit and the temperatures remained warm. Today, it looks like similar weather and while rain, in the form of scattered showers, has been promised all weekend, I've yet to see anything or wish I'd transferred the mudguard Andy bought me from the Scrap to the Crosstrail, although I will be doing that sometime soon.

The urban ride to mum's on Saturday was wonderful. I followed the usual route, up Hayling Park Road, down past the vast expanses of Purley Playing Fields, across the A23 and through the industrial estate. With the Crosstrail, things are much faster, including the corners and I think I shaved a good 10 minutes off the journey. Mum let me bring the bike into the hallway (it's new and I'm being protective, like a mum with a new baby). I didn't fancy leaving it unpadlocked on the front drive, not that where mum lives is in any way dodgy.

Mum was in fine form as usual as she rustled up my breakfast. I sat in the 'new room' – it's been the 'new' room for well over 30 years, as I've probably said before – and I sent Jon a text, hoping he'd turn up on his Cannondale, but he had a wedding and couldn't make it. Mum gave me a bottle of beer and I've still got it in the fridge, mainly because I had two bottles last Sunday at a garden party near East Grinstead. I try to keep my alcohol intake low these days and I feel much better for it.

On the way to mum's...

Right now I've just finished some Weetabix with sliced bananas, a slice of toast and a mug of tea and now I'm wondering when I should text Jon to say I'm on my way. I'm thinking we should meet on Woodmansterne Green, like in the old days, and then head down to mum's. It's almost 0700hrs as I write this (0656hrs to be precise) and I'm engaged in idle chit chat about this and that, mainly the rubbish nature of Waddon swimming baths. Yesterday we went for a swim and it was freezing cold. Normally I get straight in, but not on this occasion. I had to edge myself into the water, like I did once in Cannes in October. There was no temperature gauge, but I'm guessing the water was well under the required 29 degrees, unless, of course, it's got something to do with the last time I had a swim – in Ischia. But no, it was cold, very cold, and not pleasant, although once in I did manage 10 lengths in the slow lane, which we eventually got to ourselves.

So far, so good on the bike front. The Crosstrail is performing well and I might investigate a more comfortable saddle, not to mention bicycle maintenance lessons. I'm also planning on taking it back to Evans for a six-week check-up, which is free.

Breakfast at mum's...

Today, the plan is to take it easy, possibly go out for lunch somewhere, but generally chill out rather than drive aimlessly around the countryside in search of tea and cake. Outside it's very still, but brighter than earlier. I'm hoping there won't be any rain before I hit the road and I'm hoping to see Jon either on the green at Woodmansterne or round at mum's. Knowing us, we'll end up at mum's.

As it turned out, I reached Woodmansterne Green and waited around for Jon before calling mum to see if he might be there. When I got through I heard his voice and he later told me, after I'd cycled over to mum's, that his phone was out of power and he hadn't picked up my messages. I enjoyed a mug of tea and some Crunchy Nut Cornflakes before heading home via the smallholdings, turning left on to the Croydon Road and riding through Purley along Foxley Lane, straight across into Pampisford Road and then through the side streets towards Sanderstead and home. Coming up the southern end of West Hill was far easier on the Crosstrail than it ever was on the Scrap.

Before bidding each other farewell, Jon and I said we might meet on Woodmansterne Green next week, but we'll see how things go.