There's nowt worse than not going cycling when the weather's fine, as it was on Sunday, but these things happen.
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| Andy's racer on his ride to Godstone Green, Sunday |
We ride our trusty bicycles most weekends. This blog charts our adventures and records our thoughts as we ride through the rural lanes of Surrey and Northern Kent – and there's some world travel thrown in too
Monday, 14 November 2016
Andy rides to Godstone Green...
While yours truly had family matters to attend to – mum came round for lunch – Andy and Phil both went out, but not together. Andy rode to Godstone Green and Phil went out with Steve for a 50-kilometre ride and later texted me the details. I say 'the details', he said he rode with Steve for 50km.
There's nowt worse than not going cycling when the weather's fine, as it was on Sunday, but these things happen.
Here's a shot taken by Andy, of his racer, which he rode to Godstone Green, somewhere we haven't visited together for a while, mainly because of recurring gear problems with my old Kona. Now, of course, I can tackle any hill and there's a nice caff in the farm shop on the A25, although a cup of tea and some biscuits on the green would be just as enjoyable. That said, there's no cover, another reason for not going there.
There's nowt worse than not going cycling when the weather's fine, as it was on Sunday, but these things happen.
Sunday, 13 November 2016
Trump – he takes 'the biscuit'...
"In a ritual out of sight of the cameras on Inauguration Day in January, America's 'nuclear briefcase' will change hands and President Donald Trump will receive a card, sometimes known as the 'biscuit'. The card, which identifies him as commander-in-chief, has on it the nuclear codes that are used to authenticate an order to launch a nuclear attack. At that point, should he wish, Mr Trump can launch any or all of America's 2,000 strategic nuclear missiles. There are no constitutional restraints on his power to do so."
The Economist, 12-18 November 2016
Cycling was rained off yesterday and, in a sense, as I've said before, Andy wasted an 'abort' text, not a problem, as I've also said before, because we don't 'own' a finite number of aborts. I was glad it was raining yesterday as I'd returned home late from Dusseldorf on Friday night and needed the lie-in. Unfortunately, I can't go cycling today and, as I write this, the sun is shining brightly and it looks like it's going to be a fantastic day. Still, you can't have everything – and there's always next week.
Not going cycling means what? Well, I could moan about Donald Trump being the new president of the United States of America. I've done that. I could have a go at the Brexiteers. I've done that too and let me tell you, it still smarts, or, well, or what? In short there's not much more to write about. The newspapers are full of Donald Trump stories and so is the television news, the political programmes and, of course, the satirical shows. Facebook is jammed packed with stuff about Trump, all of it negative and some people are posting videos of extreme right Brits who think they have a mandate to wreak havoc among the ethnic minorities. They think that, at last, their day has come and perhaps it has and we all need to watch out. I say 'we all' as if I'm part of an ethnic minority. I'm not, but it's still a worry and, as I've said in a previous post, for me it's as if there are two vultures sitting on a fence behind me, day in and day out, representing Brexit and Donald Trump. It's true. You know when you're up and out of bed and doing stuff and you feel kind of positive about things, but there's something nagging at you, something unpleasant, and you can't quite work out what is? And then you remember: a dentist appointment, a hospital check-up? Ah! No, it's Trump, he's the President of the United States of America.
There's some good articles in yesterday's Guardian and one, by the novelist Ian McEwan, took my fancy. His opening paragraph says it all, let me quote it for you: "Charles Darwin could not believe that a kindly God would create a parasitic wasp that injects its eggs into the body of a caterpillar so that the larva may consume the host alive. The ichneumon wasp was a challenge to Darwin's already diminishing faith. We may share his bewilderment as we contemplate the America body politic and what vile thing now squats within it, waiting to be hatched and begin it's meal."
That, to me, sums up what many people all around the world are now thinking. McEwan adds that 'stunned disbelief, a condition at which we are beginning to be adept, is a form of denial that fades quickly, but not smoothly'.
But the truth of the matter, of course, is that Trump is the president and we've got to get through it. With a bit of luck it won't run for the full four years – now that would be a result. Already there have been major protests around the US – in big cities like Chicago and Portland and elsewhere – and there's a good chance that they will continue, let's hope they intensify.
Writing in the same newspaper, Richard Ford argues that "Moral leadership would be useful to us now. We've just had eight years of it. Goodness knows where we're headed next." Ford voted for Clinton because he thought she would make a far superior president. He thought he knew what was best for the 'other fellow' – "all those rural or rust-belt, under-educated, under-employed white guys, or Latinos or blacks who don't feel sufficiently noticed by their elected officials – but he was wrong. As a result, Ford feels he has lost his feel for the authentic and might be guilty of a lack of empathy for those 'out in the hinterland who feel so hard-pressed that they had to vote for a miscreant'.
He's now thinking of a bumper sticker reading, "Blame me. I voted for Hillary." Ford ends his piece by stating, "Goodness knows where we're headed next. It's time for us to resuscitate our deflated citizenship, time to pay more attention, own up, not just fade away, blame the other guy, and forget."
The Guardian, understandably perhaps, is full of negative words and phrases, like 'dystopia', 'unfettered surveillance', how Trump's world is 'too dark', even for Leonard Cohen, who sadly died this week. Then there's 'American nightmare' and, I must say, a great sentence from Emine Saner who writes, "True, not everyone who voted for Brexit or Trump is a rabid mysogynist racist, but these wins allow rabid misogynist racists to believe people are behind them. It doesn't have to be like that."
What I found surprising, however, was the coverage given to Trump by The Economist. I normally read it when I want reassurance as it provides balanced, calming, sensible, considered coverage of business and politics around the world, but not this week. While there were many articles about the likely outcomes of Trump as US president, they included some very worrying box copy about Trump having access to the nuclear codes. I always thought that while the US president has direct access to the codes, there were various checks and balances that would prevent him (or her) from simply pushing the button. But no, apparently not. It's down to the president alone, meaning that Trump could be lying in bed on a Saturday evening, 'adopting the position' and getting little joy from the process and might then decide, out of sheer frustration, to send a few nukes in the direction of Russia.
Here's the worrying text for you to consider: "In a ritual out of sight of the cameras on Inauguration Day in January, America's 'nuclear briefcase' will change hands and President Donald Trump will receive a card, sometimes known as the 'biscuit'. The card, which identifies him as commander-in-chief, has on it the nuclear codes that are used to authenticate an order to launch a nuclear attack. At that point, should he wish, Mr Trump can launch any or all of America's 2,000 strategic nuclear missiles. There are no constitutional restraints on his power to do so."
It's Remembrance Sunday and loads of crusty old politicians, former soldiers and members of the Royal Family are gathered around the Cenotaph in London, paying their respects to those who gave up their lives in two world wars and various other conflicts around the globe. I wonder what the Queen is thinking, standing there dressed in black and knowing that Donald Trump is not only the President Elect of the United States of America, but a volatile man who has made serious racist and misogynist comments during his election campaign AND!!! will soon take ownership of the so-called nuclear briefcase.
As The Economist put it in a leader article, "History is back – with a vengeance."
The Economist, 12-18 November 2016
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| Next month, this man is handed the nuclear briefcase... |
Not going cycling means what? Well, I could moan about Donald Trump being the new president of the United States of America. I've done that. I could have a go at the Brexiteers. I've done that too and let me tell you, it still smarts, or, well, or what? In short there's not much more to write about. The newspapers are full of Donald Trump stories and so is the television news, the political programmes and, of course, the satirical shows. Facebook is jammed packed with stuff about Trump, all of it negative and some people are posting videos of extreme right Brits who think they have a mandate to wreak havoc among the ethnic minorities. They think that, at last, their day has come and perhaps it has and we all need to watch out. I say 'we all' as if I'm part of an ethnic minority. I'm not, but it's still a worry and, as I've said in a previous post, for me it's as if there are two vultures sitting on a fence behind me, day in and day out, representing Brexit and Donald Trump. It's true. You know when you're up and out of bed and doing stuff and you feel kind of positive about things, but there's something nagging at you, something unpleasant, and you can't quite work out what is? And then you remember: a dentist appointment, a hospital check-up? Ah! No, it's Trump, he's the President of the United States of America.
There's some good articles in yesterday's Guardian and one, by the novelist Ian McEwan, took my fancy. His opening paragraph says it all, let me quote it for you: "Charles Darwin could not believe that a kindly God would create a parasitic wasp that injects its eggs into the body of a caterpillar so that the larva may consume the host alive. The ichneumon wasp was a challenge to Darwin's already diminishing faith. We may share his bewilderment as we contemplate the America body politic and what vile thing now squats within it, waiting to be hatched and begin it's meal."
That, to me, sums up what many people all around the world are now thinking. McEwan adds that 'stunned disbelief, a condition at which we are beginning to be adept, is a form of denial that fades quickly, but not smoothly'.
But the truth of the matter, of course, is that Trump is the president and we've got to get through it. With a bit of luck it won't run for the full four years – now that would be a result. Already there have been major protests around the US – in big cities like Chicago and Portland and elsewhere – and there's a good chance that they will continue, let's hope they intensify.
Writing in the same newspaper, Richard Ford argues that "Moral leadership would be useful to us now. We've just had eight years of it. Goodness knows where we're headed next." Ford voted for Clinton because he thought she would make a far superior president. He thought he knew what was best for the 'other fellow' – "all those rural or rust-belt, under-educated, under-employed white guys, or Latinos or blacks who don't feel sufficiently noticed by their elected officials – but he was wrong. As a result, Ford feels he has lost his feel for the authentic and might be guilty of a lack of empathy for those 'out in the hinterland who feel so hard-pressed that they had to vote for a miscreant'.
He's now thinking of a bumper sticker reading, "Blame me. I voted for Hillary." Ford ends his piece by stating, "Goodness knows where we're headed next. It's time for us to resuscitate our deflated citizenship, time to pay more attention, own up, not just fade away, blame the other guy, and forget."
The Guardian, understandably perhaps, is full of negative words and phrases, like 'dystopia', 'unfettered surveillance', how Trump's world is 'too dark', even for Leonard Cohen, who sadly died this week. Then there's 'American nightmare' and, I must say, a great sentence from Emine Saner who writes, "True, not everyone who voted for Brexit or Trump is a rabid mysogynist racist, but these wins allow rabid misogynist racists to believe people are behind them. It doesn't have to be like that."
What I found surprising, however, was the coverage given to Trump by The Economist. I normally read it when I want reassurance as it provides balanced, calming, sensible, considered coverage of business and politics around the world, but not this week. While there were many articles about the likely outcomes of Trump as US president, they included some very worrying box copy about Trump having access to the nuclear codes. I always thought that while the US president has direct access to the codes, there were various checks and balances that would prevent him (or her) from simply pushing the button. But no, apparently not. It's down to the president alone, meaning that Trump could be lying in bed on a Saturday evening, 'adopting the position' and getting little joy from the process and might then decide, out of sheer frustration, to send a few nukes in the direction of Russia.
Here's the worrying text for you to consider: "In a ritual out of sight of the cameras on Inauguration Day in January, America's 'nuclear briefcase' will change hands and President Donald Trump will receive a card, sometimes known as the 'biscuit'. The card, which identifies him as commander-in-chief, has on it the nuclear codes that are used to authenticate an order to launch a nuclear attack. At that point, should he wish, Mr Trump can launch any or all of America's 2,000 strategic nuclear missiles. There are no constitutional restraints on his power to do so."
It's Remembrance Sunday and loads of crusty old politicians, former soldiers and members of the Royal Family are gathered around the Cenotaph in London, paying their respects to those who gave up their lives in two world wars and various other conflicts around the globe. I wonder what the Queen is thinking, standing there dressed in black and knowing that Donald Trump is not only the President Elect of the United States of America, but a volatile man who has made serious racist and misogynist comments during his election campaign AND!!! will soon take ownership of the so-called nuclear briefcase.
As The Economist put it in a leader article, "History is back – with a vengeance."
Friday, 11 November 2016
In Dusseldorf – my favourite European city
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| Room 111, Burns Art & Culture Hotel |
I decided to walk to the Alt Stadt from my hotel having faffed around at one of those automated ticket machines and, for some reason, I couldn't use the credit card. Very annoying, but at least I got the exercise.
I'm staying – or rather I was staying – in the Burns Art & Culture hotel, not a million miles from the Burns Art Hotel and, in my opinion, while both are great hotels, the former is better, although I had a tremendous room (well, let's call it a small apartment) in both establishments. I think it's just the Burns Art Hotel concept that I love so much: the quirky works of art, the spacious apartment-like rooms (seriously, my room for the last two days was basically a studio apartment). It had a bathroom and a bed, like all hotels, but there was much more: a huge, long table, kitchen units, a hob, fridge (full of spirits and beer) and a microwave. I'll be honest, at one stage, rather than visit my favourite restaurant (Da Bruno, Karlstrasse) I almost considered nipping down to the Kaiser supermarket, buying a sauce and some pasta and, well, staying in watching the television, drinking a glass or two of wine and generally making myself at home. But I didn't do that; I went out, mainly because earlier I had booked a table at Da Bruno, and I'm glad I did, as I enjoyed a wonderful meal (Parma ham and melon followed by a prawn dish, perfect). And before anybody gets on their high horse and starts saying that Parma ham and melon is up there with prawn cocktail, a sirloin steak and crinkle-cut fries followed by Black Forest Gateaux and washed down with a luke warm glass of Riesling, I know. I know! But it was nothing like that. In fact it was so good I went back last night too, but this time ordered bruschetta with Parma ham followed by a mushroom pasta dish. Perfect, as always. I tried to get back in there for lunch today, but they were having a private party – how bloody dare they! – so I ended up in a traditional German restaurant, Zum Schiffchen on Hafenstrasse 5, 40213 Dusseldorf, tel 0211 132421. Seriously, it was good. I ordered roasted salmon with boiled potatoes and greens and four very small beers (in total roughly a pint). Dessert was this amazing thing I can't describe, a cake of sorts, a bit cheese cakey, but there were cherries. It was wonderful.
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| Dessert – nice, but a little on the large side... |
But it's not bothering the Germans. They're all dressed up in colourful outfits, drinking beer and having a great time until, I suppose, their elections, when some right wing nob cheese persuades Germany's 'unwashed' to vote for him or her and then there will be stark reminders of what things used to be like when Germans wore smart uniforms and sent Jews to concentration camps. Let's hope not. We can't have the entire world full of extreme right wing idiots and a load of ineffective left wing parties moaning and doing nothing about it, can we? I have a sneaky suspicion we can.
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| Taking a tram across town... |
I'm wracking my brains to remember if there's anything that has annoyed me these past two days and to be honest, apart from Trump and Brexit, there's nothing. The hotel was great, the restaurant was great, the Germans were great, this Starbucks is great and the meal I've just enjoyed at Zum Schiffchen was also great. Nothing to moan about! Look it's simple really: I love this city, I love the people, the food, the beer, everything about it, even the taxi drivers are civil individuals. None of that, "You're never guess who I had in the back of me cab last night" rubbish. I bet most British cabbies voted to leave the European Union.
I was wondering yesterday whether there was any way I could change my nationality, become a German, but unfortunately I'm one of those people who is pure English, nothing else. I'm not even half Irish, I don't have any kind of dual nationality thing going on; I'm fucking buggered! Sadly, I'm an Englishman, with a shitty Tory party in charge of my affairs and nowhere to run. I can't say I'm proud of my country. The idea of moving to the USA doesn't appeal any more either, not now that Trump's in charge. Some people use the word 'trump' to describe a fart, as in, "after all those baked beans last night I couldn't stop trumping."
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| Bruschetta with Parma ham at my favourite restaurant... |
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| That's what I thought, a quirky hotel... |
More people with silly outfits pass by outside and I'm now thinking I'd better get out of here, head back to my hotel, retrieve my suitcase and trundle on down to the railway station to catch a train to the airport. My computer has just 13% power left so that's it folks, I'm signing off.
I'm now back in the UK. Things got a little hectic. I left the Starbucks and made my way on foot to the hotel, but got slightly lost; it was dark and somewhere, temporarily, I took a wrong turn, but miraculously I found myself back on track.
When I reached the hotel I charged up the lap top for a bit and charged my phone too as I was going to need it for when I reached Heathrow's Terminal 5. The flight was smooth, there were clear skies and I had some more Island Bakery Lemon Melts, although the photograph below of the biscuits was taken on the outward flight, which was also very pleasant. I reached home just before 2300hrs, in time for a bit of Graham Norton. It's good to be home.
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| Island Bakery Lemon Melts – woof!!!! |
Wednesday, 9 November 2016
Thoughts on Brexit and 'The Donald' in the White House...
There are now two things that bug me constantly; it's as if there are two nasty-looking vultures sitting on a fence behind me at any one time, reminding me of the situation. Occasionally, they might fly off, but not for long; they return often and sit smugly on their perch. The vultures in question represent two big political decisions made, not by governments, but by people – the citizens of the United Kingdom and America. One of those decisions was the UK's vote on 23 June to leave the European Union, to me a very bad decision. I'm living with it, of course, like a lot of people, but it nags at me, mainly because I feel that we, the people, were conned by the likes of Farage, Gove and, of course, that blundering buffoon Boris Johnson, and now we're going to pay the price: a plummeting pound being just one of a number of problems the country now faces as we lurch towards the triggering of Article 50, supposedly next March.
Brexit, however, was overshadowed by the American public's decision to vote in Donald Trump as its 45th President of the United States, although the reason behind both Brexit and Trump's success at the ballot box was disillusionment. A lot of people refer to those who voted for Trump and who wanted out of Europe as 'the great unwashed', but while some might load the phrase with derision, others argue that 'establishment politics' – on both the left and right – has ignored the welfare and the wishes of huge swathes of people who today find themselves jobless or living on the breadline and without any true political representation. They are, in fact, a growing under-class of people – in the UK referred to as the white working classes who, in the EU vote and the race to the White House, have finally woken up and had their say.
In many ways, it is unfortunate that the far right has proved to be their 'saviour' and fed them with half-truths and downright lies; you just have to look at the claims of Farage and Johnson and Gove to see that they were conned and will, ultimately, pay the economic price.
More worrying still, however, is the notable swing to the right that global politics appears to be taking, epitomised by Nigel Farage, Donald Trump, Marine Le Pen and an increasingly more right wing Tory party in the UK.
My problem with right wing politics is that it chooses to focus negatively on the vulnerable and the minorities and it blames the problems of society on specific groups, normally in an effort to deflect attention away from the real causes of strife (bankers and corporate greed). In Hitler's Europe it was the Jews who were blamed and then carted off to concentration camps. In Donald Trump's 'brave new world' it's Mexicans and Muslims, and in the world of the 'Brexiteer', it's foreigners in general 'coming over here and stealing all our jobs'.
The end result is that we find ourselves living in a society that's moving backwards. In the case of Tory Britain, a society reverting back to the 19th Century with many homeless people on the streets of London unable to afford the extortionate rents charged by their unscrupulous, right wing landlords; and, if Jeremy Hunt gets his way, increasingly ill and infirm people unable to pay for their healthcare.
Why is it, I wonder, that Republican Americans want to rid their country of Obamacare? You would have thought that giving greater access to healthcare that doesn't leave individuals penniless and on the streets was a good thing, but no, it's bad according to right wing politicians. Why is it that the Tories in the UK want to dismantle the NHS and hand lucrative contracts to people like Richard Branson? There is, of course, just one word that answers these questions: greed. And that's when we get down to the nitty gritty of the political systems around the world: they're divided along the lines of the 'haves' and the 'have-nots' and the greed of the former who have no intention of spreading the wealth generated, but instead want to keep it for themselves. Look no further than at Philip Green for all the evidence you'll ever need, but there are many others.
And so we are now entering a phase of uncertainty with Donald Trump, a right wing businessman, leading the American people and, no doubt, applying his business 'principles' to the way he governs his country and, dare I say, the way he approaches the world. Trump's blatant racism during his campaign for the White House – his views about Mexicans and Muslims and women – and everything we have seen over the past however long it's been since he was named Republican presidential candidate, does not bode well.
After Brexit in the UK there was a rise in racially-motivated attacks as some 'Brexiteers' felt that their vote to leave the European Union (a vote against immigration in their eyes) meant that they could mistreat those of a different skin colour or those with an Eastern European accent. Fair game, they thought, as the vote to leave the EU had, they believed, 'legitimised' such behaviour. I would be very surprised if we don't see similar attacks in the USA where, of course, there are more guns freely available to crazy as well as sensible people, meaning the end result might be more serious.
But perhaps it is unfair, and indeed, foolhardy of me to sit at my desk voicing my anti-Trump rhetoric. Perhaps I should be a little more careful what I say because, ultimately, what do I know other than what I've read in British newspapers or listened to on British radio, or watched on television? And we all know that the media has it's own agenda.
I have an American pal, an ex-military man, and he quite rightly puts me and others straight when it comes to Trump's victory. He questions why we find Trump's success so terrible and scary and awful when we don't live in the USA and have no idea what it's been like for the average American under eight years of Obama. All we see, of course, is a 'cool' president who is on speaking terms with Beyonce and Jay Z. But my pal tells me, in all seriousness, that millions of people are out of work, that Obama's foreign policy has been terrible, especially the deal with Iran. He says that Obamacare doesn't work and that people can't afford it. He also reminds me that the Americans didn't criticise our decision to leave the European Union. "Did we say you're crazy? No, it's your country and we respected your vote." Fair comment.
And, as he rightly pointed out, if the Americans had stayed out of the Second World War we, the British, would be speaking German – ironically, I'm in Germany as I pen this addendum to my article and, oddly, I'm feeling a little ashamed that I can't speak German, as I was saying to a taxi driver just 30 minutes ago.
"We have made our voice heard. Try respecting our voice," says my pal, which is all well and good, but, like over here when we had the Brexit vote, there were many people who didn't want out of the European Union who are still smarting from the result. In America too there are people who do live in the USA, but feel that Trump as president is nothing short of an American tragedy. One of those people is David Remnick, whose article, An American Tragedy, was published in the New Yorker on 9 November.
Remnick doesn't mix his words. "The election of Donald Trump to the Presidency is nothing less than a tragedy for the American republic, a tragedy for the Constitution, a triumph for the forces, at home and abroad, of nativism, authoritarianism, misogyny, and racism. Trump's shocking victory, his ascension to the Presidency, is a sickening event in the history of the United States and liberal democracy."
But let's try and look on the bright side and see the positives of the situation rather than moan, like the true Brits we are. The Americans, it has to be said, are much more positive and upbeat about life. Is there an upside to a Trump presidency? Well, if he can somehow move away from some of the vitriolic comments he spouted during the election campaign, if he can unify the country and govern, as he says, for all Americans, if he can establish a more cordial relationship with the Russians and in the process maintain world peace and if he can 'Make America Great Again', then hats off to him. All we can do is wait and see.
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| Add your slogan here |
In many ways, it is unfortunate that the far right has proved to be their 'saviour' and fed them with half-truths and downright lies; you just have to look at the claims of Farage and Johnson and Gove to see that they were conned and will, ultimately, pay the economic price.
More worrying still, however, is the notable swing to the right that global politics appears to be taking, epitomised by Nigel Farage, Donald Trump, Marine Le Pen and an increasingly more right wing Tory party in the UK.
My problem with right wing politics is that it chooses to focus negatively on the vulnerable and the minorities and it blames the problems of society on specific groups, normally in an effort to deflect attention away from the real causes of strife (bankers and corporate greed). In Hitler's Europe it was the Jews who were blamed and then carted off to concentration camps. In Donald Trump's 'brave new world' it's Mexicans and Muslims, and in the world of the 'Brexiteer', it's foreigners in general 'coming over here and stealing all our jobs'.
The end result is that we find ourselves living in a society that's moving backwards. In the case of Tory Britain, a society reverting back to the 19th Century with many homeless people on the streets of London unable to afford the extortionate rents charged by their unscrupulous, right wing landlords; and, if Jeremy Hunt gets his way, increasingly ill and infirm people unable to pay for their healthcare.
Why is it, I wonder, that Republican Americans want to rid their country of Obamacare? You would have thought that giving greater access to healthcare that doesn't leave individuals penniless and on the streets was a good thing, but no, it's bad according to right wing politicians. Why is it that the Tories in the UK want to dismantle the NHS and hand lucrative contracts to people like Richard Branson? There is, of course, just one word that answers these questions: greed. And that's when we get down to the nitty gritty of the political systems around the world: they're divided along the lines of the 'haves' and the 'have-nots' and the greed of the former who have no intention of spreading the wealth generated, but instead want to keep it for themselves. Look no further than at Philip Green for all the evidence you'll ever need, but there are many others.
And so we are now entering a phase of uncertainty with Donald Trump, a right wing businessman, leading the American people and, no doubt, applying his business 'principles' to the way he governs his country and, dare I say, the way he approaches the world. Trump's blatant racism during his campaign for the White House – his views about Mexicans and Muslims and women – and everything we have seen over the past however long it's been since he was named Republican presidential candidate, does not bode well.
After Brexit in the UK there was a rise in racially-motivated attacks as some 'Brexiteers' felt that their vote to leave the European Union (a vote against immigration in their eyes) meant that they could mistreat those of a different skin colour or those with an Eastern European accent. Fair game, they thought, as the vote to leave the EU had, they believed, 'legitimised' such behaviour. I would be very surprised if we don't see similar attacks in the USA where, of course, there are more guns freely available to crazy as well as sensible people, meaning the end result might be more serious.
But perhaps it is unfair, and indeed, foolhardy of me to sit at my desk voicing my anti-Trump rhetoric. Perhaps I should be a little more careful what I say because, ultimately, what do I know other than what I've read in British newspapers or listened to on British radio, or watched on television? And we all know that the media has it's own agenda.
I have an American pal, an ex-military man, and he quite rightly puts me and others straight when it comes to Trump's victory. He questions why we find Trump's success so terrible and scary and awful when we don't live in the USA and have no idea what it's been like for the average American under eight years of Obama. All we see, of course, is a 'cool' president who is on speaking terms with Beyonce and Jay Z. But my pal tells me, in all seriousness, that millions of people are out of work, that Obama's foreign policy has been terrible, especially the deal with Iran. He says that Obamacare doesn't work and that people can't afford it. He also reminds me that the Americans didn't criticise our decision to leave the European Union. "Did we say you're crazy? No, it's your country and we respected your vote." Fair comment.
And, as he rightly pointed out, if the Americans had stayed out of the Second World War we, the British, would be speaking German – ironically, I'm in Germany as I pen this addendum to my article and, oddly, I'm feeling a little ashamed that I can't speak German, as I was saying to a taxi driver just 30 minutes ago.
"We have made our voice heard. Try respecting our voice," says my pal, which is all well and good, but, like over here when we had the Brexit vote, there were many people who didn't want out of the European Union who are still smarting from the result. In America too there are people who do live in the USA, but feel that Trump as president is nothing short of an American tragedy. One of those people is David Remnick, whose article, An American Tragedy, was published in the New Yorker on 9 November.
Remnick doesn't mix his words. "The election of Donald Trump to the Presidency is nothing less than a tragedy for the American republic, a tragedy for the Constitution, a triumph for the forces, at home and abroad, of nativism, authoritarianism, misogyny, and racism. Trump's shocking victory, his ascension to the Presidency, is a sickening event in the history of the United States and liberal democracy."
But let's try and look on the bright side and see the positives of the situation rather than moan, like the true Brits we are. The Americans, it has to be said, are much more positive and upbeat about life. Is there an upside to a Trump presidency? Well, if he can somehow move away from some of the vitriolic comments he spouted during the election campaign, if he can unify the country and govern, as he says, for all Americans, if he can establish a more cordial relationship with the Russians and in the process maintain world peace and if he can 'Make America Great Again', then hats off to him. All we can do is wait and see.
Tuesday, 8 November 2016
Trump is the 45th President of the United States.
It's almost 0530. I woke up around 0505 and thought I'd stroll downstairs to check out the US presidential election. I had a sneaky suspicion that Trump would be in the lead and I was right. He's got 244 votes against Clinton's 209 at the time of writing. Clinton has just won Nevada and I'm feeling just like I felt on the morning of 24 June – sort of pissed off.
President Donald Trump. What? The man in charge of the free world is Donald Trump? Well, folks, yes he is, or at least it's looking that way. He's won Florida, Ohio, Iowa and North Carolina, the key states, and it looks as if the global trend at the moment is swinging to the right. In the UK we're out of the EU and the Tories will be in charge for many years as there is no credible opposition.
When the EU referendum vote was announced we had racially-motivated attacks on the streets – expect similar, but worse, in the USA. And remember, you heard it here first, folks.
Trump has mobilised white voters in the same way that the EU's Leave Campaign got the white working classes to come out and vote. The story is similar. People are pissed off with the establishment.
Minnesota will probably go to Clinton, says Emily Matlis on the BBC, and there's talk of a draw and the vote going to the House of Representatives, in which case, says Andrew Neil, Trump will win. But it looks like Trump's got it, sadly. I was hoping for a woman in the White House, but it was not to be. It looks like, on 20 January, Trump will be inaugurated as the 45th President of the United States. Oh dear!
In Michigan it's neck and neck; in New Hampshire, Trump is in the lead. In Arizona it's neck and neck. At Clinton HQ there's a lot of concerned faces.
It looks as if all of my predictions have come true: the UK has come out of the EU and now Trump is the President of the United States.
"There is a lot of anger out there," says the BBC reporter inside the Clinton campaign headquarters, where the Democrats are putting on a brave face. We're hearing phrases like, "It's not over yet," which is always a sign of desperation. They're saying that the millennials aren't voting for Clinton, they're voting for the Libertarians and the Greens. How stupid are they? They don't want Trump in the White House, but they're not voting for Clinton. Unbelievable.
So I'm sitting here watching the BBC, but let's see what's happening on ITV. It's a similar story, of course, except that on the screen they have Trump on the left and Clinton on the right hand side – on the BBC it's the other way around. On Channel Four it's Deal or No Deal and on Channel Five, House Doctor.
Think for a minute, though. Donald Trump will have access to the nuclear codes. Just think about that: Donald Trump is in a position where he can 'press the button'. It's a bit like giving the codes to Philip Green.
London futures fall more than 4%. The Mexican peso hits a record low against the dollar, Japan's Nikkei 225 falls 6.1%. In Moscow Donald Trump has an 82% approval rating and Putin hopes that Trump will be an easier president to work with than Hilary Clinton. Perhaps a Trump presidency will heal the rift between Russia and the USA.
In many ways, I like the fact that the establishment is getting a good kicking. They deserve it. Trump needs just 26 votes to win the White House and it's looking highly likely that he'll win. To get there, he'll need 270 votes in total.
A woman on the BBC has just said, "None of us saw this coming." What rubbish! I saw it coming months ago, like I did the EU referendum vote. "It's a remarkable achievement for Donald Trump and the impact on the United States is seismic," she adds. He took on the establishment and won, says Andrew Neil. "This is the biggest story," says Jeremy Vine. The best performance ever for the Republican Party, Vine adds.
I can't believe that everybody thought he wouldn't win. For me a Trump win has always been on the cards. Alright, I kind of hoped he wouldn't, but I knew he would, in the same way that I knew we'd come out of the EU.
What does it all mean? It means that the world has swung to the right, it means people have had enough of political correctness, it means that 'the left' is on the ropes and has to regroup – and fast – and it means that stuff like workers' rights will play second fiddle to the needs of 'business'. It also means less tolerance, it means that people with racist tendencies and values will feel 'legitimised'. As I said earlier, expect racially-motivated attacks in the USA. Is it good for the world? Probably not, but we've all got to live with it. Yes, if you live in the USA, you can leave, but guess what? You can't leave the world, so in other words, Trump's in the White House and you can run, but you can't hide.
Time for some breakfast.
 |
| The Donald – the 45th President of the United States. |
When the EU referendum vote was announced we had racially-motivated attacks on the streets – expect similar, but worse, in the USA. And remember, you heard it here first, folks.
Trump has mobilised white voters in the same way that the EU's Leave Campaign got the white working classes to come out and vote. The story is similar. People are pissed off with the establishment.
Minnesota will probably go to Clinton, says Emily Matlis on the BBC, and there's talk of a draw and the vote going to the House of Representatives, in which case, says Andrew Neil, Trump will win. But it looks like Trump's got it, sadly. I was hoping for a woman in the White House, but it was not to be. It looks like, on 20 January, Trump will be inaugurated as the 45th President of the United States. Oh dear!
In Michigan it's neck and neck; in New Hampshire, Trump is in the lead. In Arizona it's neck and neck. At Clinton HQ there's a lot of concerned faces.
It looks as if all of my predictions have come true: the UK has come out of the EU and now Trump is the President of the United States.
"There is a lot of anger out there," says the BBC reporter inside the Clinton campaign headquarters, where the Democrats are putting on a brave face. We're hearing phrases like, "It's not over yet," which is always a sign of desperation. They're saying that the millennials aren't voting for Clinton, they're voting for the Libertarians and the Greens. How stupid are they? They don't want Trump in the White House, but they're not voting for Clinton. Unbelievable.
 |
| Clinton – she's not liked by the American people |
Think for a minute, though. Donald Trump will have access to the nuclear codes. Just think about that: Donald Trump is in a position where he can 'press the button'. It's a bit like giving the codes to Philip Green.
London futures fall more than 4%. The Mexican peso hits a record low against the dollar, Japan's Nikkei 225 falls 6.1%. In Moscow Donald Trump has an 82% approval rating and Putin hopes that Trump will be an easier president to work with than Hilary Clinton. Perhaps a Trump presidency will heal the rift between Russia and the USA.
In many ways, I like the fact that the establishment is getting a good kicking. They deserve it. Trump needs just 26 votes to win the White House and it's looking highly likely that he'll win. To get there, he'll need 270 votes in total.
A woman on the BBC has just said, "None of us saw this coming." What rubbish! I saw it coming months ago, like I did the EU referendum vote. "It's a remarkable achievement for Donald Trump and the impact on the United States is seismic," she adds. He took on the establishment and won, says Andrew Neil. "This is the biggest story," says Jeremy Vine. The best performance ever for the Republican Party, Vine adds.
I can't believe that everybody thought he wouldn't win. For me a Trump win has always been on the cards. Alright, I kind of hoped he wouldn't, but I knew he would, in the same way that I knew we'd come out of the EU.
What does it all mean? It means that the world has swung to the right, it means people have had enough of political correctness, it means that 'the left' is on the ropes and has to regroup – and fast – and it means that stuff like workers' rights will play second fiddle to the needs of 'business'. It also means less tolerance, it means that people with racist tendencies and values will feel 'legitimised'. As I said earlier, expect racially-motivated attacks in the USA. Is it good for the world? Probably not, but we've all got to live with it. Yes, if you live in the USA, you can leave, but guess what? You can't leave the world, so in other words, Trump's in the White House and you can run, but you can't hide.
Time for some breakfast.
Sunday, 6 November 2016
Suburban ride to mum's...
Crisp. There's a word. Not exactly the best adjective when it comes to the weather. A crisp morning. Why not be honest and say it's bloody cold? Brass monkeys. I didn't go out on Saturday for a mixture of reasons: general tiredness being one; waking up in the dead of night being another; and lastly, there were things to do around the house. And sometimes, let's face it, there are moments when the thought of getting up early, donning layer after layer of clothing and then hitting the cold air just isn't appealing.
But we're hard, Andy, Phil and I. We go out all year round, rain or shine. Alright, Phil's prone to a spot of hibernation, but you know what I'm saying. That said, riding in the cold on a winter's morning was not my problem this weekend. Yes, I was a little weary and there were things to do around the house, so I sent out an 'abort' text some time ahead of 0400hrs and then went back to bed. I awoke before 0700hrs and then I thought about Phil. I'd better send him an abort text too. After that I lolled around. Later I saw Phil, in high-viz clothing, head off somewhere for a ride, I assumed with Steve, but in reality he rode out alone, he later told me, on quite a long haul: the slow way to Clarks Lane, along Pilgrims Way to Brasted Chart – "a killer hill" – and then back past Chartwell, into Westerham and home. Respect is due.
Saturday was a lazy day: A drive to Sevenoaks, Strictly Come Dancing on television, cottage pie, a glass of wine and then the prospect of an early start on Sunday. I was game on. I put the iphone on charge in the conservatory and went to bed. The next morning I was up with the lark, as dad might have said, and soon I was downstairs making breakfast: tea, Shredded Wheat, a bowl of grapes and some Yeo Valley toffee apple yoghurt with added sliced banana, not forgetting a cup of tea (Lipton's Yellow Label).
When I checked my iphone there was a text from Andy. "Abort. See you next weekend." I could have gone back to bed, but I needed a ride. Outside, thanks to the clocks going back, it was light, so I rode to mum's. The weather was dry and sunny, but there was frost on windscreens and, as I rode down West Hill, my ears began to freeze. In Essenden Road I stopped and considered returning home for my balaclava. I circled the road a couple of times, but then I pushed on, turning right on to Carlton Road, left on the Upper Selsdon Road, across the A23 and up Hayling Park Road towards the Purley Playing Fields. After a while my ears were numb so I no longer worried about them as I cruised through the industrial estate and emerged on to the Stafford Road in Wallington.
It was a pleasant ride and there was very little traffic as I headed towards the lights at the top of Wallington High Street. The bike was fantastic! The Rockhopper Sport 29 really is an amazing machine. Those 29-inch wheels make all the difference and likewise the 27 gears – hills were no longer a problem, I thought, as I passed a Sainsbury's Local on the Stanley Park Road. Soon I found myself in Carshalton Beeches, passing the Village Bakery and the Italian restaurant and riding down towards the lights at the Windsor Castle, turning left, heading up the Carshalton Road as if towards Sutton, but then turning right into Alma Road, left on to Shorts Road – there was a car boot sale at St. Philomena's school – and left again on to Westmead Corner and mum's.
Mum was in fine fettle. Unaware that I'd already enjoyed a hearty breakfast, she offered me a boiled egg and a cup of tea, which I gratefully accepted – well, it was too early for cake – and we talked about this and that, except that there's invariably something new that offers a previously unknown glimpse into the past. This time it was my maternal grandfather, my mum's dad. He was a policeman during the Second World War and, mum told me, he smoked 60 cigarettes a day. She remembered him issuing her with a shopping list on which '20 Players' was on top along with some sweets for mum and her brother for going.
I never met mum's dad as he died, aged 57, before I was born. He'd gone off with 'other women' and ended up in Sheffield for some reason. There's a story about him asking mum to come 'up north' and live with him and mum saying no because she was getting married the following week. I've always found that story very sad and whenever I hear it I imagine how he must have felt on hearing that news. Sadness, perhaps, for not really being there for his only daughter, mixed with elation for her future happiness.
Mum's grandfather on her dad's side owned saw mills, but that was all mum said about him and then we moved on to Margaret, mum's friend, and the woman ultimately responsible for bringing mum and dad together. Sadly, things aren't good for Margaret: she has cancer and is (or was) undergoing chemo and taking various drugs. Back in the day Margaret was often visited by my dad and his pal Geoff after they'd been cycling somewhere. Dad always talked about cycling from Wandsworth to Worthing, leaving early, getting there around lunch time, spending a day by the sea and returning home in time for tea. They'd make a detour to Margaret's and one day mum was there and, well, the rest is history.
As for news from 'the road' – the road being where mum lives and I used to reside – the woman next door has given birth to a third baby (a girl) and the people in the Morrison's old house are moving or something, not exactly sure, and that's about it.
We spoke about dad and decorating and stuff that 'went on' in the house over the years; and how mum painted over the Spanish gold that covered the walls downstairs and made the house look small and claustrophobic. I remember it, but claustrophobia never crossed my mind. That said it was the sixties and seventies and I remember some strange decorative styles that have since been replaced by gallons of white paint. At one point I remember mirror tiles everywhere; now they were a little disconcerting. Somewhere there's a shot of my sister on her wedding day taken through the mirror tiles; they were in the hallway and the living room, but have long since been removed.
One of my aunties weighs 14 stone, mum told me. Fine, but she's so short and should go on a diet. An uncle of mine, however, is doing well and spends a lot of time in his garden, and do I remember the time we all went to Uncle George's – my mum's late brother – only to find him and has wife embroiled in a major shouting match? I'd imagine we simply made our excuses and left, but no, I didn't remember it at all. My only memory of Uncle George, who has sadly died, was him arriving at the house one afternoon with a couple of dogs. I think he smoked a pipe and, in later life was commended for fending off armed robbers from a petrol station in Eastbourne where he worked the night shift. That little incident gained him a lot of street cred, but it only came to our attention after he died.
Time was ticking by and I made ready to leave mum's and head home. The ride was fine and much warmer than the outward journey had been. When I reached the A23 I stopped to chat with a work colleague, Martin, who, every year, brings out mulled cider and venison sausages for the drivers of vintage cars on their way to Brighton. I enjoyed a couple of glasses myself and very nice it was too before heading home. I arrived at 1028hrs, padlocked the bike and did very little until now. It's getting dark outside and I've just been told it's raining. There are some old branches on the lawn that need putting away and if I sit here much longer it'll be too dark to do anything.
But we're hard, Andy, Phil and I. We go out all year round, rain or shine. Alright, Phil's prone to a spot of hibernation, but you know what I'm saying. That said, riding in the cold on a winter's morning was not my problem this weekend. Yes, I was a little weary and there were things to do around the house, so I sent out an 'abort' text some time ahead of 0400hrs and then went back to bed. I awoke before 0700hrs and then I thought about Phil. I'd better send him an abort text too. After that I lolled around. Later I saw Phil, in high-viz clothing, head off somewhere for a ride, I assumed with Steve, but in reality he rode out alone, he later told me, on quite a long haul: the slow way to Clarks Lane, along Pilgrims Way to Brasted Chart – "a killer hill" – and then back past Chartwell, into Westerham and home. Respect is due.
 |
| Purley Playing Fields en route to mum's house... |
When I checked my iphone there was a text from Andy. "Abort. See you next weekend." I could have gone back to bed, but I needed a ride. Outside, thanks to the clocks going back, it was light, so I rode to mum's. The weather was dry and sunny, but there was frost on windscreens and, as I rode down West Hill, my ears began to freeze. In Essenden Road I stopped and considered returning home for my balaclava. I circled the road a couple of times, but then I pushed on, turning right on to Carlton Road, left on the Upper Selsdon Road, across the A23 and up Hayling Park Road towards the Purley Playing Fields. After a while my ears were numb so I no longer worried about them as I cruised through the industrial estate and emerged on to the Stafford Road in Wallington.
It was a pleasant ride and there was very little traffic as I headed towards the lights at the top of Wallington High Street. The bike was fantastic! The Rockhopper Sport 29 really is an amazing machine. Those 29-inch wheels make all the difference and likewise the 27 gears – hills were no longer a problem, I thought, as I passed a Sainsbury's Local on the Stanley Park Road. Soon I found myself in Carshalton Beeches, passing the Village Bakery and the Italian restaurant and riding down towards the lights at the Windsor Castle, turning left, heading up the Carshalton Road as if towards Sutton, but then turning right into Alma Road, left on to Shorts Road – there was a car boot sale at St. Philomena's school – and left again on to Westmead Corner and mum's.
Mum was in fine fettle. Unaware that I'd already enjoyed a hearty breakfast, she offered me a boiled egg and a cup of tea, which I gratefully accepted – well, it was too early for cake – and we talked about this and that, except that there's invariably something new that offers a previously unknown glimpse into the past. This time it was my maternal grandfather, my mum's dad. He was a policeman during the Second World War and, mum told me, he smoked 60 cigarettes a day. She remembered him issuing her with a shopping list on which '20 Players' was on top along with some sweets for mum and her brother for going.
I never met mum's dad as he died, aged 57, before I was born. He'd gone off with 'other women' and ended up in Sheffield for some reason. There's a story about him asking mum to come 'up north' and live with him and mum saying no because she was getting married the following week. I've always found that story very sad and whenever I hear it I imagine how he must have felt on hearing that news. Sadness, perhaps, for not really being there for his only daughter, mixed with elation for her future happiness.
Mum's grandfather on her dad's side owned saw mills, but that was all mum said about him and then we moved on to Margaret, mum's friend, and the woman ultimately responsible for bringing mum and dad together. Sadly, things aren't good for Margaret: she has cancer and is (or was) undergoing chemo and taking various drugs. Back in the day Margaret was often visited by my dad and his pal Geoff after they'd been cycling somewhere. Dad always talked about cycling from Wandsworth to Worthing, leaving early, getting there around lunch time, spending a day by the sea and returning home in time for tea. They'd make a detour to Margaret's and one day mum was there and, well, the rest is history.
As for news from 'the road' – the road being where mum lives and I used to reside – the woman next door has given birth to a third baby (a girl) and the people in the Morrison's old house are moving or something, not exactly sure, and that's about it.
 |
| Looking out across the fields... |
One of my aunties weighs 14 stone, mum told me. Fine, but she's so short and should go on a diet. An uncle of mine, however, is doing well and spends a lot of time in his garden, and do I remember the time we all went to Uncle George's – my mum's late brother – only to find him and has wife embroiled in a major shouting match? I'd imagine we simply made our excuses and left, but no, I didn't remember it at all. My only memory of Uncle George, who has sadly died, was him arriving at the house one afternoon with a couple of dogs. I think he smoked a pipe and, in later life was commended for fending off armed robbers from a petrol station in Eastbourne where he worked the night shift. That little incident gained him a lot of street cred, but it only came to our attention after he died.
Time was ticking by and I made ready to leave mum's and head home. The ride was fine and much warmer than the outward journey had been. When I reached the A23 I stopped to chat with a work colleague, Martin, who, every year, brings out mulled cider and venison sausages for the drivers of vintage cars on their way to Brighton. I enjoyed a couple of glasses myself and very nice it was too before heading home. I arrived at 1028hrs, padlocked the bike and did very little until now. It's getting dark outside and I've just been told it's raining. There are some old branches on the lawn that need putting away and if I sit here much longer it'll be too dark to do anything.
Sunday, 30 October 2016
Thick fog and no lights – the lunacy of dangerous riding continues!
Look, I'm not proud. In fact, it's all, well, a bit of an accident. My front light ran out of power and my rear light was on my old bike. The long and the short of it? I rode off in thick fog without any lights. I've really got to give myself a good talking to on so many levels, not least my sartorial elegance, which is non-existent, but also my penchant for dangerous and slapstick behaviour. Sorting out the former problem is easy: I just need to get myself some decent clothes and stop looking like somebody who has just left the armed forces or, worst still, somebody who has just been released from prison. I mean, I really must start looking a little more togged out – even when I'm on the bike. Everybody else on the ride looks neat and tidy. Andy's always reasonably well-turned-out and so is Phil, even if he does fancy a bit of Lycra here and there. Me? I look like The Outlaw Josey Wales with my unshaven face and my scruffy-looking attire: rusty coloured jacket, unshapen old jumper and leaky old trainers from Sports Direct. I need to up my game, put it that way.
As for the slapstick behaviour, it seems that I'm always on the verge of courting disaster: taking a corner too fast and coming off, damaging my knee in the process and then spending the next few weeks hobbling around like some kind of hobo with dodgy joints. What the hell is going on?
And don't get me started on my hair cut. If it's not too short, like it is now, it's too long and straggly and untidy-looking. I can't win with my hair, but I prefer it really short – like a number three crop – because it's just tidier. The problem, of course, is that it looks a little thuggish and add to that my unfortunate sailor's saunter – my dad always told me not to lunge forward on my left leg, but I never listened – and things ain't looking good for yours truly. Have they ever?
You know what I hate most of all? Passing a mirror. It normally happens in shopping malls or clothes stores and I have to look away, scared, perhaps, that I won't like what I see. In fact I know I won't like what I'd see, because I've seen it. It's a bit like hearing the sound of your own voice. I can't stand the sound of mine, but it's my voice, what can I do about it other than put on a stupid voice, perhaps a squeaky, helium tone, like Joe Pasquale, or a snobby one, like Benedict Cucumber Patch. But these are all minor things to worry about in the scheme of things, although I do need to smarten up a little, both on and off the ride, and I need to make things a little safer. Lights that work would be a good start and perhaps something a little 'high viz' to increase my visibility.
On the way to the green to meet Andy, Phil explained how he too had taken a tumble. On Saturday, while out riding with Steve, he stopped suddenly, the bike swung round, like a gate, and having not disengaged from those Lycra monkey shoes that adhere the rider to the bike (get rid of them for a start, Phil) he keeled over and hit the tarmac, admittedly not with the speed and force that I came face-to-face with the road, but worrying nonetheless. Had it happened moments earlier, Phil explained, he would have been run over by a white van, not the most glamorous of exits. The thought of what might have been made him feel sick and I know what he means. I've had situations in the past, one involving stupidity with cars, when I might not have made it, but miraculously I emerged unscathed bar a cut lip and a visit to Derriford Hospital to get checked out. I won't explain any more about it, but suffice it to say that I spent a week or more wondering about what might have been, but not in a good way as there was only one other kind of outcome. "Ain't nobody can fly a car like Hooper!"
We rode to Tatsfield Village and the fog never let up. From the moment I left the house until the moment I returned home there was fog, at times incredibly thick. We opted for the slow way and once again the Rockhopper proved to be a great bike on all those long, slow hill climbs. I rode sensibly into the village, although I did demonstrate (in slow motion) exactly what I was doing when I came off – for Phil's benefit. I still wince at the memory of that fateful day.
The most amazing part of today's ride, however, was Phil bringing along three enormous slabs of his wedding cake from the summer. Apparently, all the leftover cake – there was a fair amount – went straight into the freezer and he only defrosted it this weekend. But when I say 'slabs' I'm not exaggerating. None of us finished them, although I did better than most (and have felt ashamed of myself all day, especially when I went round mum's and helped myself to two slices of Christmas cake).
When we left Tatsfield we all felt slightly heavier than when we arrived. Not good when you consider that we go riding to keep ourselves trim and fit, but instead, there we were stuffing our faces with a rich chocolate cake and all before 0800hrs. But what a cake! Hats off to Phil for bringing it along. I must, however, make a conscious effort this week to steer clear of anything sweet, like cookies or chocolates.
We rode home off-road along the 269 as the road and the fog proved miles to dangerous and parted company as usual at the Green.
 |
| Ignore my stupid look, I'm trying to look cool, but failing. |
And don't get me started on my hair cut. If it's not too short, like it is now, it's too long and straggly and untidy-looking. I can't win with my hair, but I prefer it really short – like a number three crop – because it's just tidier. The problem, of course, is that it looks a little thuggish and add to that my unfortunate sailor's saunter – my dad always told me not to lunge forward on my left leg, but I never listened – and things ain't looking good for yours truly. Have they ever?
You know what I hate most of all? Passing a mirror. It normally happens in shopping malls or clothes stores and I have to look away, scared, perhaps, that I won't like what I see. In fact I know I won't like what I'd see, because I've seen it. It's a bit like hearing the sound of your own voice. I can't stand the sound of mine, but it's my voice, what can I do about it other than put on a stupid voice, perhaps a squeaky, helium tone, like Joe Pasquale, or a snobby one, like Benedict Cucumber Patch. But these are all minor things to worry about in the scheme of things, although I do need to smarten up a little, both on and off the ride, and I need to make things a little safer. Lights that work would be a good start and perhaps something a little 'high viz' to increase my visibility.
On the way to the green to meet Andy, Phil explained how he too had taken a tumble. On Saturday, while out riding with Steve, he stopped suddenly, the bike swung round, like a gate, and having not disengaged from those Lycra monkey shoes that adhere the rider to the bike (get rid of them for a start, Phil) he keeled over and hit the tarmac, admittedly not with the speed and force that I came face-to-face with the road, but worrying nonetheless. Had it happened moments earlier, Phil explained, he would have been run over by a white van, not the most glamorous of exits. The thought of what might have been made him feel sick and I know what he means. I've had situations in the past, one involving stupidity with cars, when I might not have made it, but miraculously I emerged unscathed bar a cut lip and a visit to Derriford Hospital to get checked out. I won't explain any more about it, but suffice it to say that I spent a week or more wondering about what might have been, but not in a good way as there was only one other kind of outcome. "Ain't nobody can fly a car like Hooper!"
 |
| Rockhopper Sport 29 at Tatsfield village |
The most amazing part of today's ride, however, was Phil bringing along three enormous slabs of his wedding cake from the summer. Apparently, all the leftover cake – there was a fair amount – went straight into the freezer and he only defrosted it this weekend. But when I say 'slabs' I'm not exaggerating. None of us finished them, although I did better than most (and have felt ashamed of myself all day, especially when I went round mum's and helped myself to two slices of Christmas cake).
When we left Tatsfield we all felt slightly heavier than when we arrived. Not good when you consider that we go riding to keep ourselves trim and fit, but instead, there we were stuffing our faces with a rich chocolate cake and all before 0800hrs. But what a cake! Hats off to Phil for bringing it along. I must, however, make a conscious effort this week to steer clear of anything sweet, like cookies or chocolates.
We rode home off-road along the 269 as the road and the fog proved miles to dangerous and parted company as usual at the Green.
Saturday, 29 October 2016
Thoughts on sleeping rough...
I seem to be obsessed with the notion of sleeping rough. Perhaps not obsessed, more intrigued. Or, if not intrigued, satisfied with the thought that if ever I found myself in the position so many find themselves in these days – especially in London where extortionate rent is turning back the clock to Dickensian times – I'd have a solution.
The solution in my mind is a tent. A two-man tent from Millets and, of course, a sleeping bag. I'd search around the green belt until I found a place that seemed safe and secluded and out of harm's way and set up camp there; I might even ask a friendly farmer whether he'd mind if I camped on his land or check out some of the all-year-round camp sites that exist in the United Kingdom. Either way, you wouldn't find me in a shop doorway or slumming it on one of the capital's night buses.
Andy says that the Circle Line is no longer a circle, meaning that you can't just sit there all night snoozing, not that I'd want to do that anyway. Sleeping under canvas in the woods seems far preferable to me.
The whole conversation came about because of the Old Ship at Tatsfield, which I noticed last week had been boarded up and is no longer inhabited, not by the former tenant, a Mrs Gandolf, at any rate. Last week I referred to her as Mrs Gandalf, my mistake, but the letter 'o' doesn't in any way lessen the excellence of her surname.
We, that is Andy and I, sat opposite the Old Ship after a pleasant ride via Beddlestead Lane and now, munching on Belvitas, we wondered again what would happen to the place. It would make a decent small hotel with half a dozen rooms and a restaurant downstairs.
I thought of a programme I had watched on 'catch up' last week about the homeless in Barking & Dagenham and I sat there looking at the empty pub and thinking about all those people sitting on night buses or sleeping in shop doorways; they would be crying out for a place like the Old Ship in Tatsfield, I thought. And that's when I started talking about how, if I was homeless, I'd buy a tent with my dole money and head for the woods.
Andy suggested that during the day – if he was homeless – he would spend the day in the library. I suggested Sutton Library, it's huge, on many floors, has power points, easy chairs, an entire floor devoted to music and a café downstairs. The fantasy had re-asserted itself. What about food? I suggested a stove. What about washing? Local authority leisure centres. Transportation? A bike, of course. I had it sussed.
As we cycled home I kept a weather eye out for places to camp should the need arise, not that it would, and there were plenty worthy of consideration. The key, I explained to Andy, was keeping hidden from view and not drawing attention to oneself. I'm guessing that if you're homeless you trust nobody.
The ride continued. We headed towards the green where we parted company and rode our separate ways.
The solution in my mind is a tent. A two-man tent from Millets and, of course, a sleeping bag. I'd search around the green belt until I found a place that seemed safe and secluded and out of harm's way and set up camp there; I might even ask a friendly farmer whether he'd mind if I camped on his land or check out some of the all-year-round camp sites that exist in the United Kingdom. Either way, you wouldn't find me in a shop doorway or slumming it on one of the capital's night buses.
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| The bikes on the outskirts of Tatsfield. Pic: Andy Smith. |
The whole conversation came about because of the Old Ship at Tatsfield, which I noticed last week had been boarded up and is no longer inhabited, not by the former tenant, a Mrs Gandolf, at any rate. Last week I referred to her as Mrs Gandalf, my mistake, but the letter 'o' doesn't in any way lessen the excellence of her surname.
We, that is Andy and I, sat opposite the Old Ship after a pleasant ride via Beddlestead Lane and now, munching on Belvitas, we wondered again what would happen to the place. It would make a decent small hotel with half a dozen rooms and a restaurant downstairs.
I thought of a programme I had watched on 'catch up' last week about the homeless in Barking & Dagenham and I sat there looking at the empty pub and thinking about all those people sitting on night buses or sleeping in shop doorways; they would be crying out for a place like the Old Ship in Tatsfield, I thought. And that's when I started talking about how, if I was homeless, I'd buy a tent with my dole money and head for the woods.
Andy suggested that during the day – if he was homeless – he would spend the day in the library. I suggested Sutton Library, it's huge, on many floors, has power points, easy chairs, an entire floor devoted to music and a café downstairs. The fantasy had re-asserted itself. What about food? I suggested a stove. What about washing? Local authority leisure centres. Transportation? A bike, of course. I had it sussed.
As we cycled home I kept a weather eye out for places to camp should the need arise, not that it would, and there were plenty worthy of consideration. The key, I explained to Andy, was keeping hidden from view and not drawing attention to oneself. I'm guessing that if you're homeless you trust nobody.
The ride continued. We headed towards the green where we parted company and rode our separate ways.
Monday, 24 October 2016
Things I think about when I'm walking home...
It seems to be getting darker by the second. Winter is coming. Every time I get off the bus, there's some hint or other that summer is fading fast and recently it was the streetlights. The doors of the bus opened, I jumped out and the streetlights were on, at 1850hrs. I don't think I'd seen them before now, but suddenly there they were, glowing; and they're not like streetlights used to be either. There was a time when they resembled a Dalek's gun contained in a frosted glass case, but now the old concrete streetlights have been replaced with steel ones, big tall structures that emit a kind of spooky lunar glow once they warm up. Every street has them, or they do where I live. No more dark spots on the streets, where criminals might lurk, everything is bathed in a kind of white light that penetrates the thickest of bedroom curtains.
Once off the bus I cross the road and it's still quite busy with the office stragglers, headlights on, making their way home. I walk towards Hayling Park Road with it's tall trees and big houses set back from the road. While the light is fading fast, it's not dark enough yet for lights to go on inside the dwellings I pass; and it's not late enough in the year for those warming glimpses into other people's lives; that pleasure will have to wait until the festive season draws closer and the temperatures dip a little. Right now, while it's darker in the mornings and at night, the clocks are still running on British Summer Time, but not for much longer. Tomorrow the clocks go back and I live in the future for a day or two. Soon there will be Christmas trees in bay windows and red candles on mantelpieces, but before we reach that magical time of the year when time stops for a while, there's Halloween and Guy Fawkes' night and that lovely smell of gunpowder that lingers in the cold night air.
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| Hayling Park Road, South Croydon |
Sunday, 23 October 2016
Mountain bike in the mist... and I ride to mum's
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| Andy's Kona Blast on the roadside, Sunday morning. Pic by Andy Smith. |
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| Misty morning in the Surrey Hills. Pic by Andy Smith. |
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