To Biggin Hill...

Part of me suggested to my other self that it might be best not to go riding today. Stay in, get the garden finished and then make Sunday lunch. But there were stronger forces at work suggesting the complete opposite. Why not get out on the bike now, early, and then come back and do the garden and the Sunday roast. It made sense so I headed off with little idea as to where I was going. If I'm really honest, I was getting bored with Westerham and simply didn't fancy another large English breakfast tea or a coffee. It was all too familiar down there and I needed a change more than anything else. So, as the journey got under way along Ellenbridge, Morley and Church Way the voices in my head started up again (and no, I'm not schizophrenic, just mulling through my options quietly to myself). What about Oxted? The plus point was obvious, Caffe Nero, but the negatives were fairly strong and by that I mean the ride up Titsey Hill on the return journey. Had I brought along a flask of tea and some milk I might have made the Tatsfield Churchyard my destination as the weather was pleasant enough, and then, of course, there was always the Velo Barn, but that would mean climbing up the same old hill that I tackle shortly after leaving Westerham. Godstone Green? No, no, no, that hill on the return ride would kill me and besides the temptation to eat cake would be too strong to resist. Then I thought about Sheree's Tea room in Tatsfield Village, that would be pleasant and I think that was my decision in the end. I rode down Clarks Lane and instead of turning left on to Approach Road and riding into the village I carried on and made the next left turn further down, keeping the churchyard on my left as I weaved around the lanes heading for Sheree's. Soon I found myself on Old Lane and saw a sign to Biggin Hill. Why not? So off I went and soon I was in Biggin Hill.

Biggin Hill is a funny old place, full of a diverse selection of modern houses stacked up steeply behind one another. There never seems to be anybody around, apart from one or two people wandering here and there. On a Sunday there doesn't appear to be anything open either. I found a McColl's newsagent on a row of otherwise closed retailers, including Ozzie's Cafe which had the shutters pulled down. There was little to do so I retraced my steps along Sunningvale Avenue and then up Ricketts Hill Lane and soon I found myself bearing right and heading for the centre of Tatsfield Village. But I wasn't planning on stopping at Sheree's. I sailed past and then wound my way along Approach Road, turning right when I reached the Tatsfield Bus Stop and headed towards Botley Hill. I wasn't even tempted to follow the road into Woldingham and chose instead to roar along the 269 on which there was little going on. Sunday is a good day for the 269. This was a non-stop ride. I needed to stop spending money on cappuccino and cake and now was as good a time as any to make a stand. It wasn't long before I found myself at Warlingham Green, then the Limpsfield Road, Church Way and, of course, home. I reached the house at bang on 1100hrs and when I got in there was a chance to make up an avocado sandwich and a mug of tea. I don't know what's going to happen today. There was talk of a pub lunch, but that's now off the cards, so I guess I'll be making a Sunday roast later. It's my speciality.

Sunningvale Avenue, Biggin Hill

A few words on Biggin Hill, the destination of this morning's ride. Biggin Hill is known for its war time aviation heroics and heroes and is, of course, still an airport today. There's the famous Biggin Hill Air Show in the summer and that's really all there is to know, but riding around the town as I was this morning I realised there was more to Biggin Hill than meets the eye; it has a certain air of immortality about it, an element of timelessness, which I love, an air of Saturday afternoon, early evening perhaps, a bare light bulb burning in an upstairs room that is being decorated, the smell of emulsion, Final Score on the television, football matches drawing to a close, some late kick-offs, Saturday night television, the prospect of a lazy Sunday ahead, snow on the ground, muffled sound, Christmas trees... or even sunshine and the heat of the summer. I don't know what it is, but it seems like a happy place, plenty of different styles of houses, but all fairly modern-looking. Oddly, when I was there this morning it appeared to be a ghost town, there was nobody around, but it was fairly early as I sailed down Ricketts Lane, noting to myself that I'd be riding uphill later on, although it wasn't that bad, certainly no way near as severe as Lusted Hall Lane, another road that would have taken me back into Tatsfield. It was a shame that Ozzy's Cafe was shuttered. Had it been open I might have nipped in for a mug of tea and a slice of toast. It probably would have been open had I paid a visit yesterday, but instead I was in Westerham, in the Costa, enjoying a regular cappuccino. I'll definitely pay a return visit, perhaps search around the town a bit, see what I can find. There might be another parade of shops with a tearoom instead of just a convenience store and a closed cafe.

The distance to Biggin Hill (the way I rode there) was around a 21-mile round trip, so it was the same as Westerham. I'm glad about that because I was pootling around this morning hoping that I could make up some reasonable distance for the sake of my 70-mile respectability at the end of my cycling week. Let's see. A lot depends on the other rides later in the week.

Okay, I'm going to sign off. Columbo's on and you can't beat a bit of Columbo on a Sunday evening, or any evening for that matter.

Four rides, total distance covered = 71.27 miles

The signs were all there: summer was coming. Blue skies, hawthorn hedges trimmed with a flat top cut, blossoms on trees, daffodils in full bloom and, of course, sunshine. I was on the bike, I can't remember what time it was, but I know it was after 0900hrs, possibly later. I was on the 269, still not that busy even though it was a Saturday morning, but cars are noisy and so are their passengers. One car passed travelling in the opposite direction and as he passed he sounded his horn. Why, I wondered. There was no reason, unless he was simply unhappy that I was sharing his tarmac space. Who knows? Not me. And who cares? Not me again.

Cappuccino in Westerham this morning

Yesterday (Friday) I had engaged with a new ride: Botley Hill and a Washpond Weeble thrown in for good measure on the return ride, not that there was a 'return ride'. There's only a return ride when I stop somewhere, giving the ride it's two halves, the outward and the return journey, but this ride was non-stop, I never dismounted. I remember yesterday's ride for one reason: there was a tremendous temptation to ride into Westerham, but I didn't. I left Westerham for today (Saturday). I turned left at the roundabout, considering as I did so riding to Oxted instead. The temptation was, of course, Caffe Nero, but the downside was riding up Titsey Hill, so I stuck with Westerham and sailed down Clarks Lane looking forward to arriving at Costa Coffee. I was already wondering whether I should stick with my usual English Breakfast tea in a takeaway cup or opt for a regular cappuccino in a proper cup. There was no way I was going to have a cake. As we all know, I'm eating a lot of cake at the moment, one way or the other, and it's got to stop.

Lunch in Gail's in Sevenoaks. I should have left it there.

Westerham was buzzing. There were plenty of people wandering around, sitting in cafes, peering through shop windows, all the usual stuff you might expect on a Saturday morning. I rolled along the high street and parked up, padlocking the bike to a road sign and then headed on inside to place my order. I opted for the regular cappuccino and then took a seat in the middle of the store as other people were occupying my preferred seats by the window. It was pleasant simply sitting there, sipping my chosen drink and looking out of the window at those passing by; as always I could have sat there all morning. All I needed was a newspaper or a decent book, but I had neither, more's the pity.

At Botley Hill on Friday

The ride home was fine. I followed my usual route past Velo Barn and along Pilgrims Lane, eventually finding myself at Botley Hill where I decided to ride the 269 again rather than travel through Woldingham. I reached home around 1230hrs and after a Marmite sandwich set about mowing the back lawn, the first cut of the year (always a little tough). It's still not finished, but I'll complete the job tomorrow some time, it's just the lawn at the very top and the edges.

This week, my four rides totalled 70.27 miles. I had exceeded my preferred weekly mileage and felt really good about it. During the week I had a puncture. Well, Thursday I had a puncture. I fixed it there and then, in the garage, having found the rear wheel flat tyre as I was about to ride the Washpond Weeble. Initially, the idea of fixing the puncture and then going out on the ride was out of the question, but I did it, even if it did mean that I would be riding in the dark on the way back. I stopped off at Waitrose for some beef gravy (we had cottage pie) and the ride from the store to home was a little precarious as I had to balance a small plastic bag containing the gravy and some hot cross buns, but I reached home safely and enjoyed a bun before dinner. 

Friday I combined a ride to Botley Hill with a Washpond Weeble, a total of 14.65 miles and then later drove to Sevenoaks where I enjoyed an over-priced meal in Gail's. I had two cappuccinos when I should have had one and I had two cakes, one pleasant, the other not so good and I think in the end I spent something like £25. The weather was perfect and I had the day off. We wandered around the town, looking in shop windows, checking out the house prices, all the usual stuff and I was feeling happy knowing that I had completed three of my four rides. All that was left for me to do exercise wise was to ride to Westerham on Saturday morning and, as you already know, I have done that.

The light faded on Thursday as I turned on to Washpond Lane

The bike is in fairly good nick. I need to jet clean it at the local garage, which I will do one of these days, but after fixing the puncture on Thursday I did give it a mini-clean, including a scrub of the block with a toothbrush, something I'd never done before.

I engaged farmyard animals in conversation on Beech Farm Road

It's now almost 2100hrs on Saturday night, there's a programme on BBC 4 about The Normans. I'm kind of half watching it while waiting for my fish & chips, which is in the oven, or so I'm told. My cycling week starts on a Sunday, meaning that I need to get up and go tomorrow morning and then get back in time to either take a drive to Hurst Green or to get back and finish off the lawn. The front needs doing too so if we end up on a drive there might be no time. I'm easy, though, so we'll see what tomorrow brings.

Four rides this week, including a pleasant trip to Westerham...

I should really be aiming for five rides per week, but this week only managed four. I've realised that it's not so much the distance of each ride that matters, it's all about getting out on a regular basis and not to fret too much about the mileage involved. So this week I've put in a few Norfolk Nobblers (now abbreviated to plain old 'Nobbler, single lap' on Strava. It's roughly six miles and this week there was a variation. On Friday (or was it Saturday, I can't remember) I threw in a Woodland Trek, an old route from days gone by that is kind of a hybrid between a Nobbler and a ride in the woods, hence the Woodland Trek. In fact, historically, the Woodland Trek came first. I used to ride it ages ago, doing a lap of Ridge Langley and then riding up the alley to the Upper Selsdon Road, turning left and then crossing the road and following a dirt track that dissects the golf course and then dives into the woods. Croham Woods is quite picturesque, especially at this time of the year when the trees start to bud up. The other good time to be there is in the autumn when everything has a burnt orange hue to it. But make no mistake, the Woodland trek is no walk in the park, especially if you're on a bike. It's fine until you have to make a left and ride to the very top of the woods off-road, that's the killer part, but if I throw the bike into a low gear it makes it and I arrive hot and sweaty at the top, ready to veer left and follow another dirt track that travels over exposed tree roots and then spirals downwards until I reach West Hill. The problem, of course, is dog walkers. They're everywhere and I have to watch out for them, give way here and there, but often they give way to me so all is well. I was expecting people to complain about my presence on a bike, but nobody did. Oddly, there's no difference in mileage terms between a standard Nobbler, single lap and the Woodland Trek, a lot of it's the same, but the latter bit penetrates the woods, that's the only difference. Well, I say 'the only difference', another big difference is the time it takes, ie another 10 minutes and I put that down to the terrain once in the woods. The Woodland Trek is a little harder.

Large English Breakfast Tea!

Today, Sunday, I rode to Westerham as I always do. I left the house around 0834hrs and I guess I must have reached the Costa Coffee by around 0934hrs. It's weird Andy not being there. Despite a constant threat of rain, the heavens remained closed and I stayed dry. It was the same on the return ride. In fact, it started raining just as I put the bike in the garage, but there wasn't much rain, just an on/off shower style of downfall that I probably wouldn't have noticed had I been caught out in it. At the Costa I had a large English Breakfast tea in a takeaway mug (I reckon I get more tea in the paper mug than in the teapot they give me if I don't ask for a take-out. I'm amazed they haven't picked me up on it, but I guess they're thinking that I'm likely to get up and finish the drink later or something, I don't know. I took a wazz in the disabled toilet as the one for able-bodied people was either locked or there was somebody in there taking a massive, long and drawn out dump. And who wants to follow that guy? Not me. I just didn't fancy pissing behind a bush on the ride back. I rode up towards the Velo Barn and then hung a left on to Pilgrims, later crossing Clarks Lane into another segment of Pilgrims, hanging a right on to Rectory Lane and then rejoining Clarks Lane and riding up the long and drawn out hill to Botley where, once again, I decided that I'd risk the 269 instead of going through Woldingham. I don't know, I just can't face that steep bit of Slines Oak Road at the moment, not that I won't tackle it soon. After all, I recently rode up Titsey Hill from Oxted so it's not as if I can't do it.

I bought a cheap lock for the bike from Robert Dyas. It does the trick when all you're doing is parking up outside Costa on a Sunday morning and it fits perfectly around the handle bars without getting in the way of anything. Pretty cheap too, around £4.99, something crazy like that, good value. I like Robert Dyas, it's one of those shops that sells comforting products, like toastie makers and slow cookers and a range of nice mugs, ideal for dunking biscuits in. You can't beat a good hardware store if you're after a little comfort.

Right now I'm chilling out, there are candles flickering from a lantern in the fireplace, we've just watched a movie, Whiplash, which was pretty good (on Netflix) and now as the evening slowly creeps in and the light starts to fade (wow! its almost 1800hrs and it's not dark yet!) the chill-out continues. The TV has been switched off, we've all enjoyed a slice (or two) of coffee and walnut cake from Waitrose, purchased this afternoon, and none of us are hungry after my Sunday roast chicken with all the trimmings, including Brussels sprouts. It was much needed, put it that way, and I haven't done it for a while. We do need to get back to more comfort eating as it does us all the world of good spiritually.

This coming week I'm planning that all important fifth ride. It'll probably be a Nobbler, single lap, perhaps Tuesday night, who knows? But I must try for five rides next week. 

A few thoughts on Ukraine...

I'm amazed at the way the war in Ukraine has taken over from Netflix as my 'must watch' television at the moment. I find myself sitting at home watching the BBC news channel watching Ukrainians pushing themselves on to trains or taking cover underground in a dingy basement to avoid Putin's bombs. I watch it until it starts to repeat itself, like all rolling news does, and then I get up and make some tea, or search around the house for a hot cross bun.

Like a lot of people around the world, like most people perhaps, I find Putin's invasion of Ukraine to be totally unacceptable in these modern times. We keep hearing people talking about how it's 2022 and this sort of thing shouldn't happen. They're right, it shouldn't be happening, haven't we learned anything from history? I find myself constantly thinking about the Ukrainian people and the fact that Putin's attack was totally unprovoked and now they're all finding their houses blown up, their livelihoods destroyed and their worlds turned upside down because of one man, Vladimir Putin, who wants to turn back the clock to the dark days of the USSR. Why? There's absolutely no point whatsoever.

I wish somebody would overthrow Putin. It can't be too difficult. The world has had enough of nutters and The Bastard is a particularly nasty breed. I feel sorry for the Russian people, some of whom are escaping across the Finnish border just in case Putin imposes martial law on the country in an effort to quell dissent against his unjustified and unprovoked invasion of Ukraine. Russians are not allowed to refer to the war in Ukraine as a war, they have to call it something else, like a 'special operation'. Let's be honest: it's a war.

I am glad that the international community is imposing widespread sanctions on Putin. His airlines cannot fly over EU, UK or US airspace, his awful so-called oligarchs are having their assets stripped, - Abramovich is selling Chelsea FC - Russian banks are feeling the pinch, companies like Apple are shutting up shop and credit card companies, like MasterCard and Visa are pulling out too and let's not forget Russian and Belarusian athletes being banned from competing in Beijing. This is all great news for us in the west and extremely bad news for Putin. 

The media, of course, have been appalling. I'm finding the BBC's Clive Myrie very annoying and also a bit smug. He appears on a roof top somewhere in Kyiv and seems to be treating the whole thing like Springwatch. He even found time to promote Mastermind in a selfie on Twitter from the Ukrainian capital. I'm always amazed at the media covering wars. As Ukrainians get the hell out, television reporters stay put and while I suppose it's brave to stick around as the Russians advance, I wonder how they will escape the carnage. Do they have some kind of special arrangement with the aggressor? Are there locations 'out of bounds' for Russian bombs? I guess that's a question for John Simpson, a journalist I greatly admire.

I've decided to listen to coverage on the World Service. I normally listen to Radio Three in the mornings, preferring to relax with classical music, but since the war broke out in Ukraine I've switched channels. I like Ros Atkins' coverage too on channel 231, the BBC's world news television channel.

What I don't like about the media generally is their constant promotion of NATO getting involved in the conflict. NATO itself has been quite clear that to establish a no-fly zone over Ukraine is tantamount to declaring war with Russia, something nobody wants, especially considering Putin's nuclear threats. But the media constantly asks the question even if they already know the answer. Zelensky knows the answer too: we can't get involved militarily.

I think the Ukrainian conflict is here to stay. It's not going away any time soon. I think the Russians will 'win' based purely on superior firepower, but they won't 'win' completely. The Ukrainians have already put up a brave fight and I'm sure they will continue to do so; in fact, going forward, I think they might turn the tables on Putin eventually and possibly force a withdrawal. But until then there will be a strong insurgency similar if not more intense than the French Resistance against the Nazis during the Second World War.

Ultimately, I think Putin will fail. Worldwide condemnation is already upon him. Perhaps he will 'win' the war, but at what cost to his own credibility at home and internationally? I think Putin is finished and will either be toppled by his own people or by those close to him, but I'm not going to hold my breath. It's all a big shame as Russia is a great country, it's people too, but Putin is forcing everybody to turn against it and them.

Lastly, when it comes to National Anthems, the Russians have one of the best; it's moving, it's rousing, it's (ahem) anthemic and everything a National Anthem should be, and I must say that I love it. What a shame, therefore, that such a great country should be vilified by the world for the actions of just one man. Stop Putin now.

Andy out of hospital and on the road to recovery

I managed to speak briefly to Andy yesterday night while in the car park outside of East Croydon station. Not the ideal place to have a telephone conversation, so we agreed to talk the following day. I found myself in Knole, a National Trust property in Sevenoaks, Kent, and called around lunch time, having not enjoyed a sausage bap nor a 'cappuccino' that was nothing like those for sale in Costa Coffee or Caffe Nero.

Andy (right) on an early NVL ride

Andy got out of hospital yesterday and while he sounds relatively okay on the telephone, it's clear he's been through an ordeal. He told me his story. He came off the bike after riding over black ice and landed with a bang in the middle of the road. When he tried to pick up his bike, he realised that he was badly injured and once the adrenaline had worn off in a lot of pain. A man who was driving a car behind him stopped and asked if he was alright. He wasn't. It was not a case for dialling 111, but 999 and while the ambulance people told him to allow for up to a two-hour wait, it was there within 20 minutes and Andy was given gas and air and morphine to alleviate the pain, which completely disappeared.

At East Surrey Hospital near Redhill Andy underwent various tests including a CT scan and soon it was clear that he needed an operation. Plates and screws were needed to mend what turned out to be a broken hip bone and now he has been told no cycling for at least two months. He's off work and needs to inject himself with blood thinnners for the next six months to keep his blood thinned. My mum had to do the same after her hip replacement operation back in January 2019. Andy, incidentally, was almost given a new hip, but it wasn't necessary, he told me.

It looks like a long and frustrating journey back to good health, but if Andy puts the same determination into his recovery as he has his cycling then I see no reason why he won't be fit enough on 21 June when he plans to ride well over 200 miles in a day to Bodmin in Cornwall. That's his goal now: to make a complete recovery by the summer solstice. I have every faith in him doing that. It means, of course, that I'll be riding to Costa Coffee in Westerham alone for the next few weeks as Andy nurses himself back to good health. I'm hoping to drop round one day to say hello, but it's best to let him recover a little bit first.

We had a long chat on the phone about the type of diet he'll need to go on in order to successfully ride to Bodmin. We spoke about the time when I 'ran out of fuel' on one of the Black Horse rides and how a few Digestive biscuits got me moving again, but riding over 200 miles in a day he will need more than biscuits and is planning out how to eat the right foodstuffs to get him over the line. If you want to read more about Andy's Solstice plans and what he's thinking in terms of dietary requirements, click here  for more. I think you will also find a link about how to sponsor his ride.

As for Andy's state of mind, he seems to be handling his situation admirably, viewing it, perhaps, as a mixture of bad luck and an occupational hazard of cycling (to be avoided if possible). But it's happened, he's got a big ride planned for June 2022 and his motivation is to get better and get back on the road. You'll get there, Andy, I have no doubt. Get well soon. For more on this story, click here.

Andy in hospital with a broken hip...

Andy has come off his bike and is in hospital with a broken hip. Black ice is to blame. He needs an operation and for all I know he's had it or is having it as I write this at nearly 1900hrs. We didn't meet in Westerham as usual on Sunday because Andy was marshalling for a bike race. I can only assume that he came off on his way to the marshalling point, but I don't know.

Saturday's ride to the Pop Inn, Redhill

On a text, Andy later told me he was being kept in hospital. It's now Tuesday night. I first heard of the accident on Sunday. I'm assuming he's still there, but I know that sooner or later he'll be out of hospital. He told me he'd need a lift, which is fine, but I don't know which hospital he's in. Not that it matters. Wherever it is, I'll be there if he needs a lift. I'm just awaiting the call.

Where cycling is concerned, I'm 'back in the room' so to speak. I rode to Westerham last Sunday and then I rode the Weeble on Thursday, did a double Nobbler on Friday, a ride to Redhill on Saturday and today I sent to Oxted where I sat outside sipping a cappuccino under a blue sky and sunshine. The weather was the same yesterday when I rode to Redhill and sat outside of the Pop Inn Cafe on the A23. It was a tough ride back, coming up White Hill Lane and also Tithepit Shaw Lane, but I took it in my stride and covered 24 miles. Today's ride to Oxted meant a ride up Titsey Hill, which is a long, slow, steep hill all the way to Botley Hill, but I managed it, covering roughly 19.23 miles. So, in total, without actually counting the mileage on Strava, I rode 70 miles, not bad! 

Breakfast at the Pop Inn, Redhill

I've been very slack of late so I'm glad that I'm back in the game. For a while I was getting worried that I'd lost the momentum, but clearly I haven't. I've just got to keep it up. I'm back at work tomorrow so I might be riding the Nobbler Monday to Wednesday and then a couple of Weebles on Thursday and Friday, followed by a ride to Westerham (or possibly Redhill again) on Saturday. What, roughly, would that add up to? Well, it's something like 80-plus miles, which (based on recent cycling activity) would be a result.

The weather's getting better too. As I mentioned above, we've had sunshine all weekend and I've been sitting outside eating fried eggs on toast (Saturday) and a cappuccino (Sunday morning). It's getting lighter in the mornings and in the evening too and I just hope that Andy recovers soon and can get back on the bike.

Both days were good and it was excellent just chilling, first on Saturday with the aforementioned two fried eggs on toast in the Pop Inn (actually, I found that I had three fried eggs, but I only paid for two. They were both served on toast along with a mug of tea. It would have been good had I sat there for just a little bit longer, but that nagging feeling about having to ride home was always present and eventually I paid up and left after taking a couple of photos. The ride back was fine until I reached White Hill Lane. I was going to try an altnerative route that avoided the hill, but in the end I decided to go for it and soon I found myself reaching the summit.

Caffe Nero in Oxted on Sunday

On Sunday, it was wonderful sitting outside the Caffe Nero. The skies were blue, the sun was out and I sat there with a decaff cappuccino, it was amazing. Again, I didn't want to go, but I had to, and this time I had to climb Titsey hill. I hadn't experienced a major climb for a long while, but it wasn't a problem and soon I found myself at Botley Hill and sailing down the 269.

It's still Tuesday night and the weather changed today, it's been raining. Horrible, drizzly rain. I haven't been out on the bike since Sunday morning, so that's two missed days. Not to worry. Last week I did well. Seventy miles. I need to add it up on Strava. If I can repeat last week I'll be happy and I will if the weather lets up.

Today I bought myself a lock for the bike. I've had a U-lock for many years, but the lock has frozen for some reason so I thought I'd buy something a litle easier (and lighter). I bought it from Robert Dyas in Redhill, a great shop.

In the aftermath of Storm Eunice...

It's the day after Storm Eunice. Saturday. Everything is still. The sky is blue. The sun is shining. I simply must get out there. I planned to ride to Westerham. It was the perfect day. 

English Breakfast at Costa

The ride was good. I opted for the fast way. The 269. It was the weekend and there didn't seem to be a great deal of traffic on the road. I passed a few felled trees and stopped to take photographs and then, as Botley Hill approached, I considered a different ride, the one that takes me into Woldingham. By memory it's something like 15 miles, maybe a bit more, but it would have meant no tea, no stop even, just a circular ride. I was looking for that break at the end, the large English breakfast tea in Costa, sitting there staring at the street outside and eventually contemplating the ride home. 

Uprooted tree on the 269 on Saturday

So I didn't ride into Woldingham, I passed Botley Hill, turned into Clarks Lane and sailed down the hill. There was another uprooted tree so again I stopped to take a photograph and then I continued on my way. Soon I was in Westerham. It was roughly1000hrs, probably a little after. I ordered my English Breakfast Tea and took a seat by the window, looking out at a charity shop across the road. For the past two or three rides to Westerham my bike has been blown over by wind and on each occasion I left it there on the floor, knowing that if I picked up it would be blown over again. Yesterday, I did go out and pick it up because there was a man sitting outside and I felt I ought to pick it up. "Nice bike," he said, and I felt I had to tell him that it was nothing special. "It cost me under £500," I said, but added that it did the job. I went back into the Costa and resumed looking out of the window. The man had clearly injured himself or had some kind of problem as he hobbled across the street to the chemist. I continued sipping my tea and thinking about the ride home. Soon it was time to go and I decided to ride towards the Velo Barn, which was closed, and then turned left on to Pilgrims Lane, crossing Clarks Lane and continuing on Pilgrims until I made a right up Rectory Lane, rejoining Clarks Lane for the last hill, or rather the last obvious part of the long hill that continues all the way to Botley Hill. The only reason not to look forward to the ride home is the long hill out of Westerham, it starts to nag at me as I finish the last few mouthfuls of my tea, but either way it has to be tackled and tackle it I did. Soon I found myself with the big post-Westerham dilemma: do I ride into Woldingham and then down Slines Oak Road and up the other side, or do I carry on along the 269? Of late I've been doing the latter and that's what I did yesterday. The weather held out. I reached home around 1145hrs and then it started to rain. There was nobody in so I thought I'd take a walk in the rain and wind to Coco & Nut. I took Shaun Ryder's How to be a Rock Star with me and when I got there ordered a large cappuccino and a cheese and pesto toastie. I loved it, sitting there, chilling, a coffee and a sandwich on the go, a decent book too. Once again, however, I faced that awful moment when it was time to leave and I had to face the wind and the rain again as I contemplated the walk home. Not a long walk, I hasten to add. Under 10 minutes, but nevertheless an unpleasant walk when the weather's not good. 

Another uprooted tree on the B269 

I wasn't sure what to expect weatherwise on Sunday. Andy and I agreed to meet (as always) in Westerham for our weekly chinwag at Costa and I was looking forward to it. I was awake early (around 0500hrs) but stayed in bed until around 0630hrs and then went downstairs for Alpen with grapes, blueberries, raspberries (five of them) and sliced banana. I made myself a vanilla chai tea in a massive Sports Direct mug and buttered two slices of brown toast. Breakfast is always relatively chilled and today was no exception. 

Uprooted tree on Clarks Lane

By 0800hrs I was ready to go and headed outside. Fortunately, no punctures and soon I found myself in the Limpsfield Road heading for Warlingham and then the 269 to Botley Hill, the same route I took yesterday morning. Andy was there already, munching on a teacake and drinking a large coffee in one of Costa's two-handled 'soup bowls' (as I call them). I ordered a mint tea in a large paper cup and let it cool down before attempting a sip. 

We chatted about lap tops and people who work on them while journeying into work on the train when, perhaps, they should be looking out of the window, deep in their own thoughts. We later departed together riding along Clarks Lane and vowing to meet again next Sunday. I can't remember what time I got home, but once again I avoided getting soaked by the rain, which came later on. It's a bit blowy out there today. Blowy and grey. Gone are yesterday's blue skies and there's little much to look forward to now other than work tomorrow. 

I'm hoping that next week I'll be back on the six-milers. If I can do at least three I'll be happy. I know that on Thursday and Friday I can go out at lunch time, the killer is doing it after work, but I've done it before and I should be able to do it again. Here's hoping!

A moment in time...

There's only one way to describe the way I've been feeling these past few weeks and that is annoyed. People are the problem. I hate people who have something to say, people who want to pry and prod and people who want to control things, interfere where they shouldn't be interfering, you know the sort of thing I'm talking about. And it's everywhere. Busy bodies. And here I am, sitting at the dining table at almost 1830hrs when I should have gone out for a ride. Just a short ride. Thirty five minutes, that's all. But no, I didn't go because suddenly a wave of despair washed over me and I just couldn't face it. I was demotivated all of last week. The very thought of heading out there, heading off and riding the steep hill as soon as I turn left suddenly felt beyond me. It's not, I hasten to add, it's something I need to do quite urgently. It's a case of blowing cobwebs out of my brain and just getting on with stuff, getting on with being the person I kind of was around two to three weeks ago, pre-Covid. Not that I'm blaming the virus. The only thing the virus did was stop me riding for a fortnight. But no more, not for now anyway. All week I had planned to go out for an evening six-miler, but as the day darkened and I started to think about things I started to feel aggrieved along the lines of everything being pointless, never having enough money, the usual stuff. But we're not in dire straits, so it's not that, not really, it's just me and I have to snap out of it. The plan was to ride to Westerham on Saturday. The aim was to sit in the Costa in Westerham with a medium-sized cappuccino, but instead I rode the Washpond Weeble, which was fine. It got me out there, it kick-started my riding and now I feel as if I'm back in the room. It's Sunday now and in 10 minutes I'm off to Westerham to meet Andy and chalk up a 22-miler on Strava.

On Pilgrims Lane, about to turn right on to Rectory Lane... shot taken last week

Yesterday evening I listened to music. Wake Up! by the Boo Radleys might appear to be a happy song, but I don't think it is; there's something strained about it that spells despair, like putting on a brave face. I feel the same way about Good Enough by Dodgy and I'm sure there are others, songs that appear to be inspired by happiness, but are quite the opposite. Perhaps I need a walk. I'd take one if there was a decent coffee shop open (they're the new pubs in my world). I wonder what's worse? Going to the pub for a pint or visiting a coffee shop for a cappuccino and a Millionaire's Shortbread? Something else to fret about. All that caffeine and sugar, can't be good for me. But getting carried away on the beer can prove troublesome, you can end up wandering the streets at three in the morning, talking rubbish to tramps outside the Ritz or spending the night in a police cell trying to get some shut-eye on an uncomfortable bed, and let's not forget the hangover. "I suppose I'd better get myself checked out at the hospital, officer." No, give me a cappuccino and a cake of some description any day, I can always ride off the flab they're creating.

This Charming Man by The Smiths was on my playlist. "I would go out tonight, but I haven't got a stitch to wear." We've all had that dream!

All my low rent friends are dead (they are). "All those dayglo freaks who used to paint their face have joined the human race". Yep, I was listening to Kid Charlemange by Steely Dan. "Clean this mess up or we're all end up in jail, those test tubes and the scales, get them all out of here!"

Cappuccino, my new weakness...

This morning all is quiet, it is Sunday after all, and with the time at 0755hrs there's just five minutes before hitting the fresh air and heading for Westerham. Nothing, however, is that straightforward. Normally it is, but not this morning. First, the call of nature. That delayed me by five minutes. Then, when I finally got things together and hit the road, I stopped as I remembered I would need my debit card if I was going to buy some tea and a bun, although, in the end, I just had the tea. I rode home, found my card and then headed off again. It was a painfully slow ride, but only in my head. There was a headwind all the way to Westerham, which I thought had slowed me down, but it just made the ride seem endless. Even when I was on Clarks Lane the ride seemed to be going on forever. When would I go under the motorway? Had I already been under it? And then it came into sight. And even after the motorway, the rest of the ride dragged until I reached Westerham town centre and parked up outside the Costa. It was 0918hrs, which means the ride took me around one hour and 10 minutes. I thought I was slow because of my lack of exercise, but I was roughly the same as the last two weeks, nothing had been affected, although I admit that the whole thing did seem a little harder than it had been on past rides. The longer you lapse, Andy said, the harder it will be. He was right, but I was feeling in a good place. Yesterday's Weeble had put me in a good frame of mind and now it was Sunday and I found myself in Westerham, in the Costa, talking to Andy. Unlike me, Andy hasn't slowed down. Yesterday he rode a 60-plus miles circular route through Surrey and Kent and now here he was in Westerham looking lithe and fit and wearing a new Le Col waterproof and high viz top. I was dressed in an old, threadbare jumper from M&S, my hooded coat and navy blue chinos, under which I was wearing my cycling shorts. No, I didn't look at all streamlined. Thank God my hair was short otherwise I'd have looked a right mess.

Outside there was a strong wind, which, like last week, managed to knock my bike over. And, like last week, I didn't bother to go outside and pick it up as I figured it would fall down again. After about half an hour Andy prepared to leave. He'd finished his coffee and his teacake, but I was nowhere near finished my tea (I had a large English Breakfast tea). I watched Andy ride off and then sat there, in deep thought about nothing in particular. When my tea was finished I reluctantly rose from the comfort of my chair and headed outside to my awaiting bicycle. I rode off and headed towards the Velo Barn, which was closed, and then turned left on to Pilgrim's Lane, crossing Clarks Lane and continuing along Pilgrim's. I turned right on to Rectory Lane (see photo above) and turned left on to Clarks Lane, following the hill to the very top, close to Botley Hill. While I was tempted to ride home through Woldingham, I decided not to; instead I carried on along the 269 until I reached Warlingham Green, which I circled and then continued on the Limpsfield Road into Sanderstead, keeping my distance from parked cars. When I reached home I chilled for a short while and then took a drive into the Sussex countryside. Unfortunately, when I reached Trading Boundaries (aka 'the elephant shop') I weakened and ordered a Billionaire's Shortbread and a cappuccino, then bought a concrete Bhudda and drove home. 

Fortunately we missed a soaking this morning while on the ride. The rain came later and put paid to a walk I had planned around Sheffield Park, but it didn't matter. Later I drove over to mum's for tea and biscuits (Rich Tea) and now I'm back home awaiting Louis Theroux at 9pm on BBC 2. Outside I could hear the wind and the rain, it hasn't stopped since around lunch time.

Totally wired...

 "Legends were born surrounding mysterious lights, seen in the sky, flashing". I've been listening to Jethro Tull in the car on a trip over to Sutton to see mum. Passion Play was the only track I could listen to again and again, I kept pressing the repeat button in between trying to drive the car. I love those lyrics in quotes for some reason and, oddly, I remember there used to be an ad on television back in the seventies for the Passion Play album. Strange.

Covid left the building a few days ago and we're all testing negative. Last Sunday was an amazing day. We were all 'allowed' to be out and about so we drove to Wakehurst Place for a long walk in the winter sunshine. It was amazing. In fact, it was an amazing day all round, which kicked off with a ride to Westerham to meet Andy. I was wondering how I would perform on that ride and it was alright, although I need to get my act together in terms of exercise and diet, the latter is becoming a problem as I appear to be addicted to crap: chocolates, cake, the usual vices, but it simply must stop. Up until going down with Covid, I was doing well: cycling daily - or almost daily - and then riding on Saturday and Sunday. But going down with the virus put a stop to all that. For two weeks I felt a little weary and decided not to ride anywhere until I was allowed to go out. So, two weeks of no exercise, although I managed a lone walk on one or two occasions, roaming the streets after dark in the cold, although it wasn't that chilly.

This has got to stop, but the cake is far worse, and the chocolate bars

It was good to get out on the bike and it was great seeing Andy again. The ride was perfect all the way, there and back, but it was the only ride I was going to do; all week I didn't ride, despite having planned to get out there. I don't know why, but I simply didn't have the motivation. Instead I made myself comfortable in front of the television. On the diet front I found myself nipping down to Tesco Express solely to buy a Wispa Gold. On a walk home from Purley railway station, on two occasions, I bought Wispas, and on one occasion two cinnamon buns (I ate both). You can see I'm having a problem.

Last week's bowl of coffee and Millionaire's shortbread

My growing addiction to coffee is a problem too, cappuccino to be precise. During the week, while in a place called Amersham in Buckinghamshire - a strange place full of rich people who, for some reason, I think are unhappy - I found a Costa Coffee inside an enormous Tesco. Why Amersham has a huge Tesco and not a massive Waitrose, I don't know, but Tesco it is and I was foolish enough to order a large one. A large one! And when I say 'large' I mean enormous. It was huge. So huge that it required two handles instead of one, I was drinking a kind of cappuccino soup and it was doing me no favours whatsoever, as I found out later in the evening. I made matters worse by eating two, yes, two, and then, as time progressed I noticed that I was pretty wired. Over a dinner I was almost holding on to the table, trying to keep my head together. I was tanked up with caffeine and sugar and it would continue into the night. I went to bed around midnight but didn't get to sleep until 0200hrs, but then I woke up again at 0500hrs and then I awoke at 0700hrs, took a shower (a luke warm shower) and then hit the breakfast room, feeling a little weary. I had a full English, plus Alpen, two pastries, a yoghurt, two slices of toast and a glass of fresh orange juice. That kind of did the trick. The hotel was in Old Amersham, a 25-minute downhill walk from the station, meaning just one thing: I'd have to endure a 25-miniute uphill walk to catch a train home.

Cake, cake and more cake, it's got to stop

On the train home I did little but stare out of the window at the passing countryside and then, along with a colleague, I crossed London to Victoria where I took a train home. As I write this, it's Saturday. I should have gone for a ride this morning, but I didn't, although I'm 'getting there' and by that I mean that the bad habits of the past fortnight or so are on my radar, and that's a good thing. It means that I'm aware of what I'm doing and I need to stop the cakes, the biscuits, the cappuccino and so on. Today, for example, I drove to a place called Trading Boundaries where I consumed not only a sausage roll and a bowl of butternut squash soup with bread, but also a slice of coffee and pecan nut cake and, yes, a cappuccino. If that was not enough, earlier, while filling up with petrol, I purchased a sneaking Wispa Gold and kept it secret. Later, on that drive to Sutton mentioned earlier, I decided that I would enjoy the chocolate bar with a cup of tea round at mum's. I followed up with two milk chocolate digestives and then headed home listening to Jethro Tull.

There's a track on the Tull album called Fat Man and I reproduce the lyrics here as they seem kind of appropriate:-

Don't want to be a fat man

People would think that I was just good fun, man

Would rather be a thin man

I am so glad to go on being one, man

Too much to carry around with you

No chance of finding a woman, who

Will love you in the morning and all the nighttime too

Don't want to be a fat man

Have not the patience to ignore all that

Hate to admit to myself

I thought my problems came from being fat

Won't waste my time feeling sorry for him

I've seen the other side to being thin

Roll us both down a mountain and I'm sure the fat man would win

Saturday afternoon...

Well, I've tested negative, twice, and that's positive. All I have to do now is get out on the bike in the morning. I've checked it out, the puncture I fixed is holding firm, the bike's fairly clean and, weather permitting, I'll be heading for Westerham in the morning for a 22-miler. I've had a couple of walks around the block, I've eaten a bit of coffee and walnut cake from Waitrose, I've even bought a lottery ticket - who knows, I still might be able to buy that remote cottage in the Outer Hebrides, there still might be time to stare at the sea after all). Listening to music, all sorts. Rocks by Primal Scream, Temptation by New Order, Land of Confusion by Genesis, Who by Numbers, all the good stuff in other words. It's the first time I've felt like listening to music in a while and now that I'm testing negative, well, I feel good about it. School by Supertramp, that whining mouth organ, it's on now, it's dark outside, gone 5pm, wailing saxophone, piano, what's not to like? There's something weirdly pleasant about wintry Saturdays, like wandering around malls or IKEA, muddy footprints on terrazzo flooring, or visiting fireplace shops or sitting in a cosy coffee shop with a mug of tea and a slice of cake as it starts to get dark and you can see into people's houses as you pace the streets wishing you were home, in the warmth, chilling, safe behind that double-glazed, triple-locked door. 

It's different in the summer, lighter for a start, and the grass is green, the shadows long as evening approaches, but it has it's own charm. There's no need for coats and scarves, hats or gloves for a start and there's often the distant sound of Greensleeves playing from an invisible ice cream van. Or there used to be when I was a kid. I always remember the bell ringers in the local convent school, now that was a magical sound coming from the other side of the railway track, not far from where I lay in bed as a child listening to the day calming down, evening setting in, dad yet to come home from work, rapping his familiar rhythmic rap on the front door as we lay in bed staring at the ceiling tiles, longing for morning, which was a long way off, far over the horizons of time, it wasn't even dark and the daylight still seeped through the curtains. I haven't heard those bells for a long time and I often wonder whether I'll ever hear them again. I wonder if they're still there or whether they are long gone, cast adrift forever from those who listened to them back in the day. Where are they now, I wonder?