Oxted, Westerham, rain, a great movie, a DIY chore...

I hope to ride this morning. It's currently 0648hrs and while I'm guessing, I'd say it's still pretty dark outside. Well, perhaps not dark in the true sense of the word, but certainly I'd question whether lights were needed. The riding to work has stopped, but I know there are train strikes coming up and I might make the exception for those days, although I'll need to have lights sorted out. Next week, I think, the clocks go back and that's a terrible moment for me as I hate the winter months with a vengeance as dark nights (what nights aren't dark?) mean it's more dangerous to ride a bike. As I mentioned in my last post, the gym beckons. I'm planning on riding a stationary bike during the dark months and then resuming riding to work twice a week once the clocks go forward in March, we'll see how things go.

So here we are, 22 October 2022 and I'm nearly five years into my abstinence from boozing (I gave up on 28 October 2017). I'm absolutely fine with it; I've never ever felt the need for a drink and generally speaking I feel better in myself for not drinking. I plan to keep going even if not drinking means I lose friends. It's true. Some people only want you around if you're drinking, either because they like it when you mess up, make a fool of yourself or worse OR they just want a drinking partner. I've suggested meeting friends (or a friend) in a coffee shop and they refused, stating in not so many words that it was the pub or nothing: 'you can have a lemonade if you want'. So we didn't meet and probably never will. People don't like it when they discover I've given up the booze, they see it as some kind of affront towards them and their way of life, perhaps they think I'm judging them (I'm not) but either way not drinking puts certain types of people on a back foot, they think I'm a threat, perhaps that's it. Anyway, I don't care. I prefer not to drink, I prefer not to have a hangover or make a fool of myself or end up in a police cell.

Red sky on Saturday morning...

I'm hoping it won't rain. Today is Saturday 22nd October and it's my ride to Oxted. I'm planning on taking a book with me so I can read for half an hour, hopefully on the leather sofa in Caffe Nero, and then I'll ride home again.

I still haven't cleaned my chain. I keep meaning to but I never get round to it; perhaps later today.

In an ideal world I'd ride four times a week. Currently I'm back on twice a week, but even one extra ride would help things along, although I need to sort out my lights for sure. In a nutshell I need to get my act together.

Arundel Castle

Yesterday (Friday) I took the day off and we went to Arundel Castle. Unbelievably, I've never been before. It cost £50 to get in (two tickets) but it was well worth the effort. Normally I'm pretty cynical about walking around stately homes and listening to the guides, but this was something else. For a start it wasn't a stately home, it was a castle, and the guides were personable people and it was a pleasure to listen to what they had to say. We started the tour in the restaurant: Cornish pasty and a pot of tea set me up nicely and soon I was on my way to the Keep, which offered great views across Arundel to the sea at nearby Littlehampton. Arundel Castle is owned by the Duke of Norfolk, he's in charge of organising the King's coronation, which I'm told will be a dumbed down affair due to the rising cost of living. I guess old Charles doesn't want to feel guilty about everybody visiting food banks and being on the breadline and who can blame him for that? Personally, if I was him, I'd do it in the pub, perhaps a Chef & Brewer, complete with a few mini Melton Mowbray pies and some chicken legs. Forget the horse-drawn carriages and the limos, just get Station Cars in Purley to take him and the Queen Consort back to wherever they live and why bother televising it. Well, I suppose you could televise it, but just use iphones, no need for expensive equipment. Get the local rag to cover it and Bob's your uncle. But I digress. Arundel Castle was fantastic and it's good to hear that the old Duke still lives there and that the amazing bedrooms we passed by on the tour are still used by guests of the Duke today. How amazing is that. It really is an impressive place and while I was a little scathing about it due to the price of admission, I would actually say that it was good value for money even if I did 'tweet' to the contrary yesterday. I love Arundel, it's a nice place and it's close to the sea, which is good.

Riding to Oxted

It's now 0710hrs and I'm thinking of leaving early, departing at 0730hrs, that would mean I reach my destination at around 0830hrs, I stick around for 30 minutes reading and then I head home. I should get back around 1000hrs.

Well, I got back at 1010hrs and it was a great ride. I followed the 269 to Botley Hill and then rode down Titsey Hill into Oxted. I parked up opposite the charity shop, padlocked the bike and was early enough to get the leather sofa by the window where I sat with an English Breakfast tea reading until it was time to head home but this time riding up Titsey Hill. I do it every week and it's a doddle, and what's more the weather was fine.

Sunday I watched the rain...

To Westerham in the rain

Now it is 0738 on Sunday morning and just a second ago I heard an enormous clap of thunder. Rain is hammering down outside and I've just sent Andy an abort text. We'll look again around 0900. Who knows? We might get a ride in... but we might not. But suddenly I felt as if I had to go, weather be damned, but it had stopped. The rain had stopped and when I looked out the skies were clearing. And then I guess they clouded over again but it didn't stop me wanting to get out there. I found an old hi-viz cape in the garage. I figured it would keep me dry even if I had issues with it a couple summers ago. I don't know, I can't remember, but I felt it was ineffective. The thing is it was hi-viz and that's what I needed with all the cloud floating around. I didn't have any lights, I simply wasn't prepared for dark skies during the daylight hours, so I donned the cape, looking like some kind of dumb superhero. I was wearing cycling shorts underneath, which didn't seem right for some reason, but that's the way it was as I rode along Ellenbridge, up Elmfield, left on Morley and up Church Way. Then I rode along the Limpsfield Road and I won't say it wasn't raining, it was and it kind of rained throughout the ride.

Tatsfield village or Westerham?

The plan was to meet Andy in Westerham. Tatsfield village had been discussed (all via text) and then I changed my mind and said let's meet in Westerham. I rode the usual way: along Clarks Lane and down the hill, the roads wet and shiny and small rivers following me on the side of the road. It was difficult to avoid puddles as they were everywhere, particularly along the 269, keeping me veering into the centre of the road, not a good policy on the 269. I mentioned Tatsfield because I thought it would be less of a journey in the rain, but then, when I changed my mind it was because I wanted the challenge, I wanted the rain if I'm honest, I needed something and I don't know why. Actually, I do know why. The prospect of fixing the sealant around the bath was looming and I know I'm crap at anything DIY so I thought a long and punishing ride in the rain would sort me out. I'm not saying the ride would make me any more keener, any more up for doing the task, but I needed to get out there because I know that when DIY tasks arise there are people assessing my performance, which I know will be crap, and I get on the defensive, I get a little angry, a little tense, it's stress and I hate it because I know what I'm like, I get abusive, there's foul language and I don't mean it, I just get edgy because I hate doing DIY and I hate doing DIY because I know I do it badly, there are always rough edges if you get my drift. So the ride was because of all that. I could have aborted, I could have stayed in the warm, drinking green tea and surfing the internet, but instead I chose to get out there, in the rain, a kind of penance, perhaps that was it, I don't know. But look, it doesn't matter. I got out there, I didn't really care about getting wet, not that I did get a soaking, that cape did it's job. And when I reached Westerham I was elated to discover that I was there first. I thought Andy would be there, not outside the store as he had been these past few months, but inside, in the warm, listening to whatever they were piping through the sound system. But he wasn't there, I'd gotten there first.

Thick fog at Botley Hill so I turned left for Woldingham...

Like ships in the night

I ordered an English breakfast tea in a paper cup and then I ordered a toasted teacake with butter. No jam, no honey. The woman behind the counter said she'd bring it over when it was ready. I took a seat by the window and looked out at my bike that sat outside in the rain getting wetter and wetter as the rain poured down. Where, I wondered, was Andy. I left it a while as anything might have happened. A puncture, a later start than me, I don't know, but in the end of sent him a text stating that I had a good seat, in one of the windows, the small little bays, there were two of them. He texted back saying he was at Tatsfield village, probably in Sheree's Tearoom. He hadn't seen my later texts, the ones that said I'd see him in Westerham and not Tatsfield. We agreed to meet next weekend as there was nothing either of us could do about it. I sat there and finished my tea. I wish I'd packed a book but I hadn't so I resumed staring out of the window at the falling rain, waiting for it to stop so I could ride home. I needed a window, a gap, a space, a pause, a break in the rain and sure enough there was one. I finished my tea, put the cape on and headed out, but the rain started just as soon as I'd riden past the old antique shop on my way out towards the Velobarn. The bike was buffeted by the wind and the rain and cars passing too close as I rode towards Pilgrims Lane and I was relieved, if that's the right word, to turn left and leave behind the main road. Pilgrims Lane was quiet and because of the poor weather I didn't see any other cyclists, they were all at home, in the warm, keeping dry and watching Sunday morning television. I crossed Clarks Lane into the final section of Pilgrims and was facing a dilemma: do I turn right on to Rectory Lane and rejoin Clarks or go straight ahead and take on Titsey in the rain? I opted for the latter and as always I sailed up the hill, and as I got higher and higher there was mist. When I reached Botley Hill it was a real pea souper so I veered left and rode into Woldingham. Everywhere was dark and misty and it didn't brighten up until I was riding down Slines Oak Road and heading towards the last hill of the ride. The rain continued and wasn't going to let up until I reached home, but at least things had brightened up and I no longer needed lights. It was as if I'd been in a dark tunnel most of the ride but suddenly all was well, the need for lights had gone and there wasn't much longer to go before I reached home. Not that I wanted to reach home. Home meant sorting out the bathroom sealant and there would little more than a cup of tea between me and the chore.

Mr Hannigan's Phone

I won't bore you with the chore, but suffice it to say that I did it. I'm not saying I did it particularly well, although the outcome won't be known until the morning when I strip off the masking tape. I'm guessing it won't be brilliant but that's all I can say about it. I feel a bit bad for being such an arsehole, but I'll have to get over it. Right now I'm watching a movie, Mr. Hannigan's Phone, it's an adaptation of a Stephen King short story starring Donald Sutherland. I've got a camomile tea on the go, I'm hoping it'll help me get a good night's sleep. I'd better go, the movie's getting good and I can't think of anything else to say other than I enjoyed the ride. Normally I wouldn't enjoy such a ride, but for some reason I really enjoyed being out there in the weather, in the driving rain, wearing the cape, battling against the elements and trying to take my mind off that awful job, the bathroom sealant, the job which is now done, the job which is not forgotten because it might come back to haunt me, who knows? Tomorrow I'll know whether it's good or a bad job, whether it'll need doing again and whatever else, like my reputation, which is probably in tatters anyway because of my foul language. I just hate being the underdog, the guy that can't do something properly, I don't like being challenged in that way because I reckon there are things we're all good at and things we're not so good at, but I hate having to do the things I'm not so good at because, well, I'm not so good at them. I've lost my train of thought. Mr Harrigan's Phone is a good movie, that's why, so I'll leave it there, say my goodbyes, so to speak. Until next time.

Oxted and Westerham...

Two rides this weekend. Yesterday (Saturday) a 20-mile jaunt to Oxted where I sat in a Caffe Nero drinking green tea and munching on an apricot croissant. Today (Sunday) a ride to Westerham to meet Andy. We sat outside of Costa. Andy had finished his coffee when I arrived. I ordered an English Breakfast tea. My wheel came off. The last time this happened was in the summer at the bottom of Whyteleafe Hill. Andy says it might be something to do with the nut that tightens the wheel. It's only been an issue since I've changed the wheel. I went to Balfe's in Sutton and had a new rear wheel fitted. Since then the wheel has come loose twice, today being the second time. In my entire life, the rear wheel of whatever bike I've owned since the age of 11, has never come loose from the frame. 

Today in Westerham...

Yesterday's ride was pleasant enough. I sat inside the Caffe Nero on the leather sofa by the door, it's a great position. I sat there, people watching mainly, and then went next door (for all of five minutes) to the charity shop. As always there was nothing much there, never is. I rode back up Titsey Hill, which I'm used to now, and then along the 269.

Today I left the house around 0800hrs, virtually on the dot, and rode the usual route to Westerham. That journey was fine also. I'm glad I've managed two rides. The weather is closing in, or it's starting to; and that means just one thing: I need to start thinking about joining a gym and using its stationary bike. It's that or keep a weather eye on (ahem) the weather and motivate myself to get up and leave the house in the dark and ride home in the dark too. Once the clocks go back there will be no alternative. All I need to do is ride twice more during the week, but somehow the cold and the dark will mean I take the train and spend (unwillingly) the £9.40 demanded by Southern Railway. 

A brief mention of last week's ride, which, give or take, was a carbon copy of this week. I decided last week to ride back along Pilgrims Lane and then up Titsey Hill. Remember, I tackle 'the big hill' every Saturday morning when I leave Oxted so I thought I might as well do it on both days. Nothing wrong with a 16% hill on a Saturday and Sunday morning.

I've noticed that as the days get shorter I seem to wake up later. Back in the summer I might be ready to rise around 0500hrs and then leave around 0630hrs, arriving at work around 0740hrs, showering and then starting the day. If I start saying I'll find the motivation, get myself some decent lights and head out in the dark, fine, but I won't. I'll wake later and time will simply run out. So I'm thinking the gym might be the best option: head down there around 1630hrs and set the bike for a one-hour session. I remember doing just that in Stockholm. I'd need to do it two to three times a week and then ride the bike for real at the weekends. Either way I've got to get back into shape. Currently, cakes and cappuccino are coming back and, well, I'm always saying this; ultimately, I've got to get my act together.

Caffe Nero on Saturday

Outside of the riding what else has been going on? Oh, do you know what? I can't be bothered to talk about Liz Truss, I just can't be bothered. She has to go, the Tories have to go and very soon. I'm currently watching Columbo, the second episode in a row. Outside it's getting dark, which ain't bad when you consider that it's 1734hrs. In a couple weeks it'll be dark by now and soon it will be Christmas. 

I went to mum's this afternoon. She keeps falling over in the house and getting bruised in the process. As I was about to leave a male nurse turned up. He checked her over, she was fine, bruised but fine. I worry about her, she's on her own and she seems to have no control over falling over or staying upright. She's fine in herself, she's got all her marbles, but she's forgetful. I tell her something one week, she forgets it by the time I see her the following week. We sat and chatted. I had a cup of tea and a few KitKats, the two-finger bars, so two is the same as having a four-finger bar. That was my excuse. 

I was saying just yesterday that everything seems to have disappeared: friends, family members, family gatherings, they've all gone. It's weird in a way. One minute there were family gatherings, meetings between friends, but now (with a few exceptions) they've all gone. People seem to be getting on with their own lives. The last so-called 'Boxing Day Bash' - the title given to my family's annual Christmas bun fight - was here at my house in December 2019. Since then, of course, there's been the pandemic, that got shot of two Christmas gatherings, and now, with mum soon to be 93, I'm guessing that's the lot. Everyone's doing their own thing. All a bit depressing if you ask me, the ways things change. Once dad died back in May 2011, things changed. Dad drove a lot of the family events and once he passed things quietened down a little, nobody really stepped up to the plate, so to speak. Don't get me wrong, they were never 'noisy' occasions, but the events that existed died off, mum carried on with the Boxing Day event but now it's too much for her, that's why I had the event here at my place in 2019. Whether anybody will do one this year I don't know, but it's unlikely. I guess it's just the way of the world, things change, people change, we all move on.

Westerham last Sunday

The cycling has changed too. No longer the desolate spots in the middle of nowhere, like the Tatsfield Bus Stop, sipping tea from a flask and eating Belvitas. We're no longer slumming it but enjoying the comfort of Costa Coffee on a Sunday. On Saturday I visit Caffe Nero or the new Starbucks further along the high street. We're all fitter, which is good, and long may it continue. I'd better sign off, it looks as if I'll be driving to Wimbledon shortly.

On Pilgrims Lane last weekend and ready to turn right up Titsey Hill

I did drive to Wimbledon but now I'm home having nipped out to M&S at the garage in Gravel Hill. Just eaten pasta, tortelloni with added Parmesan cheese. Very nice. Work tomorrow, but having the Friday off was a good idea as it meant that when I woke up on Saturday thinking it was Sunday I suddenly realised it was Saturday and I still had two days to go before heading to work.

Things are slipping...

Last night a weird dream. Perhaps 'weird' is a bit strong, it wasn't weird. I was in a room with Chris Bryant MP and journalist Matthew Parris. Why, I don't know. Bryant had something of interest to Parris and for some reason I was standing in front of some book shelves looking for book on how to draw, a book that I bought for my daughter many years ago when she was, I don't know, around eight or nine years old. I never found the book and the dream was accompanied by something depressing, I know not what, but I awoke feeling depleted, down, dissatisfied with life. It was a feeling that worsened as I entered the kitchen and discovered there was no bread and that the cake tin (recently full of milk chocolate digestives) was empty. I picked it up and gave it a light shake and there was nothing inside moving around so I knew there was no point in taking it out of the cupboard and opening it. I'm getting bored of Alpen too so instead opted for Shredded Wheat and as there was no bread decided to have three with warm milk and sugar and instead of my normal green tea I chose a mug of PG Tips (decaffeinated) in my huge Sports Direct mug.

Things are slipping and for good reason. The winter approaches. The nights are getting longer, the darkness will soon arrive around 4pm and thoughts of not cycling except at weekends are beginning to enter my mind. Not that I've been cycling midweek of late. For the past two weeks, perhaps longer, maybe three weeks, I haven't been on the bike. My last ride was to the lakes on 18 September with Andy, but I'd already started to flag a little; my two midweek rides to work have slowed to a halt, stopped largely by rain and slightly colder temperatures than the heat of the summer past which saw temperatures soar to over 40 degrees. Long summers, like life, seem never-ending but then suddenly they're gone and there is nothing left but the countdown to Christmas and awful programmes like Strictly Come Dancing and I'm a Celebrity, which are there for one reason: to edge us closer to 'the big day' that massive anti-climax that is Christmas Day.

I wish I could be more consistent. During the summer months I ate mainly salads and drank green tea and cycled regularly, bringing my weight down to around 12 stone. Today, I haven't bothered weighing myself because I know the result will disappoint me and the last thing I want is to be disappointed. I simply need to kickstart things and get moving again. I've started thinking about lights on the bike and cycling home through the sticks in the dark hoping that cars will see me, but most importantly is the need for motivation. I need to have my stuff ready the night before so I can just go, but now, of course, I have to keep an eye on the weather and that awful symbol on the iphone that depicts rain and offers the likelihood in percentage terms. I kind of doesn't matter what the percentage is, as soon as I see the rain symbol I just know that if I ride the bike I'll get drenched and remember this is October not June or July or August. I won't be arriving at work feeling alive and ready for the day, I'll be a damp pile of anger wishing I lived somewhere else in the world, a wish more pressing because of the general state of the country with Liz Truss at the helm.

My diet has slumped of late thanks to two weeks (give or take) in Italy. I thought it would be the much-praised Mediterranean diet on show, but no, it was biscuits and baked goods that stole the show and cappuccino every morning instead of a green tea. In fact it was sweet things throughout the day. If I found myself in a cafe I'd order a cappuccino and a cream-filled croissant or if I was attending some function or other I'd be nibbling on some kind of cake. My problem is I can't stop. Why, for instance, did I have three Shredded Wheat this morning and not just two? The product is packed two to a pack so I had to make the extra effort to open a second one to have three biscuits in my bowl, but I did it nonetheless. A nasty combination of eating more and exercising less is brewing and I need to sort it out sooner rather than later. Admittedly, this week - Wednesday to be precise - I went down with some kind of food poisonings, or something in that ballpark. I won't bore you with the awful details, but it left me weary and I had to take the day off work so I could sleep it off. I didn't feel better until around 2300hrs when I went downstairs for toast and honey, my first meal of the day. At least I knew I had recovered as I sat in front of the television watching Top Gear with Clarkson and Hammond talking about the Lancia.

My plan was to ride to work on Thursday. It was a great day (yesterday) for cycling but because I was so weary after the day before I opted for the train and now it's Friday and I'm not cycling today either. The plan for Saturday is to ride to Oxted for coffee in the morning and I'm hoping for reasonable weather as I simply must kick myself into gear and get back out there; then there's Westerham on Sunday to meet Andy.

Andy has the right idea: he's able to go into the garage and ride on a 'turbo trainer'. I could do that but I'm leaning more towards joining a gym and using the stationary bikes as I could easily fit in two, possibly three, sessions per week and save the real cycling for the weekends. That's the plan.

Heading home...

I awoke around 0600hrs. It was time to head home, but first breakfast. Alright, not a particularly healthy breakfast (cake, croissant, Coco Pops, ham and cheese rolls, a sugary fruit juice and a cappuccino) but I was accustomed to such fayre and was ready to head downstairs at just gone 0700hrs. I had set myself one challenge: to see if it was possible to get into the bathroom without activating the fan. I figured I would need to be on the floor, on my stomach, crawling along the ground like a commando, but it might be possible and, of course, I would need video evidence. I lay on the floor with a view to setting up my iphone video camera. The iphone needed to be placed against the wall and then I would proceed to crawl into the bathroom and hopefully the fan would remain silent. Well, the whole thing was a waste of time from the get go. As soon as I placed my iphone against the wall the fan activated itself, meaning that there's no way I would get in their without being 'noticed'. I gave up, there was no point. Was there ever any point?

Waiting for my cab outside the Villa Dragoni, Buttrio

A few more guests had arrived at the Villa Dragoni as there were now five cars parked outside and I heard people last night walking around on the wooden floors, coming up the stairs, going to their rooms. In fact, this morning I saw somebody leaving their room so I'm guessing it's almost a full house. There might be a function going on. One of the people I met at the conference told me she was married at the Villa Dragoni and perhaps things were being set up for the weekend. Today is Saturday and I should have been cycling to Oxted for a cup of coffee and a chill-out, but I can't because I'm still in Italy and I have a cab, a train, a bus and a plane to catch (and possibly another cab when I get the other end). But first, the cab from the Villa Dragoni to Udine railway station and a train to Venezia (that's Venice). I kept nodding off on the train but eventually alighted at Venezia Mestre just before noon. The area outside of the railway station left a lot to be desired. There were undesirables floating around, put it that way and the back streets were littered with graffiti and Chinese restaurants. I'd say this was the Chinese quarter, but that would far too grand a description.

Breakfast on my last morning...

I had two hours to fill before I needed to be at Marco Polo airport and the only real option was to find a cafe and sit there reading and eating. While it had been suggested that I check out Venice and the canals, once I'm locked in to 'getting home mode' anything else is added hassle; all that would happen is I'd miss my flight. So I pushed my luggage around the mildly dodgy streets around Venezia Mestre railway station looking for somewhere to eat. I settled upon the Bologna Hotel and sat in an empty restaurant until somebody presented me with a menu: spaghetti bolognese and a green salad plus a fizzy mineral water and then, when finished and paid up, I headed towards the bus station where I boarded a bus to the airport. It was a short journey and soon I found myself passing through security and passport control and hanging around awaiting departure. I was flying easyJet to Gatwick (far better than London Heathrow and nearer to home). The flight was good and I managed to finish American Pastoral before we landed. I was in seat 1a, right at the front of the plane and plenty of legroom. Strong headwinds slowed the plane down. The flight time was two hours and when we landed I completely forgot about the train strike. It was Saturday evening. I only remembered the strike when I got to the railway station at Gatwick and found it deserted. Taking a taxi was the only option so I called my cab company and then waited in the Costa on the South Terminal - another excuse to eat rubbish, this time in the shape of a cinnamon brioche roll and a cappuccino. I can't remember what time I reached home, it was probably around 2000hrs. Strictly Come Dancing was on and I couldn't believe that a whole year had passed since the last programme aired. For some reason I'm going off the whole thing, probably because of the BBC and their PC stance. Karen Clifton is dancing with another woman and I don't really understand why or what the Beeb hopes to get out of it, what do they want us all to be thinking? Oooh! The BBC is so right on! Most people don't care, I know I don't. We all know there are homosexuals and lesbians and it doesn't really bother us, live and let live and all that, so why does the BBC feel it has to ram it down our throats? If anything, rather than suggest that all is fine and two women dancing together - or two men - is nothing out of the ordinary, I would wager that it has the opposite effect. People are tired of having their consciences pricked, we know it goes on and we don't give a stuff. Get over it!

Breakfast buffet on my last day

I can't remember what happened after that, I sat around, not really watching the television and eventually, around 2330hrs, I hit the sack. I slept reasonably well and had aborted my planned ride to Westerham to meet Andy, I simply had to take things a little easy. But I'll be back in the saddle soon. In fact I'm planning a ride or two during the week if the rain holds off. I need to get back to some healthy eating. All week I've been stuffing my face with croissants, biscuits, cakes (for breakfast!) and it's not good. Don't get me wrong, I've loved it, but I need to get back to the way things were a few weeks ago: two to three mid-week rides, plus my weekend cycling. I need to get back to Alpen for breakfast and green tea and I might start making myself avocado sandwiches so I don't have to visit the caff. Looking at the photo to the left, however, I must say that I miss those extravagant, sugar-filled breakfasts and I was getting used to drinking cappuccinos instead of tea, but generally speaking I think I need to be indulging in healthy eating again and that's the plan for this week.

More tales from the Villa Dragoni...

I'm beginning to wonder whether I'm being assessed. For me, the big question is this: why was breakfast served in my room on day one and thereafter downstairs with, presumably, the other guests? Except there are no guests, it's just me; I know this because I asked. I am the only guest. I think the reason they got me to fill out a breakfast form was to assess my level of piggery ahead of inviting me down to mingle with the others residents, but of course there are none. When I reached 'the breakfast room', which was a dark and lonely space close to the front desk, I spied a table full of goodies. It was as if a buffet had been laid out, but little did I know at the time, it was all for me. There were four rolls, a solitary boiled egg, three croissants, two yoghurts, three offerings of cereal in plastic containers, the bowl of fruit from yesterday containing apricots, a pear and kiwi fruit and, foolishly perhaps, I assumed that because there were the four rolls there might be four other guests, although, apart from the table where I was sitting there was only one other laid out for use; and when I say 'laid out for use' I mean there was some cutlery on the table. Needless to say I helped myself. I ordered a cappuccino and enjoyed a fairly pleasant breakfast, washed down with a couple of glasses of fruit juice. The woman offered me another cappuccino and while I should have declined it, I didn't, figuring it would keep me awake later on.

En route to breakfast...

I had everything timed. I knew it took around 30 minutes to get to my location because I'd walked it twice yesterday. There was no rain so a stroll was just what the doctor ordered, although I had been prudent enough to buy an umbrella in Udine on Tuesday night ahead of dining alone in a small and fairly intimate restaurant. I had ordered pasta with gamberoni and tomato and later had tiramisu, it's one of those desserts that I love but always regret having once I've finished it. Outside it was dark and I had around a 15-minute walk to the railway station where I was hoping to catch a train to Buttrio and then walk the last 15 minutes to the Villa Dragoni, but it was not to be: a woman sitting in a kiosk at the station told me the next train was in 90 minutes and there was no way I was going to try and amuse myself in Udine for such a long period of time. There was only one thing for it, a taxi, so I waited at the rank and, like the night before, one eventually turned up. Once through the gates of the Villa Dragoni I trudged across the noisy gravel to the villa and of course there was nobody around. I went straight to my room and hit the sack.

My day went as planned and at lunch time, after cheese, ham and then risotto, I decided to walk back to the hotel to fetch my business cards. In total yesterday I walked roughly 8km and now it's another day and the bells of the nearby church are tolling 0700hrs. Last night I went out late in search of a restaurant. To be honest, I didn't want to go out, but all I had eaten was small amounts of food and the odd snack during the conference tea breaks. I found a place called the Parc, I think it was a hotel restaurant as I saw a colleague of mine, but fortunately he didn't see me. I was directed to a table and ordered bruschetta followed by roasted chicken breasts with cauliflower and roasted potatoes – a little bland it has to be said and while tiramisu was on the menu I wanted to get back to my hotel. The stroll down to the Parc  – which was a fairly nice place even if the service was a little slow – was blessed with rain so that umbrella came in handy, but on the return walk it only spitting so I didn't bother opening it out. Bored and with nobody to converse with I hit the sack and fell asleep, waking around 0400hrs for no particular reason and then drifting off until the alarm on my iphone sounded at 0600hrs. It's now just gone 0700. I'm showered and ready for the day and, more importantly, ready for breakfast.

Those two windows on the first floor look out from my room

I almost forgot: there are now more guests. I'm not sure how many, but I think three rooms have been taken up by the people I've seen. There were two women checking in last night as I headed to the Parc restaurant, and earlier in the day (I think at lunch time when I returned for my business cards) I saw two men. It might have been that one man was dropping the other off at the Villa Dragoni but short of asking I don't know.

Postscript...

I now know for a fact that there are four men and two women staying in the Villa Dragoni. This morning over breakfast I saw the men. That means there are seven people staying and only five of the 12 rooms still vacant. Oddly, I was rather enjoying being the only guest. There's also a new member of staff serving breakfasts – or rather tending to the needs of those having breakfast, which mainly means offering them a hot drink as everything else is laid out for them. My breakfast this morning consisted of a bowl of Coco Pops (my hotel treat, I never have them at home), two slices of cake (one apple, the other chocolate), some ham and cheese, two rolls, fruit juice and, of course, a cappuccino.

The Villa Dragoni, Buttrio, Italy...

The Villa Dragoni is arguably the strangest place I've ever stayed. It is a very grand, classical establishment set in some impressive grounds in Buttrio and is surrounded by quiet residential streets where it is possible to walk for miles without seeing a soul. Buttrio is the sort of place where you can walk in the middle of the road, safe in the knowledge that you won't be run over. In the villa (I have been here roughly 24 hours) I have only seen one other person and she is the person looking after the place, alone. I asked her if there was anybody else and she said no and for all I know, I might even be the only guest. It's hard to tell as I've not even come across other rooms. There are no corridors with numbered rooms on either side and my room (room three) is kind of on it's own with nothing on either side of it, I don't have an adjoining room in which I might find another guest. It's all very strange. This afternoon I found that I was locked in the place. The door that led to the staircase which leads down to the 'front desk' – if that's what it can be called, it's never manned by anybody unless they know you're coming, and only then if you call them. Last night my taxi driver pressed the intercom on the main gate and eventually the woman (that's all I know about her, she's a woman) opened the gate, presumably by pressing a buzzer. When I look out of my window when it's light there is nobody around, the villa itself appears empty, all the darkened rooms are echo chambers with no signs of life, there are tables without tablecloths or chairs, lights are off, nobody is home and yet I'm told there are 12 rooms here and with a convention in town you'd be forgiven for thinking that the place would be choc-a-bloc with guests, a full house even, but if it is, I've seen nobody.

The Villa Dragoni, Buttrio, Italy...

Today 'the woman' told me that tomorrow (Wednesday) breakfast would be served downstairs and not in my room, which means that if there is anybody else staying here I might see them. It's going to be an interesting morning. 

I've spent the day looking for the conference venue as I knew it was close by (2km away) but just needed to know in which direction to walk. After a fair bit of faffing around and using the iphone's SatNav (something I've been doing a lot over the past few days) I found it and it works out to be roughly a 30-minute walk through seemingly deserted streets. The well-appointed houses on either side of the streets are quiet and there is no sign of life, except on the Via Nazionale where cars travel in both directions going in and out of town. Restaurants are sparsely populated, similarly teashops, not that I've found many. In one of the latter – let's call it a café as they don't have teashops in Italy – I stopped for a cappuccino and a creme-filled croissant (my new delicacy) and asked for directions to the conference venue. There was a man wearing clothes branded with the name of the company hosting the event and he gave me rough directions which I eventually abandoned, but that might have been because I took the wrong left turn and ended up heading back towards the Villa Dragoni. With dogged determination I set out again this afternoon to find it and find it I did. As I say, roughly 30 minutes. An American woman I met at the location (she lives in Pittsburgh and flew in yesterday from London) told me I might need an umbrella if I'm planning on walking. Oddly, I don't think I have much choice in the matter as getting a cab around here is nigh on impossible, or certainly not at the time I need it. Best to put my faith in walking or even cycling. I know they have a bike for hire and I might take it, but perhaps not tomorrow. Either way, a bike in the rain is definitely off the agenda. Fortunately the event starts at 0930hrs, meaning I can get up early and enjoy a leisurely breakfast before heading off.

This evening I took the train to Udine. It takes all of 10 minutes, but there was no time to buy a ticket so I risked (foolishly) a 200 Euro fine. Fortunately there were no guards on board or they simply couldn't be bothereed to do ticket checks. At the station I met a girl from Albania who worked for the company hosting the event. She had been working in Buttrio for the past four months and I think she lived in nearby Udine. She was going to visit her parents, I was simply looking for somewhere decent to eat dinner and eventually found a really nice, quiet little restaurant where I enjoyed pasta with prawns and pomodoro sauce followed by (foolishly, but then I always fall for it) a tiramisu dessert. I ordered coffee but then realised it would be my fourth of the day. Fearing that I might not sleep I decided not to drink it and instead asked for the very reasonable bill (around 20 Euros). Not drinking alcohol makes all meals cheap although I'm told that some of the best wines in Italy can be found here in Buttrio. It was tempting, but I held my nerve and stuck with the sparkling mineral water. The last thing I want after nearly five years of abstinence is to go back on the booze, back to hangovers and the wrong attitude towards life.

Trains between Buttrio and Udine are few and far between. When I reached Udine station for the return trip I was told that the next one would be in 90 minutes. I couldn't wait that long so I waited (just like yesterday) for a cab outside the station. When I was dropped off outside the gates I fumbled in the dark for my key and eventually gained access, but as I trudged alone along the dark, gravel, tree-lined pathway towards the villa I started to wonder if I would meet 'the woman' or whether I'd have to use the telephone number (which she always answers) to enter the building. She wasn't there, she was nowhere to be seen but the the door was open so I went to my room, up one flight of stairs, and then across an exposed walkway reminiscent in so many ways of those fairground ghost trains where the train briefly reappears to onlookers below before plunging back into the darkness of the ride.

It is strange being here and wondering whether or not I'm alone. Tomorrow will reveal the truth of the situation. 

No thunder storms tonight so I guess I'll get a pleasant night's sleep. I must set my alarm to wake me around 0630hrs so I'll be in time for breakfast. At least being downstairs and (hopefully) with other people I'll be able to ask for milk with my cereal. I must say it feels quite weird being here in this huge old building surrounded by trees and lawns and with a freezing cold swimming pool still flaunting itself to those mad enough to consider a swim (there's a huge and very dead black beetle sitting at the bottom of the deep end). I did think about going in having braved the cold pool in my villa last week, but I'll be honest and say that this time (further north as I am) I didn't fall victim to temptation.

Far too cold for a swim...

It is now 2136hrs and unlike conventional hotels, I can't just go down to the front desk and ask for some peanuts or wander into the gym for a spin on a stationary bike; there's no ice machine in the corridor (there's no corridor!) and there's no elevator, nowhere I can bump into another guest and stand their self-consciously waiting as the numbers count down to the ground floor. The television works, but everything is dubbed in Italian and it's odd watching Ray Winstone in Great Expectations speaking in a gruff Italian voice or Clint Eastwood (ironically) in a 'spaghetti' western, a pasta western perhaps.

In Buttrio, Italy...

I have been in Florence attending a wedding and have experienced major problems with cars. I hired one at the airport, a rather nice Toyota Corolla hybrid, and for a short while it was fine. I drove from the airport out into the sticks and then, for a couple of days, drove to places like Siena and Greve and made a couple of small trips to a local supermarket. It took a couple of days to get used to my different surroundings, although I took naturally to driving on the right hand side of the road and didn't have any problems with roundabouts. But then I got a puncture and things turned to shit. First, the car hire company wouldn't replace the car with another one, leaving me (and those with me) stranded. It was lucky that the flat tyre was discovered close to the villa where we were staying as I managed to drive us back 'home'. It was then a case of calling the hire company who were anything but helpful. We spoke to their breakdown business who sent somebody round to retrieve the Corolla and that, effectively was that. No replacement car, we would have to rely upon unreliable taxis. Not only unreliable but very expensive. We had to pay 120 Euros to travel around 10 miles tops and later, when I asked for a receipt from Guido, our first taxi driver, he wanted me to part with a further 15 Euros. I told him I would write my own receipt. Virtually every journey cost us around 100 Euros and the costs soon mounted up. Eventually, of course, I lost it completely with the rental company, not that doing so achieved anything. In fact, on 'losing it' I appear to be doing it on a regular basis and put it down to needing a rest, a holiday, for example. That said, I've also considered anger management. For those of you thinking 'he's out in Tuscany, surely he's on holiday'. Well, no he isn't. While I wanted to de-stress and had the perfect place to do so – there was beautiful scenery (olive trees, rolling hills, the occasional low mist, blue skies and so forth) – I was not allowed to enjoy it. For a start I was really a cab driver waiting outside clothes shops and then, once the car was towed away to be repaired, I had the stress of Italian cabs, notably that they were few and far between and also that they were extortionate. My 'holiday' was one huge ball of stress as, indeed, is any 'holiday' I take. I'm never allowed to relax, there's always something to fret about (mainly money) and then I find myself back at work and in no way prepared for it having not really had a break. Note to self: always use a reliable car rental company, ie Hertz, Europ Car, Enterprise. 

Breakfast – in the end it wasn't ridiculously large

I write to you from the Villa Dragoni in Buttrio, Northern Italy. Yesterday I took the train from Florence to Venice and then changed to a local train for the penultimate leg of the journey (Udine – pronounced 'Oooh-der-nay'). From Udine I encountered more taxi problems, notably that there were no cabs to be found on the rank. I stood outside the railway station in the dark waiting and waiting and waiting. Fortunately for me a woman from Vancouver was in Udine visiting relations and her husband and cousin (both Italians) were the most helpful strangers I've ever encountered. They called a cab company and two of them miraculously appeared. Myself and a lady from Verona (as opposed to a gentleman) were saved from standing around waiting in the dark and watching buses that were 'not in service' as they pulled around and into the front of the station never to be seen again. I'll admit that I had considered a bus, but I'm glad I didn't follow up on the idea as Buttrio, my final destination, is small and sleepy and dark and I'm guessing there's no way I'd have found the Villa Dragoni. My taxi driver knew of it and after a little messing around on a smart phone we set off in the rain. A storm was brewing. With increasing frequency, the skies were lit up with lightening which later developed into a full-blown thunder-clapping storm. Getting into the Villa Dragoni proved a little problematic as it was, to all intents and purposes, closed and dark. Access was possible via a huge gate, but the gate was closed and my driver had to press an intercom button to talk to somebody inside the villa who eventually opened the gates and we were inside. At last, I thought, I can rest easy. Once inside there was nobody but me and a Villa Dragoni employee who handed over a small square piece of card, it was the wifi log in details and a code for access should I leave the building, which I fully intend to do. Then, she handed me a small rectangular piece of card on which I found a list of breakfast items. The idea was that I circled what I wanted and then, in the morning, at a specified time, my breakfast would arrive at my room. I started to wonder whether I was the only guest. I was led through the villa towards room 3, from where I write this note as I await breakfast, which is due to arrive in just under one hour (49 minute to be precise). I wondered whether I had ordered too much. I mean, I like a big breakfast and normally, with the usual self-service affair in conventional hotels, I could help myself, but here at the Villa Dragoni I found myself circling almost every item available: cappuccino (check); muesli (check); yoghurt (check); bread (check); boiled egg (check); fruit juice (check) the list went on and as I lay in bed awake at 0500hrs I wondered what it was all going to look like. Perhaps it will take two people to bring it all to me, perhaps there will be two trays, who knows? And what will they be thinking? That there's two mouths to feed? Probably. But there's only me. And then I started to wonder if there was room on the table. All very humiliating. I'd better make sure I eat it all so they can't say I wasted anything. And if you want any kind of justification for my piggery, perhaps missing dinner last night is good enough. The last thing I ate was a pineapple croissant at a café in Florence and that was around 2pm yesterday afternoon. Alright, I had a peanut bar and a cup of black tea on the train to Venice, but that was it.

View from Room 3, Villa Dragoni 

After last night's storm everything outside is now relatively still. It's light and cloudy and I'm surrounded by trees. In the distance I can see a train, presumably approaching Buttrio railway station. Originally, I had planned to train it all the way here, but it was a flawed plan. I was advised (wrongly) to take the 1920 train from Florence to Buttrio, changing at Venice, but this proved to be wrong. When I reached Florence station I was told to take a fast train to Venice and then to Udine and from there jump a cab. Buttrio station was tiny and there wouldn't be any cabs and the thought of arriving at gone 11pm and walking to the Villa Dragoni, dragging a heavy suitcase along the street, was not in the slightest bit appealing. Even though I had to wait a good 20 minutes for a cab at Udine railway station, the journey wasn't that long and I arrived long before my original arrival time of gone 11pm.

I am here all week. I fly back on Saturday afternoon. In all honesty, I could wish the whole thing further. It would have been better taking the week off and chilling at home, although I know now that I wouldn't be chilling, I'd be fretting about money and working out how much I didn't have and the spectre of work would always be looming in the background. But that doesn't mean I'm better off where I am as I'm working. In fact, I can't even remember if I'm working today or whether I have the day off. I'll need to check that. Oh, did I mention fruit? I also ordered fruit for breakfast and I'm not sure what I'll get. Hopefully not a huge bowl as there's no way I'll finish that along with everything else I've ordered. Sorry, I digressed, but there you go, I'm fretting about breakfast now.

A word about Italian trains: they're fantastic. The train from Florence to Venice was fast. A screen in the carriage told passengers that the train was travelling at something like 220km/hr. It departed Florence on time (1639hrs), there were free snacks, a man vacuumed the floor, it was perfect: clean, fast and on time, what more could one ask from a train? I arrived in Venice, on time, at 1842hrs, in plenty of time to catch the 1914hrs local train to Udine.

Local train to Udine...

The weather here in Italy was fine up until Saturday (the day of the wedding) when it started to rain around 1400hrs and now I guess the Italians, like the English, are settling in for the winter months. I know that in the UK right now bad weather is expected. I'm hoping it all dissipates before my flight home next week. I'm on an easyJet flight from Venice to Gatwick and I'm sitting in seat 1a, right at the front of the plane. Let's hope it'll be smooth.

Breakfast arrived on just one tray; there were four small rolls, a tumbler of fruit juice, two pots of yoghurt, cereal – but no milk – a small bowl of fruit (apricots and kiwi fruit), a boiled egg – no fingers – a cappuccino and a small plate of biscuits, tiny ones. I did well: I ate two of the rolls, used the natural yoghurt as a milk substitute for the cereal, ate all the biscuits, the other yoghurt was strawberry-flavoured so that was alright and I'm confident they won't be thinking anything bad of me, ie I didn't 'leave' anything untouched, I'm not a greedy bastard in other words, I ate what I ordered.

One note of criticism about the Villa Dragoni: all the hangers in the wardrobe are for jackets and coats, nothing to hang trousers on. A small detail, perhaps, but it's a problem nonetheless.

To the lakes!

I left the house this morning around 0809hrs, keeping a weather eye on my surroundings and looking out for patrolling police cars and royalists attempting to keep everybody indoors watching the funeral on TV, not that my television is working; it might well be we need a new one. There was little in the way of traffic on the roads and I didn't see a single cop car, let alone marauding royalists and Brexiteers sniffing out anybody with republican tendencies. But who was I kidding? Nobody was going to stop me from cycling, nobody was out to get me and nobody cares what I'm up to. I was, quite simply, in the clear. Today was a long one: a ride to the lakes in Chipstead, Kent. The plan was to meet Andy there at 0930 but there was no flask. Flasks are old money, pre-Covid cycling when we used to sit in fields, on benches, taking shelter from the rain at a covered bus stop. Not any more. There was no meeting point other than at our destination and if you need proof that things have changed in the world of No Visible Lycra just scroll back through the pages of this blog, pick a random year, a random month and you will see how things have changed. Now we meet at our destinations, be it Westerham, Tatsfield or the lakes at Chipstead village in Kent. In many ways, it's better the way it is now, it's simpler. We fix on a venue and we meet there and then we say goodbye until the next time. I think we both prefer it. But sometimes it's good to look back, as I did when we both stood on the small green opposite the pub with the lakes behind us, a lonely paddle boarder making their way across the big lake, presumably from Chevening Sailing Club. 

The Rockhopper on Clarks Lane, Monday 19th September 2022

We are less excitable about being out in all weathers, unlike in the old days. I recalled Twats of the Antarctic and other posts that saw us suffering in snow and rain and sleet and heavy winds, but who wants to risk injury? Not Andy. And who can blame him? Only months ago he almost had to undergo a hip replacement after coming off his bike thanks to black ice on the road. Best to use a turbo trainer as the nights get longer rather than risk another trip to the hospital and the pain of recovery. Andy and I used to boast of being all-weather riders, 12 months per year we were out there, wearing balaclavas and scarfs and heavy jackets, anything to keep the bad weather at bay as we rode out in the dark, past iced-up windscreens and frosted pathways, the grass verges frozen and ice-tipped as we rode towards Warlingham Green, which, to me, resembles a closed railway station. Similarly the Tatsfield Bus Stop, once our refuge from the ravages of winter, now little more than a piece of wood at the top of Approach Road that sometimes I see other riders using. I can't even refer to it anymore as 'our bus stop' because it isn't, and it never was, of course. Only the other day, sitting in the comfort of Sheree's Tearoom in Tatsfield village, I pointed out that the old wooden bus stop opposite the Ship pub, was also one of our 'homes', another of our shelters from the storm, but now we sit in the warmth of the cafe with tea served in china cups and possibly a slice of cake. In short, we prefer our comfort. Visiting the caff used to be a rare treat, something we savoured, but now it's routine, something we always do and let's face it we both like it; no, wait a minute, we love it! I can't think of anything better than visiting Costa at the end of an 11-mile ride to Westerham or a 10-mile ride to Oxted where I have the choice of Costa, Caffe Nero or Starbucks. And I know I've been going on and on about how great the weather has been, but it has, it's been wonderful. I checked today and ever since April I've been riding to places like Biggin Hill and Oxted on a Saturday morning and stopping for tea or coffee in the sunshine, relaxing in the open air. The sun has been shining all year and as the year has progressed the temperatures have increased. I've been riding to work, as you know, in the heat, and riding back, in the heat. Only now have things changed. There is a nip in the air, I'm wearing the gloves again and I'm putting on a hat under my helmet to keep warm... and it's only September. But listen, even now, mid-September, it's warm, but a little cooler in the early mornings.

Andy and our bikes at Chipstead lakes, Kent, 19th September

I rode the usual route to the lakes, along Pilgrims Lane all the way, turning right towards Chipstead Village and sailing into the village where, it transpired, I was first to arrive. I answered the call of nature behind a bush and when I stepped back on the stage of the green there was Andy. He too had followed Pilgrims Lane and was riding his mountain bike. Andy had bought a Thermos flask with enough water for a couple of cups of coffee. I bought some water with me, but opted for a cup of Andy's instant coffee, which did the job. We chatted about the instransigence of managers in business and how they have no idea of how to incentivise their staff to make money for the business. That and our reminiscing about old times and those extreme weather jaunts summed up our chat, we paid scant attention to the lake itself because there wasn't that much to see... and let's face it, we've seen it all before, although it's worth pointing out that for a very long time both of us have tended to visit the lakes alone, normally on a whim when either myself or Andy wasn't riding. I think the last time I was there was during the pandemic. I remember it well because when I reached the patch of green in front of the pub there was a honey monster soft toy on one of the benches and that might well have been the last time I was there. Andy's the same, sometimes he says he rode to the lakes alone. But there have been some great rides to the lakes, like back in April 2011 when we rode there with Andy's pal Richard and overdid the Nuptial Ale (in celebration of the wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton).

The lakes - it's been a long time since we've been here together

The lakes has always been one of those far-off destinations for a regular weekend ride, it's that extra five miles beyond Westerham and it's always been rare to visit purely because we've all got other things to do. But not today. Today is the day of the Queen's funeral, 19 September 2022 and with nothing on television but that event and a lot of people staying in to watch it, a ride to the lakes seemed like a good idea as no coffee shops would be open and that's why we needed the flask. Last night I saw one in Sainsbury's, or it might have been the night before, but it was £28! That's a lot of money to fork out for a small flask, and, as Andy rightly remarked, there's little point as these days we rarely do what we used to do, ie sit at the Tatsfield Bus Stop where there is no Costa or Starbucks and, therefore, the need for a flask of hot water and some tea bags is very real. 

Crossing over motorways on the return ride out of Chipstead

I never checked my watch so I have no idea of what time we left, but I got home around 1145hrs. We rode out of Chipstead village together but Andy then bade me farewell and sped up; soon he was out of sight. You must remember that Andy is now super fit in cycling terms, he rides long distances and takes them in his stride, he's lost a lot of weight and he's certainly faster than I am. I don't want to hold him back. Don't get me wrong. I'm much fitter too than I was during the pre-Covid days. Remember that back then we tended to ride once or twice a week and only three times when there was a bank holiday. Today I'm trying to put in four rides per week, two of them to Redhill where I work as the ride back is a real work-out. Andy has a trainer in his garage and can be found on it virtually every day (if the weather looks iffy) and then he cycles with Oxted CC on a Saturday morning and can cover as much as 80 miles depending on the route taken. So things have changed, but for the best I think, we're both fitter for a start, which is a good thing, and long may it continue.

Corn fields on Pilgrims Lane on the return ride

On the way home...

A bad week, just two rides...

It is the day before the Queen's funeral. For the past 10 days or so the media in all its forms have gone on about nothing else. It's all been very boring and depressing. Some people have been really foolish, they've been queuing for hours on end so that they can walk past the Queen's coffin which, up until today, has been lying in state. Today is the last day as the Queen will end up later on at Windsor Castle, her final resting place, and the world will go back to normal. Here in the UK we'll have to endure Liz Truss, our new PM. Let's hope not for much longer.

On the cycling front, not a good week it has to be said. Rain (or the threat of it) stopped me riding in but there were other factors. My plan to ride on Friday was scuppered as I had to wait around at home for a phone call that never came and then it was too late to ride in so I took the train. I managed a ride yesterday to Oxted, which was pleasant, bringing my weekly total to just two rides, one last Sunday, one on Saturday. My new cycling week starts on a Sunday (yesterday) so today's ride is my second this week.

The Rockhopper in Westerham last Sunday...

It was a good ride, but it's important to point out that the weather has changed and it's much colder now than it has been. I wore a heavy fleece, which seemed to do the trick. The ride was pleasant as there was sunshine. In fact, the last couple of days have been amazing in a strange sort of way, very evocative of something, the past clearly, but evocative nonetheless. I rode along the 269 towards Botley Hill and then straight across the roundabout and down Titsey Hill towards my destination (Oxted). Riding down Titsey Hill is more unpleasant than riding up as the road is pitted and furrowed and shakes the bike, making me feel slightly nauseous. But it's short-lived and soon I am riding into Limpsfield Village, turning right and then left into Granville Road. There's something liberating about riding along Granville in the morning sunshine. I've been doing it all year, since around April, and sitting outside of either Starbucks or Caffe Nero drinking tea or a cappuccino or even a green tea. Yesterday I had an amazing brew: Jasmine Flames tea from Teavana, very nice. I sat outside of Starbucks having parked the bike outside Caffe Nero and walked down the high street. Oxted is such a nice place and it's fantastic in the sunshine. All summer I've been doing this, on a Saturday, riding to Oxted, picking my venue and then enjoying the early morning hustle and bustle of the town, people passing by on their way to the gym, mums with prams, dads with young children, middle-aged couples enjoying a coffee, solitary figures reading a broadsheet, all part of life's rich tapestry.

I tend to find myself in a charity shop next door to the Caffe Nero, just for a brief wander around and yesterday was no exception. I went in wearing my crash helmet and cycling gear and stood by a small carousel of paperbacks, picking one or two up and then putting them back on the rack. As I was doing this a young girl let out a loud scream as she passed me, presumably when I moved to place a book back where I found it. She made me jump. It turned out she thought I was a mannequin and was shocked when I moved, which is odd because the shop doesn't have any mannequins. Weird, but we all enjoyed a laugh off the back of it.

Andy's Kona in Westerham last week

I rode back up Titsey Hill (16%) and initially had trouble with the gears, but managed to crank the bike down to the lowest gears before the climb commenced. I find that Titsey Hill is really easy. It's long, but it's not difficult and the ride up the hill is pleasant as there are trees on either side and peace and quiet and then suddenly there's a road sign which signals the approaching mini roundabout and the B269. The rest of the ride is straightforward, past the Botley Hill Farmhouse pub and straight down towards Warlingham and then Sanderstead and home. I stopped off at the garage to give my bike a jet clean. The plan now is to clean the chain. I'm also getting a strange knocking, which is more pronounced when I stand up on the pedals. It's on the left hand side and while I expect everybody to say it's the bottom bracket, it can't be because I've only just had a new one installed (when I last got a service) and I can't believe it can go again that quickly, ie within a year.

I've just come back from a Washpond Weeble, which I managed in record time (1hr and 3 minutes). I've shaved 13 minutes off of my time and it makes me feel good. I whizzed round at a rough but constant 12 miles/hr and took all the inclines with ease (there are no hills on the Weeble).

Washpond Weeble: I shaved 13 minutes off of my usual time...

I had planned to ride to Biggin Hill this morning, but my plans were scuppered once again, this time by having to give people lifts to stations. The Weeble was an afterthought, a chance to at least get out and not have a Sunday without a ride.

Summer rides

The summer rides have been good. Ever since that first train strike back in June when I 'took to the streets' on the bike, I've been enjoying some amazing rides to and from Redhill in what can only be described as amazing weather. The 12-mile ride into the office is pleasant and mostly on fairly quiet roads, and the ride back is the same but uphill and it can be pretty daunting. I've worked out the trouble spots (the places where I need to be careful) and I think I can honestly say that I'm au fait with the route there and back.

Rockhopper close to Rectory Lane last Sunday...

As a result of the riding I've lost weight (I'm almost 12 stone). I've lost around a stone, which is good and I hope to keep it off, but I've started to lapse. Just a few minutes ago I weighed myself and I'm still just over 12 stone, but the lapsing has started. A bit of rain has kept me off the bike. This week I rode three times (if you include my planned ride today to Oxted) which is fine and I shouldn't fret about it, but ultimately I should be doing a minimum of four rides per week (two at the weekend and two during the week). So it's either Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday or throw in Wednesday too (actually, make that Friday). But last week I lapsed. Again, I shouldn't fret about it. What I should be fretting about is that I'm not regularly updating the blog as much as I used to, the whole thing has gone off the boil a bit. So, here I am, trying to get back into the whole thing.

At the moment, my bike sounds like a wood-burning stove and Andy reckons I need to clean the chain. There's also a problem with the gears (and Andy reckons I need to clean the chain). He's probably right and I will do it and that will (hopefully) save me the money on a planned gear service I was looking in to. I'm finding that changing down the front cogs often leads to the chain coming off and because it's so grubby I end up with my hands covered in thick, black grease. Invariably the problem occurs as I ride up White Hill Lane. I go to change down and the chain comes off or it doesn't come off but simply doesn't change down, leaving me to tackle the hill, the awful hill, in the middle cog at the front. It's possible, thanks to my improving fitness, but it's challenging to say the least. So that needs to be sorted. And yesterday I started to realise that if I'm going to continue into the winter with the rides to work I'm going to have to get some decent lights, something that has always eluded me. Lights that are USB-chargeable aren't the answer, although I have a particularly bright set of front lights that will need charging up as the nights draw in. I also need to sort out my brakes, or rather I will soon have to sort out my brakes. All that down-hill braking on White Hill Lane on the outward journey is bound to take its toll soon and I need to be ready. 

Another shot of the Rockhopper last Sunday

My fitness levels are certainly improving although, as I said at the beginning of this post, I'm starting to lapse a little. Let's talk about this for a while. My campaign to lose weight started when I was in Prague. I slowed down on the food front, ate a healthy breakfast in the hotel, started to drink green tea, and then, when I flew home I upped the ante a little bit. I tried to carry on my 'no bread' thing, which I started in Prague, and I succeeded and found myself weighing just over 12 stone. It was the cycling too, not just the lack of bread in my diet, but put the two together and I was starting to look a little lithe, which was good. One helped the other: the weight improved the cycling, the cycling improved the weight situation and long may it continue. The hot weather helped too as I found myself eating less, enjoying (heaven forbid) a salad, not eating loads of potatoes and so forth. But of late I've found myself back on my latest addiction: toast and honey. I need to slow down on that front. I've been reasonably good on lunches, and dinners have been fine, although the approaching autumn has prompted the odd roast dinner, I bought a packet of milk chocolate digestives at work last week and wasn't satisfied until they had gone, so little bad habits are creeping in. And I keep thinking that a combination of cycling less because of the poor weather and, perhaps, the odd chocolate bar and, of course, the hassle created by people celebrating birthdays at work (and bringing in tins of Celebrations, 44 calories per chocolate) are going to mess things up. But I didn't do too badly today: had a small cake and a cup of tea for lunch and a small slice of bread with half of an avocado on top and then for dinner tonight a vegetarian dish cooked by yours truly (aubergine, courgette, onion, garlic and a tin of tomatoes, plus pasta). It was fantastic, even if I do say so myself.

To Oxted for a cappuccino (and a pastry)...

Alright, I had a pastry this morning, a cinnamon swirl to accompany my large cappuccino, that's something else I've started up again, frothy coffees. Got to get back to green teas and nothing much else. I rode to Oxted this morning to meet my pal Garth. The ride was good although I'm not keen on riding down Titsey Hill as the road is so bumpy it actually makes me feel quite ill. The handlebars and the whole bike shakes and so does my body, but eventually, when the road levels and smooths out, I sailed into Oxted, rode up the High Street and there was Garth at the Caffe Nero. We chatted about this and that and after reaching a chilled out state we rode home again. I rode up Titsey Hill as always and got home just over an hour after I left.

The bike needs a clean, I need to get the rust off of the forks, I need to clean the chain and I might need a gear service, but not yet. Tomorrow (Sunday) it's Westerham to meet Andy so let's hope the weather holds, I think it will.

On Pilgrims Lane on the way home from Westerham

It's now Monday morning and I've got to go to work but just to say that the weather did hold yesterday, it was a very pleasant day although there was a little bit of mist at Botley Hill and as I descended into Westerham. Costa was closed until noon so we found ourselves in a small cafe on the other side of the street. I ordered a cappuccino and an almond croissant and found myself chatting to Andy about Duncan Bannatyne after two brand spanking new ice creams vans went by and I remembered that Bannatyne started off in the world of business as an ice cream man. We also reminisced about ice cream vans of old, the sound of Greensleeves on a summer's afternoon and, of course, Mr Whippy ice cream cones. I enjoyed a Mr Whippy at the Boathouse cafe in Felpham yesterday week ago and very nice it was too. 

Andy was on his racer so I knew he would be way ahead of me within yards of departing so I wished him well and continued on up the hill alone.