Tuesday 3rd December: Well, not in too bad a way. I mean I wasn't stranded miles from home or, to be fair, even on the bike or outside in the cold. No, I was in the house, but prepared to go out in the cold and ride the six-mile hill run. Last week I'd only managed one, I didn't go out yesterday (Monday 2nd December) as planned (miles too cold) but today it was a case of both trouser legs tucked into my trousers, no more than a cup of tea to fuel me and I was out there. Padlock undone, balaclava, scarf, jacket, the full outfit, but guess what? As I wheeled the bike out of the dark garage I noticed something. No, not a rear wheel puncture but how about this? It was the front wheel! Rare, yes, but it's happened. It's easy to fix, of course, but I don't have time, it's a work day, but later tonight I'll be out there. So I'm back in the house, it's almost a quarter past seven and that absolute bastard, Dominic Raab, is on the radio lying about the NHS and a trade deal with the USA. Anyway, enough of this.
We ride our trusty bicycles most weekends. This blog charts our adventures and records our thoughts as we ride through the rural lanes of Surrey and Northern Kent – and there's some world travel thrown in too
Monday, 2 December 2019
Sunday, 1 December 2019
Great ride Saturday, but late night prompts Sunday morning abort text...
Great ride on Saturday. We rode through Woldingham and then through the golf course en route to the Tatsfield Bus Stop where we drank tea and chatted before heading home again. There was a frost on the ground and the skies were clear, it was a pleasant day. Andy and I parted at The Ridge and I risked the off-road path. I still don't know if I've got a puncture waiting for me in the garage because I didn't ride today. I attended a birthday party and didn't get to hit the sack until around 0100hrs.
I woke up around 0500hrs but stayed in bed, fell back to sleep and then woke up as the radio sparked to life at 0700hrs. The plan was to go out on the short six-miler, I even went as far as getting ready and walking around the house (for most of the day) with my right trouser leg tucked into my sock until I resigned myself to not cycling, for some reason I couldn't face it. I read the first chapter of a book by David Hepworth entitled 1971 and then I drove to mum's, ate some cake, drank some tea, watched Escape to the Country, drove to Sutton, drove home and now here I sit at the dining table with the television on, but I'm not watching it, I should switch it off, but somebody's switched over to the Harry Potter movie, the last one, where Harry and Hermione have their own kids and they're about to go to Hogwart's. Got to get my act together tomorrow. Dinner's on, I can smell it and it smells good and there's the Strictly results show coming up. Sundays are great, especially when it's dark and cold outside. It's almost 1900hrs and I'm wondering about the bike, perhaps I ought to take a look. I'd hate to have a puncture because that would throw me for the whole week. Another rear wheel puncture would be terrible so best not to think about it.
There's an election debate on. It's so boring. Really, it is. There are no candidates suitable for the top job. Farage? Nope. Johnson? Nope. Swinson? Nope. Corbyn? Nope. All the rest of them? Nope. They're all lying, none of them can be trusted. I've considered not voting, for the first time in my voting life.
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| Cold weather on Saturday morning, great ride though! |
There's an election debate on. It's so boring. Really, it is. There are no candidates suitable for the top job. Farage? Nope. Johnson? Nope. Swinson? Nope. Corbyn? Nope. All the rest of them? Nope. They're all lying, none of them can be trusted. I've considered not voting, for the first time in my voting life.
Friday, 29 November 2019
London Bridge terrorist attack - once again the attacker known to the police
Once again, a London Bridge terror attack and once again, sadly, everything follows the same old pattern, commonly known as the 'standard establishment response'. Here is that response so you can use it in checklist format and tick off things as they happen.
1. After an attack, politicians feel obliged to condemn the incident with phrases like "There is no room in our civilised society for the evil and barbarism exhibited today and it is my duty to extinguish the terrorist threat from this land and bring together our country again."
2. Professional mourners. A shrine must appear on the spot where people died and the media must film complete strangers leaving tea lights and messages of sympathy.
3. Known to the police. Invariably it will be announced that the attacker was known to the police and under surveillance (but, as always, not being watched closely enough). In the case of the latest London Bridge attack, Usman Khan was released because in 2012 the coalition government scrapped Imprisonment for Public Protection (IPP) introduced by Labour's David Blunkett in 2008.
4. A quiet suburban house must be raided by the police, normally miles away from the incident, and later filmed by the media who will interview locals and be told that he, the attacker, was very quiet, didn't say much, he was very normal. 'Who would have thought it!'
5. Thumbnail images of the victims to be appear in newspapers along with condemnatory comments on the attacker revealing his strong links to terrorism and designed to make the general public wonder why he was at large.
6. The word 'community' must be used extensively, particularly by religious leaders, in relation to the attack.
7. A meeting of the COBRA committee should be convened (although it achieves absolutely nothing) and the general public are supposed to feel reassured and awestruck. "Oooh! The COBRA committee!"
8. 'In other news'. After seven days the entire incident must be relegated to 'other news' and quickly forgotten about.
1. After an attack, politicians feel obliged to condemn the incident with phrases like "There is no room in our civilised society for the evil and barbarism exhibited today and it is my duty to extinguish the terrorist threat from this land and bring together our country again."
2. Professional mourners. A shrine must appear on the spot where people died and the media must film complete strangers leaving tea lights and messages of sympathy.
3. Known to the police. Invariably it will be announced that the attacker was known to the police and under surveillance (but, as always, not being watched closely enough). In the case of the latest London Bridge attack, Usman Khan was released because in 2012 the coalition government scrapped Imprisonment for Public Protection (IPP) introduced by Labour's David Blunkett in 2008.
4. A quiet suburban house must be raided by the police, normally miles away from the incident, and later filmed by the media who will interview locals and be told that he, the attacker, was very quiet, didn't say much, he was very normal. 'Who would have thought it!'
5. Thumbnail images of the victims to be appear in newspapers along with condemnatory comments on the attacker revealing his strong links to terrorism and designed to make the general public wonder why he was at large.
6. The word 'community' must be used extensively, particularly by religious leaders, in relation to the attack.
7. A meeting of the COBRA committee should be convened (although it achieves absolutely nothing) and the general public are supposed to feel reassured and awestruck. "Oooh! The COBRA committee!"
8. 'In other news'. After seven days the entire incident must be relegated to 'other news' and quickly forgotten about.
Sunday, 24 November 2019
Slow way to bus stop and thick fog...
Yesterday (Saturday) I should have gone out on the bike. Yes, there was rain forecasted and it had been raining (the ground was wet and there were puddles) but it wasn't actually raining, or if it was it was only the odd raindrop, nothing that would have caused any problems. I didn't go out. Andy had aborted.
Instead, I went on one of those Saturday afternoon shopping trips having spent most of the morning doing nothing but listening to music, mainly bluesy music, country music and a bit of Bob Dylan who kind of crosses the bluesy, country, folk divide. I love Subterranean Homesick Blues, but also Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. I finished off with This Town Ain't Big Enough for the Both of Us, by Sparks, which has nothing to do with any of the aforementioned genres.
After a lunch in the M&S cafe in Bromley I ventured off alone to Waterstone's where I looked at books in the travel literature, history and music sections. I would have bought Eric Hobsbawn's An Age of Extremes (it might have been The Age of Extremes) but they didn't have it. I considered a number of travel books, but eventually settled with Coal Black Mornings by the leader singer of Suede, Brett Anderson.
You can't beat Waterstone's. There's nothing better than a decent bookshop, I don't know what it is, but they're cosy places especially at this time of the year when the darkness of winter encroaches on the late afternoon and Christmas trees appear here and there. The only problem with the Bromley Waterstone's, which is in the Glades shopping mall, is the lack of chairs on which to sit and read.
Later on. Much later on, I was coming back from Oxted in the dark and decided (as I had to kill a few minutes) to measure the mileage of my round-the-block rides. For some time now I've been riding around the block first thing in the morning during the week. It's a good circuit with enough ups and downs to make it worthwhile on a fitness level, but I had no idea how far I was riding. It turns out to be six miles on the nose, which is good as I try to ride the new route three times a week, meaning an additional 18 miles to my cycling. The ride takes around 40 minutes.
And now it is Sunday morning. Everyone in the house is asleep except for me. I'm sitting downstairs in front of the laptop, writing this and listening to classical music on Radio 3 before I head out to the green to meet Andy. When I woke up it wasn't raining and there have been no abort texts. The only possible stumbling block could be if I had a puncture.
Well, I didn't have a puncture, but I was running late, although when I reached the green there was no sign of Andy. While I waited I noticed that a Christmas tree had appeared, but no decorations, not yet at any rate. In fact, later on I drove past after dark and there were lights. We rode the slow way to bus stop and as we approached the junction with Clarks Lane, we noticed the fog. It had swept in quickly and there were virtually white-out conditions. Cars disappeared within seconds of them passing and it was good to reach the bus stop where we did what we always do: drink tea and flick our teabags off the end of a teaspoon, seeing who could throw - or flick - their teabag the greatest distance. Today it was fairly level pegging, but Andy's better at it than I am. I reckon he practices in his back garden.
I considered going back via The Ridge with Andy, but in the end opted for the off-road track. Here's hoping I haven't got a puncture. I'll find out in the morning. I reached home around 1010hrs and sat around watching guilty dogs on Youtube, but there are things to be done and I need to get moving, although, to be honest, it's wet and grey out there, not exactly gardening weather.
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| On the off-road path coming home in the fog |
Instead, I went on one of those Saturday afternoon shopping trips having spent most of the morning doing nothing but listening to music, mainly bluesy music, country music and a bit of Bob Dylan who kind of crosses the bluesy, country, folk divide. I love Subterranean Homesick Blues, but also Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. I finished off with This Town Ain't Big Enough for the Both of Us, by Sparks, which has nothing to do with any of the aforementioned genres.
After a lunch in the M&S cafe in Bromley I ventured off alone to Waterstone's where I looked at books in the travel literature, history and music sections. I would have bought Eric Hobsbawn's An Age of Extremes (it might have been The Age of Extremes) but they didn't have it. I considered a number of travel books, but eventually settled with Coal Black Mornings by the leader singer of Suede, Brett Anderson.
You can't beat Waterstone's. There's nothing better than a decent bookshop, I don't know what it is, but they're cosy places especially at this time of the year when the darkness of winter encroaches on the late afternoon and Christmas trees appear here and there. The only problem with the Bromley Waterstone's, which is in the Glades shopping mall, is the lack of chairs on which to sit and read.
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| Watching the fog from the Tatsfield Bus Stop, Sunday 24 November 2019 |
And now it is Sunday morning. Everyone in the house is asleep except for me. I'm sitting downstairs in front of the laptop, writing this and listening to classical music on Radio 3 before I head out to the green to meet Andy. When I woke up it wasn't raining and there have been no abort texts. The only possible stumbling block could be if I had a puncture.
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| Over-the-top florist on Warlingham Green |
I considered going back via The Ridge with Andy, but in the end opted for the off-road track. Here's hoping I haven't got a puncture. I'll find out in the morning. I reached home around 1010hrs and sat around watching guilty dogs on Youtube, but there are things to be done and I need to get moving, although, to be honest, it's wet and grey out there, not exactly gardening weather.
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Sunday, 17 November 2019
Another rear wheel puncture, so off to the shop I went!
What to start with this week? It's got to be Prince Andrew's so-called 'car crash' interview with Newsnight's Emily Maitlis. There's two things I simply don't get. First, when he was asked whether he'd shagged what's her name, Virginia something or other, he said he couldn't recollect doing anything, even meeting her. Now, let's be honest here: if you're asked a straightforward question like that, you give a straightforward answer and it's either yes or no. To say you can't recollect it implies that you might well have done the dirty deed, you just can't remember because you were pissed, although, I can't believe that anybody can have sex with somebody and forget it happened, unless they deliberately want to forget it ever happened. That's one thing. Another is that photograph. He was adamant that the shot had been taken upstairs at Epstein's gaff, but said he'd never been upstairs, making me wonder how he knew it was taken upstairs. Where there's smoke...
What else? Oh, yes, the photographer Terry O'Neill has died. I bring this up because I have worked with him, directly, and he was a nice bloke. In a nutshell, I had interviewed the film star Terence Stamp and he insisted that O'Neill took the photograph.
Not much else to say on the news front to be honest. I'm a Celebrity is on the box so I'm kind of watching it out of the corner of my eye while typing this blog post. They've gone to the first break and there's loads of Christmas ads. How boring! It's only 17 November. I suppose they've got to start at some stage.
Ant and Dec are such wankers. There! I said it.
Anyway, moving on. Yesterday, Saturday, was a great ride. I left home around 0710hrs, met Andy at the green and off we went to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the slow way, chatting about Brexit all the way and then drinking tea and heading home. Great weather, but cold, so I wore the balaclava, which made all the difference.
But guess what? When I woke up on Sunday morning, after making the tea, I headed out to the garage to find yet another rear wheel puncture, so I aborted the ride and later pumped up the deflated tyre and rode to the bike shop. Then I walked into central Croydon, weird and desolate on a Sunday morning, and then walked straight back to the shop, picked up the bike and rode home. Effectively that was my day. When I got back I slobbed around for a while, messed around on the computer, the usual stuff, and then I drove over to mum's for some fruit cake. I sat there watching Escape to the Country with Aled Jones while sipping tea and munching cake and then I had a KitKat before driving home, messing around on the computer again and then eating a jacket potato and beans followed by a Tazo orange tea.
Right now there's another ad break on I'm a Celebrity and another sickly festive advertisement, this time courtesy of Tesco - 'delivering Christmas for 100 years'. Really. Who cares?
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| Warlingham Green - all the fun of the fair |
What else? Oh, yes, the photographer Terry O'Neill has died. I bring this up because I have worked with him, directly, and he was a nice bloke. In a nutshell, I had interviewed the film star Terence Stamp and he insisted that O'Neill took the photograph.
Not much else to say on the news front to be honest. I'm a Celebrity is on the box so I'm kind of watching it out of the corner of my eye while typing this blog post. They've gone to the first break and there's loads of Christmas ads. How boring! It's only 17 November. I suppose they've got to start at some stage.
Ant and Dec are such wankers. There! I said it.
Anyway, moving on. Yesterday, Saturday, was a great ride. I left home around 0710hrs, met Andy at the green and off we went to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the slow way, chatting about Brexit all the way and then drinking tea and heading home. Great weather, but cold, so I wore the balaclava, which made all the difference.
But guess what? When I woke up on Sunday morning, after making the tea, I headed out to the garage to find yet another rear wheel puncture, so I aborted the ride and later pumped up the deflated tyre and rode to the bike shop. Then I walked into central Croydon, weird and desolate on a Sunday morning, and then walked straight back to the shop, picked up the bike and rode home. Effectively that was my day. When I got back I slobbed around for a while, messed around on the computer, the usual stuff, and then I drove over to mum's for some fruit cake. I sat there watching Escape to the Country with Aled Jones while sipping tea and munching cake and then I had a KitKat before driving home, messing around on the computer again and then eating a jacket potato and beans followed by a Tazo orange tea.
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| The Tatsfield Bus Stop, Saturday 16th November 2019... |
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Sunday, 10 November 2019
Great ride Saturday, no ride Sunday, another puncture and a new watch!
I won't say I'm not very pissed off, because I am. Very pissed off. Over the last week I've had THREE rear wheel punctures. I got back after my ride yesterday and noticed that the rear tyre was, well, let's say softer than it was when I embarked upon Saturday's cycle to the Tatsfield Bus Stop with Andy. It's annoying for one reason, well, for more than one, but the main one being we were planning a ride to Westerham today and breakfast in the caff, but now it's not to be, and that's not only because of the puncture, which is bad enough, but also the fact that I simply couldn't face going out into the garage at 0630hrs to fix it. Look, getting up early is fine (just about fine) but year in and year out we do it and we love it, not so much the getting up, but riding the bikes; but fixing punctures BEFORE a ride? No. So I aborted.
Yesterday we rode the slow way to the bus stop and it was fantastic, a great work-out. But when I reached home the tyre was soft and I know that if (when) I head out to the garage in a few moments - right now I'm drinking me tea, my second cup of tea, but it's decaff so its alright, but as soon as I've finished it, I'm out there, I've got to take the rear wheel off, then do all the usual things that need to be done to fix it. I'm not going to moan anymore, in fact, I'm going to talk about something completely different: I bought a watch last week in Carnaby Street. Yes, a watch. Avid readers might recall that many years ago I was the proud owner of a Rolex watch. I'd bought it with some spare cash at the time and, well, there were issues when I look back. It never really kept the right time, probably because it was one of those perpetual motion watches and somebody in Brussels told me recently that they're not as accurate as quartz watches. That somebody worked in the Swatch shop in Brussels, not far from the Grand Place. I walked in off the street - I can't think of any other way of walking in, to be honest, it's not as if I could have parachuted in. Anyway, I bowled in, because that's what I do, I bowl in to places, I rock up, and was told that perpetual motion watches simply don't keep good time. Well, the Rolex people told me my watch needed a service, but guess what? It costs £400 to service a Rolex watch and it was starting to get a little ridiculous. To be honest, in the end I stopped wearing it. What was the point? And add to that the fact that it looked a little ostentatious, the sort of thing people rob you for, so it skulked around in a box upstairs, never seeing the light of day, until, that is, I found myself in debt. Time, perhaps, to sell the Rolex, which I did and I got double what I paid for it. Result, you might say, but it left me watchless. Not that people wear watches any more; instead they rely upon the clock on their iphones, I know I do. And then I bought a little Timex watch with a glowing face, but it was cheap and nasty and part of the brand's Expedition series. Yes, I fancied myself as Indiana Jones and whenever I travel abroad I take it with me and keep it on UK time. But it lacks finesse and, if I may say so, so do I. I lack finesse in so many different areas, one of them being sartorial elegance. I wear Jeremy Corbyn shoes and V-necked jumpers and cheap shirts and ties. I am man at Millets or Primani, and quite frankly I'm getting fed up with it.
I was watching Dave for some reason, I think it was Dave Gorman's Terms and Conditions Apply, and I noticed that the Sekonda Midnight Blue (it's a watch) sponsors comedy on Dave. What I great watch! Or so I thought. I started to obsess about it, like I do whenever I want something. I get like a little kid and start wanting it immediately. I found myself staring at it in shop windows, even getting the jeweller to let me take a look at it in the flesh; it was a nice watch and it only cost £70. Now, compared to the Rolex, that's cheap, right? Of course it is, but then a trip to Brussels changed things. I walked into that Swatch shop off the Grand Place and spotted the Casual Blue. It was a little more expensive (£135) but now I had a new obsession and it had to be put to rest so I bought it, not there and then in Brussels, but a week later in London. I should have bought it in Brussels because then there would have been a story attached to it. "I bought it in Brussels, you know". But no, I bought it from the Swatch UK shop in Carnaby Street and ever since I've bought it (it's now three days old at the time of writing) I can't stop looking at it. It's a got a blue face and it looks like the sort of watch spies or explorers wear in the movies, the sort of watch the camera cuts to whenever the time is brought up. It's stainless steel with a leather stitched strap, its perfect in every way. And it's heavy too. The last thing I want is light watch. In fact, before buying any Swatch watch make sure you see it in the flesh. When I arrived at the Swatch shop in London there were watches there that I'd considered buying (while browsing on-line) that were far flimsier than I suspected. The Casual Blue, however, lived up to everything I expected from it so I bought it there and then and left the shop feeling good about myself.
Ever since then I keep looking at it when it's on my wrist. Feel free to ask me the time, I say to people I know. Feel free, and if you do, I'll stretch out my left arm and tell you and you'll notice this huge chunk of stainless steel with a blue dial and a brown leather strap. It's cool, of course it is! And I love it.
So I've finished my tea and the sun is shining and I'm annoyed that I didn't get out on the bike today. Had I gone out, I'd be on the way back now, probably about half an hour away from my front door, but I didn't go out, I stayed in and there's a puncture in the garage waiting for me to fix it. Oooh! Is that the time? Better go.
Yesterday we rode the slow way to the bus stop and it was fantastic, a great work-out. But when I reached home the tyre was soft and I know that if (when) I head out to the garage in a few moments - right now I'm drinking me tea, my second cup of tea, but it's decaff so its alright, but as soon as I've finished it, I'm out there, I've got to take the rear wheel off, then do all the usual things that need to be done to fix it. I'm not going to moan anymore, in fact, I'm going to talk about something completely different: I bought a watch last week in Carnaby Street. Yes, a watch. Avid readers might recall that many years ago I was the proud owner of a Rolex watch. I'd bought it with some spare cash at the time and, well, there were issues when I look back. It never really kept the right time, probably because it was one of those perpetual motion watches and somebody in Brussels told me recently that they're not as accurate as quartz watches. That somebody worked in the Swatch shop in Brussels, not far from the Grand Place. I walked in off the street - I can't think of any other way of walking in, to be honest, it's not as if I could have parachuted in. Anyway, I bowled in, because that's what I do, I bowl in to places, I rock up, and was told that perpetual motion watches simply don't keep good time. Well, the Rolex people told me my watch needed a service, but guess what? It costs £400 to service a Rolex watch and it was starting to get a little ridiculous. To be honest, in the end I stopped wearing it. What was the point? And add to that the fact that it looked a little ostentatious, the sort of thing people rob you for, so it skulked around in a box upstairs, never seeing the light of day, until, that is, I found myself in debt. Time, perhaps, to sell the Rolex, which I did and I got double what I paid for it. Result, you might say, but it left me watchless. Not that people wear watches any more; instead they rely upon the clock on their iphones, I know I do. And then I bought a little Timex watch with a glowing face, but it was cheap and nasty and part of the brand's Expedition series. Yes, I fancied myself as Indiana Jones and whenever I travel abroad I take it with me and keep it on UK time. But it lacks finesse and, if I may say so, so do I. I lack finesse in so many different areas, one of them being sartorial elegance. I wear Jeremy Corbyn shoes and V-necked jumpers and cheap shirts and ties. I am man at Millets or Primani, and quite frankly I'm getting fed up with it.
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| Sekonda's Midnight Blue |
I was watching Dave for some reason, I think it was Dave Gorman's Terms and Conditions Apply, and I noticed that the Sekonda Midnight Blue (it's a watch) sponsors comedy on Dave. What I great watch! Or so I thought. I started to obsess about it, like I do whenever I want something. I get like a little kid and start wanting it immediately. I found myself staring at it in shop windows, even getting the jeweller to let me take a look at it in the flesh; it was a nice watch and it only cost £70. Now, compared to the Rolex, that's cheap, right? Of course it is, but then a trip to Brussels changed things. I walked into that Swatch shop off the Grand Place and spotted the Casual Blue. It was a little more expensive (£135) but now I had a new obsession and it had to be put to rest so I bought it, not there and then in Brussels, but a week later in London. I should have bought it in Brussels because then there would have been a story attached to it. "I bought it in Brussels, you know". But no, I bought it from the Swatch UK shop in Carnaby Street and ever since I've bought it (it's now three days old at the time of writing) I can't stop looking at it. It's a got a blue face and it looks like the sort of watch spies or explorers wear in the movies, the sort of watch the camera cuts to whenever the time is brought up. It's stainless steel with a leather stitched strap, its perfect in every way. And it's heavy too. The last thing I want is light watch. In fact, before buying any Swatch watch make sure you see it in the flesh. When I arrived at the Swatch shop in London there were watches there that I'd considered buying (while browsing on-line) that were far flimsier than I suspected. The Casual Blue, however, lived up to everything I expected from it so I bought it there and then and left the shop feeling good about myself.
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| Swatch Casual Blue... |
So I've finished my tea and the sun is shining and I'm annoyed that I didn't get out on the bike today. Had I gone out, I'd be on the way back now, probably about half an hour away from my front door, but I didn't go out, I stayed in and there's a puncture in the garage waiting for me to fix it. Oooh! Is that the time? Better go.
Monday, 4 November 2019
A thorough drenching on Saturday and a puncture on Sunday
Tuesday 5th November: I thought there would be no riding at all this weekend due to poor weather. All week the forecasters had been saying that Saturday would be a wash-out, but when I checked the weather app on my iphone, the rain clouds of previous days had been replaced by a cloud without the blue rain underneath it, not until 0900hrs at any rate; that was when the rain was expected to fall, and, by and large, that's exactly what happened.
Andy and I met on the green as usual and then headed off in the direction of Botley Hill along the 269. We'd decided to ride to the bus stop, the slow way, and while I felt sufficiently out of condition, having not enjoyed a long ride since 6 October, I soon found I was powering along Beddlestead Lane and was clearly not as unfit as I thought I was. We reached the bus stop and drank our tea while discussing Brexit and then it started to rain so we remained under the shelter of the bus stop until the rain stopped.
There was, I figured, a good chance that we'd escape a soaking. When Andy and I parted at The Ridge, I was thinking I could power along the 269 and get home before the rain starts up again, but no, it wasn't going to happen. A mild drizzle started and before I reached Slines Oak Road the rain was falling by the ton and I took refuge under a bus shelter opposite Sainsbury's, but not for long. I figured the rain was settling in for the long haul so I put on a brave face and headed for the green and, ultimately, Sanderstead. In the process, I was soaked, drenched, whatever other adjective you might care to use. but I was wet-through. The rain persisted and there was simply no point in taking shelter anywhere so I continued on my way, through the high street, down Church Way and when I reached home I had to peel my clothes off and hang them up to dry.
Fortunately, they were dry on Sunday morning and when I woke up at 0600hrs there was no rain, just a huge puddle on the roof of next door's extension. But when I headed outside to jump on the bike, having made the tea for the ride, I found my rear tyre was flat - again! I aborted and set about fixing the puncture a little later. It's ready to ride now, but there's no time as I've got a family event to attend and looking at the week ahead, it looks like more rain.
Feeling slightly depressed about the whole thing I left the bike in the garage and now I'm contemplating the week ahead and whether my early morning rides will be disrupted by the weather. Monday (yesterday) was fine and today (Tuesday) looks roughly the same, although rain is promised at lunch time. In other words, I will be going out shortly on a ride round the block. Unless, that is, I find a puncture. And the answer to that question is no, I didn't have a puncture, but I left the house late and decided to return and get to work on time. I'll go tomorrow morning, on time. I need to do at least three rides per week, so Monday, Wednesday and Friday is fine.
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| A pleasant and autumnal start to Saturday but later rain |
Andy and I met on the green as usual and then headed off in the direction of Botley Hill along the 269. We'd decided to ride to the bus stop, the slow way, and while I felt sufficiently out of condition, having not enjoyed a long ride since 6 October, I soon found I was powering along Beddlestead Lane and was clearly not as unfit as I thought I was. We reached the bus stop and drank our tea while discussing Brexit and then it started to rain so we remained under the shelter of the bus stop until the rain stopped.
There was, I figured, a good chance that we'd escape a soaking. When Andy and I parted at The Ridge, I was thinking I could power along the 269 and get home before the rain starts up again, but no, it wasn't going to happen. A mild drizzle started and before I reached Slines Oak Road the rain was falling by the ton and I took refuge under a bus shelter opposite Sainsbury's, but not for long. I figured the rain was settling in for the long haul so I put on a brave face and headed for the green and, ultimately, Sanderstead. In the process, I was soaked, drenched, whatever other adjective you might care to use. but I was wet-through. The rain persisted and there was simply no point in taking shelter anywhere so I continued on my way, through the high street, down Church Way and when I reached home I had to peel my clothes off and hang them up to dry.
Fortunately, they were dry on Sunday morning and when I woke up at 0600hrs there was no rain, just a huge puddle on the roof of next door's extension. But when I headed outside to jump on the bike, having made the tea for the ride, I found my rear tyre was flat - again! I aborted and set about fixing the puncture a little later. It's ready to ride now, but there's no time as I've got a family event to attend and looking at the week ahead, it looks like more rain.
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| Christmas decorations spotted in Marks & Spencer, Sutton. Not long to go! |
Friday, 1 November 2019
Leaving Brussels and heading home...
Breakfast in the hotel was fine, not the best, but not the worst either. I started with scrambled egg, mushrooms and one tiny sausage and followed up with a bowl of Coco Pops (I haven't had them for ages). Add a couple of paper cups of tea (I chose the paper mugs because they were bigger than the tiny cups) and a small pastry plus some yoghurt and another bowl of Coco Pops. You might think I was being greedy on the breakfast cereal, but I wasn't, the bowls were about the size of a teacup. I was tempted to have another pastry, but resisted, and soon, having checked out, found myself crossing town in a taxi.
Around midday I headed back to the Grand Place as I wanted to take a look at a watch, which I now intend to buy (it's better than the Sekonda Midnight Blue). But I didn't buy it, I just looked at it longingly and then continued to wander about looking for somewhere to eat lunch, until I realised that time was running out and I ought to be heading for Brussels Midi station instead and the 1456 Eurostar to London. I walked back to the hotel, feeling, it has to be said, a little weary and depressed having awoken around 0300hrs and not falling back to sleep. In fact, I got up around 0430ish, or just before 0500hrs, and really need to sleep. The taxi meandered through heavy traffic, but got me there in time to have 'lunch' at a Pret a Manger on the station concourse (ham baguette, two bananas, cookie and tea). I sat outside the store watching people running around catching trains here, there and everywhere and eventually, of course, it was my turn to head for the barriers and, being an international train, the faff of security.
The ride home in seat 81, coach 13 was pleasant and I did fall asleep. Soon we were in the tunnel, crossing under the English Channel, and by just gone 1600hrs I was back at King's Cross St Pancras, annoyed that Hatchard's the bookstore had disappeared. I made my way to the London Underground, jumped on a southbound train to London Bridge where I jumped out and bought an inner tube for my bike from Evans Cycles. My weekly short rides around the block were brought to an abrupt halt on Wednesday morning when I discovered a rear-wheel puncture.
I got home to an empty house and decided to fix the puncture before anybody else turned up. This I did and then I sat and watched television. There's a General Election on 12 December, the first winter election for around 100 years. There's also been a fire on a train in Pakistan, England's rugby team plays in the World Cup Final this coming Saturday against South Africa, and Donald Trump is interfering with the English election by suggesting to Nigel Farage on his LBC radio show that he do a deal with Boris Johnson. Can you honestly think of two people less qualified to run the country as Farage and Johnson? I can't. In all honesty, while I know there's a lot of right wing press against him, I think I'll vote for Corbyn and set the cat among the pigeons for the next five years. Who cares if he taxes my back garden and lets in loads of immigtants, they're coming in anyway and that, my friends, is the irony of Brexit. A lot of people voted Brexit because of immigration and don't kid me they were frightened of Spanish accountants, they thought it would get rid of the bhurkas and all those nasty foreigners from Somalia and Eritrea with different skin colours to ours, those 'fuzzy wuzzies', but the racists were wrong and they were conned. Non-EU migrants are coming in droves and there's been no let-up by the Government. They reckon our population will hit 70 million in the not-too-distant future and I'm waiting for the bigoted Brexiteers to realise they've been conned and hopefully, in the North East, that moment of realisation will come shortly after Nissan has moved elsewhere and they're all out of work. "But how did you vote in the referendum, Mr Unemployed and On Benefits? Oh, you voted Brexit did you? Well, you only have yourself to blame!"
The weather is looking very poorly and I'm expecting some abort texts this weekend. There's rain setting in and that means no riding. Why I bothered fixing the puncture I'll never know. I hope we do get out, but normally if there's rain it's in the morning and that's when we go cycling.
Three years ago.
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| 6th floor, NH Hotel Brussels Grand Place... |
The ride home in seat 81, coach 13 was pleasant and I did fall asleep. Soon we were in the tunnel, crossing under the English Channel, and by just gone 1600hrs I was back at King's Cross St Pancras, annoyed that Hatchard's the bookstore had disappeared. I made my way to the London Underground, jumped on a southbound train to London Bridge where I jumped out and bought an inner tube for my bike from Evans Cycles. My weekly short rides around the block were brought to an abrupt halt on Wednesday morning when I discovered a rear-wheel puncture.
I got home to an empty house and decided to fix the puncture before anybody else turned up. This I did and then I sat and watched television. There's a General Election on 12 December, the first winter election for around 100 years. There's also been a fire on a train in Pakistan, England's rugby team plays in the World Cup Final this coming Saturday against South Africa, and Donald Trump is interfering with the English election by suggesting to Nigel Farage on his LBC radio show that he do a deal with Boris Johnson. Can you honestly think of two people less qualified to run the country as Farage and Johnson? I can't. In all honesty, while I know there's a lot of right wing press against him, I think I'll vote for Corbyn and set the cat among the pigeons for the next five years. Who cares if he taxes my back garden and lets in loads of immigtants, they're coming in anyway and that, my friends, is the irony of Brexit. A lot of people voted Brexit because of immigration and don't kid me they were frightened of Spanish accountants, they thought it would get rid of the bhurkas and all those nasty foreigners from Somalia and Eritrea with different skin colours to ours, those 'fuzzy wuzzies', but the racists were wrong and they were conned. Non-EU migrants are coming in droves and there's been no let-up by the Government. They reckon our population will hit 70 million in the not-too-distant future and I'm waiting for the bigoted Brexiteers to realise they've been conned and hopefully, in the North East, that moment of realisation will come shortly after Nissan has moved elsewhere and they're all out of work. "But how did you vote in the referendum, Mr Unemployed and On Benefits? Oh, you voted Brexit did you? Well, you only have yourself to blame!"
The weather is looking very poorly and I'm expecting some abort texts this weekend. There's rain setting in and that means no riding. Why I bothered fixing the puncture I'll never know. I hope we do get out, but normally if there's rain it's in the morning and that's when we go cycling.
Three years ago.
Wednesday, 30 October 2019
In Brussels...for one night and a day
I travelled on the 1258 Eurostar - a recently refurbished E300, said the guard over the intercom - and all was well. Fortunately, I had lunch at the Station Pantry having cleared security, so there was no need to trampse up and down the train with hot tea and extortionate snacks. Instead I just sat there playing with my iphone. We stopped at Ebbsfleet around 10 minutes after leaving St. Pancras and then I think Calais Frethun followed by Lille and then Brussels Midi. I took a taxi through the congested streets of the city and now I sit in the NH Hotel Brussels Grand Place Arenberg, which would have taken me around half an hour to walk. To be honest, I don't have my trainers otherwise I probably would have hoofed it over here. I'm only in town for one night and then I'm heading home so there's no room for walking shoes.
In fact, talking of walking, I need to really get my act together - along with my colleague Paul in the office - and start up our round-the-town treks. We've given in a little bit to the caff and it's not the way to go.
Anyway, back to Brussels. I'm sitting here at the desk of room 610, a fairly pleasant room with two single beds, a decent-looking bathroom and a minibar stacked with various things, including a tiny Toblerone, which I've eaten. I know, I shouldn't have stayed well clear, and let's face it, I'm not a great fan of the triangular chocolate, but I figured that I was in Belgium so I might as well eat one. Furthermore, there's no restaurant here in the hotel so I'll have to go out later in search of somewhere to eat dinner. There's also no iron or ironing board so I've had to hang a shirt on one of the hangers provided and hope it loses the creases developed while stuffed in my tiny one-night-away suitcase, which is little more than a glorified laptop case. Still, it does the trick. What's the point of a huge piece of luggage for one change of clothes? None at all.
The room is rather cosy and it's got a lot to do with the lighting, which is pleasantly dim and perfect for this time of year. Although the room is fairly modern in terms of furnishings, a smouldering log or coal fire would add to the ambience. There's a flat-screen television on the wall opposite the bed and an office block across the street and because they're still working here in Brussels, I've had to draw the curtains as I don't want nosey office working spying on me.
I'm going to take a wander around, although I know roughly where I am as I've been to Brussels many times before. I'm close to the Grand Place, that's for sure, I mean the hotel has the words Grand Place in its name so it can't be far, but where to eat? There's a great Indian restaurant around here somewhere, called the Spicy Grill, I've written about it before, or rather I've raved about it before and now I might have to seek it out (and risk bad breath in the morning). Which reminds me, I need toothpaste. I always need something. If it's not toothpaste, it's a razor or shaving foam, there's always something missing and it's very annoying as I don't have time to faff around on this trip, it's a whistle-stop visit, one night, a meeting and then home again. I might have a couple of hours tomorrow to do a bit of mooching around, but I don't have the footwear for any serious walking.
When I left the hotel in search of the Grand Place, it was dark. A lot of shops were still open but mostly only those selling fridge magnets, bobble hats and scarves, plus one or two waffle houses with, it has to be said, some pretty imaginative waffles on display. Unfortunately, I'm not a big fan so I passed them by, although I did stop off at the Hard Rock to buy a fridge magnet, adding to my collection of two from Tokyo and Pittsburgh. I wandered into a Swatch retailer and saw the perfect watch for yours truly. It had a blue dial and a brown leather strap and I want it so badly. Don't get me wrong, it's not expensive, not like that Rolex I used to own but was forced to sell to pay off a debt. In fairness, I never wore it and it gained time so it was always, in my opinion, a bit pointless. But that doesn't mean I don't want a decent watch to wear. I looked at it for a long time, prompting the saleswoman to try her luck, but I wasn't buying, not right then at any rate, although buying it in Brussels would give it a back story that it wouldn't possess if I purchased it online. "I bought this in a little shop off the Grand Place in Brussels, you know!" I might say if asked.
I needed to find somewhere to stop and eat dinner and chose Bocconi, a fantastic Italian restaurant where I have been a customer on two previous occasions. It's a very, very nice restaurant, it never ever lets me down and it's worth every penny. I skipped dessert and I don't drink so the bill was a modest 57 Euros and now I'm back in the hotel and will probably go to bed with my book by Laurie Lee. Yes, I'm still reading it, mainly because I don't tend to get a lot of time to sit and read and by the time I get home most nights I'm too tired and there's always something good on the box. Not tonight. Or perhaps there will be something good on, who knows? I'll check it out.
A general election looms back home in the UK and I find myself wondering about all the political parties and how I don't really feel comfortable voting for any of them. Boris Johnson? Well, no, he's a buffoon and a liar and a pompous git and a Tory and they've messed the country up enough and certainly need some time out of power. Jeremy Corbyn? I'd like to vote him, but can I really be so stupid? The bastard wants to tax my back garden, for heaven's sake, and he's keen on letting all and sundry into the country when there's already too many people. Then there's Jo Swinson. She's more like a primary school teacher than the leader of a political party and no, I can't vote for her either. I think the problem is that none of our political leaders have any gravitas, they're not what I would call 'proper politicians' and, therefore, there's nobody worth voting for. I need to sit down and think long and hard about what I want before 12 December, the day of the proposed election, two days after my birthday.
Subterranean Homesick Blues
It's around 0300hrs on the morning of Halloween, when I wake up in the pitch dark and look around. Nothing much is happening, there's the occasional sounds of people talking as my room is right opposite the elevators so when people get back late from some party or other they stand around talking before heading to their rooms. I'm not saying I was woken up by the noise, I just woke up and tried to get back to sleep. But then, for some reason, I started thinking about Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues and found it on Spotify, I simply had to play it, even through the tinny little speaker on my iphone.
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| Room 610 NH Hotels Brussels Grand Place |
Anyway, back to Brussels. I'm sitting here at the desk of room 610, a fairly pleasant room with two single beds, a decent-looking bathroom and a minibar stacked with various things, including a tiny Toblerone, which I've eaten. I know, I shouldn't have stayed well clear, and let's face it, I'm not a great fan of the triangular chocolate, but I figured that I was in Belgium so I might as well eat one. Furthermore, there's no restaurant here in the hotel so I'll have to go out later in search of somewhere to eat dinner. There's also no iron or ironing board so I've had to hang a shirt on one of the hangers provided and hope it loses the creases developed while stuffed in my tiny one-night-away suitcase, which is little more than a glorified laptop case. Still, it does the trick. What's the point of a huge piece of luggage for one change of clothes? None at all.
The room is rather cosy and it's got a lot to do with the lighting, which is pleasantly dim and perfect for this time of year. Although the room is fairly modern in terms of furnishings, a smouldering log or coal fire would add to the ambience. There's a flat-screen television on the wall opposite the bed and an office block across the street and because they're still working here in Brussels, I've had to draw the curtains as I don't want nosey office working spying on me.
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| About to leave St. Pancras Intl... |
When I left the hotel in search of the Grand Place, it was dark. A lot of shops were still open but mostly only those selling fridge magnets, bobble hats and scarves, plus one or two waffle houses with, it has to be said, some pretty imaginative waffles on display. Unfortunately, I'm not a big fan so I passed them by, although I did stop off at the Hard Rock to buy a fridge magnet, adding to my collection of two from Tokyo and Pittsburgh. I wandered into a Swatch retailer and saw the perfect watch for yours truly. It had a blue dial and a brown leather strap and I want it so badly. Don't get me wrong, it's not expensive, not like that Rolex I used to own but was forced to sell to pay off a debt. In fairness, I never wore it and it gained time so it was always, in my opinion, a bit pointless. But that doesn't mean I don't want a decent watch to wear. I looked at it for a long time, prompting the saleswoman to try her luck, but I wasn't buying, not right then at any rate, although buying it in Brussels would give it a back story that it wouldn't possess if I purchased it online. "I bought this in a little shop off the Grand Place in Brussels, you know!" I might say if asked.
I needed to find somewhere to stop and eat dinner and chose Bocconi, a fantastic Italian restaurant where I have been a customer on two previous occasions. It's a very, very nice restaurant, it never ever lets me down and it's worth every penny. I skipped dessert and I don't drink so the bill was a modest 57 Euros and now I'm back in the hotel and will probably go to bed with my book by Laurie Lee. Yes, I'm still reading it, mainly because I don't tend to get a lot of time to sit and read and by the time I get home most nights I'm too tired and there's always something good on the box. Not tonight. Or perhaps there will be something good on, who knows? I'll check it out.
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| Awaiting dinner in Bocconi, Brussels... |
Subterranean Homesick Blues
It's around 0300hrs on the morning of Halloween, when I wake up in the pitch dark and look around. Nothing much is happening, there's the occasional sounds of people talking as my room is right opposite the elevators so when people get back late from some party or other they stand around talking before heading to their rooms. I'm not saying I was woken up by the noise, I just woke up and tried to get back to sleep. But then, for some reason, I started thinking about Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues and found it on Spotify, I simply had to play it, even through the tinny little speaker on my iphone.
Johnny's in the basement
Mixing up the medicine
I'm on the pavement
Thinking 'bout the government
I don't really want to think about the government, not at 0300hrs, but I still listen to the track twice, it's that good, and then I try to sleep, but it's impossible. I got out of bed around five minutes ago and it's now 0511hrs, a great time to sit around writing something - anything for that matter. It's a long way to breakfast, that's all I can say. I'm looking forward to breakfast, there's nothing better than a hotel breakfast and that's for sure, although the restaurant is a bit of goldfish bowl down on the ground floor with windows looking out on the street. Is it worth going back to bed, resetting the alarm to 0630hrs and at least getting around an hour's sleep? Probably not. I can sleep on the Eurostar home.
Did I mention that I don't have toothpaste or a razor? I think I did. Oddly, I have a toothbrush and shaving foam so perhaps I should clean my teeth with soap and shave with my toothbrush, although somehow I don't think it'll work. Did I also mention that my room has two single beds pushed together? I might have done. Anyway, I fell between the two while watching the news. They must be on casters and as I was lying across both of them, trying to make myself comfortable, the beds simply went their own way and I ended up between them. Luckily, there was nobody around to witness the spectacle. In fact, talking of spectacle, room 610, and I'm sure other rooms in this hotel, has a toilet observation window, albeit frosted. This is very annoying because normally when I stay in a hotel I leave the light in the bathroom on and the door closed except for a small slit of light, but with an observation window this practice is impossible as the light floods through the glass and on to the bed. That's why I woke up in the dark.
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| View from a taxi window in Brussels... |
Sunday, 27 October 2019
To Woodmansterne Green to meet Bon...
I'd made the tea, I was dressed and ready to head outside and ride to the green to meet Andy when I decided to check the iphone. Andy had aborted and I nearly did too. Having woken up at 0500hrs thinking it was an hour later, I could have simply gone back to bed and it was tempting, but no, I texted Bon to see if he wanted to meet on Woodmansterne Green. He did, so off I went to meet him.
Having not been on a ride for a fortnight, I was out of condition and found the ride a little sluggish, especially on the road leading to Woodmansterne Green. Bon met me half way and we both headed towards the green where I produced the tea. The weather was wonderful and we spent a long time drinking tea, wandering about, chatting about stuff and enjoying the warmth of a late October Sunday morning.
The ride from the green to the Croydon Road was freezing. My face started to ache, that's how cold it was, and I was glad when I made the right turn and headed, largely off-road, towards Foxley Lane. I decided to ride up the steep side of West Hill, which was fairly painless and when I reached home I went straight out again, but in the car, not on the bike. The bike, incidentally, needs a drop of oil. The car took me to mum's and all the way there I listened to Automatic For the People by REM.
It was good to see mum and eat some cake, but soon it was time to head home via the car wash. On the drive home I listened to Iggy Pop. "Here comes my Chinese rug...".
It was a lazy day, which was much needed.
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| Our bikes on Woodmansterne Green, Sunday morning |
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| Bon and yours truly... |
The ride from the green to the Croydon Road was freezing. My face started to ache, that's how cold it was, and I was glad when I made the right turn and headed, largely off-road, towards Foxley Lane. I decided to ride up the steep side of West Hill, which was fairly painless and when I reached home I went straight out again, but in the car, not on the bike. The bike, incidentally, needs a drop of oil. The car took me to mum's and all the way there I listened to Automatic For the People by REM.
It was good to see mum and eat some cake, but soon it was time to head home via the car wash. On the drive home I listened to Iggy Pop. "Here comes my Chinese rug...".
It was a lazy day, which was much needed.
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