I have a haircut...and ride 105 miles!

The problem with lockdown (or one of them) has been living with long hair. I haven't had long hair for many years. And let's face it, long hair doesn't suit me. Back in the day, when I was around 19 years old, my hair was shoulder length and a mess. There are people who can have long hair and look good with it. Not me, but then there are people who look good whatever the length of their hair or the state of their clothes. Again, not me. But then I'm one of those people who look just as bad with short hair. My mum loves it when my hair is long, but nobody else does, but then I go for a hair cut and people moan that I look like a criminal. I suppose the answer is not to have a crop, a number three no less, but I like having a crop because it kind of frees me up, it means my hair dries quicker after a shower, it means I don't need a brush or a comb and it makes me feel great. Having a half way house haircut is no good, although you can bet that my critics would love that, a halfway house, a compromise, and if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a compromise. So I went to the Syrian barber in the high street, he flamed my ears, gave my hair a wash, put some sweet-smelling cologne on my hair and, of course, gave me the much-needed crop. I was amazed to see so much grey hair, that was a little depressing, but I left it on the floor and walked out £15 the poorer but feeling on top of the world.

The haircut was needed, not just because I looked a mess, like the Toecutter from Mad Max (the first movie of the franchise). I was in a fairly dark place thanks to lockdown. Working all day in the conservatory, possibly getting out on the bike in the afternoon, but then returning home, having dinner and watching back-to-back indie movies on Prime, almost as a form of escapism. I've mentioned the movies before, I know, and I won't go on about them now, but perhaps saying 'almost a form of escapism' is ignoring the fact that it was totally a form of escapism. I needed to get away mentally from the mundanity of everything and I sought refuge in movies and, more recently, Detectorists, a fantastic, light comedy written and directed by the great Mackenzie Crook. There are three series and I've been watching them all from start to finish at least three or four times in succession. I can now watch random episodes and enjoy every minute, I feel like I know the characters personally and the environment in which the story of Andy and Lance, two detectorists, plays out. I can't begin to tell you how much Detectorists means to me, it's only rival for my affections is Mike Carter's One Man and His Bike, a book I often reach for when feeling down as just a random paragraph brings me out of the darkest mood. I don't really have 'dark' moods, I might get a little down, but that's about it. So now I'm thinking of when I find myself on Desert Island Discs and that bit where they offer the castaway his or her own luxury. Well, I'd have Mike Carter's book and a box set of the three series of Detectorists. 

I had a good week on the bike. It started on 9 May with Andy. We met in Westerham and enjoyed croissants and cake with our hot chocolate and tea (I had the latter, Andy the former). That ride added up to 22.97 miles and was followed up on Tuesday 11 May with a ride to Tatsfield, the long way, via Beddlestead Lane, a pleasant ride that found me riding back through Woldingham and then down and up Slines Oak Road. After that I did three Washpond Weebles bringing my total to 81.29 miles by Friday, with one day to go before the end of my cycling week, a vast improvement on last week's 65.64 miles. Today is Saturday 15 May and I had resigned myself to not riding at all, bearing in mind that bad weather has been on the cards and it's raining as I write this; in fact, I'm more than happy with my 81.29 miles and don't really need to go out today. That said, it looks as if it's brightening up and I do so want to put in over 100 miles so I think I will hit the road. 

And so I did hit the road. A couple hours have passed since the full stop before last and I have riden all the way to Westerham, the slow way, and back via Woldingham, a total, this time, of 24.60 miles. I say 'this time' because Strava seems to vary from ride-to-ride, I've done the same ride and it's been 25.05 miles, so God knows what is going on there. It was a wonderful ride, albeit a cloudy one that threatened rain constantly, but nothing came. I even sat on the green at Westerham under an umbrella, outside of the Tudor Rose Tearooms, where I had purchased a large English breakfast tea and a huge chunk of coffee and walnut cake. I sat there with some old people: a woman who had travelled by bus from Beckenham to see her grandchildren for the first time in God knows how long, and an elderly couple with their daughter who had purchased some framed prints of birds. It might not have been their daughter but I figured it was. The man moaned (jokingly) about them creating work for him later and we all had a fairly jolly time of it until it was time to go. I put my empty paper cup and plate in a waste bin, bade farewell to the old lady waiting for her grandchildren (the man, his wife and their daughter had departed a few minutes earlier) and soon I was on the bike riding towards the hill. After a week on the bike it was easy and soon I was approaching Woldingham. It started to rain and it was enough to get me wet (I'm still a little damp as I write this, but don't tell anybody). The rain stopped when I reached the top of Slines Oak Road, which was also comparatively easy thanks to this week's riding.

Here, then, is my riding record for the past few weeks. The date marks the last day of my cycling week, a Saturday and, therefore, the mileage reflects the cycling of the previous six days. My cycling week starts on a Sunday.

20 March 2021 = 72.01 miles

27 March 2021 = 43.39 miles

3 April 2021 = 81.00 miles

10 April 2021 = 22 miles

17 April 2021 = 68.20 miles

24 April 2021 = 83.15 miles

1 May 2021 = 60.18 miles

8 May 2021 = 65.64 miles

15 May 2021 = 105.89 miles

What I am slightly annoyed about is that I am not recording any of my rides with photography. This is because my iphone needs to be replaced and I've been meaning to upgrade myself for weeks now, but simply haven't got round to it. The problem is that my iphone cannot cope with doing anything else other than one job at a time, so when Strava is on, for example, I can't take a photograph. This sorry situation will be rectified very soon.

How many breakfasts?

On Sunday I rode to Westerham and when I got there I bought a large paper mug of tea and an almond croissant from Costa Coffee. I sat on the Green people watching and scoffing and then I got up and rode home. Earlier, if Andy is to be believed, I enjoyed three breakfasts. Not one, three. Now I would rather suggest that I had one big breakfast consisting of a bowl of Alpen with grapes, blueberries and sliced banana, a boiled egg and fingers, bread and marmalade and an orange cut into chunks. Andy thinks that the bowl of Alpen and a cup of tea would be one breakfast (and, indeed, it used to be for me); and that another breakfast would be the boiled egg and fingers. He would also suggest that I could (and should) pass on the bread and marmalade and he would be right. My take on all this is that my food intake has increased. There was a time, not long ago, when I did make do with a cup of tea and a bowl of Alpen and only occasionally having the boiled egg and fingers. There was a time when I gave up marmalade because of the sugar, I stopped, for a very very long time and, as a result, haven't had any fillings for some time. There was a time when I cut back on cakes and stopped eating them, but right now, for whatever reason, they've all decided to come back en masse. Alright, let's talk cake for a little while. I've always been partial to a slice of fruit cake, mainly round at mum's on a Sunday afternoon, but since lockdown that's been impossible. But hold on, I've also been partial to large chunks of coffee and walnut cake, mainly at National Trust cafes on a Sunday afternoon, and if I'm down on the South Coast, well, there's always the Lobster Pot where I might indulge my passion for buttered toasted teacakes. But Andy's right in a sense: I am eating a lot in the mornings before a ride and I suppose it could be argued that I'll burn it all off on the ride, but the fact remains that I'm eating more than I used to; even today I was handed another great passion of mine, a Waitrose cappuccino mousse, something I never knew existed this time last year. Fortunately, I cycle regularly (see last post for table of weekly mileages).

Longford Lake the last time I was there...

Why, you might ask, am I discussing all this? Well, it's simple really. Today, Bank Holiday Monday, 3rd May 2021, I cycled to the lakes, the best part of a 29-mile ride. We rarely visit the lakes together, Andy and I, in fact we normally go there alone. The last time I was there was during the first lockdown and I'm sure Andy's been there alone too; but today we agreed to meet there. I left the house around 0700hrs and I got there around 0810hrs and sat on a bench looking out across the lake. Is it Longford Lake or is it Chipstead Lake or Chevening Lake? I don't know. I think it's Longford Lake. But that's not the point. I reached the lake about 20 minutes before Andy did and sat there watching a man exercising with a personal trainer. There was a mat on the ground where he did various things, including 'the plank' and squat thrusts and there was a large black rope, which he later picked up and did various exhausting exercises. And what about the two bright yellow dumbells? He clasped one in each hand and pretended to box with them, apparently for one whole minute. The female personal trainer was clearly fit, unlike the man who had a protruding gut and was sweating profusely. I even wondered whether he might keel over, but he didn't, which was good. 

When Andy turned up around 0830hrs we both sat watching the spectacle of the man being basically bossed around by a woman in brightly-coloured and tight-fitting leggings. He was certainly getting his money's worth, we both thought, and eventually they both packed up and left, leaving Andy and I chatting about health and fitness; and this was when we got round to discussing my many breakfasts. I might have a try and not eating such a big breakfast, perhaps forgoing the marmalade or alternating between a boiled egg and fingers and the marmalade sandwich. You see, it's all about bread intake and mine has gone through the roof. I used to limit myself to three slices per day, which is roughly what my mammoth breakfasts allow: one slice for the fingers, two slices for the marmalade. But the problem is later in the day when I fancy another marmalade sandwich. I've even been known to have another bowl of Alpen, so things are getting out of hand and need to be reined in. Andy doesn't have a problem with the almond croissant on the green or the slice of coffee and walnut cake on the ride. Why? Because you burn off the calories, that's why.

It was time to head back home and as we made our way to the road a cavalcade rushed past, led by a police motorcyle outrider, followed by a huge, black Range Rover and another car and then more police motorcycles. Up the road is Chevening, which I think is the country retreat of the Foreign Secretary, so I'm guessing that Dominic Raab was on his way to Chevening House (if that's what it's called) for some peace and relaxation. Although it might not have been Raab, it might have been US Secretary of State Anthony Blinken who Raab was meeting yesterday. Perhaps he was being whisked from the airport to Chevening House to meet with Mr Raab. The motorcycle outrider leading the cavalcade was riding very fast for a small and sleepy village and I couldn't help but think: not another American involved in a fatal car crash on UK soil claiming diplomatic immunity. Well, all was fine and by the time we reached the end of the road there was just a solitary police car waiting there. 

Just a brief word about Pilgrim's Lane: it's wonderful on a pleasant day and a joy to ride along. Andy and I stuck together until we made the turn on to Sundridge Lane from Ovenden Road and then Andy decided to put his foot down, so to speak. He is now much fitter than I am, he's lost a load of weight and he rides a racing bike so I bade him farewell and continued on my merry way. Pilgrim's Lane is long and almost completely straight and this meant that I could see Andy's flourescent jacket far away in the distance until he eventually turned a corner and was gone. 

I reached home around 1045hrs and I was pretty tired. A cup of tea did the trick and then I found myself mowing the front and back lawns after which I made some pasta for myself as I was the only one in the house; but then, ironically considering what I was discussing earlier, I ended up having two lunches. A large tray of macaroni pie that I had made yesterday was being heated up and I wasn't going to miss out. I ate quite a lot if the truth be told and now, at 1914hrs I'm not in the slightest bit hungry, so that's a result. Today, then, if Andy's theory is right, I had something like three breakfasts and two lunches, but then I did ride the best part of 29 miles this morning and yesterday I rode 25 miles so I'm not doing too badly.

Last week was good, this week not so good...

Saturday morning was fantastic. Hardly a cloud in the sky, the sun was shining and it was warm as I headed out en route to Westerham to complete a good week of riding for yours truly. It was gone 1000hrs and I was running a little late, but the day was lazy enough to warrant a late start and I was looking forward to finishing the week. It was easily going to be around 80 miles, I thought, as I added up the week's mileage in my head. I decided that I'd ride 'the slow way' to Westerham, which means via Beddlestead Lane, and then the plan was to come back via Woldingham so I was hoping for a ride of over 23 miles and I wasn't to be disappointed. In the end it was 25.05 miles, perfect, bringing my total to over 83 miles for the week, not bad going.

Generally speaking my weekly mileage has varied, here's a look at the past six weeks:

20 March 2021 = 72.01 miles.

27 March 2021 = 43.39 miles.

3 April 2021 = 81.00 miles.

10 April 2021 = 22 miles.

17 April 2021 = 68.20 miles.

24 April 2021 = 83.15 miles.

1 May 2021 = 60.18 mles

I'm trying to keep every week above 70 miles so there's a few dud weeks, but I'm pretty happy with what I've achieved.

When I reached Westerham I went into Costa Coffee and ordered a large tea and an almond croissant and then sat on the green people watching. With the sun shining the landlord of the Grasshopper was getting the chairs and tables ready for a busy day as I contemplated nothing in particular apart from the ride home, which I never look forward to because it's all uphill.

On Sunday the weather changed. It was colder. There was a nasty cool breeze and I wished upon wish that I hadn't bothered so much about my appearance. I was going to hit the road in my thick jumper and rust-coloured, ripped jacket but my excessively long hair prompted me to wear something a little neater and the end result was that I nearly froze, it was that cold. I met Andy, who was there before me this week (normally I leave early and get there around 0845hrs, but I was running late, not because I got up late but because I had a late night and felt terribly weary as a result. I felt as if I was riding at a snail's pace and, as I said to Andy later, had it meant an 0700hrs start I probably would have aborted. I'm glad it wasn't and that I didn't (abort). We sat surrounded by the rubbish left by revellers on Saturday night and soon it was time to head home. I struggled for a while but as we approached the Botley Hill roundabout I seemed to revive. I was going to ride down the 269 but decided instead to ride through Woldingham, giving me a respectable 23 miles on Strava instead of the rather pathetic 21.93 miles that would have been my total had I riden the main road. And who wants to ride the 269? Not me. Something that really annoys me is the abuse cyclists get from motorists, normally builders in vans wearing paint-spattered tracksuit bottoms and twatty Timberland boots. "Use the fucking cycle lane!" they shout as they drive by too closely. "Fuck off you overweight, ignorant cunts," I wish I had said, but they wouldn't have heard me anyway so I mumble something under my breath and continue riding. Last week I managed three Washpond Weebles and two Westerhams and it was on the former that I received the abuse. It's got a lot to do with riding around 5pm, the rush hour, when cunty builders and other van drivers who support Boris Johnson and Brexit are rushing home to watch the One Show or Pointless or something rubbish, accompanied by a can of Stella and something unhealthy to eat. They think that because they stand up all day drinking PG Tips and taking a dump in a Portaloo in somebody's front garden that they don't need any exercise. Anyway, enough said. It was a great week of riding and now I've got to do it all again. I write this on Tuesday 27 April morning. Earlier, when I mentioned how last week I managed three Washpond Weebles, that was the week that ended (for the purpose of my cycling) on Saturday 24 April. The sun is shining but it might be cold out, who knows? It was cold, but not bad enough to stop me riding on Wednesday 28th April, yesterday, and yes, I did a Washpond Weeble. To be able to equal last week's mileage I've got to ride another two Weebles and then ride to Westerham on Saturday, let's see. Andy texted to say he wouldn't be riding on Sunday, so it looks like I'll be riding alone.

So, it's Thursday 29 April and once again the sun is shining, but it might be cold. The weather isn't as good as last year at this time but I must get out there later today.

And now it's May Day, the 1st May, the sun is shining and I will get out there, shortly. Not a brilliant week on the cycling front and today is the last day of my cycling week. In fact, my weekly total is 60.18 miles. 

Yet more ramblings...

There used to be so much to discuss. People had things to say. But these days, whenever I call somebody – normally mum, but it could be anybody – the answer to the question 'what have you been doing?' is often met with a nervous laugh followed by the words, 'not much really'. When you're not at the office (as most people haven't been for just over a year) and you're stuck at home, the most you can say is that you have taken a walk around the block or gone shopping. Nobody has travelled anywhere, it's not allowed. Holidays have yet to really kick off and it looks as if we'll all be so-called 'staycations' this year, nice for some, but others will be yearning for their annual foreign holiday.

Bigger breakfasts are the new thing

On Saturday morning, sitting as I was on a table on the green at Westerham, talking to a fellow cyclist who, it turns out, had only riden his bike from Limpsfield, so I'm guessing he rode along the A25, we chatted along the lines of the above: that we'd both been working from home, that we hadn't really done a great deal and so on. As always I mentioned cycling and how it has kept me sane over the past year and then we chatted briefly about haircuts. I explained that I was wearing a bright orange beanie hat because my hair was now so long it was looking, well, unkempt and horrible. I resemble The Toecutter from the very first Mad Max movie, but didn't mention this incase my new temporary companion had no idea of what I was talking about.

Now that non-essential shops are allowed to open there's more of a buzz down on Westerham Green. In fact there's a fair amount of stuff going on; first there's the regular gaggle of bearded old men on their Harleys, chatting away outside Costa Coffee, then there's the cyclists, sitting on the green in their Lycra chatting about nothing in particular and sipping their cappuccinos, and let's not forget those working in the pub (in this case the Grasshopper) who are busy setting up tables for the day. It's all very pleasant, the sun is out and it's perfect for sitting outside with a beer. Occasionally a Harley might roar past or a quad bike or some kind of vintage car and it's nice to sit and watch it all happen. 

Westerham has become my default ride. It's a good distance (roughly 22 miles) and it's not too bad. I've taken to riding along Pilgrims Lane and then turning right at the VeloBarn and heading into town. For some reason I prefer it, don't ask me why. I pass the VeloBarn with no intention of stopping mainly because you have to engage with the track and trace system and that's the last thing I want to do. Why? Because sod's law will dictate that if I've signed up for it there will be a phone call and I'll be required to self-isolate for a fortnight. At Costa in Westerham, as long as you're not using their chairs you don't need to register, which is great.

This past week I've managed to ride something like 68 miles, which is a darn sight better than my paltry 22 miles last week. Sometimes after a day at work, the last thing I want to do is jump on the bike and ride to Westerham. Especially, as it turns out, on a Monday. I'm tired by the end of my working day and I'd much rather do something a little less energetic, like drive to IKEA or Boots and then come back home again and watch television or read. I need to get my act together on reading. Over the past week I haven't looked at a book, which isn't good, so hopefully tonight (tonight being Monday night) I'll get back in the swing of things. Movies are my thing at the moment. Last night I watched an amazing movie entitled Blue Ruin on Netflix and who knows what's in store for me tonight? For some reason I've got a little bored of Prime. I've been writing a story of my own but have reached a point where I can't decide what I want to happen, although one idea has stuck with me over the past 12 hours and I'll consider it in a little more depth when I'm next on one of my walks around the block.

My cycling week started yesterday (Sunday) with another ride to Westerham. Andy texted me to ask if I was getting bored with riding to Westerham and to be honest, I'm not. I think what I probably meant was I didn't want to revert to Tatsfield village, which is a shorter distance, as my thing now is to get the miles under my belt, so rather than ride, say 10 miles or 15 miles, if I get 22 miles under my belt it means less 'rides' per week to achieve my level of acceptability, in mileage terms, which is 60 miles at the low end and between 80 and 90 miles at the top end of the scale. I suppose what I'm saying is I'd rather cycle to Westerham three times a week than cycle 10 miles every day of the week. Perhaps it's a form of laziness? But then the problem with Westerham is that sometimes, like today, the very thought of riding all that way and back gives me a nagging headache. Perhaps not a headache, but it certainly brings on a level of fatigue that will stop me doing anything. I've already decided not to ride today and instead go to IKEA, which I still haven't done as we're waiting for people to turn up and do things in the house, like measure up a room for carpets. Once they've been then we'll probably jump in the car and head for the Swedish flat pack furniture showroom. We're not buying anything, just taking something back.

I should really be writing this in my back garden, but I reckon it's colder than it looks out there and I'd have to put on a woolly jumper in order to remain comfortable.

Time flying past is something that bothers me...

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com

Time flying past is something that bothers me. Google Photos annoys me in this respect as they keep coming up with summaries of my life, like what I was doing in 2014, which I still think of as 'not that long ago' but it's seven years ago and when I see the images I realise that I've aged and so have those photographed with me, all a little frightening one way of the other.

By not going riding today I am in a sense making a rod for my own back. Five miles done today are five miles I wouldn't have to do tomorrow, but now I guess you could say I'm down five, meaning that, to catch up, I'll have to ride 10 miles tomorrow. And this is how fretful life becomes. I used to be like this with swimming and on some occasions would be faced with having to swim a mile in order to make up for swims I postponed. In the end I'd have to admit to myself that I slacked badly and that was that. 

Something else that I might have touched on before is that old habits are creeping back, like eating too much bread. Pre-lockdown I limited myself to three slices a day but now it's much more. Today, for example, I had three slices of bread for breakfast: one with my boiled egg and two for bread and marmalade. Then I had a cheese sandwich for lunch, bringing the total to six slices and, as I write this, I've just made myself some more bread and marmalade, so that's eight slices. Marmalade is also back on the agenda and has to stop. I've been indulging myself with 'big breakfasts' – a bowl of Alpen with fresh fruit, an orange cut into manageable chunks, two slices of bread and marmalade, a boiled egg with fingers and, of course, a cup of tea. Pre-lockdown it was little more than a bowl of cereal or porridge and a cup of tea. This has to stop, but not until that jar of marmalade is finished as there's nothing better than stem ginger marmalade from Waitrose. It's another reason why cycling is important and must be kept up.

A few thoughts on the past week...

I've slowed down on writing for this blog and put it down to writing 'other stuff'. With lockdown it's fair to say that nothing much has happened. I've been working from home for most of the day, I throw in a walk at lunch time and then after work, which is around 1630hrs, I might go for a ride on the bike. The week before last I managed 81 miles. This past week just 22 miles, but that was deliberate. For some reason I was tired and thought I'd give it a miss, which I did. I should have gone out on Saturday, to Westerham, but instead I slobbed around and didn't ride again until Sunday when I met Andy in the Northern Kent market town. Our habits are changing. For a start, we only meet once a week, on a Sunday, but we also meet at our destination rather than at Warlingham Green and now there's a new habit: not bringing tea along on the ride. For the past God knows how long I've been humping a huge Stanley flask of hot water all the way to wherever we're going, but over the past few weeks that flask is now staying in the house. Instead, a large English breakfast tea and an almond croissant and a cappuccino and almond croissant for Andy.

But nothing else has changed. Our conversations are still in good shape. In the past fortnight we've discussed Harley Davidson motorcycles, mainly because a whole bunch of them turn up and park outside the Costa. Andy doesn't like them. I do like them. Andy says they're old man's bikes. They are. Harley riders invariably have grey hair and beards or no hair and beards and they all wear the uniform, trying to look like hard men and that's where the problem arises. They're not in America and that, of course, is the issue. You have to be in America to ride a Harley in my opinion. Over here they look out of place. Andy's other gripe is that technologically they're pretty much old hat and they're heavy and, he says, the engine and gear box are separate. Andy says they've missed a trick and that their demographic is old blokes, they're not appealing to younger riders. Andy says he'd get a Royal Enfield if he did buy a bike again. Me? I like the Harley, I'm afraid. I'd probably spend more time polishing it than riding it, but I'd have an 883 Hugger with buckhorn bars. I like 'the traditional Harley rumble' and that's really it: I want to make a lot of noise on a highly polished motorcycle.

Not quite finished, I still had a lot of raking to do and the edges

Last Sunday we discussed something a little more boring: social media, well, Linkedin specifically and who knows what we'll be discussing this coming Sunday, which is still a way off (I'm writing this on Tuesday 13 April). Yesterday I went back to the office for the day, working from 0800hrs to 1700hrs with a half hour lunch break. Today I'm back home again and will be for the next fortnight and then I return to the office for a day and things will go on like that until the lockdown eases completely. It was good to be back in the office and I managed to get a fair bit of work done, which was good and when I left I felt good, which was something.

I'm still watching movies on Prime every night, sometimes two movies a night. It's an escapism thing. I'm trying to escape the monotony of everything, which is hard. I'm largely watching indie movies, American indie movies, but I've also watched a few mainstream movies too, like The Intern with Robert De Niro and Anne Hathaway and Bucket List with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. It all amounts to the same thing: escapism. I sit there with my camomile tea and then hit the sack some time between 2300hrs and 2330hrs.

Our blossom tree is in bloom...

Weatherwise, things are improving. We're now operating on British Summer Time, there are blossoms on the trees and the weather is warming up, although, having said that, as I drove to work yesterday (12 April 2021) there were blizzard conditions. It snowed hard for most of the morning and stopped by lunch time. On Sunday (11 April) I managed to mow my rear lawn and managed to get it all done before the snow hit, which was good going. It's trimmed and so are 'the edges' and it's looking good. Mowing the lawn will be a major part of my life now until October. I don't mind doing it if the weather's pleasant, but we'll need a new mower one of these days.

And hopefully cycling will also start to pick up a little. The bike is fine and I've been enjoying the rides both with Andy on Sundays and alone midweek. The VeloBarn has reopened but apparently you have to log on with the test and trace app and all that mularkey so I'm avoiding it and sticking with Costa or the Tudor Rose in Westerham, the latter open for takeaways on a Saturday morning.

Not much else to report at the moment.

Land of Confusion - post jab ramblings...

I had my jab today. I should have had it last week, but after waking up on the day of my initial appointment to news that there were problems with the Astra Zeneca vaccine I simply didn't bother. But then, as the week progressed and my general powerlessness led to me rebooking it, I started to feel a little aggrieved about life in general, or certainly life in general at this present time. The world, it seems, is full of contradictions. Why is it, for example, that the last thing on the agenda of the World Health Organisation is the world's health? They're in the pockets of the Chinese, arguably the worst nation in the world. Or perhaps we ought to make that not the people of China but the awful regime that is governing them. Look at what they're doing: persecuting the Uyghers, clamping down on the freedoms of the good people of Hong Kong, executing thousands of their own people every year, probably on dubious evidence and let's not forget COVID-19. And have you noticed how, if somebody phones into to a radio channel, like LBC, they're given short shrift if they have the audacity to ask whether or not anybody is going to take China to task over the virus? Why is it that anybody showing any anti-China feelings are immediately shut down? I worry. I worry that this whole fiasco, this whole 'bringing the world to its knees', could happen again unless somebody talks tough to the Chinese, and I get the feeling that nobody will do anything. I've even heard that idiot Boris Johnson say stuff like, "When this happens again" or words to that effect and it annoys me how people, the media, whoever, try to normalise things that shouldn't be normalised. They tried it with acid attacks a few years ago, offering advice on 'what to do if' somebody attacks you with some acid. No! The plan should be to stop acid attacks, not accept them as par for the course.

20-mile ride to Westerham yesterday

So, thanks to the Chinese - unless somebody knows any different - I trotted off to a shopping centre in Sutton to have my jab and it was all done well and I have no complaints, not with the NHS, they're brilliant, and it's a shame they're under so much pressure on the front line of the whole thing. The truth of the matter is that I haven't had a 'jab' since I was 14 and that was my BCG at school. I remember that, standing in line with Robert Silcox and feeling a little apprehensive about the needle. In truth, I was a baby, but not today, those days are long gone. It's amazing how people change. I'm not so much frightened of jabs these days, but more concerned about after effects and having to subject my body to something that I could have avoided if the Chinese had been a little more picky about what they're putting in they're mouths. 

The jab was fine and now I'm home, it's just gone 7pm and I'm listening to Sultans of Swing by Dire Straits. Amazing when you consider that I was listening to it many, many years ago, something like 1978, when it was first released... and it's still good.

So, anyway, the world being full of contradictions. What about when the personnel department switched to being 'human resources'. When it was 'personnel' you knew that the personnel manager was on your side, but when it switched to 'human resources' it quickly switched and it didn't take employees long to realise that human resources were not on their side, they were firmly behind 'the man', the company, the bastards that were trying to fire them. Never trust 'human resources', never think that they're on your side, they only have the company's best interests at heart, not yours!

Another contradiction is 'communications managers'. Don't for one minute think they're there to communicate to the masses through the media; they're there to communicate THEIR messages to the media, and that's it, they're the sentries on the gate for many a frustrated journalist trying to interest them in an article or a quote or a speaking slot at a conference.

The best way to think these days is in reverse. Whatever you're told, think the opposite and you'll be nearer the truth of the matter. Think of the worst possible thing that might happen and that'll be it: Brexit, Trump in the White House, Boris Johnson in Number 10, another virus from the Chinese. Who knows what's going on and how 'in cahoots' they all are; perhaps the conspiracy theorists are right, or half right, perhaps the whole virus thing is an exercise in reducing the global population, perhaps they're all in it together, sitting around a huge oak table agreeing that the Chinese would have to be the fall guys. "You okay with that, Xi?" Who knows? "Oh shucks, guys, me, the bad guy? Not again, surely."

And then, of course, there's the big distraction: Meghan Markle. Well, it turns out she has been 'economical with the truth' saying she got married privately before the big public shindig, when the reality was the complete opposite and they've been forced to admit they were telling an untruth. "Can we believe anything they say?" asks today's Daily Mail. No, I don't think so. Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'bad actors', doesn't it? But enough of poor actors - alright, let's stick with bad, or even 'piss poor' - we can do without having to listen to what they have to say. I'm listening to The Passenger by Iggy Pop and you could say I'm 'multi-tasking' as I'm thinking about what to listen to next and I'm writing what you're reading. I'm finding myself driven towards what I would call euphoric songs, like U2's Where the Streets have No Name, Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen and so forth. Perhaps I'm trying to ward off any possible after effects of the jab with triumphalism, the amphetamine rush of crashingly good music. I remember being in Philadelphia recently when they were organising the city marathon and there was a live band performing Born to Run, loud and in the street, it was fantastic! One of those moments that bring a tear to the eye.

We're on the second lockdown now and there's rumour of a third wave and yet nobody is talking about China. Nobody. And if you mention them in a bad light, well, the likes of Nick Ferrari on LBC will be on your case, shutting you up, but I've already talked about this. Perhaps I'm coming to the end of this rant. Yesterday I did a 20-mile bike ride into Westerham as the sun was setting in the west. I figured I'd better get some miles under my belt in case I get laid up with the after effects of the jab. I've done something like 44 miles in total this week and if I can get out on Saturday then I might manage something like 64 miles, who knows? Whatever. Now there's a word people use a lot these days and I can understand why. Whatever! Who cares! Do as you please, I don't give a monkey's. We're all powerless in the greater scheme of things so just get on with your life, doing what makes you happy and don't listen to the arseholes, there are plenty of them around. They're everywhere! A lot of them are in power, one of them runs the UK, another one used to run the USA and let's not get started on those in charge of China. I'd like to live in Iceland or Finland and failing that I'd like to live in New Zealand where at least you know the PM has the interests of her people at heart. I don't know, these days I seem to be constantly annoyed about something or someone. Lockdown must be getting to me in some way or other even though I seem to be able to handle it. The first lockdown saw me riding 100 miles per week, the second one, well, the colder weather meant less mileage, but now that things are moving a little and the blossoms are on the trees I'm starting to up the mileage again. This week, the last three rides I did were all to Westerham, that's three 22-mile rides. I went on Saturday, Sunday and yesterday (Tuesday) and tonight I'm going to relax in the only way I know how at the moment: watching movies on Prime. Some are good, some are bad, but it's escapism and that's what I need more than anything else right now. I could do with the sea too. But we're not allowed to drive out of our local area, not that I've heeded that law! On the bike I'm regularly riding 20 miles into the sticks, alone, to drink cappuccino on a village green and munch on a Bakewell tart. At weekends I often visit National Trust properties where a walk is often followed by coffee & walnut cake. Land of Confusion is on now, Genesis. I love the middle eight on this track - "I remember long ago, when the sun was shining" - seems to sum it up nicely.

Dinner's nearly ready, pesto with pasta, just what the doctor ordered, and soon the music will have to stop, which will be a shame. Hold on, though, Chuck Berry's just started, No Particular Place to Go, perfect. Another apt lyric, "No particular place to go...".

I'm slowly going mad...

I feel I have to say that I agree wholeheartedly with Piers Morgan on the issue of Harry and Meghan and their interview with Oprah. I can't believe that anybody seriously believes that they are in any way hard done by! I also can't believe that anybody who has been handed such wealth on a plate could be in any way suicidal or, indeed, mentally ill. I've just finished reading a book by Chris Atkins entitled A Bit of a Stretch, which describes his time inside HMP Wandsworth. In the book, Atkins writes that a lot of the people behind bars in the UK are mentally ill and I can believe that, but I can't believe the hard luck story of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex.

A sign seen in Grove Park, Carshalton...

What I find particularly ungratifying about their story is that here we all are in lockdown, many people are holed up in tiny apartments, many more have died or are dying of this awful virus and yet they (Harry and Meghan) are moaning about their lot. How can they sit there in their luxury mansion in the California sunshine, not having to worry about money in any shape or form and moan about their lot?

Their criticism of the British press is not only wrong, but unfounded. Nobody seems to remember that the main reason behind media attacks on the couple are based not on racism, but on the hypocrisy of the Royal couple: flying to climate change meetings in a private jet, knowingly wearing gifts from a murderous dictator who not only ordered the killing of a prominent Washington Post journalist, it is alleged, but is also responsible for atrocities in the Yemen.

Starting every morning like this...

We must also look at reports on the way Meghan Markle has allegedly treated her own family. She has, it is claimed by royal observers, alienated herself from her father and siblings and now, of course, she's doing the same for Harry and his family. And yet, there are people who don't see it. They have blind faith in the couple and won't have anything said against them. For heaven's sake, wake up!!! The argument is divided along racial lines because Meghan is identifying as 'a woman of colour', which immediately brings in to play 'the racist card'. You can't really say "Is it because I'm white" to answer what you might regard as a racially-motivated injustice, but to say, as Ali G used to in jest, 'is it coz I's black?" provides bags of scope to turn an argument on its head and brand those against you as racist. 

I've never believed in political correctness or 'wokeness' and I can't stand it when I hear people say, "You can't say that." Invariably, you can express your opinions on anything you want because we live in a free country (here in the UK) and we shouldn't be frightened by the 'woke' brigade. 

The UK is not a racist country. Yes, there are racist incidents, of course they are, just look at the so-called 'beautiful game', but you get racist situations in every country. If the UK is so racist why is it that people from African nations, and elsewhere in the world, are jumping into flimsy dinghies, risking their lives and making their way across the often choppy seas of the English Channel 'for a better life'?

The daffodils are out!!!

I wouldn't say that I was a royalist. I'm not one of those people who waves flags and buys commemorative mugs, I didn't even watch the Oprah interview on Monday night (I went to bed and listened to Radio 3). But that said, I don't think the Royal Family is racist. I agree with Meghan's old man on the issue of Archie's skin colour, when he suggested on television last week that an alleged remark made by an unnamed member of the Royal Family was probably just a dumb question.

For me, the biggest disappointment is that people are taking the Duke and Duchess too seriously, they're believing them because the racist card and, dare I say it, the mental health card, have been played to great effect, and now we have countless people from various charities bolstering their damaging claims about the Royal Family around the world. I'm looking forward to the moment when we all forget about them and they drift off into the obscurity they deserve.

Everything is grating with me, pissing me off, making me angry. First there was Brexit, which went on and on; then there was Trump and then Boris Johnson, and the fact that he's now our Prime Minister makes everything much worse. And then there is the virus, thanks to the Chinese. I suppose it's considered racist to blame the Chinese, but that was where it came from, that wet market in Wuhan. It's also annoying to note that nobody's doing much to ensure that such a travesty, disaster, fiasco, tragedy, whatever you want to call it, doesn't happen again. Add up all this crap and that's what's annoying me, along with a few other things. I sleep badly, I'm angry all the time and I kind of exist on a knife edge waiting, perhaps, for somebody to piss me off, worried about how I'm likely to respond. Somewhere along the line I'm going to explode with an expletive-laden tirade of effing and blinding at some poor person who challenges me on some issue or other, but let's get it out there: I voted remain, I think Brexit is a disaster for the country, I can't stand Boris Johnson and his Master Race haircut and his bumbling buffoonish manner, I'm not going to shy away from the fact that the Chinese are to blame for the global lockdown and all the unnecessary deaths caused by the COVID-19 virus, I can't stand the way they have tried to cover their tracks, or what they're doing in Hong Kong or their treatment of the Uighers. I'm glad Trump is out of power and that Biden won and I long for normality. All of this has certainly had a negative effect on my mental health and I find myself escaping by listening to Radio 3 and watching movies nightly, anything to take my mind off of the shite that is being slung at everybody. I don't trust the Government, I certainly don't trust the Chinese, and I'm so glad I have a push bike to keep me fit. Today I rode to Westerham in Kent and in total this week I have covered something like 60 miles, more than last week, but less (by around 10 miles) than the week before last.

Great food always available

I've got my jab on Monday. Can't say I'm looking forward to it. I feel a little aggrieved that I have to have it, but I'm not an anti-vaxxer.

And of course, let's remember Sarah Everard whose body was found in woodland in Kent this week following her murder, for which a policeman, Wayne Couzens, has been charged. What the hell happened? My sympathy goes out to Sarah's family.

And what's happening in Myanmar? The military have taken over (again) and now they're shooting (and killing) protestors who simply want to live in a free and fair, democratic country. 

There's nothing worse than injustice.

Oh, and lastly, not sure if I mentioned it in my last post, but my bike is fixed. The gear cable snapped so I got it fixed at Cycle King AND had a new tyre and inner tube fitted.

Night riding...

The week started well with a ride to Tatsfield village to meet Andy. We did what we always do: sat and chatted, this time about fitness. Andy's lost a lot of weight through cycling daily (and doing 80 press-ups per day) and I have to say that I haven't been so consistent, although I'm keeping it up generally, riding about three times per week, but not going out if it's raining. I mean, who wants to get wet? It's good to get a neat little 18.03 miles in at the start of the week as it lessens the burden midweek, and fortunately, the weather has improved considerably. 

Tatsfield Churchyard at dusk...

During the week I managed three rides, two local 10-milers and then a slightly mad dash to Tatsfield village on Friday night. I left the house around 1645hrs and headed off, the slow way, not really thinking about what I was going to do; the first option was the Washpond Womble, then I thought about a Sline's Oak Sloth, but that would have meant riding along the 269 at dusk, which would have been a little dangerous. So I was heading around the lanes towards St Leonard's church and decided to head the slow way towards Tatsfield village. The original plan had been to turn left on Clarks Lane and keep going until I reached the churchyard and then I was going to head through the village, come out on Approach Road and then head home via Woldingham. Instead, I turned left on Clarks Lane and then left on to Approach Road and did it in reverse and, when I reached the churchyard it was dusk and the gravestones were silhouetted against a red sky so I stopped to take a photograph, forgetting that my awful iphone is a one trick pony and if, while Strava is ticking away I decide to take a photograph, well, the phone packs up, which it did and never even recorded the ride. Par for the course with an iphone (or my one at any rate). As I rode back along Clarks Lane towards Botley Hill the aforementioned red sky, already low in the sky, sunk behind the horizon and it night time. I still had to ride along The Ridge towards Woldingham and I noticed how dark it was with just my one headlight, which barely illuminated the tarmac in front of me. I started to wonder about potholes. If there were any, I wasn't going to see them in time, but the worst part of night riding along narrow country lanes was when a car passed me, first illuminating everything, but then plunging me into darkness, and each time my eyes had to re-acclimatise and I was basically riding blind. If was better when a car approched from behind as it would light up the road ahead and then provide guidance, until it disappeared completely, with its rear lights.

Cycling at dusk, however, was magical. Earlier, as I made my way along Beddlestead Lane, there was a wonderful, earthy smell in the still air and a silence that made me feel really good. It's hard to put a finger on it, but there was nothing, no noise, that evocative country smell, the empty fields, the hedgerows and the tweeting of the birds; and, of course, I started to imagine myself cycling along looking for a place to camp wild for the night. I looked into empty fields and considered spots that looked secluded enough to keep me out of harm's way. As the light faded I realised that had I been sleeping rough that night, it would be around now that I'd be looking to pitch my tent and settle down for the night before the darkness made it impossible.

A full moon as the light begins to fade en route to Tatsfield

 
I sailed through Tatsfield and followed the road around to the churchyard and, as you know, the phone packed up when I reached the churchyard. After Woldingham it was Slines Oak Road and that steep hill at the end of it. Riding down Slines Oak Road from Woldingham was a little dodgy. Night had fallen, there were no street lights, the road was fairly narrow and there were plenty of concealed driveways to make a cyclist's life a nightmare. The cars coming the other way temporarily blinded me and as a result I had to slow right down to avoid a potential accident. I started to worry about punctures too. What if, I wondered. The thought of fixing a puncture in the dark focused my mind and fortunately nothing untoward happened, but I imagined trying to see properly in the dark and dealing with a rear wheel puncture. No, I thought, if it happened I'd phone for a lift and fix it later, but it didn't happen and when I was back on the 269 and then the Limpsfield Road all was well. I rode around Warlingham Green and headed for home, noting that wearing the parka limited my ability to turn and see what traffic was behind me. Add the darkness and, well, you can see that nothing is clear cut when you're riding in the dark. My rear vision problem was largely caused by the threat of losing balance when turning my head around to see what was coming behind, but take daylight away it becomes a little more problematic, so to turn right at the curry house and head towards to church meant stopping the bike and then waiting for the many blinding headlights to cease or at least present a gap that would enable me to cross. Once in the side roads it was fine and I rode towards and then down Church Way, a fast downhill but little in the way of traffic. I reached home just before 1900hrs and had been on the road for around two hours, so an easy 20 miles. 

On Saturday I rode to Woodmansterne Green to see Bon. It's a route I hadn't taken for many months and I know why: It's not exactly very scenic and on the ride along Foxley Lane the amount of flats being erected depressed me, but we met and chatted and wandered around and then I headed home. Unfortunately, as I pedalled along the Croydon Road towards Purley I noticed that my gears wouldn't change, it was something to do with the lever on the handlebars, which clicked up and down, but nothing happened. Stupidly, I didn't think (initially) to change down to the lowest front crank using the lever on the left hand side of the bars. This I eventually did, making the hills a lot easier. Now, of course, I have to arrange a visit to the bike shop, which is more trouble than it's worth these days. Phones ring and ring and nobody answers and, of course, the excuse is ready made: COVID. Fortunately, I can ride it so today's ride to see Andy is still on the cards.

Woodmansterne was just 10.78 miles, not my usual 20-plus miles, but I still tipped 70 miles this week, which was the most I've achieved in a long while, the average falling around 50 miles, so I'm happy, sitting here on a Sunday morning, having woken up early and had breakfast around 0545hrs. Now it's 0744hrs, time to make the tea and head off to Tatsfield village to meet Andy.

I managed around 45 miles this week...

There's really no point in listening to the media, certainly where the weather is concerned. They rarely get it right and they big up the bad weather so that people like me think twice about going out on the bike. Saturday past is a good example of this: the weather people were talking about Saturday being an awful day so I was thinking that I wouldn't bother going out on the bike and I decided to go out on Friday afternoon to boost my mileage. Without looking I think I managed to take my total to 50 miles, based mainly on local 10-milers. When I woke up on Saturday 6 February I had the mindset of not going out, but when I looked out there was no rain. Alright, it was a bit cloudy, bolstering the weatherman's agenda about Saturday being a bad day, so instead of getting off my arse and heading out around 0800hrs for Westerham, I slobbed around assuming that it would rain any minute. It didn't. In fact, the weather improved and around mid-morning I was starting to wish I'd taken a ride to Westerham as that would have meant a total of 70 miles. In the end I sneaked in another local 10-miler taking my weekly total to 60 miles, which ain't too bad.

Looking out of the window on Sunday morning, 7 February, I had the feeling that snow was on the way. It was 0730hrs. By 0800hrs it was snowing so I aborted my planned ride with Andy who agreed wholeheartedly that it was pretty horrible out there. It remained horrible for the whole day as a kind of drizzly snow fell constantly and nobody went out. It was boring and it brought home to me the boredom of everything, like lockdown. And now they're saying the vaccine doesn't work as well as we all thought. Well, there's a surprise!

Snow and cold weather...

The week remained cold. All week. So cold I never ventured out, not even for a walk, let alone a ride. It wasn't until Monday this week, 15 February, yesterday, that things changed and the temperature rose. Yesterday, I did a local ride, my 10-miler, the Super Nobbler, but while I was planning to repeat it today, Tuesday 16 February, the chance never arose as I worked later than expected and then decided to take a walk instead. As the walk finished there were spits of rain, and it was dark, which put paid to any thoughts I had of riding into the early evening.

And now it's Wednesday 17 February and I haven't loo ked at the weather. In fact, I'm taking things as they come, it's the best way. My intention will be to take a ride around 1630hrs, the usual 10-miler, but let's see. I woke up this morning around 0400hrs and stayed in bed until 0534hrs when I realised I wasn't going to fall asleep. When I got downstairs I put on Radio 3, it's on now, but had a little break from it when I decided to watch a Panorama programme on anti-vaxxers, as they're known. While I get where they're coming from (I mean who can you trust these days?) I will be taking the vaccine when it's offered. Mum's had it, she's 91, and it's not adversely affected her so what's to worry about? I like people who go against the received wisdom, but there are those who simply shout 'fake news' just because Trump fostered distrust in his position as leader of the free world. To cry 'fake news' is very Trumpian, or Trump-like, but now, thankfully, he's been deposed, he's out of office, and the world is a better place. Most of the people pedalling anti-vax sentiments are slightly odd and, as the Panorama programme pointed out, a lot of the doctors in a video that's been doing the rounds have been discredited in some way or other, it's just that the people prepared to listen to them can't be bothered to find out more about the people who telling them not to take the vaccine. Well, Panorama did it for them and if you get the chance, watch the programme on iPlayer, it's only 29 minutes of your time and well worth it I would say. Or is it? My problem with everything since Brexit started back in 2016 is that we now live in a pretty black and white, cut and dried world where the gist of the stories doing the rounds lack complexity. Do you need to watch it? Probably not. Basically, there are people who don't believe in taking the vaccine, that's the story, these people exist, some might say they're stupid, others might agree with them, that's the story, so now you know, don't waste 29 minutes of your time. And everything at the moment seems to be of the same ilk: straightforward, not hard to understand, you either believe it or you don't and nobody cares either way. That's why I'm listening to Radio 3 because basically there's two sides to an argument these days and that's it, you're either with us or against us, a Brexiteer or a Remainer, Republican or Democrat and you're always right, don't forget that too, it's you against those who don't agree with you and they're wrong, all of them, and because of that you hate them.

It's Thursday and the weather's been great. I took a walk at lunch time, but considered a short ride. The walk seemed the best bet as there was work to do, and eating. Some cottage pie was left over so I heated it up and wolfed it down, then it was time for my 25-minute walk, make that 30 minutes, just over. At around 1630hrs I jumped on the bike and did another Super Nobbler (10 miles). I've now riden 20 miles this week, not brilliant, but if I get out tomorrow as well that'll be 30 miles and then there's Saturday, so I could be on track for a 50-mile week, which ain't bad in these days of crap weather.

And so it's Friday and I hear the weekend weather is going to be good, or so they say. I'll be out later today hopefully, on another 10-mile Super Nobbler (any more than two laps becomes tiresome). That's going to take my mid-week total to a disappointing 30 miles, but with the prospect of a ride to Westerham it'll be bumped up to 50 (as I saidW in the previous paragraph).

Westerham Saturday 20 February

I tell you what's got on my nerves this week: Facebook's behaviour in Australia. I really hope that people turn a page on the social media site and find an alternative. I gave up Facebook within six months of signing up to it and the more I hear about it, I'm glad, so glad, that I turned my back on it. I'm on Twitter, but that seems alright, give or take. The key is not to get obsessive.

Saturday and the weather turned. Light blue skies and feathery cloud in the morning so I rode to Westerham and back, approximately 22 miles and warm all the way. I followed the usual route but branched off along Pilgrims Lane and then back up the usual hill after a large cappuccino and an almond croissant. A fantastic ride, bringing my total mileage to around 45 miles. Not the respectable 60 I was hoping for, but then you can't have everything. It was a good way to end my cycling week. On Sunday Andy and I are meeting at Tatsfield Village, giving me a good head start on mileage for the week ahead.

Carrying on with the local rides...

Yesterday I went out in the rain, but because I was wearing my 'parka' and hadn't bothered to put on my waterproof trousers, I spent an hour in the wet and was fine when I got back home. By that I mean I wasn't in the usual state I find myself after a 'soaking' and that was because I hadn't donned the waterproof clothing. Had I done so I would have been soaked through from a mixture of sweat, rain and, of course, the fact that when something is supposed to be waterproof, it invariably isn't.

I baked two fruit cakes last week

My shorter rides have continued and I've slightly widened their scope so that each lap is just over five miles and if I do two laps (which is always what I do) then it's something like 10.70 miles, perfect. The aim, of course, is to ride five Super Nobblers (as they're called). Why Super Nobblers? Well, to be fair the original Super Nobbler was three laps of the conventional circuit, but I'm only riding two of the 'new' Super Nobbler because it's been widened out and includes Sanderstead Hill (the B269 no less). Although, in reality, it should be called the Super Nobbler (Intermediate) as it's two laps, not three.

The only thing about laps is boredom. Whenever I do the Super Nobbler (Intermediate) I wince slightly at the thought of having to ride two laps, but the ride itself is fine; there are hills and dips and yesterday I started to wish there was less in the way of downward hills, preferring, oddly, the hills. I ride up West Hill twice, that's quite tough, I ride up Sanderstead Hill twice and that's quite tough too, and let's not forget Norfolk Avenue. And the reason it's called the Nobbler is because the ride takes me the length of Norfolk Avenue and when I first rode the route I coined the phrase 'Norfolk Nobbler' just because I needed the illiteration for it to work. Anyway, it's all pointless and just a bit of fun, like the Sline's Oak Sloth. There's nothing slothful about that ride.

I try and leave the house around 1600hrs, but the reality is that I hit the road around 1645hrs, meaning that it gets dark while I'm out. Fortunately, I have lights.

Croft Radio, West Wickham

It looks as if the weather is going to worsen over the next few days. We've already had a dusting of snow, but there's been rain too (of course there's been rain!). Andy's rigged his bike up on a kind of 'turbo trainer'. During the week I baked a couple of cakes and took one round to him. You can't beat a cake in the bad weather.

In other news, I went over to a place called West Wickham, it's on the way to Bromley. I travelled as the light was fading and I when I got there and parked in the Lidl car park I was amazed to find a traditional high street, albeit the shops were all closed. I wandered about and found one of those traditional shops selling electrical goods: you know, alarm clocks, kettles, slow cookers, sandwich makers, There were, of course, a few charity shops, a shoe shop and a couple of coffee shops (Cafe Nero and Costa) not to forget a WH Smiths (also still open), the aforementioned Lidl, two Sainsbury's outlets, an M&S, a gentlemen's outfitters, small boutiques for women and so on. In a sense it was like going back in time. We made two visits to West Wickham and on both occasions I nipped into the Costa and bought a coffee and some cake. The first time a normal cappuccino and a Bakewell tart; the second time, a cinnamon cappuccino (never again) and a slice of banana cake. Another visit is planned, possibly today and, call it lockdown boredom, but I can't wait. Just to wander around at dusk looking into empty shops, sipping a cappuccino, munching on a cake, you can't beat it. But it's more than that; it's something to do with dusk and the fact that the aforementioned shops are like something out of a time warp. The M&S is good too, it's not a big one, but there's a nice vibe about the place.

A gentlemen's outfitters

Actually, I forgot to mention last week. I managed three of my local rides, but Saturday was a wash-out so just the 30 miles. The plan was to ride to Westerham last Saturday (the final day of my week) in order to bump up the mileage to my usual average of around 50 miles.

This week I think I've already covered around 37 miles. If I ride today that will mean 47 miles and then a ride to Westerham will bump it up to 67 miles and that, for me, would be a result at the moment. That said, even if I don't go today (and it's likely) then a ride to Westerham will still mean 57, which is a few miles more than my currently weekly average.

Okay, it's Friday and I've got to start working.