Andy in hospital with a broken hip...

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

Saturday's ride to the Pop Inn, Redhill

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

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

Breakfast at the Pop Inn, Redhill

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

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

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

Caffe Nero in Oxted on Sunday

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

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

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

In the aftermath of Storm Eunice...

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

English Breakfast at Costa

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

Uprooted tree on the 269 on Saturday

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

Another uprooted tree on the B269 

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

Uprooted tree on Clarks Lane

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

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

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

A moment in time...

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

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

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

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

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

Cappuccino, my new weakness...

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

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

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

Totally wired...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't want to be a fat man

People would think that I was just good fun, man

Would rather be a thin man

I am so glad to go on being one, man

Too much to carry around with you

No chance of finding a woman, who

Will love you in the morning and all the nighttime too

Don't want to be a fat man

Have not the patience to ignore all that

Hate to admit to myself

I thought my problems came from being fat

Won't waste my time feeling sorry for him

I've seen the other side to being thin

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

Saturday afternoon...

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

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

COVID - the novelty's worn off...

Last Saturday, when I first noticed I was a little under the weather, I remember going to bed in the spare room accompanied by my radio and feeling good. Good? Well, good inside. The idea of feeling tired and weak and cosy and glad to be in bed was, in itself, kind of comforting. I had a sore throat and a dry cough, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I slept well, the curtains drawn apart to reveal the lunar glow of the streetlight across the road. I know, you've heard all this before in my previous post. The 'cosy' feeling at night continued for a day or two and during the day I got by. In a sense I was thinking 'this isn't as bad as everybody is making it out to be' (perhaps I'm right about that) but I had received three jabs and perhaps that was why it all seemed relatively okay. Anyway, put all that aside, it's getting a little tiresome now: today is what? Nine days since I started feeling unwell, the day I drove over to South West London. This time last week I was wandering around IKEA and Dunelm (mask on, of course) but I hadn't yet tested positive. In fact, this time last week I tested negative, it wasn't until Monday last week that I tested positive, so right now it's seven days since I tested positive. I feel fine. I've felt relatively fine since around Tuesday of last week and I just want things to go back to normal. I've lost my sense of taste and smell, which is no fun as I love food and can't abide just getting by on 'texture' and my imagination. Today, Sunday, around 1130hrs, I'd normally be getting back from my ride to meet Andy in Westerham. It's now been two Sundays missed and, more than anything, I need some fresh air and I'm fed up with the spare room, really fed up. The depression I feel over having the virus is only trumped by the feeling of depression I have for living in a country presided over by the current Conservative Government, a motley collection of arseholes who haven't a clue. I won't go on about the Downing Street parties other than to say that the entire country will be very angry if that fat cunt Johnson is allowed to get away with it; we don't need Sue Gray to tell us he's guilty and everybody knows that, it's a delaying tactic, and let's briefly talk about intimidation and the stories that the whips are threatening MPs with the withholding of funds for MPs' constituencies. This scandal reeks of Johnson and I'm glad that Wragg has brought the matter to the attention of the police, although I have no confidence whatsover in Cressida Dick's Metropolitan Police, the force that brought you Wayne Couzens and the innocent shooting of a Brazilian man wrongly mistaken for a terrorist. Dick, incidentally, was awarded the Queen's Medal after that little incident. 

In the world of crap where we all live, there has been some good news: Djokovic was deported from Australia, leaving just Johnson and "Prince" Andrew to be dealt with; as for the latter, well, his judgment cometh and that right soon! I'm starting to wonder whether Johnson will pull it out of the hat, but I sincerely hope he won't, we need three results on this one: Djokovic (deported and out of the Australian Open); Johnson (he must resign); and "Prince" Andrew MUST be taken to the cleaners. Here's hoping.

On a personal level I just want to test negative and get my taste and sense of smell back. I'm fine otherwise, bar a runny nose. When I think of the shit we've all been through it makes me depressed. It kind of started with Donald Trump and Brexit, Johnson getting elected by the bigots with a huge majority based on the Brexit lie, the whole Brexit thing and how it's slowly being proved that leaving Europe was a big mistake (we are now a little country with limited influence in the world, governed by a bunch of idiots (Johnson, Gove, Raab, Patel, Truss, the list is endless). I heard (and I hope it's fake news) that Gavin Williamson, the former defence and education secretary (think, for a moment, he was in charge of defence) was going to be given a Knighthood - that, in my opinion (if true) kind of sums it all up. Johnson is easily the absolute worst PM we've ever had and his motley collection of cabinet ministers are terrible, there's not one of them I'd trust with anything and the sooner they all go, the better. Can't the Labour Party put forward a vote of no confidence in the Government and trigger a General Election? Oh, that would be good news as the thought of another three years of Johnson... I don't think anybody can face that.

Lastly, of course, to make matters worse, we had the virus that eeked its way out of Wuhan back in early 2020 and continues to bug us all. Just think about it all for a minute: Donald Trump, Boris Johnson, Brexit, Prince Andrew, COVID-19, all of it 100% avoidable. Anyway, we're in this position and we've got to get on with it. 

'Make it go away' Kate Bush has just sung on my Sonos, from the track This Woman's Work, and I would second that emotion, make it go away.

It's COVID time ... and that means no cycling!

When I looked out last Saturday morning at the frosty pavements and roads I knew that plucking up the enthusiasm to go out was going to be difficult. It was cold out there! But after breakfast and a little bit of hesitation I decided that I would ride the Weeble and get back in an hour. Out I went into the garage and what did I find? A puncture that's what! And to make matters worse, a rear wheel affair. I always have difficulty putting the rear wheel in place as I tend to forget how it works with the chain. I resolved to go out later and fix it, but when I did I realised something else: that I really couldn't be bothered for some reason. I found the whole thing tiresome in the extreme. The very thought of unbolting the wheel (thank heavens for quick release) lifting it out and then prising the inner tube from the wheel using levers was more than depressing. I normally use one lever to start the process and this I did relatively successfully, but I was feeling tired and seemed to be lacking energy. Eventually, however, I managed to free the inner tube and set about what needed to be done to fix a puncture. With the hole plugged, the culprit thorn removed and the inner tube back underneath the tyre and on the wheel, I pressed most of the tyre into place with my hands but wasn't finding it at all easy. I couldn't work out why I was feeling so tired, so drained, and after giving the bike a clean (a much needed one) I shut the door and quietly looked forward to my ride with Andy on Sunday morning.

Later that day I drove over to South West London and I felt shivery. Partly, this was because it was cold out, but also there was something afoot, although I knew not what. On my return I almost went to bed immediately, in the spare room, as I figured I didn't want to give whatever I had to my wife. Oddly, I felt strangely comfortable once under the covers, the curtains drawn back so I could see the branches of a tree illuminated by the lunar glow emitted by the streetlight from across the road. I developed a sore throat and a pretty severe one at that; furthermore there was a cough, a dry cough, and I figured that, for the first time in years, I had the flu. Although I think I suspected something more was up because I texted Andy early on Sunday morning, 0414hrs to be precise:

"Not feeling good: sore throat and dry cough. Will test later," said I, meaning I would test for COVID. I went on to say that I wasn't up for the ride. When I did test myself I was negative and this was a huge relief, but a day later I tested again and was positive. It wasn't a great surprise to be honest, but prior to that second test I was convinced I only had the usual flu-like symptoms of the standard variety. Once I tested positive my inner attitude towards my illness changed a little. I felt annoyed because somewhere along the line I had been careless, but also a little anxious about the course my illness might take, although I think I knew that things weren't going to change drastically and I comforted myself with the knowledge that things would only get better. As it turned out, they did. For three days, that's all, I had a sore throat and a cough. It hurt when I swallowed like all sore throats do, and that was really it. By Tuesday, things had calmed down. I'd been filling up on Lemsip (the blackcurrant variety, so Blacksip, not Lemsip) and I was off work, although I did answer a few emails in between reading chapters from Tenement Boy, Bobby Gillespie's excellent memoir on how Primal Scream came into being. I still found time to get angry with Boris Johnson, No-Vax Djokovic and, of course, "Prince" Andrew. So far, I thought, it's one down (Djokovic) and two to go (Johnson and Andrew). It was good to see that the Royal Family disowned him and had stripped away his titles. At the time of writing (1741hrs on 19 January 2022) Johnson is still in place, but David Davis told him 'for God's sake go', words that would have made me seriously consider my position had I been the buffoon.

So, exercise wise, everything has come to a stop. All that riding around the block hasn't happened for almost a week and during that time I've sent back a rear bicycle light, USB-chargeable, which kept cutting out mid-ride. My £40 has been refunded and now I can simply go out and buy another one, from a proper shop this time and not on Amazon. Forty quid is quite a lot for a rear light when you think about it, although I'm now thinking about buying a new helmet with an integral rear light, but let's see how it goes, perhaps I'll look at that later.

It's odd sleeping in the spare room. I'm doing so to protect my wife, obviously, although on Saturday, when I first started feeling shivery, we shared car journeys so perhaps it's inevitable that she'll get it, we'll see. So far, so good. Last night I took the radio to bed with me and awoke mid-morning to the dreamy sounds of BBC Radio 3, it all felt strange and surreal in the darkness, the lunar light from across the road illuminating the room, and I must admit that I liked it, especially being tucked up under two duvets knowing there was a while to go before I had to get up. On Tuesday morning, around 0430hrs, I got up and had breakfast (tea, orange juice, a slice of bread (or was it toast, I can't remember) and a glass of water before returning to bed and sleeping on. There have been strange dreams, one involving the Grosvenor House Hotel in London, which was dark and empty except for me. I walked around the Grand Ballroom in front of the stage remembering past extravagances and slipped off into a darkened side corridor. The rest of the dream is sketchy.

I've been house bound all week, no fresh air, no cycling, but I know that a clean bike without punctures awaits me in the garage for when I ride out hopefully this coming weekend. Today I was looking back lovingly on my coverage of the 2020 summer lockdown, and the more I read the greater it all seemed to have been: all that cycling, that lovely weather, and these were the pre-vaccine days when the only variants of the virus were the deadly Delta and Alpha varieties - or, of course, the Indian and Kent variants, which more accurately pinpoint where they originated. I wrote thousands of words on the 2020 lockdown and looking back I'm glad I did as it leaves me with a permanent record of what I was thinking and doing at the time. It wasn't a bad time by any stretch of the imagination: the heat for a start, the lack of cars on the road, even working from home took a while to lose its appeal. Home became a real home instead of just a pit stop between working.

Suffice it to say I'm alright. I've had the dreaded virus and thankfully the less severe OMICRON variant (at least I think that's what I had); and now I've just got to wait until the lateral flow test says negative. One thing I do know is that I can't wait for a cappuccino and a slice of cake...but it would be helpful if my sense of taste and smell returned.

To Westerham to meet Andy...

Last night I watched a great documentary on Netflix about the band Johnny Moped, all of whom hail from Croydon, not a million miles from where I live. The film starts with monochrome images of the Whitgift Centre back in the day of the Forum pub and the automated walkway that links the pub to the ground floor. Today, both pub and walkway have disappeared, but it's good to know that Johnny Moped lives on, or at least that's what I was led to believe by the last few minutes of the film, which shows the band playing a live gig somewhere 'today'. They're all older and wiser and some a little worse for wear, but I found the film joyful to watch, entertaining and very funny in parts. It's good to see a group of guys trying their best to make it in the world of rock n roll and to be able to say that Chrissie Hynde and Captain Sensible were part of the story. They managed to release an album, had a good relationship with the music press and at moments in their career were tipped for stardom, but the cookie crumbled a different way. Still, in many ways they were a success, a documentary was made about the band and I for one enjoyed seeing sights of Croydon as it was in the seventies (less cars on the roads, no pedestrianised shopping, just proper, old-fashioned high streets, Mk 2 and Mk 3 Cortinas and, of course, a lot less people.

Give or take, I left the house this morning around 0805hrs and was happy to be on the road, enjoying the uncharacteristically mild weather. There had been overnight rain that had left big puddles on the 269 but there was little in the way of traffic so I was able to ride in the middle of the road to avoid a soaking. As I free-wheeled down Clarks Lane heading towards my destination (Westerham) Andy appeared out of nowhere and we shared the last mile or two into town, stopping (as planned) at the Costa Coffee. Andy had some vouchers and stood me a cup of tea, which was nice of him, and because of the mild weather we sat outside and I confessed that I'd never seen The Blues Brothers. At one point in my life it was one of those films, along with Withnail & I, that I made a point of not watching because everybody else seemed to be talking about. Andy enthused about it and now I'm thinking I'll check it out, see what all the fuss was about. The reason we where suddenly talking about The Blues Brothers was because I had mentioned the Johnny Moped documentary and how Johnny Moped himself was often hard to pin down when it came to gigs or recording. He once queued outside the venue to attend his own gig. Andy said that John Belushi was equally 'difficult'.

Our friend the drummer, who we haven't seen for a few weeks, passed by the Costa and we chatted for a while about this and that; he said his Christmas hadn't been too bad and that he hadn't been teaching the drums for a while. He used to be in a band and he reminded me very much of the characters in the Johnny Moped documentary, that's why I mentioned it to Andy and that's how we were chatting about The Blues Brothers and then I mentioned Withnail & I, which Andy hadn't heard of before. I had a Wispa Gold in my pocket, which accompanied my tea and all was well with the world. Andy talked of how his 13-year-old granddaughter had made him vegan cup cakes (he was rightly chuffed) and no conversation would be complete if work wasn't mentioned once or twice. It was quite a wrench having to leave, but leave we did, heading back up the hill. I bade farewell to Andy and he sped off as I continued up the hill, turning left on to Pilgrims, then right into Rectory Lane, rejoining Clarks Lane further up and then heading for Botley Hill. There was very little in the way of traffic so I rode the 269 into Warlingham and then followed the road into Hamsey and then Sanderstead, getting home just before 1100hrs.

I didn't ride on Friday or Saturday, circumstances beyond my control. I don't like it when I miss a ride so I'll need to get my act together next week and try to ride my short six-milers daily. Last week I rode Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I really wish I'd riden on Friday and it would have been even better if I'd riden to Westerham yesterday (Saturday morning) but I didn't and there's no point fretting about it. The key is to get rides in as and when. Today is Sunday 2nd January and I've got tomorrow off work because it's a bank holiday. I might get up early and ride to Westerham again, which would be good, but let's not count chickens before they're hatched.

As the year draws to a close...

When I looked out on Sunday (last week) there was a persistent rain and it didn't look as if it was going to stop. In days gone by, an abort text would have been sent, but because our mindset on cycling has changed, it was still 100% game on. The plan was to go to Westerham, but we couldn't remember whether the Costa Coffee was open. There was only one way to find out: ride there and see for ourselves. Andy texted the plan: whoever gets there first, checks out the Costa and then, if it's closed, sets up shop in the small memorial gardens next to the Co-op. Well, I knew it wouldn't be me that got there first. For a start, I was faffing around doing something I haven't done for some time: making a flask of hot water, finding some teabags and some milk and basically preparing like I used to for a pre-pandemic ride. To be honest, I was hoping that I wouldn't be using the flask. I was looking forward to my large English breakfast tea, and being as it was Boxing Day, I was already considering a cake of some description. But then I remembered Sheree's Tea Rooms in Tatsfield Village. I knew it was open on Boxing day so all I had to do was text Andy and ask him to meet me there. But it wasn't that easy. Andy had already left his house and, like me, would not be looking at his phone until he reached his destination.

Seasonal decorations on the Nobbler...

After all the faffing about, I was finally out of the house and on the bike around 0815hrs, so that's a quarter hour behind my originally scheduled arrival time. It normally takes me around one hour door-to-door so now I'd be getting there around 0915.

The rain continued, but I was wearing my parka, hood up over my crash helmet, and it was good. So good that I didn't really notice the rain. I was, however, wearing a pair of green cords over my cycling shorts and sooner or later the rain would soak through. In fairness, it was a slow process. I stopped and took shelter momentarily when I reached Sanderstead Waitrose, a chance to see if Andy had responded to my earlier text about Tatsfield. He hadn't. Then I set off for Westerham, heading initially for Warlingham Green and then, of course, the 269 to Botley Hill and beyond. Halfway along the route Andy sent a text. He'd reached Westerham. I told him I'd get there by around 0930hrs and he said he'd be there, which was good. I had thought about going to Tatsfield village and a cup of tea and a Millionaire's Shortbread at Sheree's, but once I knew that Costa was open and that Andy would be there when I arrived, I 'put my feet down' and continued on my way to the Northern Kent market town of Westerham. The rain slowed a little and as I powered down Clarks Lane had almost stopped.

I felt good because I hadn't aborted the ride and, as with most things, riding in the rain isn't as bad as it seems. It was fine, although my trousers were getting damper and damper, but it was nothing a bit of warmth couldn't cure. Andy was already sitting at a table enjoying his coffee when I bowled through the door. We were two of around six people in the shop and that felt good. I wasn't THAT wet either, only my legs were experiencing a mild dampness and that slowly disappeared as I warmed up. There was no queue either so I ordered a large English Breakfast tea and a Bakewell tart and joined Andy at his table. We talked about a variety of topics: decent rear lights, cheap bikes, giving up cars altogether, living a more minimalist life and the commercialism of Christmas. 

Nativity scene in Arundel Avenue

Andy left around 1022hrs I and continued to slob around for another 10 minutes before heading for home. The rain had all but stopped and I followed the road towards the Velo Barn, taking a left on to Pilgrims Lane and then crossing Clarks Lane and continuing along the next section of Pilgrims, turning right on to Rectory Lane and then rejoining Clarks Lane. I rode into Woldingham along The Ridge and then down Slines Oak Road and up the other side towards the 269, taking the steep climb at the end of Sline's Oak in my stride. It was then a case of riding into Warlingham and around the green, through Hamsey and onwards to Sanderstead.

There was a fair amount of fog around too.

More Christmas lights in Arundel Avenue

Shorter daily rides have now become a regular habit. Today, as I write this, it is New Year's Eve, 0946hrs and I make no pretence of the fact that I'm slobbing around on the lap top, but rest assured that I will be out there later on, probably after dark, riding around amidst the Christmas lights of Norfolk and Arundel Avenues. I've mentioned these rides before, they're 5.94 milers and they take around 35 minutes. I think I would be faster if I went out earlier in the day. 

There's nothing better than riding after dark over the Christmas holidays as there are plenty of decorations on display as I ride my circuit and they all add a dreamlike quality to the ride that I don't get at any other time. That said, other seasons, like the summer and the autumn, have their own attractions and I love them all.

Happy New Year to all my readers!

Christmas Eve 2021 ramblings...

Last Sunday, 19 December 2021, I rode to Westerham to meet Andy in the Costa Coffee on the green. As you all know, this is a weekly event, the highlight of the cycling week. We meet, we eat, we chat and then we say farewell, until the next week, which just so happens to be Boxing Day. Today, as I write this, it is Christmas Eve morning, 0844hrs to be precise, and I'm sitting here, drinking tea and listening to BBC Radio Three, Dawn Over the Moscow River, by Mussorgsky. I now consider myself a regular listener and the great thing about listening to classical music in the morning is this: It's so chilled out. In fact, give me BBC Radio Three, Caffe Nero and a decent book and I'd be in heaven.

Outside, the weather is dull and grey and overcast. Rain is on the agenda later today so I'd better get out there and do my six-miler, my 'round the block' special, the Nobbler, single lap. Yesterday I modified it a little bit: I rode two loops, bringing the total to something like 8.5 miles instead of the usual 5.94 miles. I don't know why I modified it; probably because I was riding earlier in the day and felt more alive. Today I'll probably stick to the usual distance as there are things to do, people to see.

The fog started to clear on Clarks Lane, Sunday 19th Dec 2021.

The ride to Westerham last Sunday was thick fog from the moment I set foot outside the house. Fortunately, I had my lights, front and rear. I was amazed to discover that the fog was everywhere, but it thinned when I was travelling along Clarks Lane. At one point the fog was below me, in the valley. Cyclists were stopping to photograph the spectacle as I sailed down the hill and into the mesmerising fog itself. Andy was sitting inside the Costa. I ordered a large English Breakfast tea (my regular order). No cake, no Billionaire's shortbread. As always, cake is always around. I can't remember now, but prior to Sunday I must have eaten some cake, normally a slice of coffee and walnut cake, possibly in a National Trust property somewhere, Polesden Lacey if I recall correctly. Either way, I refrained from eating anything at the Costa in the full knowledge that there would be plenty of occasions in the coming days. It is, after all, the festive season, Christmas time no less, and that means mince pies, chocolates, cake and, of course, Christmas Pudding. I'll be getting my fair share over the next few days and that's a fact.

During the week I continued with my regular riding. I normally miss a day, meaning I ride six days a week and have one day off, not intentionally, just circumstantial. Yesterday, for example, was Thursday 23 December. I didn't ride on Wednesday night so the plan was to ride twice, like I did last week, once in the morning and once at night. But I only managed the one ride, meaning that if I don't ride twice today, my total rides this week will be six out of seven. I'm happy with that. It's been the case ever since I started regular (almost daily) rides.

The Nobbler, single lap is good. I've mentioned before it's roller coaster qualities, the ups and downs, the fast and slow. The first big climb is when I turn left out of Barnfield and on to West Hill. I ride up hill to The Ridgeway where I turn left, then right on to Hook Hill, which I follow to the triple junction with Arkwright and Briton Hill Road. The latter is a hill, all the way to Church Way where I turn left and head towards Morley and the turn opposite Madeleine House (a new and unwelcomed block of flats). Here I double back in a sense, back on Church Way until I turn left on to Norfolk Avenue and the next hill. At the top I bear left and roll down towards a left turn on to Arundel Avenue and then it's a downhill roll towards Ridge Langley. I pick up a fair bit of speed riding down Arundel Avenue and by the time I reach the Ridge Langley turn-off I have enough speed to push me around the loop ahead, eventually emerging on Arundel Avenue again, heading uphill and turning left onto, I think, Arundel Avenue. It's very confusing, but I soon turn right on to Norfolk Avenue again and ride uphill and then down until I'm back on Church Way and then heading towards the Selsdon Road along another section of Arkwright that isn't connected to the earlier stretch. This bit is fast and punctuated by sleeping policemen and parked cars, but soon I'm on the Selsdon Road, which is downhill all the way to West Hill, arguably the most daunting uphill ride as I pass Barnfield, continue towards The Ridgeway and then ride the length of it until I reach the earlier section of Arkright Road where I turn left and head towards Church Way. I turn left, race towards Morley, turn left, then right on to Elmfield, left on to Southcote, right on to Ellenbridge, then right and then I'm home.

I'd better get moving as I've got to get out there now, in the next 10 minutes, to do the above. Whether I get a ride in tomorrow is debatable. By rights I should do, even if it's a short one, a Nobbler, single lap. I've never been on the bike on Christmas Day before but let's see if I can change that.