For fear of missing out...

Right now, at this very moment, I'm listening to John Martyn. Arguably, Martyn is the most laid back you'll get. I'm listening to the album Bless the Weather – in fact, as we speak, the title track is playing. It's great if you want some peace or if you want something murmuring in the background, helping you get along. I first got into John Martyn during my troubled teenage years, although I don't ever recall buying an album by this great musician, who is sadly not with us any more. It was always put on the turntable round at somebody's house and we'd all simply chill out – in fact we'd get so chilled out we'd fall asleep, which was nice. For a long while I didn't listen to John Martyn. I don't know why, but it's difficult as I don't possess any material of his – but since it's been possible to download music from operators like Spotify, my life has changed and now the man is back in my life, albeit at the crack of dawn. You can bet, certainly over the next few days at any rate, that I'll be listening to John Martyn at around this time in the morning. And if you're interested, one of his best albums was entitled Solid Air, an album title I can understand.

A clean bike at last! It was getting to look a bit like Andy's Kona!

So here I am, it's 0632hrs now, dark outside and I've enjoyed eight hours of sleep, which is rare for me. I normally hit the sack around 2300hrs and sleep badly, waking around 0430hrs and then having trouble getting back to sleep. Last night, not so much fed up with the quality of British television, but simply feeling too tired to stay up and watch Manchester by the Sea, which I really wanted to watch, I hit the sack at 2200hrs and after listening to the news on Radio Four, none of which I can remember, I switched off just as Joan Bakewell was about to embark upon a programme about death – not the sort of thing I wanted to listen to last thing at night. Why does Radio Four do that? I've often put the radio on at night, with a view to distracting myself from the fact that I can't sleep, and there's something miserable on, like programmes about disease or death; and it's not just in the dead of night, often it's at 2100hrs. Depressing.

I'm going to make a point of hitting the sack at 2200hrs from now on because there is nothing worth watching on television these days. Why is James McAvoy ALWAYS on Graham Norton's show? That man must be making so many movies. Norton is always on after the news on a Friday night and invariably I sit there and watch it, because Norton is probably the best thing on television when it comes to 'entertainment'. I love the big red chair, but invariably don't like the musical bit, it's invariably the lame part of the show. I mean, Cheryl Cole was on the other day. That said, Cole is one of those people who is so bad she's good. She mimes, she's not a rock and roller, there's a lot wrong, most of all the huge tattoo on her arse. I don't know about you, but that would definitely put me off. Just knowing that tattoo exists would annoy me, but it's not something she's going to get rid of easily, meaning it's there for life. Imagine lying in bed next to her knowing that her tattooed derriere is festering under the bedclothes, just inches away. I hate tattoos and would never have one done. It's a bit like scribbling in Biro on your exercise book: you start with one squiggle and soon the cover is peppered with drawings of some sort – ruined in other words – and I guess Cheryl Cole has ruined her arse. If ever I interviewed her it's the first question I'd ask: "How do you feel about ruining your arse?" Or, "Don't you think you've ruined your arse?" She's looking in need of a good meal too, somebody give her an ice cream, anything, a Belgian bun (like the one I ate in Morrison's in Reigate yesterday afternoon). What she really needs, of course, is a roast dinner: chicken, roasties, greens, gravy, apple pie and custard, that's what I'd offer her if I saw her in the street.

So I went to bed early and managed to get eight hours' kip. Fantastic. Cycling takes it out of me, I've noticed. Yesterday we rode the slow way to the bus stop. We were going to ride to Westerham and visit the Tudor Rose for breakfast, but I had stuff to do and couldn't really afford to be back late. I stormed up Beddlestead Lane and felt great on my return, using the off-road path on the 269, talking to myself here and there, as you do when you find yourself alone in a wide open space, nobody around for miles, as it seemed to me yesterday morning. When I reached Warlingham, having said goodbye to Andy at The Ridge, I stopped off at the gas station to jet clean my bike. The bike is clean. Very clean. And I don't want to get it dirty on today's ride so it'll probably be the long way to the bus stop again.

One reason I stay up late is the fear of missing out. The truth of the matter, however, is that I won't miss anything. In the same way that nothing is that funny, nothing is that good either, so I'm going to try and set myself a new rule: hit the sack at 2200hrs. I mean, Fiona Bruce presenting Question Time, who's idea was that? It's the BBC and it's awful political correctness. Have you noticed how Doctor Who is doing its bit for diversity? There's a white, black and Asian assistant for the female Doctor Who. PC is everywhere at the BBC. Didn't they get rid of that long haired bloke on Countryfile to make the programme more diverse? I think they did. They couldn't get rid of Craven because that would have been ageist. Is that how you spell 'ageist'?

Anyway, I'd better go and make a flask of tea for the ride. See you later...

Sunday 6th January – to the bus stop, the slow way...

No riding on Saturday, I needed the rest and Andy was out of action, so instead, after a late start, I headed for the south coast for a walk and, of course, a visit to the Lobster Pot café on the front at Felpham, a great caff.

Sunday I was up at 0600hrs, although I was strongly tempted to send an abort text to Andy. We rode to the Tatsfield Bus Stop – of course we did! – and we went the slow way. It's less of an ordeal these days for some reason.

Warlingham Green on a wintry morning over the festive break...

At the bus stop we engaged in our usual activities of chatting and watching passing Lycra monkeys and joggers emerging at the top of White Lane. Around 0900hrs we headed for home. Andy and I parted company at The Ridge and I used the off-road path all the way along the 269.

Weatherwise it was cold. Not biting cold, but just cold. I'll need a balaclava one of these days.

I reached home around 0945hrs, locked up the bike, closed and locked the garage door and got on with my day.

It's now Monday morning, 0711hrs and I'm listening to That's Entertainment by the Jam. I had a broken night, or rather I woke up early, just before 0500hrs. I tried to get back to sleep but couldn't so when 0600hrs rolled past I got up. And now Road to Nowhere by Talking Heads is playing, kind of summing up the United Kingdom at the moment: knife crime is rife (Lee Pomery was murdered last week on a train en route to London) and let's not forget Brexit.

Better go and make my sandwiches or I'll be late for work. Here's to next week's riding.

New Year's Day 2019 – to mum's!

A later start than normal and Andy wasn't going so it was up to me to motivate myself. I'd had a late night by my standards, staying up and watching Hootenanny, a programme I despise because it's so corny and stuck in the 1980s. The music's not stuck in the 80s, just the people on the programme, they all seem to be people from that era; it's normally the likes of Jennifer Saunders and husband Ade Edmondson, but last night it was comedian and writer Alexei Sayle. Nice people, I'm sure, but, well, I don't really know, there's something about Hootenanny that I don't like. I switched over a couple of times to watch Madness on BBC 1 –  Suggs never seems to age. The BBC has replaced the word 'Christmas' with 'Oneness' and that annoys me.

I must have hit the sack around midnight thirty, possibly a little later, but I didn't sleep well and there were some pretty loud fireworks outside too, but I got there and suddenly it was almost 0800hrs and Radio 4 was blaring out, if that's what Radio 4 does. I suppose it doesn't really 'blare out', that's more for Radio 1 or Capital, but the clock radio is set to come on around 0700hrs, so I must have been sparko for a good 45 minutes after the radio had activated itself.

Purley playing fields on New Year's Day

I jumped out of bed, feeling fine as I hadn't been drinking. In fact, as avid readers of this blog will know, I haven't had a drink for 14 months. In fact, later today I found myself on LBC talking about this; I'd pulled up the car in a side street and dialled the number and then found myself broadcasting to the nation. What were the benefits of not drinking? Seemed like a reasonable question. "I get a better night's sleep, I don't make a fool of myself and I have more energy," I said, just before the midday news. I think it was midday, it might have been 1pm, I can't remember.

But let's get back to the morning. I had my usual porridge, grapes, blueberries and sliced banana (all in the same bowl) and accompanied by a large mug of tea in my favourite Kath Kidson mug. I was considering not going cycling, but it was later than usual, I felt strangely energised and decided to head for mum's. I rode down West Hill, left on to Essenden, right on to Carlton, left into Jarvis Road, across the Brighton Road and up Hayling Park Road to the roundabout. I crossed straight over and skirted the playing fields until I reached the A23 where traffic lights halted my progress, but not for long. I turned right and then left and emerged on the Stafford Road heading for the top of Wallington High Street. I rode up the hill and spied a Sainsbury's Local, open on New Year's Day. In I went having padlocked the bike outside. I felt as if I was dismounting a horse and tying it up outside the General Store, just like the cowboys do in the movies. I bought two bunches of bananas, two cartons of organic milk and one of those high-fibre nut bars and then headed out of the store having used one of the automated check-outs.

The ride continued. I rode up the hill and turned right into Crichton Road, following the road round to Carshalton Beeches station where I turned right and free-wheeled down the hill towards the Windsor Castle pub where I turned left at the lights. I sped round the corner while the lights were green and then turned right on to Shorts Road, a one-way street and I was riding the wrong way, but there were no cars and it saved cycling up the hill to Alma Road. Soon I was passing St Philomena's school, under the railway bridge, left and then left again – it was at mum's.

Christmas cake awaited me and a cup of tea. This year mum didn't make the cakes, but my niece made one for mum based on mum's recipe. It was good. Very good. And much appreciated. After tea and cake I munched the high-fibre bar and then bid farewell to mum. What followed was the same ride but in reverse, stopping briefly at the Cambridge Garage, now known as 'the BP garage', but only to see if they had a jet cleaner – they didn't, so I rode up the Cambridge Road, turned right on to the Banstead Road, through Carshalton Beeches High Street and then left and up the hill towards the Village Bakery and Crichton Road. I reached home and then went in search of a shop so I could buy bread and soup for lunch. The Co-op on Warlingham Green was open and soon I was enjoying lunch back at home – minestrone soup and bread. I had a shower and went for a drive, but the teashops were closed and we'd already enjoyed the delights of Chartwell just a few days ago.

It's now Tuesday evening and it feels just a like a Sunday night. Work tomorrow, but fortunately a short week, just three days. Can't say I'm looking forward to going back, but only because I've enjoyed slobbing around and now I've got to look sharp, be in the shower at 0730 and on the train by 0818. The slog begins, and it's going to be a busy old year.

It's been a good festive season of cycling. Andy and I have been riding alternate days ever since the weekend before Christmas, although we both took Thursday and Friday of last week off (Andy was working and I needed a lie-in). Check previous posts for further details.

To the Tatsfield Bus Stop – heavy fog meant the slow way there and back...

Another mild morning and we met at the green as usual. We headed for the Tatsfield Bus Stop the slow way. Weatherwise everything was damp and wet and glistening and there was a fog looming, hanging in the trees, so we thought the slow way would be safer. There was a few Lycra monkeys on the road, and even more when we headed back along Beddlestead towards Hesiers Hill. This time, as I approached the climb I changed down and managed the gears properly. I stayed in a low gear for the second hill before things levelled out and we headed for the green where we parted.

There's always something musical that keeps me moving along. The other day it was a Christmas carol, the Sans Carol, but today it was Misty Mountain Hop by Led Zeppelin, I know not why. My in-built Walkman kept playing it over and over. "Walking in the park just the other day..."

We reached the green at 0930hrs and I got home 20 minutes later. A good ride.

To Godstone Green via the Enterdent

Saturday morning, the weather's fine and as usual I'm 'a tad' late, no more than 10 minutes, but I had issues surrounding making the tea, nothing major. We decided to head for Godstone Green via the Enterdent. Yes, I know, it sounds like toothpaste, but it's a road and a very steep hill. It's also much longer than I remember it, and that's possibly because I haven't been this way for some time, let's say around eight years. It's amazing how time has flown by. Amazing and scary too, but yes, I was back on the Enterdent, riding up the hill, and wishing it would end if I'm honest, it seemed endless, but soon we turned right and virtually free-wheeled into Godstone, past the 'artisan baker', which we discovered was really a Coughlan's. We took a seat in front of the small lake on the green and watched as a flock of seagulls landed, frightening off two ducks who seemed to disappear off the face of the planet, clearly they were not impressed by the gulls. There were people around too: a woman walking two small dogs and getting tangled up in the lead, another woman with an Alsatian and a couple of blokes too, not forgetting a couple of runners.

The bikes on Godstone Green,  30 December 2018. Pic: Andy Smith

We headed back the way we came in, but avoided the Enterdent. It's a quite a haul going out of Godstone and heading for Ganger's Hill. It's steep, as we know from past rides, the most recent being on Christmas Eve when we visited Flowers Farm for tea and cake. No such luxury today, just tea and Belvitas, but they did the job, even if I'm trying to stop eating biscuits (and cake). As the hill kicked in, I changed down in to low gear and did my best not to looked pained as I ascended the hill. The bike was being very noisy today. Clickety clack, clickety clack as I rode to Godstone and more of the same on the way back, it was annoying me.

Andy and I parted at the top of Sline's Oak Road, just like on Christmas Eve, and I once again rode down the hill, turning left on to Butlers Dene Road. I jumped back on to Sline's Oak and headed up the steep hill to the Limpsfield Road, losing momentum once, but managing to restart with relative ease and then riding leisurely towards Warlingham Green and then Sanderstead.

I reached home around 1030hrs, quite late considering our usual rides are much shorter, but I blame the hills en route (the Enterdent and then, of course, Ganger's). The bike needs a jet clean and one of these days it'll get one. It's also going to get its chain oiled and I must fix that fucking clickety clacking too.

Boxing Day – fast way to Tatsfield Bus Stop (and the slow way back)...

Drinking tea at the bus stop. Pic: Andy.

Another late start. I leave the house at 0730hrs and head up Church Way. A squirrel scuttles across the road from right to left, runs along the top of a low fence and disappears into the undergrowth. Houses display their festive decorations and soon I find myself riding through the churchyard, past Sanderstead pond and on to the Limpsfield Road. I'm heading for the green where I meet Andy. The weather is fine, no rain, and there's little in the way of traffic so we decide to risk the 269 rather than ride the slow way. "But let's ride the slow way back," I suggest and we agree, even if it does mean Hesiers Hill. At Botley we notice a mist, it's fairly thick so my lights go back on. Soon we reach the bus stop where we chill out, drink tea and I turn down the biscuits for a second day – the problem with Christmas is eating all the wrong food: minced pies, Panettone, Christmas cake, cheeses, crackers, pickled onions (yes, I own a jar of Garner's); it's all going on and besides, I need to stop eating shit. We ride back the slow way, down Beddlestead Lane, and then it's time for Hesiers Hill. Unlike the last time, I change right down and manage to sail along without any issues, getting a few 'well done' comments from passing Lycra monkeys coming down the hill. Andy and I weave our way towards Sainsbury's and then head for the green where we part company. All the way home along the Limpsfield Road I recite the Sans Day Carol, aka the St. Day Carol, but because I haven't sung it for years and years, I get the lyrics wrong. Actually, not badly wrong: "And Mary bore Jesus Christ, our saviour for to be," I sing (fairly quietly), but it's "And Mary she bore Jesus our Saviour for to be." I reach Sanderstead and soon I'm on Church Way again, riding downhill towards Morley, hanging a right on Elmfield, a left into Ellenbridge and a right on to Barnfield. Soon I'm home and soon I find myself on a five-mile walk, which I enjoy. Tomorrow I'm planning an 8-mile walk.

Christmas Eve – to Flowers Farm for tea and cake!

Tea and cake at Flowers Farm, Christmas Eve 2018. Pic by Andy Smith.

I leave the house later than usual. We are meeting at 0800hrs. Dawn is breaking as I ride through suburban streets, heading uphill. It's Christmas Eve, traffic is heavier than usual, I wait longer to cross the Addington Road and then speed through the churchyard, past the pond and on to the Limpsfield Road. Andy is waiting. We decide to head for Godstone and Flowers Farm. It means riding down Slines Oak Road and through Woldingham, something we haven't done for a long time, or perhaps not that long ago. We both recall the occasion not when a deer scampered across the road in front of us. Woldingham is quiet as we pedal along Butlers Dene Road on onwards towards the golf course via 'the off-road bit' I so despise, but today it seems easier than in days gone by and why this should be so I don't know. Andy and I both marvel at the houses we pass. "Who needs such a large house?" says Andy. Nobody, I reply, but it must be a way that rich people use up their cash, an investment. We ride down Gangers Hill, over the M25, over the A22 and on to the A25. It's a short ride to Flowers Farm where people are queuing to buy turkeys and the shop is overflowing with colourful fruit and vegetables. There's a café – and it's a good one. We've been here before. The cake is excellent, there's a roaring fire, a wood burning stove, although it's warming up as we arrive. Cake is ordered: a lemon cake and an apple cake plus a pot of tea and some slices of apple. "I haven't had an apple in ages," says Andy. "Me neither," I reply. We wait for our order to arrive and when it does we tuck in. This is my sort of place, I could sit here all day, staring out of the window, eating cake, sipping tea, but we can't stay too long, we have to ride back, and it's a hard slog, a very hard slog, not initially, but once we round the corner, taking a sharp right turn, the hill hits us hard, but it's not that hard, not as hard as the Westerham hill, although much shorter. It is a short, sharp shock and we both stay on our saddles, emerging on to The Ridge unscathed. We are back in Woldingham on the other side of the golf course. We sail past the club house and into Woldingham, stopping at the top of Slines Oak Road where we part company. No ride on Christmas Day, but we will be riding on Boxing Day, weather permitting. I sail down Slines Oak Road and hang a left on to Butlers Dene Road and then further along I turn right on to a gravel track that is peppered with puddles. A man with a large Alsatian dog is coming the other way. I turn left on to the Slines Oak Road and follow it to the Limpsfield Road. There's a steep incline, but I stay on the bike and turn left towards Warlingham. Much more traffic now, people doing 'last minute Christmas shopping', the stores will be packed today, I think, as I ride into Sanderstead, past the pond and head down Church Way towards home. I have a lot to do too (last minute presents, helping people out here and there) and soon it will be evening, time to hit the sack and wake up on Christmas morning.

Taking the slow way...

Saturday 22nd December, Tatsfield Bus Stop. Pic by Andy Smith

Saturday 22nd December: It's the day after the shortest day and darkness is on the menu. I leave the house at 0700hrs with my lights on and don't switch them off until I reach the bus stop. We opt for the slow way and it's far warmer than last week when black ice took Andy off his bike. He tells me that it was, after all, pretty painful, blood was drawn, he discovered on returning home and all week there was pain, but he's better now. We take it easy, riding down Hesiers Hill with our hands covering the brakes, slowing us down, it's not safe, but it's not icy either and I'm feeling energised all the way along Beddlestead. Little in the way of Lycra monkeys as we climb the hill, emerging on to Clarks Lane and hanging a left. We freewheel to the bus stop, park up and I serve tea. Andy hands out the BelVita biscuits, but I'm not that hungry, I've already eaten a hearty breakfast. I make do with just one. A bunch of monkeys ride past en route to Westerham as we continue to sip our tea and watch the cars travelling east and west. With Christmas just up the road, it's busier than normal, more cars on the road, plenty of bustle and it gets worse as the day progresses. Well, at least it's not raining. We ride back the slow way, very scenic, amazing how the landscape looks totally different when we turn the road inside out, ride backwards almost, rewind the tape so to speak. I wonder whether it's possible to free wheel all the way to Hesiers Hill, but then I forget to try and start pedalling. The hill is hard, harder because I get muddled with the gears, change up instead of down, lose momentum, end up stopping and find it difficult to get going. I'm on the move again, I don't stop until I reach the top and then we wind our way around the lanes, past St Leonard's church, then another hill, I mess up again, in the wrong gear, a constant problem, but I'll remember next time, perhaps tomorrow, except there is no tomorrow, it's rained off. I'm awake early, around 0430hrs, I lie there, right hand fretfully on forehead, thinking bad thoughts about the day ahead, it's going to be hectic one way or another and all I want to do is nothing, but that's not on the agenda, not today. I hear the rain falling and it doesn't stop. I finally get out of bed at 0600hrs, it's still coming down, I look at the puddle on next door's conservatory roof, stair rods, well, not quite, but it's relentless. "Looks like 'abort' as it's pissing down here," I write and send to Andy. "Yes, fingers crossed for tomorrow," he replies. Later on it is still raining and I am downstairs listening to Green by REM, the ride is off and I try to keep a tally on what day it is, soon I will lose it completely, that's the way it is with Christmas, I lose track of time. "What day is it?" A frequently asked question, but time to start reading Girlfriend in a Coma by Douglas Coupland, a book that's been hard to find. I like Coupland. I read Generation X, it has a special quality, reminds me of the America I love. Right now I feel slobby. I haven't been on the ride, but today would have been cut short as there's stuff to do, people to give lifts to, jobs to be done, visits to be made and I've got a new coat that I'm excited about wearing, makes me feel like Kurt Russell in The Thing. I've always been a big baby and still am, I can't really grow up, that's my problem. Paddy Ashdown has died, aged 77, after a short illness and I am reminded of the time I met him, on a train, somewhere near Salisbury, a six-pack of Wadworth's 4X, time travel, he had a view, a good man for engaging in a crazy conversation, he didn't ignore us, he got involved, clearly a proper politician, a dying breed, literally in his case.

A weird dream...

Strange and vivid dream last night involving motorcycles, a car park, a large European manufacturer, central London and a lunch appointment. It also involved people, but people who traditonally don't have bald heads, being inflicted with what I can only describe as a 'clown cut' – bald in the middle but with tufts of hair on the sides of their heads. Nick Knowles and Gary Lineker sported such haircuts and they also worked for the aforementioned large European manufacturer. I'm not sure what was going on with this part of the dream as the main focus was the motorcycling. Initially, two bikes were involved in the dream, but somewhere along the line my bike went missing, or something was wrong with it, I don't know, but I ended up with the other bike, which was totally different: it was squat and bulbous and had short handlebars. I had to ride this bike and my plan was to ride it to a restaurant somewhere in London where I would hand it back to its original owner. I found myself in a car park from where I had to ride the bike out on to the road. I managed fairly well, getting the hang of things pretty quickly, but at some stage I crossed to the wrong side of the road and on to the pavement, all without falling off, but I can't remember arriving at the restaurant. This was when Nick Knowles – or was it Gary Lineker? – turned up sporting their bald hair cuts. They worked for a large industrial conglomerate on the European mainland and for some reason we were all congregating close to the car park from where my motorcyling excursion had started. There was a woman in a navy blue suit who had one of those suitcases with a telescopic handle, but her handle was ridiculously long, let's say at least 20 feet, and I was charged with the task of pulling the case into where we were all standing while keeping the handle fully extended. I managed it, but the main thrust of the dream was the motorcycle, although there was, for some reason, a small car in that car park and I had something to do with it. At one stage I wandered down to the lower level (let's make it clear now, this wasn't a multi-storey, it was a badly-surfaced, mossy space of ground on a slant) and there I saw the car, doors open, sparks flying, something was wrong with it. I can't remember much more about the dream or why I had it.

St. Leonard's Church and the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

I had a broken night and strongly considered an 'abort' text, but in the end I fell asleep and when I woke up I discovered it was 0700hrs and not an hour earlier. I'd reset the alarm on Thursday night and hadn't switched it back to 0600hrs. A text was sent to Andy suggesting a meeting at 0800hrs. Yes, came the reply, but the ride would need to be shorter. Fine.

It was cold out and I was unable to find my balaclava, which seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. When I reached the bus stop Andy suggested we rode to St. Leonard's Church, which is not far away, but still provides us with a 12-miler, including the distance from our respective houses to the green. We headed off and soon we were there, unpacking the tea and biscuits and seeking some kind of shelter from the wind.

Andy's bike, Warlingham Green, 16th December 2018. Pic: Andy Smith

There is no cover at St Leonard's unless we stand under the gateway, so it's not an ideal destination in bad weather and not the sort of place to head for in the rain. That said, it's a good 'short ride' and a place I'm sure we'll be visiting again in the future. Not that we haven't been there before: we were there last week, and in the summer it's a great place to be. Prior to last week's ride, I think we've made a couple of visits to this sleepy English churchyard.

The subject, of course, was Brexit and the potential second referendum. We both agreed it was wrong as it would go against democracy, even if remaining in the EU, I said, was the best option for the country. Personally, I think a second referendum would be hilarious, but who knows what will happen? I have a rule and it is this: Think of the worst thing that could happen and that will be what happens. In the past I've predicted that the UK will vote to leave the EU, I've said that the US electorate will vote for Donald Trump AND I said we (the US and the UK) would invade Iraq – all three happened. And now I'm saying we'll leave the EU without a deal – a hard Brexit in other words, mainly because we won't have a second referendum, but Parliament will be unable to agree on the right course of action for the nation. I hope I'm wrong, for a change.

We left the church and headed home, parting at the green and promising to meet, on time, the following morning.

On Sunday morning I'm glad I went out, but I was still a little weary and could have done with a lie in. Still, I got out and when I reached the green I found Andy taking the photograph above. We opted for the slow way to the Bus Stop and en route discussed the lack of time for our rides. In days gone by we seemed to have more time, but now time has closed in; it's as if somebody turns over an hour glass and the sand runs through pretty quickly. We seem to reach our destination, drink our tea, munch our biscuits and then get up and head home. In the old days things seemed far more relaxed, which might have something to do with meeting at 0700hrs rather than 0730hrs. Perhaps that extra 30 minutes made all the difference.

Sunday was warmer than Saturday, but as we headed along Beddlestead Lane Andy's bike slipped and over he went. Black ice on the road. Andy was fine, but when I stopped behind him and placed my feet on the ground, it was very slippy, a bit like walking on an ice rink. Dangerous if any Lycra Monkeys were planning on racing recklessly down the hill, not that we saw many Lycra Monkeys this weekend. There was no ice in the middle of the road so we carried on, carefully, and eventually found ourselves on Clarks Lane. We turned left and free-wheeled the short distance to the bus stop. We didn't talk about Brexit.

On the return trip, Andy and I parted at The Ridge. I followed the off-road path to Warlingham, sailed along the Limpsfield Road and was soon home. I had a bit of a headache and spent the rest of the day lounging about, watching a movie and then making the Sunday roast chicken. I hit the sack around 2200hrs, but woke up just before 0300hrs and found it difficult to get back to sleep. I must have nodded off around 0500hrs and was then woken by my alarm – the sound of birdsong – at 0600hrs. Still sleepy, I reset the alarm for 0635hrs and then got up and made breakfast. It's now Monday morning and time to get ready for work. I've just enjoyed multi-seed porridge with grapes, blueberries, raspberries and sliced banana, plus a mint tea. I'm listening to the Today Programme, on Radio 4, and there's a lot of air time being given to Gaza, they're talking about the Israeli blockade, but who cares? The whole Israeli/Palestine thing is going to run and run, it'll never be solved, a bit like famine in Africa and homelessness here in the UK.

For video of Sunday's ride, including Andy's fall, click here.