Lockdown, Part 23: Andy and I meet at the Tatsfield Churchyard

Saturday 23 May 2020: There was sun and gusty wind and it was a little on the cool side, especially when the sun hid behind the clouds. I decided a jumper was needed before heading for the churchyard to meet Andy. We hadn't met for two months and a day, since lockdown started, and the plan was to meet at the churchyard where we could socially distance and occupy our own benches.

Passing St Leonard's Church around 1730hrs during the week. 

The ride was fine, but a strong westerly ruffled the cow parsley on the roadside as I headed along the 269. When it opened out I was saved from a blast of cold air by thick hawthorn bushes, but when a gap presented itself the bike was buffeted by the wind and I felt a wintry chill go through me. I was riding the fast way, no country lanes today, my sole aim was to reach the churchyard and chill with a liquorice and spearmint tea and a chat with Andy; and before you say anything about my choice of tea, I know. I know it's a bit twee, but I love it. In fact, since lockdown I've built up a big collection of Pukka and Twining's teas involving ingredients like fennel and camomile and other poncy varieties.

The long and winding road - a little over halfway along Beddlestead Lane

I'd been sitting there alone for around seven minutes when Andy arrived on his Giant racer and it was good to see him after weeks of solitary riding with no reason to stop and chew the fat. We chatted about all sorts of things, mostly linked to the lockdown, like how the cars were coming back and how Surrey County Council was doing little in terms of looking ahead towards a world where the bicycle might play a bigger role in people's lives. Andy had lost a stone in weight and all due to daily cycling. I told him how I'd been cycling six days with one day off and clocking up 100 miles per week. For the record, I've now cycled 48 miles of a fourth set of 100 miles, that's four consecutive weeks. We both said we felt better inwardly as a result and we both agreed that cycling was keeping us in good mental health too.

Fields to the left of me, fields to right, here I am, on Beddlestead Lane...

During the week I rode to Botley Hill via Beech Farm Road and I did one trip down Beddlestead Lane, turning right on to Clarks Lane and following the road to Botley Hill and then back home. The weather was hot, unlike today, but a mini heat wave is promised, or so they say.

You can't beat fields like this on a sunny evening...

Andy's put his Kona Blast in for repair, it's going to take four days as the man at the store has too much work to do. I told him about Cycle King saying no to all but 'key workers' and started thinking about the madness of that decision. My bike has no front brake, but it's heartening to know that when I collide with a car and end up in A&E the doctor comforting me will only be there because he got his bike fixed and I didn't. Andy says it's pretty easy to replace brake pads so I might give it a go, although I think I'll check out Cycle Republic first. Either way something has to be done as I've only got one brake that works effectively and I don't want to start neglecting the Rockhopper like I did the Kona, which, incidentally, is still sitting in my garage with two flat tyres and in need of some major TLC.

The wind and the rain picked up, but the latter was short-lived. There's nothing better than the sound of the wind in the trees, it's like a roaring waterfall. It was time to go and Andy decided to ride through the village while I headed back down the wooden steps towards Clarks Lane. When I reached Approach Road I looked out for Andy and assumed he had long gone, but later discovered that he saw me heading down the 269 as he approached The Ridge. We're meeting again next Saturday - another sign that slowly things are getting back to normal - not that either of us want more cars back on the roads.

Lockdown, Part 22: Men Go and Come, but Earth Abides...

Sunday 17 May 2020: I followed the scenic route to Botley Hill and then rode further, to the Tatsfield Bus Stop. I reckon the distance hovered around 16 miles. While I remarked in a recent post that I found Beech Road, or Beech Farm Road, a little depressing - it's something to do with the field full of furry-legged horses and the trailers visible behind a wooden fence, not to mention the sinister-looking mobile phone masts standing erect across the fields - I've decided it's better than risking my neck on the 269. I think it's also something to do with the faux countryside, the fact that while it all looks very rural, it isn't. Admittedly, the road emerges halfway along the road of craziness (let's not forget the corona cocks in a carrot-coloured Caterham 7), but somehow the more airy section of the 269 feels a little safer (until I hear cars behind me and see cars up ahead). The problem is that drivers behind me won't slow down and wait, they'll try to squeeze past, giving me little in the way of clearance. There is an off-road path, but that means punctures and so far (since lockdown began) I've avoided them. I keep expecting to open the garage door and find a flat rear tyre, the ultimate nightmare in my opinion, it's not only deflating, it's demoralising. I know it would put paid to the ride until I could drum up the enthusiasm to fix it, not always that easy.

Riding along Beech Road heading towards the 269...

Mind you, I've had my fair share of deflation this weekend. One thing I've noticed about cycling daily is that it's given me a lot of energy and positivity. After a good ride I'm ready for most things and I'm kind of up for anything, like making the dinner, something I never seemed to have the energy for when I was commuting to work everyday, I just hoped it was virtually ready or being served when I walked through the door, but not anymore. I've been making the dinner most nights and I'm enjoying every minute. I've even set up my own imaginary restaurant, going by the name of Handel's. Why Handel's? Because prior to every meal served (and during) Handel is playing quietly in the background and it's great. Handel and a candle, well, a tealight, to add some ambience. And we've had some great meals in this exclusive restaurant: Padron peppers with lightly smoked fillet of salmon, a couple of excellent pasta sauces, served, of course, with pasta shells and the list goes on. It's a chilled way of ending each day in an imaginary restaurant with only one table and no need for social distancing.

But I digress. Deflation. That cycling energy got me outside early this morning. I had the mower out and I mowed the front lawn twice, it looks great, then I moved on to the back lawn, which is much bigger. I was motoring along and soon had the mower ready to rock. Well, things started off well and I think I managed five lengths of the lower lawn before the mower conked out, no power, nothing. And no, it wasn't a fuse, I tried that. It was a loose connection and it wasn't something I could fix so it's looking like a new mower is needed. To be fair, we need one. Last April we forked out a few quid on repairing our Hayter Envoy 36, but now it's getting like a secondhand car, when you have to stop spending on it and buy a new one. I can't remember what was wrong with it last time, but it was fixable and cheaper than buying a new mower. Now, perhaps it's a different story. I was up for just going to B&Q and getting a new one, but getting one delivered would be better, so we're leaving it until tomorrow, or some time next week, to assess our options.

At the Tatsfield Bus Stop on Saturday, early evening.

The lawn looks as if it's had a radical haircut, it's half cut, half uncut, and I'll admit the whole thing deflated me, having been so full of beans when I first set foot in the garden. "You mustn't despair." That's what dad used to say and he had a point, but sometimes I reckon a bit of despair does you good. Well, perhaps not. I'm over it now, but it demotivated me so much that I almost didn't hit the road on the bike. I did eventually, bringing my weekly total so far to 74 miles. After Monday's ride it'll be in the region of 88 to 90 miles and I'm currently debating whether to aim for 100 miles every week or just ensure that I get out there and do a minimum of 10 miles per day, or perhaps always ride 15 miles daily, rather than stick religiously to 100 miles. I always get bogged down with dilemmas.

The problem with lockdown, of course, is that when something goes wrong, it stays wrong as there's nobody to fix it. My bike needs servicing, the front wheel isn't aligned properly, the front brake pads need replacing, there's a bike in the garage that could do with a new saddle, but there's nobody to fix it on; the fact is I'm going to have to step up, learn how to do these things myself. I'm fine with punctures and taking wheels off, but I've yet to master replacing hydraulic brake pads or fixing saddles, but fortunately there's YouTube and plenty of willing online lecturers.

I wonder how many people are letting things go to rack and ruin? There are plenty of folk, for example, who can't fix a straightforward puncture, so I'm guessing there are many bikes in garages around the country doing nothing. If my car broke down I'd have to leave it by the roadside or wherever it conks out until there's somebody capable of repairing it. I'm going to have to learn new skills. It's a bit like the novel Earth Abides by George R Stewart (worth reading if you're interested) about a post apocalyptic world where people simply have to get on with life after a mystery disease, dare I say virus, has wiped out millions of people and everything has basically ceased to be: roads eventually get clogged up with weeds, bridges collapse, the power system fails, hospitals are no more, and people (survivors) live in little communities. It's a weird and frightening book and one I might read again and there are echoes of it in the lockdown. Doctors can't be seen in person, bikes can't be fixed, lawn mowers remain stationary on the lawn, slowly the world we know and love changes and we all have to find our own way. I feel sorry for university students, especially those who have just completed year one and were looking forward to university life, but now have to rely upon video conferencing, at least for the time being, it's a big shame for those people and I know some of them.

Fortunately, I suppose, corona virus isn't that dangerous. Sure, it's a killer, but it's not like the disease in Earth Abides. We'll have to wait for the real humdinger - that's probably being designed as I write this - and I'm hoping that those supposedly in charge of the world (Oh My God! It's Trump and Johnson) get together and stop whatever (or whoever) might have caused this.

Lockdown, Part 21: Television is off the agenda

The final ride of my week, which runs from Tuesday to Monday, was, if I'm honest, a little depressing and it's hard to put my finger on why. It was the ride that would take my weekly mileage to 100 miles, but because I'd riden to Oxted on Sunday, which is only a 20-mile round trip, as opposed to a 22-miler had I gone to Westerham, I had to figure out a way of adding the extra mileage and thereby stop the very real threat of only having riden 98 miles.

The weather was fine, albeit a little blowy and colder than it has been these past five or six weeks. I left later than usual, some time around 1800hrs, and that, I suppose, was the first bum note of the ride. Normally I hit the tarmac around 5pm and I know I'll be back at just gone 6pm, but this time I could see the candle of time burning down, narrowing down the window of consciousness before the desire to hit the sack.

Lots of cereals in the house

Instead of riding straight along the 269 I decided to turn left at the small roundabout just past Sainsbury's at Warlingham and follow the route Andy and I refer to as 'the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop', except I didn't follow it to the end. I skirted around the narrow lanes, past St Leonard's church, but instead of heading down Hesiers Hill, I followed the road round and into Beech Farm Road, heading towards the 269. There's something about Beech Farm Road or Beech Road or whatever it's called, it's okay, but I was being held back by the wind, the ride was sluggish and I suppose it simply wasn't as enjoyable as usual. It's a long road too.

I found myself getting depressed about my surroundings; there was something weird about the fields with the horses, something derelict that I couldn't quite pin down and something, I suppose, artificial about everything. Perhaps it was being so close to London that rendered the surrounding countryside a little plastic or might it have something to do with a strange noise that followed me along the road, like the noise of a deep and growling furnace being fired up or possibly some huge aircraft sitting on the tarmac at nearby Biggin Hill airport. I started thinking about the Vulcan bomber for some reason, but there was definitely something roaring loudly somewhere across the fields and it stayed within earshot all the way to the 269 where I turned left and headed for Botley Hill. I was strongly tempted to ride the same way back, but convinced myself that the detour I had already taken definitely amounted to two miles, meaning my 100 mile target was in the bag. Besides, there was something about Beech Road that disturbed me or at best depressed me. I had thought about riding back along Beech and turning left into Washpond and then either right or left into Ledgers, but I was wasting my own time thinking about it and in the end decided to race towards Warlingham on the 269.

The latest tea to arrive

I had a tremendous sense of relief when I arrived back home and put the bike in the garage. Tuesday was my day off from riding so I could chill for a day and not think about heading for Botley until Wednesday. A planned four-mile walk fell by the wayside and after dinner I sat and watched the X Files. I'm on season four, but I'm getting a little jaded by it. I can tell this is the case because I must have nodded off during one episode and woke for the start of another. In the end I switched it off and went to bed and now it's Wednesday and I have to head out on the bike sometime around 1700hrs. It's a bit grey out there, but it's dry and that's the main thing.

The ride was good and while everybody was saying it was cold out, it wasn't. I was going to follow Beech Road, but couldn't bring myself to turn left at the roundabout. Instead I headed straight for Botley Hill and rode back to make dinner (spaghetti bolognaise with pasta shells). Since lockdown I've had a candle burning on the table for some reason, it makes things seem a little special. There's also classical music, last night Hadyn. Since lockdown things have become more cultured for some reason. Television is off the agenda, and by that I mean terrestrial television. I don't want to watch Fergus Walsh wallowing in the virus or Huw Edwards, with his Presley snarl, telling us all the bad news and reminding us that we live in a country run by covidiots. I also don't want to see celebrities on Zoom on the One Show with that awful Alex Jones or Question Time with the equally awful Fiona 'keep the peasants away from me' Bruce, without a studio audience; and when are the soaps going to run out of recorded programmes? So instead I watch the X Files on Prime, or I run through what's available on Netflix and realise that, after Ozark, there's absolutely nothing there worth watching. Roll on 2021 and Season Four!

Padron peppers, very nice

It's now Thursday and the week is drawing to an end. Time is moving fast. We're now in mid-May and it's looking as if the whole year is going to be wasted staying indoors and eating. Every week I buy a sack of Alpen and alternate between porridge and muesli. Just now, for example, I had the latter with blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, grapes and banana - my five-a-day before 0700hrs washed down with a cup of tea and accompanied by a peanut butter sandwich. That will probably see me through to around 1000hrs when the desire to eat one of the hot dog rolls in the bread bin will get the better of me, but at least I'm not eating cake or chocolate at work, although I've had my fair share of Wispa bars.

The Rockhopper really needs a service, or, failing that, its front brake and wheel need looking at. I think the wheel is out of alignment as the front disc seems to be rubbing. I might need front brake pads too, but the bike stores are open only to 'key workers', or they were the last time I checked. Either way, the bike is okay other and I can live with it short-term. The main thing is that the bike is fine and so is the weather, two essential ingredients in my life at the moment.

There was a VE Day street party in our road last weekend. It was good to meet and chat with the neighbours as most of the time we all just go about our business and see nobody, so hats off to the organisers. It wasn't a boozy affair, not for me at any rate, just chatting in the fresh air and sunshine. I found out that Phil has a new addition to his family, perhaps that's what's been keeping away from the ride, who knows? I also learnt that the treasurer for our local literary society lives a couple of doors up from me. The society meets in a local church and I think I'll mosey along to the next meeting, whenever that might be.

Scenes from a street party

So another day dawns, the sun shines, there's classical music on the radio and all is peaceful. A day of work lies ahead of me and then a ride on the bike, it's all getting very samey, but the weekend is almost upon us, there's a lawn to be mowed, shopping to be done and a ride or two to Westerham. Life goes on and I still haven't gotten round to buying and learning how to play that bass guitar, perhaps it's not to be, but for some reason it's something that will always elude me, I don't know, but life is stirring in the house, it's gone seven, there's somebody clanging around in the kitchen, which means my writing time is over until tomorrow. Time to sign off and hit the shower.

Lockdown, Part 20: Oxted High Street is deserted

It's grey, cold and windy outside. Since late afternoon it's been getting steadily worse. What started out as a great day, which saw me riding to Oxted - wearing summer clothes, like a tee-shirt - morphed into a horrible blob of greyness with cold gusts and, in some places, rain.

Oxted was deserted

Looking out now I can see trees swaying about and a general dullness which has been reinforced by the face of Boris Johnson, our Prime Minister, on television talking about the virus and the lockdown and what we can and can't do, and I think the mood of the nation is simple: fuck off, Boris, leave us all alone, we're quite happy self-isolating and we don't want to go back on the building site to start making money for you at the expense of our own health. Or perhaps that would be my view if I was a construction worker. I'm quite happy the way things are, I'm happy with my daily cycling, I don't mind nipping out to do the shopping on a Saturday afternoon, even if it does mean standing in the car park two metres behind the person in front of me. Alright, you can exclude the 'Covidiots', they've never socially distanced themselves, they're too busy at their VE Day parties doing the Conga down the street or the Gap Band's row boat thing that everybody used to get excited about in the eighties.

Titsey Hill is not for beginners...

I think Sturgeon is right to keep everybody in Scotland under lockdown and put paid to the potential of a second wave of the virus that is likely to be caused in England by the aforementioned Covidiots. I love that word, Covidiots, a great name, of course, for a band. "And now, welcome on stage, the Covidiots!"

A dry leaf just cantered past my window and is now stationary until the next gust of wind blows it out of my line of vision, but you didn't want to know that, did you? Perhaps you did. Anyway, there you have it: a prematurely autumnal leaf playing dead as I write this.

Under the new rules we can now jump into our cars and go out for a drive somewhere, but in all honesty, I've gotten used to not doing that. I last filled the car up with gas about six weeks ago and it's still a quarter full now, mainly because we've only used it to drive to and from the local Waitrose. The last thing I want to do is go back to our 'old ways' of driving aimlessly into the countryside or down to the sea just to wander around for half an hour and then drive home again. We've been saving loads of money through not doing that and I'm used to it and don't particularly want to start it up again. I'm eating and sleeping well, getting more than enough exercise on the bike and I simply don't need to tire myself out driving miles to do nothing. I mean, it's not as if we'll be able to get a cup of tea and a slice of coffee and walnut cake, they're all closed and even when they open I don't particularly want to sit there with 'other people', I was getting used to my small circle of acquaintances, namely my wife and daughter. I was hoping the 'new rules' would mean we could see our son, but no, there was no mention of the so-called 'bubble' everybody's been talking about.

Lunch when I got back

Today's gloomy weather was predicted a few days ago and we've all been expecting it, but it's still depressing, even after six weeks of sunshine and warmth. But I think its temporary, I fact I know it is, sort of. This morning, yes, it is another day since I wrote the last sentence but one, the sun is out and the wind has calmed down a little (it was crazy during the night) so I'm hoping that today I'll clock up my second week of riding 100 miles. All I've got to do is ride to Botley Hill, come back, take a right on Ledgers or Beech Farm and make my way home. A straight ride to and from Botley will leave me two miles short and I can't be having that, not after pushing the envelope yesterday and riding to Oxted. Coming up Titsey Hill is not for beginners, but I've done it before and I did it yesterday without much bother. In fact, on leaving Oxted (I rode to the Little Waitrose and then back along the deserted high street, leaving town via Granville Road) I noticed, before the climb, a wonderful lake and I can only assume it's part of the Titsey Estate. I intend to ride to Oxted again next weekend as it's a pleasant ride, although going down Titsey (a 16% drop) is a little scary, especially with a dodgy front brake.

The Rockhopper outside Waitrose after a mid-week ride to Botley Hill

I need to visit the bike shop as the front wheel appears to be out of alignment, I'm guessing the front brake needs fixing and I need to buy a saddle for another bike that's in the garage, something a little more comfortable for the potential riders. That's one of the reasons I rode into Oxted, because I thought there was a bike shop there, but no, it's gone, replaced by a gin palace that is closed because of the pandemic, which seems so wasteful. Oxted needs a bike shop, not a gin palace, and now it doesn't have one, more's the pity.

When I reached home I made lunch for myself using up the last of the Jersey Royals, some brocolli and some scrambled eggs, which sorted me out good and proper prior to my drive to Waitrose to do the weekly shop. And yes, I had to stand there in the queue in the car park, in the cold breeze, watching out for Covidiots, but not seeing any, there's no such thing at Waitrose. Earlier in the week I'd paid a couple of visits on the bike, just to pick up milk and stuff we needed, like a Wispa bar for me, which I ate alone before unpadlocking the bike and riding home. I quite like going to the store on the bike.

Today, yes, it's still Monday morning, I've just heard that it's going to be dry and cloudy with patchy rain in the north, well, that's not down here in the south so I'll get my final ride of the week in. I need to check the weather for the rest of the week.

Lockdown, Part 19: It's not going away any time soon...

You know that weird feeling you get when you walk on to an escalator that isn't moving? It's an odd feeling on so many levels, one being that you know it's not working, but still feel surprised when your feet make contact and the whole experience becomes awkward and ungainly. Well, that's kind of how I felt yesterday evening when I decided to go for a walk. It was strange because I hadn't been walking for a long time due to cycling everywhere so when my feet made contact with the tarmac the feeling was similar to walking on a stationary escalator. It took me a while to get used to it, but eventually I acclimatised and managed a brisk four-miler following the route of my original lockdown cycling. I walked up Elmfield Way, up Church Way, turned left into Norfolk Avenue and made my round to Ridge Langley.

It was a windy day so a jumper was needed, but it was pleasant and there was sunshine, but also cool air in the shade so I chased the sunny spots and, of course, avoided contact with others as you're supposed to do.

What really amazed me was how fit I'd become following last week's 100 miles and all the previous weeks of daily riding. I never tired of the walk when normally, prior to so much cycling, I would yearn for it to end and I would have to stiffen my resolve as I approached a hill, but not last night. No sir, I stormed along, I was never out of breath, I never got that depressed feeling of wishing it was over, I just did it, at a fair pace. It all goes to prove how beneficial daily exercise can be and I'm so glad that I stuck to my guns and cycled throughout the lockdown, which continues and shows no sign of abating, depending, I suppose, on what news channel you happen to be watching. Last night I was watching Newsnight with Emily Maitlis, and by that I don't mean I was sitting on a sofa with Emily Maitlis watching Newsnight, I was watching her present the programme on the television. It was late, it always is when Newsnight is on, it's the last hurrah for me before bed and my hand is always hovering over the remote's off button as I pluck up the courage to admit that the day is over and I must hit the sack. But before I plunged the room into silence, blew out the candle and turned out the lights I listened to the doom and gloom coming out of the black box in the corner of the room and it wasn't good: no vaccine for at least 18 months, social distancing for the foreseeable future, the new normal, you get the picture and, as a result, I went to bed depressed, not just for me but my family, for students whose university life has been ruined and for everyone furloughed or out of work. When, I wonder, will I join them?

It's Wednesday morning and I've taken to listening to Radio 3 instead of the Today Programme on Radio 4. I like choral music ever since hearing Hildebrand von Bingen a few weeks back and now I'm listening to Josquin des Prez. I can tune in and drop out and not worry about the problems of the world and that's what I'm doing right now, sitting here writing after a bowl of Alpen and a cup of decaff tea, there's still around 30 minutes of this luxury to go and I love it.

Claude Debussy is playing Nocturne in D flat major and it reminds me of my childhood and my mum's piano album, or 'record' as we would have called it; it wasn't an album by one particular artist, it was a compilation of music from the likes of Chopin and others and, for some reason, it's stuck with me and will always remind me of the school summer holidays, the seemingly endless days of sunshine and being in the back garden with my Action Man in his Australian bush fighter's outfit, the only uniform with shorts and socks and I loved the Indiana Jones style hat, which, of course, long preceeded Indiana Jones.

It's another day of the lockdown and, as I always say, it's not that bad, but I don't think it's going away any day soon. As they were saying on Newsnight yesterday, we're all going to have to live with Corona Virus for some time and we all might catch it before long. I keep washing my hands, so does everybody else and we all avoid each other like the plague. I've also said it before, but the UK is the sick man of Europe, the Government hasn't been brilliant and people are slowly realising it, so hopefully when it's all over there will be another election and, well, let's hope there's an alternative.

Lockdown, Part 18: A bike = freedom

Not sure how I would survive without a bicycle. Ever since the lockdown I've been riding daily, albeit alone, starting off with 36 miles per week, which seems like an age ago, and now I'm on 100 miles per week, or I will be when I've completed tomorrow's ride to Botley Hill. Over the weekend I rode to Westerham twice (today and yesterday), that's 44 miles in total. On Saturday the weather was wonderful and, by sheer chance, I met Andy en route. We haven't cycled together since 22 March. He was coming from the Lakes, a place we haven't been to together for a very long time, possibly not since April 2011, and a place where, for some odd reason, we tend to visit alone. We stopped and chatted (from a distance) for about 10 minutes and both said we looked forward to when normality returns; and then Andy continued up the hill towards Botley and I sailed down into Westerham. When I arrived I found a bench and sat there in the warm sunshine drinking liquorice and spearmint tea, perfect. So perfect I had two cups before heading home. When I got back I felt great, especially after a shower late in the afternoon. It's that lovely tired feeling you get after a decent bout of exercise, you simply can't beat it.

Tudor Rose was closed...

I stayed up late Saturday night and finished off Season Three of Ozark. It was amazing, pure and simple, and I can't wait for Season Four next year. The great thing about finishing Season Three is that I'll be able to hit the sack early tonight and feel fresh tomorrow. On Friday last week and, indeed, many other days prior, late nights because of watching Ozark had become a regular occurrence, which was fine at the weekends, but not during the week. I'm now back to the X Files, or I will be tonight.

This morning, at roughly the same time as yesterday, I headed for Westerham again. There was a 30% chance of rain according to my iphone's weather app and sure enough I got some, not too much, but a light shower. The rain started when I reached the green and as a result I had to seek shelter under an awning. There was hardly anybody around, just me, a few passers-by, one person walking his black labrador, a woman pulling what seemed to be a shopping trolley full of cups and saucers (that's what it sounded like) and another kind of 'mutton dressed as lamb' woman who went to and fro a couple of times.

My bike on the green

It takes roughly an hour for me to reach home from Westerham, but I think I managed it in about 55 minutes today, which ain't bad going when you consider that half of the return journey is uphill, until I reach Botley when I have the straight and long 269 to contend with, although in these times of lockdown, it's not too bad as the traffic is light.

Sir Winston taking it easy...

Once I reached home there were sausages and scrambled egg for lunch, cooked by yours truly, and since then I've done nothing other than mess around and fall asleep and chat and now I'm looking out at the garden from the 'conservatory' at a hawthorn tree in full bloom, at a relatively decent-looking lawn and at a grey and darkening sky. Everything is still.

There's talk of the lockdown being lifted slightly, which I'm not sure about, although I guess it'll be a step in the right direction. The last thing we want is a relapse, a second wave of infections that sends us back to purgatory; but as you know, I'm not finding it that bad. I won't go on about it as I'm sure there are many people struggling being stuck in the house.

Lockdown, Part 17: Conspiracy theories...

I love conspiracy theories. I love the X Files. But, is there any truth to the conspiracy theory? Probably not. It's all about paranoia and suspicion and, well, a good conspiracy theory can keep me entertained for a long time. There's a book, The Illuminatus by Robert Anton Wilson, that I've been meaning to read, although right now, getting hold of a copy on Amazon will set me back something crazy like £30, so I'll wait for the bookstores to reopen as I know it's in Waterstone's for around a tenner.

Nothing better than a conspiracy theory...

The big conspiracy theories surrounding the corona virus weave their way around the whole thing being a deliberate act, but the weird thing about them is that, at the moment, the pandemic is too new to have conspiracy theories attached to it; 'they' are still trying to work out whether what will become future conspiracy theories aren't in fact, the truth. Now that would be good, if we found out that the reality is more worrying than the lies, that the Chinese really did manufacture the virus and released it deliberately on the rest of the world, being careful to infect just one area of China (Wuhan) in any significant way, enough to give them some kind of alibi along the lines of 'well, why would they infect their own people?' The answer being to make it look right in the eyes of the West, particularly the piggy eyes of President Donald Trump, that rare breed of US president, who says it like it is (or isn't), is not afraid to say something contentious (or darn right stupid) even if there's no evidence either way. I don't know who is the most dangerous, the Chinese, the Russians or the President of the United States. Perhaps the whole thing was cooked up by all three of them in an effort to fast track the rest of us towards staying indoors and using the Internet for everything. Ah ha! Another possible conspiracy theory! Perhaps the idea is for all of us to be more controlled by the state, and the virus is just giving us a taster of a future dominated by self-distancing and restricted freedoms. Perhaps things were getting a little too free.

Lots of us were already self-isolating

But going back to the key conspiracy theory - that China deliberately manufactured the virus - there's no evidence to suggest this is the case, which I suppose is a relief, although I've often wondered whether, if it was manufactured, the chief aim would have been to keep us all occupied 'looking after our own' while they, the Chinese, got up to all sorts of mischief in the South China Sea and beyond.

I've always been suspicious of authority. I've always thought there was an ulterior movie to anything the Government gets up to, no matter how well meaning it seems to be. So when I'm sitting there watching the daily press briefing, while I tend to believe what they're saying, there's a part of me that looks at the whole set-up and thinks, "Really?" The slides, the figures, are they real? Who knows? Perhaps one day Panorama will reveal the ugly truth about the virus, that it was some kind of collaboration between Jeff Bezos and the Chinese to boost sales for Amazon - that guy's been making literally billions of dollars from the fact that only his online store is selling books (and everything else) to the populous, everywhere else is shutdown. Perhaps the world's supermarkets are involved too. They're making a fortune as people increase their weekly shopping bills, buy stuff they don't need and scoff themselves towards happiness behind closed doors. Other beneficiaries include Amazon Prime, Netflix, the list is endless. Perhaps they're all in it together. Perhaps there was a meeting in somewhere lame like Switzerland and all the billionaires and leaders of nations got together to decide upon how to keep us all indoors, boost revenues for Internet-based retailers and video conferencing businesses and change the way we all live, get a 'new normal' started. Perhaps not.

Who needs to meet face-to-face

I do hate 'normalisation'. And by that I mean when the media, in cahoots with the Government, starts to normalise the abnormal, be it acid attacks, terrorism or viruses. A couple of years ago when there appeared to a spate of acid attacks here in the UK, the media started accepting the whole thing and putting out information on what to do if faced with the prospect of an attack, as if acid attacks were, to coin a phrase, 'the new normal'. I hate that phrase because it assumes that everybody has accepted that their lives have been changed in some way (always for the worse) and that things won't be reverting to what they used to be; in other words, instead of ridding the country of acid attacks or knife crime or what have you, we just lie down and take it, nobody's too bothered about eradicating the problem.

Personally, I hate the idea of being at home all the time, not going out

One thing I do worry about is that when this is all over, nobody is going to do anything about finding out what happened or setting things up so that it can never happen again. Once the planes start flying again, once borders are re-opened, once businesses get back to being their greedy selves and everything starts to go down hill again after Branson gets his bail-out and starts fleecing the travelling public with extortionate air fares, and the Beckhams start popping up all over the place, the fact that the Chinese, through their poor health practices or whatever it was they did to get this virus out there, will be forgotten and then one day it will happen again and it will probably be far far worse than COVID-19, it'll be something airborne and we'll all be confined to our houses, no exercise, no fresh air, no shopping once a week, no exercise, no nothing, all because we reverted back to the 'old normal' of greed and celebrity and forgot the lessons we thought we'd all learned.

While the so-called 'lockdown' has its bad points, there are plenty of upsides too. I like to think that my life hasn't changed that much as I still get out on the bike and ride for miles, albeit alone and not with my pal Andy who, like me, rides alone. I have a large garden so I'm lucky in so many respects. I like the fact that there are less cars on the road, I like the fact that nobody can ring on my doorbell unannouced and catch me in my pyjamas or disturb me watching a movie or reading a book, I like pigging out more, I like that it's a bit like a perpetual Christmas holiday of late nights and sugary desserts, chocolate bars and comfort food.

Let's all be more like China!

There are downsides and they involve a kind of slippery slope into being a moron. Prior to the lockdown I used to look down my nose at people who seemingly spent their entire lives watching box sets, endless seasons of shows that go on into infinity. "I've nearly finished season 56" I've heard people say of some new 'box set' and I've always found myself thinking that these people simply don't have lives, they spend their waking hours in front of the television watching episode after episode of shit. Do they ever talk to their other halves? Don't they ever get an early night? Have they considered reading a book? Would they ever pick up a pen and write something? No, they won't, because they've gotten addicted to something produced by Netflix (now there's a company who must be loving the pandemic). Well, the truth of the matter is this: I've become one of those people, I'm ploughing through Season Three of Ozark and I'm about to finish Season Three of the X Files, I'm addicted, I stay up late watching an episode too many and then I hit the sack around midnight and wake up bleary-eyed the next day wishing I hadn't bothered. I have become like the people I've been sneering at and so have other members of my family. There's an element of social distancing in the house too, people staying in their rooms all day (and night), a kind of shift system of people watching different box sets and in between there's the social distancing at the supermarket and my solitary rides on the bike.

Unsocial media...

The problem with the online world, be it social media - another virus beneficiary - online shopping, box sets, whatever, is that it's always been about social distancing. You go on Facebook to 'meet' your friends, you don't meet them in the pub or restaurant or park (all closed at present). Similarly, with online shopping, you don't visit the store, you stay home, key in your order on a computer and remain in the house. Even before the virus, people were self-isolating, exercising on gym equipment bought online, eating food bought online, meeting friends online, it goes on and on. We were already social distancing long before COVID-19 came along. That's probably why you hear people saying they're not too bothered about the lockdown; in fact, they rather like it, because they've been practising social distancing for at least 20 years, possibly longer.

A vaccine is the only solution...

In fact, I'm not sure how many people are going to go back to the old normal. Unless they find a vaccine - and even if they don't - people are going to remain indoors, self-isolating and social distancing. The population of that whole world of hermit-like box set-watching people is going to increase and we're all going to be more insular than we were before.

It's not so much a frightening prospect, but it's certainly a depressing one.

Postscript
I've just emerged refreshed from a late afternoon shower. Earlier today I cycled to Westerham in Kent and back, a trip of 22 miles. I feel good. Tired, but good. It's that kind of luxurious tiredness I used to get as a kid. Earlier, prior to jumping in the aforementioned shower, I'd been lying on the sofa listening to Hildegard von Bingen. The house resembled a monastery for a moment and I loved it. Later, I'll light the candle on the coffee table, I'll watch Ozark and I will chill some more. For me, and for many other people, the lockdown is a pit stop from the world of work and while I'm still working (from home) I'm enjoying being here, in the garden, lolling around at weekends, so in a nutshell I'm enjoying it more than I'm not enjoying it.

* Illustrations and photography courtesy of Pixabay.

Lockdown, Part 16: To Westerham!

Empty roads...

The routine of cycling early in the morning before the sun comes up has gone and won't be returning until the lockdown has ended and Andy and I can cycle again without the worry of social distancing. This means just one thing: later rides. During the week, as avid readers will know, I ride after 5pm normally and head out to Botley Hill where I turn around and cycle back. It's a 14-miler and it takes me about an hour, just over. My weekly mileage since the lockdown began goes like this: 36 miles, 48 miles, 60 miles, 72 miles, 84 miles and by close of play tomorrow 92 miles. Not bad going.

Today I left the house at 1110 and was initially planning to ride to the Tatsfield Churchyard, but as I bombed down Clarks Lane, past the famous Tatsfield Bus Stop, I accelerated as I passed the churchyard turn-off and headed down the hill into Westerham. The reason for this change of plan was the weather: clear skies, a warm breeze and sunshine, three essential ingredients if I'm going to go the extra mile or two. I powered into Westerham and headed straight for the green where there were other cyclists, but everyone was social distancing.

Nobody was sitting at the wooden table behind the statue of General Wolfe so I parked the bike, got out my flask of hot water, tea bag and Cath Kidson mug and made myself at home. A young mum and her daughter were doing cartwheels but everybody else, mainly cyclists, were chilling out, psyching themselves up for the journey home like I was, but mainly relaxing and enjoying the weather. It was odd being there with no shops, cafes or pubs being open, but in a way it was pleasant and I savoured every moment.

General Wolfe's statue in Westerham today

I'm not sure what time it was when I reached Westerham, but as I made to leave I checked my iphone, it was 1227hrs. I took the hill in my stride, stopping once to take a photograph but also to check I didn't have a bee or a wasp in my helmet (the one I wear on my head to protect me if I fall off). I sped along Clarks Lane, turned right at the mini roundabout and then powered my way down the 269. There was very little in the way of traffic. I reached home at 1324hrs, just an hour, which wasn't bad going. When I reached the house I made lunch, sandwiches basically, but good ones: cheese, mushroom, tomato and watercress with a little coleslaw. And then I feel asleep, or rather I kept nodding off in the heat of the 'conservatory'. Eventually I went out into the garden to read a couple of chapters from David Hepworth's Uncommon People (about Brian Wilson and The Who). Next up is Jimi Hendrix.

I could have just sat there all day, but in the end I felt energised enough to mow the lawn. I raked it afterwards, taking off any excess grass and then gave it a once-over with the mower before putting everything back in the garage and heading upstairs for a shave and a shower. Now, after dinner, I'm back in the conservatory writing this. In the background I can hear that Vikings is on. I'm not keen and I've probably said before that I can't be bothered to watch anything if the characters aren't wearing normal clothes, that's why I'm watching Ozark (Season Two) and the X Files.

On the long climb out of Westerham

Outside all is relatively still and quiet. The garden is looking good, or as good as it can look: there's always major work that needs doing in my garden, although I've put in a lot of work out there of late and I'm fairly pleased with the end result.

Nothing much new to report on the virus front. 

Lockdown, Part 15: It's all about food!

I've been keeping up the cycling. Every day I've been riding to Botley Hill and back and last night was no exception. Last week I rode 84 miles in total and this week I'm trying to go above that total. Surely 90 miles isn't much to ask of myself? As you know I'm riding six days a week with one day off, possibly today as the plan is to queue in the car park and (eventually) 'do the shopping'.

The worst thing about supermarket shopping during the lockdown is that people, including myself, simply don't distance themselves from their fellow shoppers. I have to admit that I get a little annoyed when I see somebody wearing a mask. There's something 'over the top' about it.

Healthy breakfasts are fine, but you can't beat Wispa bars and custard

The big news this week (if you can call it 'big news') was that it looks as if the 'lockdown' is going to continue for some time. The Government is alluding to months rather than weeks and I'm not sure how that makes me feel. There's a lot I miss about 'normal life', but then there's a lot I enjoy about being under 'lockdown', mainly because it's not that bad at all, as I've said many a time. The key, as I've also said many times, is having a bike. A bike brings freedom as long as you don't break social distancing rules and cycle in packs or with other people. I go out alone, after 5pm, and ride to Botley and back, it's become a default ride, and because the 269 is low on cars these days (apart from those who enjoy breaking the speed limit AND riding a little too close to me for comfort).

I realised earlier in the week how much I was saving. There are no train fares to work, no snacks, no meals at the caff, no mint teas while waiting for the train, nobody's birthday to contribute to, no lottery, nothing. The only thing that has 'gone up' in terms of money spent, is the shopping and that's because food and eating has become the focal point of everything, I'm even talking about it on Twitter and on Linkedin with colleagues past and present. In fact, since we've been on lockdown, I've eaten a lot more custard than I'm used to and I've reached the conclusion that Ambrosia Devon custard is far better than Bird's Instant Custard, although the latter could be improved with a teaspoon of banana-flavoured Nesquik. Also under discussion on social media has been Abbey Crunch biscuits. Where do they sit in the hierarchy? Are they better than HobNobs, are they trumped by chocolate HobNobs? It's all a matter of taste I readily admitted that when I was a kid I wouldn't think twice about eating an entire loaf of Mother's Pride bread, but I wouldn't today as there are far better brands to scoff. I remembered when I was kid and how, when ill (rare, but we all go down with stuff at some time or other) my mum treated me to a tin of Heinz Cream of Mushroom soup, often accompanied by slices of Mother's Pride. I loved it: a whole bowl of soup to myself. How we got it all in one bowl I'll never know, but we did.  When I was ill, the big mistake my parents made was leaving me with a little brass bell. I used to ring for room service miles too often and soon it was taken away. Tinned apple puree, now there's another one. And before anybody says there's an accent on one of those Es, I know, but I can't figure out how to type one on this laptop. My mum used to serve it up with warm custard, probably Bird's. One thing I haven't enjoyed for a very long time, however, is Heinz Egg Custard with Rice. As a baby, I loved it and I must say that if ever I find any I'm going to buy it and eat it raw straight out of the tin, just like in the old days. I remember having it as a baby, but I must have cajoled mum to get it when I was a little older as I distinctly remember it, probably when I was five or six, certainly under 10, but oh would I like some? Yes I would! I saw some once in Sainsbury's, a six-pack of it! For a few minutes I stood there until I eventually slapped my own wrists and moved on, but the temptation is there, folks. It's going to happen.

Moving on to current times and I must say that Charlie Bigham's is a great brand. We've enjoyed his bread & butter pudding and, if I recall correctly, his Bakewell pudding (or tart, although I think it's 'pudding'). Both great with custard. There's also a rather tasty cappuccino mousse in Waitrose and let's not forget vanilla-flavoured yoghurt. I'm prone to eat chocolate bars in the queue while waiting for the check out and then handing in my wrapper for scanning. Currently, my favourite chocolate bar is a Wispa, but I'm open to all suggestions. Something else I'm eating a lot of is Alpen. I noticed a huge sack of the stuff on the shelves and now find myself pouring it into a bowl whenever I feel like a snack. Sometimes it acts as a body double for my usual porridge, which must be a surprise for the grapes and bananas.

Anyway, it's now 0800hrs and I should be working so I'd better say goodbye, until the next time. I'm reading a great book at the moment, Uncommon People by David Hepworth. It's all about rock stars, a dying breed, and it's great.

* Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com

Lockdown, Part 14: Who wouldn't want to be Chris Lewis?

I was reading a great story this morning about a former member of the Paratroop Regiment who is engaged in a charity walk for an armed forces charity. His name is Chris Lewis and along with his dog Jet, he's found himself on the uninhabited island of Hildsay in the Shetlands and that's where he's self-isolating from the coronavirus. He's been given the keys to an old fisherman's cottage with no running water or electricity - sounds ideal.

This is where Chris Lewis and his dog Jet are living...

Being alone on an uninhabited Shetland isle must be wonderful: The silence and the feeling that it's just you (and your dog) and there are no outside pressures or any kind of reminders of the world. Lewis keeps himself occupied by collecting driftwood, foraging and fishing for food. He gets supplied with water and coal from the mainland and always ensures he has a three-week supply of dog food for Jet. Being surrounded by the sea and within earshot of the waves as they land on shore at night must aid a good night's sleep. He must be feeling not only on top of the world, but alive and living in the moment.

For more on this story, click here.

Source and image: BBC.