Four rides to Oxted - 80 miles over four consecutive days...

It was looking like another piss poor week on the bike and all my own doing (again). While I got off to a good start last Sunday with a ride to God knows where (I can't remember exactly as I don't have my phone, it's broken, but I think it was Westerham), I then lost the plot on Tuesday and that set in motion the usual crap about riding or not riding. However, the plus point of this week was Easter, which means that Friday wasn't a work day so I rode to Oxted (roughly 20 miles, I think it's something like 19.36 miles). It was absolutely wonderful, it has to be said. Oxted on a warm and sunny morning, hardly any traffic about, the town slowly awaking, and me sitting outside of Caffe Nero with a cappuccino and an almond croissant, earwigging on the conversations of others and taking in a few rays. I realised pretty quickly that life doesn't get much better than this and vowed there and then to ride to Oxted every day of the Easter bank holiday. It meant climbing out of town on Titsey Hill, but that was not impossible. In fact, as the days progressed I got better and better at it and soon realised that it wasn't such a bad hill after all. I know that Andy and I have discussed this before (that Titsey ain't that bad) and it really isn't. The worst bit is early on and probably stretches to around White Lane, but once beyond that the ride beds in, it's not steep, just monotonous, but it's only a drag if you let it become one; I rode up nonchalantly, looking at the trees on either side of the road, listening to the birds singing and soon I found myself at Botley Hill and on the 269 heading for Warlingham and, ultimately, home.

My trips to Oxted can be remembered by what I had to eat (and let's not forget, today is Sunday so if I ride it'll be the third of four rides). So, on Friday (Good Friday) an almond croissant which, incidentally, had nothing on the almond croissants available from the AMT Coffee kiosk on East Croydon station; and then yesterday (a plain old bog standard Saturday) I ordered a cinnamon swirl. The reason I was having pastries was simple: Titsey Hill. Yes, it's not a bad hill - or not as bad as you expect it to be - but it's still a decent work-out and I figured that four consecutive days of such riding would mean I could justify a light snack half way through, which is what I did.

I sat outside of the Caffe Nero, there was little point in staying inside, not when the weather was this good, so I found a table, I'd padlocked the bike close-by and I loved every darn minute. On both occasions a large cappuccino and the aforementioned pastries and then, on the Good Friday visit and yesterday's ride, I nipped into the Sue Ryder charity shop to see what was on offer. Being as Oxted is a fairly well-to-do sort of place, the quality of the goods is pretty high. There was a small violin and a pair of binoculars and I have to admit that I was tempted to buy the latter, mainly because I remember my dad had a pair that he used to bring on holiday with us to the South Coast and watch the ships that sat seemingly motionless on the misty horizon. But I had no way of carrying such a heavy pair of binoculars back on the bike. They came complete with a case, which was even better and I'm guessing they were 10 x 50s but who knows, they might have been more powerful. But then the old reservations started to flood my brain and piss on my parade. You know the sort of thing: "What do you want those for?" "When will you use them for heaven's sake?" "What's the point?" and soon there was no point so I skulked out feeling, it has to be said, a little down in the dumps, but only temporarily. Once back on the bike and sailing along the empty high street in the sun, glad that I hadn't visited the new Starbuck's, mainly because they don't pay their taxes, I felt fine. And soon, as I rode along Granville Road, past all the massive houses and heading in the direction of the daunting Titsey Hill, my mood lightened again and all was well with the world. 

Today, Easter Sunday, my attitude towards Oxted's new Starbucks weakened. As I peered into the airy space inside, the brand spanking new wooden furniture and fittings and the fact that I was, at that moment, the only customer, I decided to order an English breakfast tea and an almond croissant. I sat outside and watched the occasional person walk up or down the high street. The sun shone down, there was very little in the way of sounds bar the purr of a coasting car or the sound of buildings (if there is such a thing). And all the while the nagging thought of the ride home was very real. Titsey Hill for the third time in as many days. If I ride here tomorrow, I was thinking, that's 80 miles since Good Friday - four days, 80 miles, not bad going. In an odd way, I was looking forward to the ride home, and yes, even Titsey Hill, it didn't bother me, I knew the deal, I was aware that any pain (there was no pain) was short-lived, there was a touch of monotony but not for long and soon there would be Botley Hill and the 269. I headed off down main street (as they'd call it in the USA), turned left, past the Library and then right into Granville Road. The weather was roughly the same as yesterday and as I rode along I felt good about life, it must have been the fresh air and the scented hedgerows, there was optimism in the air and is was brought about by the thought of another day off, Bank Holiday Monday, and the possibility of another ride to make up that magical 80 miles. I caught a weather forecast on the television and there was talk of overnight rain, occasional showers here and there, which might mean wet furniture and that would mean sitting indoors, but I was having new thoughts and they were all focused on the new Starbucks with its airy, woody interior. I know that there's free wifi and that means one thing: I can take my lap top, I can take a decent book and spend an inordinate amount of time chilling there, blogging, writing, reading, sipping tea and taking life easy. I can take the train from Sanderstead, it's only around 15 minutes, and then a short walk down the high street. I could hang there until lunch time and then get the train home again. A lot of the time it's remembering to do it; I'll be sitting at home wondering what to do when there's nobody else around and then I'll think a-ha! I could go to that Starbucks, take my lap top, take my book and just sit there all morning. My time will come, that much I do know.

Today, the distant sound of Easter church bells rang out as I started my ride up Titsey Hill. The ascent was fine and soon I reached the top and then rode along the 269. Soon I was heading along the Limpsfield Road towards home. And now, here I sit at almost 1800hrs, not really feeling hungry thanks to Lindor chocolate eggs and a large roast chicken dinner round at the mother-in-law's house. From where I am sitting now I can see another Lindor egg perched up high on the ledge of our brass mirror. It's not mine and I'm not in anyway interested in it because I know what it's about: there's an egg and there's a box of smaller wrapped eggs inside, all very nice, but I won't be going near it. Columbo's on! "I'll be the son of a gun! Where did you find that? I've been looking all over for it," says Columbo from inside a locksmith's shop. Can I be bothered to watch it? No, not really, so I'll sign off now, but I'm not planning on posting until I know whether or not tomorrow's ride takes place. I'm sure it will. Incidentally, I did watch Columbo as it starred Jack Cassidy (David's dad) and then I watched another one about a painter with three women attending to his every need.

My phone is fucked

It's now Monday, Easter Monday, and the sun is shining just like it was yesterday morning and every morning since Good Friday. I'm planning a ride to Oxted again, but there's around 45 minutes before I hit the road. I thought I'd let you know that I don't have a mobile phone at the present time. On Thursday I awoke to a frozen phone and ended up taking it to an Apple shop in Wallington where I was told I needed a new screen and that it would cost me £266, presenting me with a dilemma: do I fix it or buy a new phone, ie get into a contract (36 months at over twice what I'm paying now) or do I pay the money, get it fixed and continue with with £13/month SIM-only deal? What would you do?

It took me a day or two, but it's quite pleasant not having a phone. Yes, I'm out of touch, yes, nobody can reach me, yes, I can't reach anybody either, but there's something fairly liberating about it. I can't use Strava either, which means I can't see at a glance how many miles I've been riding. This is good and bad. Good in the sense that it doesn't really matter and bad in the sense that perhaps it does matter. Taking the former, not having Strava simply means going for a ride and not totting up the mileage and feeling either under or overwhelmed by the knowledge. Furthermore, I know it's roughly 20 miles to Oxted, it's 21-22 miles to Westerham, similarly Biggin Hill, I know that a ride to Tatsfield is roughly 16 miles and that a short ride to Botley Hill no more than 14 miles (or thereabouts) so who needs Strava? Conversely, it's nice to know the mileage, the elevation, the riding time, and it's good to record the ride, to be able to scroll back at past rides and so forth, not that I've ever done that. I suppose what I'm saying is I'm not too bothered about it. Likewise I don't have access to my work emails and why should I? They don't provide me with a phone, although, to be fair to them, they do pay my phone bill if I use it on company business. That said, it's nice to be on a train and not feel the temptation to play with my phone, but then on the other hand I can't take photographs, can't use WhatsApp and can't check out my blogs when I have nothing else to do. Crucially, though, I don't feel like a fish out of water without it. It's amazing how quickly one adapts to stuff like this and I often wish I had the nerve to do it, not have a phone, be out of touch. But the problems kick in when you're meeting somebody somewhere or you're running late or, worse still, you've had to cancel the meeting for some reason: without a phone it means leaving somebody stranded and wondering whether you're coming or not. So, in the round, it's probably best having a phone, which then begs the question of whether it needs such sophistication. Do I need a camera? Do I need any of the apps? Or do I just need a phone that somebody can call me on or I can call them? Ultimately, that's all I need. Or is it? I am a bit of a gadget freak (to an extent) and there's not much to get excited about with a Nokia 3310 is there? Besides, where would this blog be without photographs? I'd have to carry around a digital camera like I used to in the old days. Not that there's anything wrong with that, at least the image quality would be better.

Today I left the house around 0830hrs and followed the usual route into Oxted, arriving around an hour later. I seriously thought about not visiting the Starbucks and instead going back to Caffe Nero (decisions, decisions) but for some reason I found myself in Starbucks ordering a large English breakfast tea and an almond croissant, which was far, far better than the one I had in Caffe Nero on Good Friday. It was also much better than the almond croissant in Starbucks yesterday; perhaps they were fresher today for some reason. In terms of bakes, the sequence was as follows: almond croissant, cinnamon swirl, almond croissant, almond croissant, so thank the Lord for Titsey Hill is all I can say. I sat outside enjoying the sunshine and the peace and quiet of Oxted High Street early in the morning. The whole attraction of riding here was the peace, the laid back 'easy like Sunday morning' vibe, the odd person milling around, the occasional car purring along and me just sitting there sipping tea and thinking about nothing in particular. Eventually, of course, I had to ride back, and that meant preparing myself for the ride up Titsey, not that it required much preparation, it was, after all, just a case of doing it. Remember, I'd been doing it successfully over the past three days so I wasn't anticipating any problems today. Sure enough it all went well, just me, the bike and the chirping birds in the trees all the way to the top. I sailed along the 269 and then the Limpsfield Road and soon I was approaching home. I followed the usual route and then chilled in the garden drinking tea.

Cycling-wise, I redeemed myself. From Good Friday to Bank Holiday Monday I rode 4 x 20 miles to Oxted and back, via Titsey Hill, that's 80 miles in total. Last week I managed just under 70 miles, something like 68 miles, which is also good.

Imagine owning a gun...

I'm losing track of when I did and didn't ride the bike. Let's see if, from memory, I can work things out. Last Sunday was 3 April and I remember it because I phoned Geoff, the illustrious illustrator, to chat about his altercation with his next door neighbour's gardener. That was last Sunday. Prior to last Sunday I rode to Botley Hill on Friday afternoon/early evening and returned via Woldingham, meaning that the Sunday before Sunday 3 April was when I rode to Biggin Hill and had breakfast in the Spitfire Cafe, but either way, the trend has been two rides of roughly 42 miles in total; it was a similar scenario this week just past, if I can remember it. Well, I didn't go out on either Thursday or Friday of last week - more's the pity. So let's get back to last week's ride to Westerham when I was chatting with Geoff on the phone about his altercation with the gardener, that was a ride to Westerham of approximately 21.5 miles. Yesterday I rode to Westerham, roughly 21.5 miles again, so this week another grand total of 43 miles. Shit, really, when you think about it. I need to up my game, but I think my problem is coming home tired from work (especially if I walk from Purley) and then not really feeling like getting out there. I've considered a number of ways of breaking my current spell of laziness (and let's not forget that only a few weeks ago I was doing around 70 miles per week, well, for a couple of weeks at any rate). One way is to bite the bullet, not walk home from Purley and instead ride the Nobbler for just 35 minutes or so (six miles). If I do that Monday through Friday that's 30 miles, plus today's 22 miles = 52 and then, if I ride to Westerham next Saturday, a total of 74 miles with not too much in the way of inconvenience: that's the best thing to do; the alternative would be to ride to work one day during the week (the best day is Thursday when hardly anybody is in the office. I could leave the house around 0700hrs, get there for 0815hrs and just start working, then ride back around 1600hrs, meaning just over 24 miles. Alright six short of the daily ride scenario, making it a total of just 68 miles (two miles under the respectable 70 miles). As you can see, I'm fretting again: "Just go when you can, when you fancy it, when you feel like it, don't beat yourself up over it," I say to myself and of course I'm right. The weather's warming up now, the temptation to go cycling will take over from that feeling of not wanting to go out.

April 2nd in Westerham Costa

I rode 11 miles for a haircut

Today's ride was fine, but let's talk first about yesterday's Haircut Ride. I rode into Westerham, the fast way, on the 269. I'm a bit wary of Beddlestead Lane ever since I heard from Andy about somebody being robbed of their bike, but to be honest, I've been riding the 269 for some weeks now, I don't know why as it is fairly dodgy on the traffic front and people tend to speed along without a care for cyclists. In fact, they positively hate cyclists on the 269, they all think we should be using the cycle lane, but what they don't realise is that the "cycle lane" is peppered with thorns and guarantee any self-respecting cyclist a puncture, that's one reason why most of us use the road. Also, there are people and joggers on the pathway (it's not just for cyclists) and often they're wearing headphones and can't hear a cyclist approaching them from behind, making it all very annoying. For these reasons I stick to the road. Going out around 0800hrs is fine, but if leave a little later the traffic is heavier and there's always a belligerent cunt wanting to voice his opinion in some way or other. Only the other week (I might have mentioned it) there was a motorist stuck in a queue behind other motorists because up ahead was yours truly and one of the drivers at the front of queue was doing the right thing (giving me room and, in the process causing a short queue, a minor hold-up). But for some it's not acceptable and as I passed an irate motorist he beeped his horn and glowered at me. I deliberately pulled a manic, eyes glaring insanely kind of face and waved in slow motion as I passed him. He must have been fuming at that and I hope he was, but anyway, I think I've mentioned this before so I'll stop there.

So, where was I? Ah, yes, in Westerham. I ordered a large English breakfast tea to takeaway and I sat outside as the weather was warm and everything was laid back. The bike was padlocked in front of me and I sat there, as always, people watching. 

James Nesbit, Nicholas Cage or a child molester?

My hair is mess, it has been for some weeks now. It's always the same, give it a few weeks and I start to look terrible. My hair gets straggly and it's sort of half black, half grey, some people call it "salt and pepper", which I fucking hate. Anyway, once it gets a certain length, normally around eight weeks after cutting, I look terrible, especially if I don't shave (as I'm prone not to do at weekends). I start wearing a bobble hat to press it down so that when I reach the office I look mildly respectable. If it's a windy day I've had it, especially if I forget the bobble hat - or rather the bobble-less hat, so let's make that a beanie. My mum, much to my annoyance, likes my hair when it's long and straggly and grey and I can't help but feel that all the people who love my hair in such a state are just saying it so that I stay scruffy-looking, to my detriment. My mum also thinks I look like the actor James Nesbit, especially when my hair is short: let's get this straight, I look nothing like James Nesbit. Seriously. Somebody in the office said recently that I looked like Nicholas Cage, I'll take that. In fact, it's not the first time. I was once in Seattle and a woman sidled up to me as I sat at the bar of the Belltown Bistro on First Avenue. She sat herself down and said, "There's a little bit of Nicholas Cage going on there." The thing is, without being vain and conceited, I kind of know what she means, it's the high forehead, but he has a better mouth than mine, although there are similarities, especially when my hair is longer. Right now it's very, very short. I think a number two on the sides and back and a number four or three on top, it's convict chic and nobody likes it. When it's long and straggly I look like a child molester and then, when I cut it short, I look like a convicted child molester. I can't win. 

Having a haircut has been on my mind for a few weeks. I wake up in the morning and I don't even want to look in the mirror as I know I'll be faced with the Toecutter from the first Mad Max. I've considered having it done at the barber's next to Redhill station, but the last time I was there I went down with Covid the following Saturday so they've lost my custom. I started thinking about the Syrian barber in Westerham High Street, Star Barbers, there's a chain of them, but I figured that having a haircut in a sparsely populated town like Westerham would reduce my chances of catching Covid again. But when I reached the northern Kent market town I couldn't see the place and I think it has been replaced with a charity shop. Alright, I might be wrong, I might have just not seen it as I rode by, but anyway, it didn't matter as I suddenly noticed Westerham Barbers next door to the Costa. In I bowled, having decided prior to be ultra-chirpy. I had a short wait but this was pleasant enough as the place seemed to be run by a young couple, a man who was trying to make himself look older by having a thick beard and a woman who had now engaged me in conversation, she even, infuriatingly, said she liked my hair and said that lots of people were dying their hair grey. "Perhaps I won't have that haircut," I said, jokingly, as she started to wash my hair. Why, I wondered, was she washing my hair when the plan was to cut it all off. But apparently it makes cutting it far easier. Hmmm...I started to smell BS, but they were a pleasant enough couple who hailed from Hackney and I wanted the haircut so I rolled with it and went on to have my ears flamed by a ball of blue fire and then two hot wax-dunked sticks stuffed up my nose: yes, I was having my nose waxed. He pulled them both out rather aggressively, I yelped and then relaxed. Then he decided to do it again and on each occasion I winced at the momentary pain as he ripped my nose hairs from my ears. Then there was the hot towel. To be honest, I could have done that myself, perhaps I will. I have plenty of towels, but how would I get them so hot? Actually, I probably won't bother. I remember, years ago, whenever I visited an Indian restaurant, they used to bring out hot towels after the meal and myself and a pal would take them from the waiter who handed them to us on tongs, and slap them on our faces. There was always a moment when we thought they were simply too hot, but the heat subsided fairly quickly and soon they would be just wet towels and we would discard them in a bowl provided.

With my nose now sore and hairless, my head shaved, my face hot and smelling of Turkish cologne, I paid up (£15) and headed off. Putting my crash helmet on I was pleased to note that it fitted slightly better now that the hair had come off. I rode home happy, following the road out of Westerham and heading in the direction of the Velo Barn. I think I was singing. As my hair gets longer I tend to get more miserable and apathetic and once it's all cut off I feel free and positive again. I know that over the next five or six weeks my hair will be manageable and I won't need to wear that bobble hat.

I reached home, 21.5 miles better off, and knowing that my weekly total hovered around 42/43 miles. No, I wasn't happy about it, but it was the truth, the reality, and now, as of Sunday, my new cycling week would begin. When I woke up Sunday morning I had momentarily forgotten about the haircut, until I looked in the mirror. It was a good cut and I was happy. Not only that, the sun was shining and while I was distracted by the Sunday morning political TV shows and an episode of Tales of the Unexpected, I was soon on my way (to Westerham) on the 269.

Imagine owning a gun

Going back to belligerent drivers on the 269, today (for it is Sunday evening as I write this) today this arsehole in a black Range Rover, his boring-looking wife sitting next to him, slowed, rolled down the passenger window and said to me as I rode along, "There's a cycle lane right there," pointing to my left. I ignored him, but I was annoyed at his arrogance. Later, when I arrived in Westerham, I saw his car, parked just down from Costa Coffee, they were just leaving. They'd probably stopped for a coffee. I had thoughts of coining his pride and joy - but I never carry cash. I thought about walking over there and telling him that I hadn't paid a blind bit of notice to what he, a neatly trimmed, bearded bastard, had said earlier, but I simply couldn't be bothered. Sometimes I think that extreme violence is possibly the only answer to life's little annoyances. Of course, that's a ridiculous thing to say and I'm glad that I don't carry a knife or a truncheon or a piece of splintered wood penetrated with bent and rusty old nails. Still, I ought to be careful. I tend to give these people the finger and I'm sure they see it through their wing mirrors as they drive away. One day they might turn around and come after me and it is then that I imagine owning a gun. Many years ago, I used to own a blank-firing replica 357 Magnum. It was so realistic I reckon I could have held up a bank with it. Imagine if I'd pulled out a real gun and asked him to repeat what he said. 

"No, no, no, don't start weeping, you miserable little cunt, tell me what you were saying, something about a fucking cycle lane wasn't it?"

"I was just saying that..."

"You were just saying what, fuck face? What the fuck were you saying, what was your fucking point? Why did you slow down your fucking gas guzzling pile of shit to tell me about a fucking cycle lane? Eh? You going to answer me or just sit there weeping like a fucking baby?"

"I, I..."

"What's the matter, cat's got your fucking tongue?"

I then turn around sharpish and blow his wife's brains out and then turn again and splatter his brains all over the cream leather interior, just like in the movies, before simply riding off in the direction of Westerham, looking forward to my English Breakfast tea and leaving the police to sort out the mess. I wonder if they'd catch me? Probably not. It would be a case of "no arrests have been made".

So yes, you could say I was a little angry about it, but the anger subsided, as it always does, and I sat there sipping politely on my large paper cup of English Breakfast Tea until it was time to ride home.

Later I drove to Tunbridge Wells for a late lunch in a cafe: large cappuccino, a chicken burger and salad, a few chips dipped in HP sauce, chilled music from a band called Coin and then a leisurely drive home. And now I'm watching (half watching) Spencer with Kristen Stewart. My daughter and I like her movies and I was thinking only this morning how good she was in The Cake Eaters. But enough! It's Sunday evening and I'm going to simply chill out ahead of work in the morning.

Not a brilliant week...

The weather has been strange, schizophrenic almost, insane in a way, and neither here nor there in every sense of the phrase. The temperature drop was the most noticeable thing about it; when I think back to my ride into Biggin Hill last Saturday, when the sun was shining as I climbed Stock Hill en route to the Spitfire cafe, and all was well with the world; it's almost as if I travelled to another planet as the week progressed. 

Last Sunday: a trifle but no bike ride.

Monday through Wednesday I walked my traditional walk from Purley railway station to my house just over two miles away. 'Traditional' is, perhaps, too strong a word, so let's say my regular walk.  After a day at work, however, the walk is a bit of an ordeal and when I reach home I head straight for the kitchen and a sandwich of some sort. Generally speaking, the weather was fine for the walks, there was no rain and it was Thursday when the strangeness started. There was sunshine and a kind of fluffy snow to start with, and then the snow transformed itself into a hailstone and sleet combo accompanied by a wary sun. I remember the grass, freshly cut last week, glowing in the sunlight whilst being pelted by white hailstones and translucent sleet. The temperature dropped, the wind was cold and bitter and I decided to ride the Weeble. In fact, I named the ride on Strava as a 'Windy Weeble'. It was a good ride, but not overly pleasant. Put it this way, I was glad when it was over. It was alright, but even wearing my Parka I still felt the wind blowing through me as I rode along, remembering sundown the previous week when, as I turned right on to Washpond Lane, I spied burning orange skies and silhouetted trees as I embarked upon the return journey that would take me back towards Ledgers Road and ultimately the Limpsfield Road towards the warmth of home.

On Friday the weather seemed a little better. In fact, when I forced myself to get out of the house and on to the bike I decided to ride to Botley Hill along the 269. It was just gone 1700hrs, so the height of rush hour. I expected some abuse and I wasn't disappointed. A motorcyclist slowed to tell me I should be on the cycle lane to my left and then gave me the tosser sign, which I returned with gusto. Then there was a motorist who couldn't be bothered to slow down and wait for safe moment to pass me who was beeped by a motorist coming the other way. I was planning on returning along the same road, but fed up with the angry atmosphere created by impatient motorists I decided to ride through Woldingham on the quieter country lanes, which meant extra mileage. I had to climb the steep bit at the 269 end of Slines Oak Road, which I admit I was a little apprehensive about, but I still had it, the strength that is, and managed to reach the summit without really breaking a sweat. Well, almost.

The Eagle where I ate the trifle on Sunday 

Friday night meant slobbing around watching television. There was a new series of Have I Got News for You, hosted by Clive Myrie. I have to admit, having slagged Myrie off for promoting Mastermind while covering the war in Ukraine from Kyiv, I thought he did rather a good job of hosting the weekly news quiz. The jokes were good too. But I never know when to quit and ended up watching a harrowing movie, Landmine Goes Click, on Prime. I eventually hit the sack at gone midnight and then a late start the following morning prevented my usual Saturday morning ride. Not riding today (Saturday) meant just two rides this week (on Thursday and Friday). I decided not to fret about it; as I've said before, there's no point fretting. But I must ride tomorrow. I think it'll be Westerham for an English breakfast tea, but who knows how I'll feel in the morning. I don't think I'll visit Biggin Hill again as I drove there this afternoon and in all honesty, there's not much there. Right now I'm watching Rick Stein in Bordeaux. He's driving around in a blue 2CV saying how much he loves wine, that it makes him happy. "Nothing is quite as perfect as a great Bordeaux," he says, making me feel a little angry. There's nothing worse than watching a celeb enjoying his holidays, which he's getting for absolutely nothing, courtesy of the BBC and my licence fee money. But I don't wish to give you the wrong impression. I love the BBC's output and I'm happy to pay the licence fee, which I believe is good value for money (check out the other channels and you'll soon know what I'm talking about). Good to see my licence fee money going to good use (or not as the case may be); but in all honesty, I'm quite enjoying sitting here watching Rick eating good food and drinking good wine. I've just cooked chicken with mashed potato, carrots and watercress. 

Friday's Botley ride

It's 2045hrs, Rick Stein is sitting under the shade of a tree eating cote de boeuf and drinking red wine and I'm just sitting here wishing I was him, but I'm not. Time to close the laptop and continue slobbing in front of the television. And now Matt Baker is swanning around making a programme about his parents and his wife and his chilled and wealthy and smug life. I don't like Matt Baker, he's too nice, too sensible, every woman's dream man, perhaps, but I'm hoping he has a darker side that one day will be revealed to the world and all those women swooning over him and wishing all men were as smart and sensible as he, even when they're wearing jeans! I've never been smart and I've never been sensible either ... and I'm proud of the fact!

Sunday morning

There was a frost on the grass when I woke up and it lingered well past 0800hrs. I didn't go out until 0925hrs and must have reached Westerham around 1025hrs, or thereabouts. I bowled into the Costa and ordered a regular cappuccino and then took a seat by the window where I could watch the bike. Not that I needed to as I had padlocked it, but the seat was available so I took advantage. The Illustrious Illustrator called and told me about an altercation with a West Ham supporter who just happened to be his next door neighbour's gardener. We chatted for a while about the incident and then moved on to other stuff and soon, as is always the case, it was time for me to hang up and head home - never a good moment - especially as the weather was amazing, the sun had come out and my seat close to the window was warm. I could have sat there all morning, but as the time crept around to 1130 I needed to get a move on. I followed the road to the Velo Barn (I must pay that place a visit soon) and then did my usual: I turned left into Pilgrims Lane, crossed Clarks Lane, continued on Pilgrim's, turned right on Rectory Lane and then rejoined Clarks Lane and rode towards Botley Hill. Then it was a straight ride along the 269 again, past another irate motorist, this time near Slines Oak Road who seemed indignant about my presence on the road. He beeped his horn and said something abusive, but I couldn't hear because his window was up, but that didn't stop me pulling a stupid face - and I mean a really ridiculous face - and waving at him as I passed, he would have hated that!

Westerham today

I reached home around 1230hrs, had some soup for lunch and then bought a toilet seat. Yes, a toilet seat. Life doesn't get more rock and roll, does it? Then I went round to mum's for tea and fruit cake, a flick through a one-week-old copy of the Mail on Sunday and then I drove home. Now I'm sitting here watching Columbo and an episode starring Donald Pleasance (he's definitely the murderer). I've probably said this before, but I'll say it again: I've met Donald Pleasance, in Bristol, at the opening of a playing field back in the early nineties, it's a great claim to fame, or at least I think so.

Look, I'd better go. I'm glad that this week I managed my Sunday morning ride. Last week I forfeited it, which reduced my weekly mileage. I might have covered around 66 miles, but instead I only rode around 25 miles, but that was also because I didn't ride my usual Saturday ride (thanks to that late night watching Landmine Goes Click). I'm hoping that this week I'll get back to riding around 70 miles, or possibly even 90 if I make it to Redhill during the week and then ride a couple of Weebles next Thursday and Friday. If I then do the Saturday ride I'll be on for the 90, but let's not count chickens, or anything else for that matter.

Back to Biggin Hill

Polesteeple Hill, Stock Hill, Ricketts Hill Lane, Hillcrest and, of course, Biggin Hill. The common denominator? It's the word 'hill' of course and Biggin Hill is loaded with them. I decided to make a return visit following last week's ride and this time I wanted to find the main high street and the Spitfire Cafe. Last week I simply rode there and back, but I figured it would be good to hang around for a while. Stop one, of course, was Ozzi's Cafe.

I rode the fast way to Tatsfield and then, on a whim, decided to ride along Lusted Hall Lane, a road I remembered riding up with Andy a few years ago. I recall a very steep hill and was glad that on this occasion I was riding down, not up. Lusted Hall Lane starts with terraced council houses peppered with satellite dishes. It twists and turns into the countryside and soon there are fields on either side of the road. The road dips and turns and within minutes I found myself facing a wooden sign that welcomed me to Biggin Hill. I turned left into Sunningvale Avenue and rode towards the roundabout where, on the far side, I would find Ozzi's. The sun was shining and I felt on top of the world. It was great to be back in Biggin Hill on such an amazing day. When I reached Ozzi's, however, the fact that only cash was acceptable ruled it out for me as I only carry plastic these days. I headed up the very steep and long Stock Hill (easily strong competition for Titsey Hill) and when I reached the top I turned left and then right and found myself on what must have been Biggin Hill's high street. There was a social club, a Tesco Express, a Waitrose and a Costa Coffee, but there was also the Spitfire Cafe. 

The sign that says you're in Biggin Hill!

I padlocked the bike on some nearby railings and went inside. I ordered a large mug of tea (which wasn't that large at all) plus scrambled egg on a slice of toast and then sat down and took in my surroundings: there was a lot of framed photography of airmen adorning the walls; this place was a kind of shrine to World War 2 heroics and the clientele were all old enough to have been there in person. I won't go on too much about the cafe as that's something I'll do on another blog of mine, which you can find by clicking here although I will say that the food was fine. I checked the menu and there was plenty of home-made dishes and other stuff, including apple pie and custard (the mark of any self-respecting caff in my opinion). But it wasn't that cheap. You could spend a pretty penny in the Spitfire, I thought, as I finished up and prepared for the ride home.

The Spitfire Cafe is a must for any hungry cyclist.

After unpadlocking the bike I rode down to the Biggin Hill Library and Swimming Pool and I was hoping they wouldn't tell me I needed to book a swim using an app. They didn't, so I might return one day soon for a swim with my daughter. I rode up to the junction, turned right then right again on to Stock Hill and covered the brakes on the descent towards Ozzi's Cafe. Cash only, I thought dismissively as I turned left at the roundabout and headed up Sunningvale towards the start of Ricketts Hill Lane. Yes, another hill, but not as severe as returning to Tatsfield via Lusted Hall Lane. Later I turned right on to Ship Lane and rode into what you could call the 'down town', not that there's much to see bar the Old Ship pub, Sheree's Tearoom and a posh restaurant. I didn't stop, I'd seen it all before, many times. At the end of Approach Road I turned right and headed for Botley Hill then it was just a straight run along the 269. 

Chilling at the Spitfire Cafe...

I got home around 1022hrs and psyched myself up for a bit of lawn mowing. In the end I went beyond the call of duty and decided to drop the setting down to 2 on the Mountfield and give the main lawn a second once-over (after last week's initial cut). In all honesty, when I looked at it the following morning (Sunday - Mother's Day) there was room for improvement, but I had things to do, like going into London for a Mother's Day lunch at the Eagle in Farringdon. As we wandered around Exmouth Market and Clerkenwell, prior to eating, I realised that if I had to live in London it would be here on one of the quiet and narrow side streets. But I doubt I'll ever have the money for that. I jumped on the 1428 train from Farringdon to East Croydon, leaving those I was with to check out the Barbican while I engaged in a second Mother's Day escapade, this time round at mum's. I picked up the car at the station and drove home to pick up some flowers purchased earlier and then jumped back into the car and drove over to Sutton (my home town) for a slice of fruit cake and a mug of tea. I could have done without the cake as I'd just enjoyed a large dessert (plum, apple and Calvados trifle) following my pork belly main course. Is there no end to my piggery? In short, no, and now, of course, I have a pork belly of my own.

It's almost 1900hrs and Columbo, starring Antony Andrews and, of course, Peter Falk, is on television. The sun is shining outside (all morning it was cloudy and there was the odd spit of rain). I reckon Anthony Andrews is the murderer. In fact, I think I've seen it before and yes, he is the killer. 

Last week Ozzi's Cafe was closed, but not this week...

Cycling-wise not a good week. Compared with my 70 + miles last week, I only managed something like 42 miles over two rides. I was unable to ride on Thursday, which had been the plan, and that had a knock-on effect on Friday. I dawdled when I should have just got out there. Instead I had a full English at a local caff and then drove into Sevenoaks and wandered around aimlessly. Should I fret about this? No, I shouldn't, but I always do for some reason. I did manage three 2.5-mile walks on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. The two rides on Thursday and Friday would have been the icing on the cake, but they were not to be. Still, there's always next week.

To Biggin Hill...

Part of me suggested to my other self that it might be best not to go riding today. Stay in, get the garden finished and then make Sunday lunch. But there were stronger forces at work suggesting the complete opposite. Why not get out on the bike now, early, and then come back and do the garden and the Sunday roast. It made sense so I headed off with little idea as to where I was going. If I'm really honest, I was getting bored with Westerham and simply didn't fancy another large English breakfast tea or a coffee. It was all too familiar down there and I needed a change more than anything else. So, as the journey got under way along Ellenbridge, Morley and Church Way the voices in my head started up again (and no, I'm not schizophrenic, just mulling through my options quietly to myself). What about Oxted? The plus point was obvious, Caffe Nero, but the negatives were fairly strong and by that I mean the ride up Titsey Hill on the return journey. Had I brought along a flask of tea and some milk I might have made the Tatsfield Churchyard my destination as the weather was pleasant enough, and then, of course, there was always the Velo Barn, but that would mean climbing up the same old hill that I tackle shortly after leaving Westerham. Godstone Green? No, no, no, that hill on the return ride would kill me and besides the temptation to eat cake would be too strong to resist. Then I thought about Sheree's Tea room in Tatsfield Village, that would be pleasant and I think that was my decision in the end. I rode down Clarks Lane and instead of turning left on to Approach Road and riding into the village I carried on and made the next left turn further down, keeping the churchyard on my left as I weaved around the lanes heading for Sheree's. Soon I found myself on Old Lane and saw a sign to Biggin Hill. Why not? So off I went and soon I was in Biggin Hill.

Biggin Hill is a funny old place, full of a diverse selection of modern houses stacked up steeply behind one another. There never seems to be anybody around, apart from one or two people wandering here and there. On a Sunday there doesn't appear to be anything open either. I found a McColl's newsagent on a row of otherwise closed retailers, including Ozzie's Cafe which had the shutters pulled down. There was little to do so I retraced my steps along Sunningvale Avenue and then up Ricketts Hill Lane and soon I found myself bearing right and heading for the centre of Tatsfield Village. But I wasn't planning on stopping at Sheree's. I sailed past and then wound my way along Approach Road, turning right when I reached the Tatsfield Bus Stop and headed towards Botley Hill. I wasn't even tempted to follow the road into Woldingham and chose instead to roar along the 269 on which there was little going on. Sunday is a good day for the 269. This was a non-stop ride. I needed to stop spending money on cappuccino and cake and now was as good a time as any to make a stand. It wasn't long before I found myself at Warlingham Green, then the Limpsfield Road, Church Way and, of course, home. I reached the house at bang on 1100hrs and when I got in there was a chance to make up an avocado sandwich and a mug of tea. I don't know what's going to happen today. There was talk of a pub lunch, but that's now off the cards, so I guess I'll be making a Sunday roast later. It's my speciality.

Sunningvale Avenue, Biggin Hill

A few words on Biggin Hill, the destination of this morning's ride. Biggin Hill is known for its war time aviation heroics and heroes and is, of course, still an airport today. There's the famous Biggin Hill Air Show in the summer and that's really all there is to know, but riding around the town as I was this morning I realised there was more to Biggin Hill than meets the eye; it has a certain air of immortality about it, an element of timelessness, which I love, an air of Saturday afternoon, early evening perhaps, a bare light bulb burning in an upstairs room that is being decorated, the smell of emulsion, Final Score on the television, football matches drawing to a close, some late kick-offs, Saturday night television, the prospect of a lazy Sunday ahead, snow on the ground, muffled sound, Christmas trees... or even sunshine and the heat of the summer. I don't know what it is, but it seems like a happy place, plenty of different styles of houses, but all fairly modern-looking. Oddly, when I was there this morning it appeared to be a ghost town, there was nobody around, but it was fairly early as I sailed down Ricketts Lane, noting to myself that I'd be riding uphill later on, although it wasn't that bad, certainly no way near as severe as Lusted Hall Lane, another road that would have taken me back into Tatsfield. It was a shame that Ozzy's Cafe was shuttered. Had it been open I might have nipped in for a mug of tea and a slice of toast. It probably would have been open had I paid a visit yesterday, but instead I was in Westerham, in the Costa, enjoying a regular cappuccino. I'll definitely pay a return visit, perhaps search around the town a bit, see what I can find. There might be another parade of shops with a tearoom instead of just a convenience store and a closed cafe.

The distance to Biggin Hill (the way I rode there) was around a 21-mile round trip, so it was the same as Westerham. I'm glad about that because I was pootling around this morning hoping that I could make up some reasonable distance for the sake of my 70-mile respectability at the end of my cycling week. Let's see. A lot depends on the other rides later in the week.

Okay, I'm going to sign off. Columbo's on and you can't beat a bit of Columbo on a Sunday evening, or any evening for that matter.

Four rides, total distance covered = 71.27 miles

The signs were all there: summer was coming. Blue skies, hawthorn hedges trimmed with a flat top cut, blossoms on trees, daffodils in full bloom and, of course, sunshine. I was on the bike, I can't remember what time it was, but I know it was after 0900hrs, possibly later. I was on the 269, still not that busy even though it was a Saturday morning, but cars are noisy and so are their passengers. One car passed travelling in the opposite direction and as he passed he sounded his horn. Why, I wondered. There was no reason, unless he was simply unhappy that I was sharing his tarmac space. Who knows? Not me. And who cares? Not me again.

Cappuccino in Westerham this morning

Yesterday (Friday) I had engaged with a new ride: Botley Hill and a Washpond Weeble thrown in for good measure on the return ride, not that there was a 'return ride'. There's only a return ride when I stop somewhere, giving the ride it's two halves, the outward and the return journey, but this ride was non-stop, I never dismounted. I remember yesterday's ride for one reason: there was a tremendous temptation to ride into Westerham, but I didn't. I left Westerham for today (Saturday). I turned left at the roundabout, considering as I did so riding to Oxted instead. The temptation was, of course, Caffe Nero, but the downside was riding up Titsey Hill, so I stuck with Westerham and sailed down Clarks Lane looking forward to arriving at Costa Coffee. I was already wondering whether I should stick with my usual English Breakfast tea in a takeaway cup or opt for a regular cappuccino in a proper cup. There was no way I was going to have a cake. As we all know, I'm eating a lot of cake at the moment, one way or the other, and it's got to stop.

Lunch in Gail's in Sevenoaks. I should have left it there.

Westerham was buzzing. There were plenty of people wandering around, sitting in cafes, peering through shop windows, all the usual stuff you might expect on a Saturday morning. I rolled along the high street and parked up, padlocking the bike to a road sign and then headed on inside to place my order. I opted for the regular cappuccino and then took a seat in the middle of the store as other people were occupying my preferred seats by the window. It was pleasant simply sitting there, sipping my chosen drink and looking out of the window at those passing by; as always I could have sat there all morning. All I needed was a newspaper or a decent book, but I had neither, more's the pity.

At Botley Hill on Friday

The ride home was fine. I followed my usual route past Velo Barn and along Pilgrims Lane, eventually finding myself at Botley Hill where I decided to ride the 269 again rather than travel through Woldingham. I reached home around 1230hrs and after a Marmite sandwich set about mowing the back lawn, the first cut of the year (always a little tough). It's still not finished, but I'll complete the job tomorrow some time, it's just the lawn at the very top and the edges.

This week, my four rides totalled 70.27 miles. I had exceeded my preferred weekly mileage and felt really good about it. During the week I had a puncture. Well, Thursday I had a puncture. I fixed it there and then, in the garage, having found the rear wheel flat tyre as I was about to ride the Washpond Weeble. Initially, the idea of fixing the puncture and then going out on the ride was out of the question, but I did it, even if it did mean that I would be riding in the dark on the way back. I stopped off at Waitrose for some beef gravy (we had cottage pie) and the ride from the store to home was a little precarious as I had to balance a small plastic bag containing the gravy and some hot cross buns, but I reached home safely and enjoyed a bun before dinner. 

Friday I combined a ride to Botley Hill with a Washpond Weeble, a total of 14.65 miles and then later drove to Sevenoaks where I enjoyed an over-priced meal in Gail's. I had two cappuccinos when I should have had one and I had two cakes, one pleasant, the other not so good and I think in the end I spent something like £25. The weather was perfect and I had the day off. We wandered around the town, looking in shop windows, checking out the house prices, all the usual stuff and I was feeling happy knowing that I had completed three of my four rides. All that was left for me to do exercise wise was to ride to Westerham on Saturday morning and, as you already know, I have done that.

The light faded on Thursday as I turned on to Washpond Lane

The bike is in fairly good nick. I need to jet clean it at the local garage, which I will do one of these days, but after fixing the puncture on Thursday I did give it a mini-clean, including a scrub of the block with a toothbrush, something I'd never done before.

I engaged farmyard animals in conversation on Beech Farm Road

It's now almost 2100hrs on Saturday night, there's a programme on BBC 4 about The Normans. I'm kind of half watching it while waiting for my fish & chips, which is in the oven, or so I'm told. My cycling week starts on a Sunday, meaning that I need to get up and go tomorrow morning and then get back in time to either take a drive to Hurst Green or to get back and finish off the lawn. The front needs doing too so if we end up on a drive there might be no time. I'm easy, though, so we'll see what tomorrow brings.

Four rides this week, including a pleasant trip to Westerham...

I should really be aiming for five rides per week, but this week only managed four. I've realised that it's not so much the distance of each ride that matters, it's all about getting out on a regular basis and not to fret too much about the mileage involved. So this week I've put in a few Norfolk Nobblers (now abbreviated to plain old 'Nobbler, single lap' on Strava. It's roughly six miles and this week there was a variation. On Friday (or was it Saturday, I can't remember) I threw in a Woodland Trek, an old route from days gone by that is kind of a hybrid between a Nobbler and a ride in the woods, hence the Woodland Trek. In fact, historically, the Woodland Trek came first. I used to ride it ages ago, doing a lap of Ridge Langley and then riding up the alley to the Upper Selsdon Road, turning left and then crossing the road and following a dirt track that dissects the golf course and then dives into the woods. Croham Woods is quite picturesque, especially at this time of the year when the trees start to bud up. The other good time to be there is in the autumn when everything has a burnt orange hue to it. But make no mistake, the Woodland trek is no walk in the park, especially if you're on a bike. It's fine until you have to make a left and ride to the very top of the woods off-road, that's the killer part, but if I throw the bike into a low gear it makes it and I arrive hot and sweaty at the top, ready to veer left and follow another dirt track that travels over exposed tree roots and then spirals downwards until I reach West Hill. The problem, of course, is dog walkers. They're everywhere and I have to watch out for them, give way here and there, but often they give way to me so all is well. I was expecting people to complain about my presence on a bike, but nobody did. Oddly, there's no difference in mileage terms between a standard Nobbler, single lap and the Woodland Trek, a lot of it's the same, but the latter bit penetrates the woods, that's the only difference. Well, I say 'the only difference', another big difference is the time it takes, ie another 10 minutes and I put that down to the terrain once in the woods. The Woodland Trek is a little harder.

Large English Breakfast Tea!

Today, Sunday, I rode to Westerham as I always do. I left the house around 0834hrs and I guess I must have reached the Costa Coffee by around 0934hrs. It's weird Andy not being there. Despite a constant threat of rain, the heavens remained closed and I stayed dry. It was the same on the return ride. In fact, it started raining just as I put the bike in the garage, but there wasn't much rain, just an on/off shower style of downfall that I probably wouldn't have noticed had I been caught out in it. At the Costa I had a large English Breakfast tea in a takeaway mug (I reckon I get more tea in the paper mug than in the teapot they give me if I don't ask for a take-out. I'm amazed they haven't picked me up on it, but I guess they're thinking that I'm likely to get up and finish the drink later or something, I don't know. I took a wazz in the disabled toilet as the one for able-bodied people was either locked or there was somebody in there taking a massive, long and drawn out dump. And who wants to follow that guy? Not me. I just didn't fancy pissing behind a bush on the ride back. I rode up towards the Velo Barn and then hung a left on to Pilgrims, later crossing Clarks Lane into another segment of Pilgrims, hanging a right on to Rectory Lane and then rejoining Clarks Lane and riding up the long and drawn out hill to Botley where, once again, I decided that I'd risk the 269 instead of going through Woldingham. I don't know, I just can't face that steep bit of Slines Oak Road at the moment, not that I won't tackle it soon. After all, I recently rode up Titsey Hill from Oxted so it's not as if I can't do it.

I bought a cheap lock for the bike from Robert Dyas. It does the trick when all you're doing is parking up outside Costa on a Sunday morning and it fits perfectly around the handle bars without getting in the way of anything. Pretty cheap too, around £4.99, something crazy like that, good value. I like Robert Dyas, it's one of those shops that sells comforting products, like toastie makers and slow cookers and a range of nice mugs, ideal for dunking biscuits in. You can't beat a good hardware store if you're after a little comfort.

Right now I'm chilling out, there are candles flickering from a lantern in the fireplace, we've just watched a movie, Whiplash, which was pretty good (on Netflix) and now as the evening slowly creeps in and the light starts to fade (wow! its almost 1800hrs and it's not dark yet!) the chill-out continues. The TV has been switched off, we've all enjoyed a slice (or two) of coffee and walnut cake from Waitrose, purchased this afternoon, and none of us are hungry after my Sunday roast chicken with all the trimmings, including Brussels sprouts. It was much needed, put it that way, and I haven't done it for a while. We do need to get back to more comfort eating as it does us all the world of good spiritually.

This coming week I'm planning that all important fifth ride. It'll probably be a Nobbler, single lap, perhaps Tuesday night, who knows? But I must try for five rides next week. 

A few thoughts on Ukraine...

I'm amazed at the way the war in Ukraine has taken over from Netflix as my 'must watch' television at the moment. I find myself sitting at home watching the BBC news channel watching Ukrainians pushing themselves on to trains or taking cover underground in a dingy basement to avoid Putin's bombs. I watch it until it starts to repeat itself, like all rolling news does, and then I get up and make some tea, or search around the house for a hot cross bun.

Like a lot of people around the world, like most people perhaps, I find Putin's invasion of Ukraine to be totally unacceptable in these modern times. We keep hearing people talking about how it's 2022 and this sort of thing shouldn't happen. They're right, it shouldn't be happening, haven't we learned anything from history? I find myself constantly thinking about the Ukrainian people and the fact that Putin's attack was totally unprovoked and now they're all finding their houses blown up, their livelihoods destroyed and their worlds turned upside down because of one man, Vladimir Putin, who wants to turn back the clock to the dark days of the USSR. Why? There's absolutely no point whatsoever.

I wish somebody would overthrow Putin. It can't be too difficult. The world has had enough of nutters and The Bastard is a particularly nasty breed. I feel sorry for the Russian people, some of whom are escaping across the Finnish border just in case Putin imposes martial law on the country in an effort to quell dissent against his unjustified and unprovoked invasion of Ukraine. Russians are not allowed to refer to the war in Ukraine as a war, they have to call it something else, like a 'special operation'. Let's be honest: it's a war.

I am glad that the international community is imposing widespread sanctions on Putin. His airlines cannot fly over EU, UK or US airspace, his awful so-called oligarchs are having their assets stripped, - Abramovich is selling Chelsea FC - Russian banks are feeling the pinch, companies like Apple are shutting up shop and credit card companies, like MasterCard and Visa are pulling out too and let's not forget Russian and Belarusian athletes being banned from competing in Beijing. This is all great news for us in the west and extremely bad news for Putin. 

The media, of course, have been appalling. I'm finding the BBC's Clive Myrie very annoying and also a bit smug. He appears on a roof top somewhere in Kyiv and seems to be treating the whole thing like Springwatch. He even found time to promote Mastermind in a selfie on Twitter from the Ukrainian capital. I'm always amazed at the media covering wars. As Ukrainians get the hell out, television reporters stay put and while I suppose it's brave to stick around as the Russians advance, I wonder how they will escape the carnage. Do they have some kind of special arrangement with the aggressor? Are there locations 'out of bounds' for Russian bombs? I guess that's a question for John Simpson, a journalist I greatly admire.

I've decided to listen to coverage on the World Service. I normally listen to Radio Three in the mornings, preferring to relax with classical music, but since the war broke out in Ukraine I've switched channels. I like Ros Atkins' coverage too on channel 231, the BBC's world news television channel.

What I don't like about the media generally is their constant promotion of NATO getting involved in the conflict. NATO itself has been quite clear that to establish a no-fly zone over Ukraine is tantamount to declaring war with Russia, something nobody wants, especially considering Putin's nuclear threats. But the media constantly asks the question even if they already know the answer. Zelensky knows the answer too: we can't get involved militarily.

I think the Ukrainian conflict is here to stay. It's not going away any time soon. I think the Russians will 'win' based purely on superior firepower, but they won't 'win' completely. The Ukrainians have already put up a brave fight and I'm sure they will continue to do so; in fact, going forward, I think they might turn the tables on Putin eventually and possibly force a withdrawal. But until then there will be a strong insurgency similar if not more intense than the French Resistance against the Nazis during the Second World War.

Ultimately, I think Putin will fail. Worldwide condemnation is already upon him. Perhaps he will 'win' the war, but at what cost to his own credibility at home and internationally? I think Putin is finished and will either be toppled by his own people or by those close to him, but I'm not going to hold my breath. It's all a big shame as Russia is a great country, it's people too, but Putin is forcing everybody to turn against it and them.

Lastly, when it comes to National Anthems, the Russians have one of the best; it's moving, it's rousing, it's (ahem) anthemic and everything a National Anthem should be, and I must say that I love it. What a shame, therefore, that such a great country should be vilified by the world for the actions of just one man. Stop Putin now.

Andy out of hospital and on the road to recovery

I managed to speak briefly to Andy yesterday night while in the car park outside of East Croydon station. Not the ideal place to have a telephone conversation, so we agreed to talk the following day. I found myself in Knole, a National Trust property in Sevenoaks, Kent, and called around lunch time, having not enjoyed a sausage bap nor a 'cappuccino' that was nothing like those for sale in Costa Coffee or Caffe Nero.

Andy (right) on an early NVL ride

Andy got out of hospital yesterday and while he sounds relatively okay on the telephone, it's clear he's been through an ordeal. He told me his story. He came off the bike after riding over black ice and landed with a bang in the middle of the road. When he tried to pick up his bike, he realised that he was badly injured and once the adrenaline had worn off in a lot of pain. A man who was driving a car behind him stopped and asked if he was alright. He wasn't. It was not a case for dialling 111, but 999 and while the ambulance people told him to allow for up to a two-hour wait, it was there within 20 minutes and Andy was given gas and air and morphine to alleviate the pain, which completely disappeared.

At East Surrey Hospital near Redhill Andy underwent various tests including a CT scan and soon it was clear that he needed an operation. Plates and screws were needed to mend what turned out to be a broken hip bone and now he has been told no cycling for at least two months. He's off work and needs to inject himself with blood thinnners for the next six months to keep his blood thinned. My mum had to do the same after her hip replacement operation back in January 2019. Andy, incidentally, was almost given a new hip, but it wasn't necessary, he told me.

It looks like a long and frustrating journey back to good health, but if Andy puts the same determination into his recovery as he has his cycling then I see no reason why he won't be fit enough on 21 June when he plans to ride well over 200 miles in a day to Bodmin in Cornwall. That's his goal now: to make a complete recovery by the summer solstice. I have every faith in him doing that. It means, of course, that I'll be riding to Costa Coffee in Westerham alone for the next few weeks as Andy nurses himself back to good health. I'm hoping to drop round one day to say hello, but it's best to let him recover a little bit first.

We had a long chat on the phone about the type of diet he'll need to go on in order to successfully ride to Bodmin. We spoke about the time when I 'ran out of fuel' on one of the Black Horse rides and how a few Digestive biscuits got me moving again, but riding over 200 miles in a day he will need more than biscuits and is planning out how to eat the right foodstuffs to get him over the line. If you want to read more about Andy's Solstice plans and what he's thinking in terms of dietary requirements, click here  for more. I think you will also find a link about how to sponsor his ride.

As for Andy's state of mind, he seems to be handling his situation admirably, viewing it, perhaps, as a mixture of bad luck and an occupational hazard of cycling (to be avoided if possible). But it's happened, he's got a big ride planned for June 2022 and his motivation is to get better and get back on the road. You'll get there, Andy, I have no doubt. Get well soon. For more on this story, click here.

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.