In Amsterdam...

Took a local train into central London around 0839hrs and then jumped the Underground, Victoria Line, all the way to King's Cross. Then, a shortish walk to St Pancras where I discovered a huge queue for the 1104 Eurostar to Amsterdam. Surely I would'n't have to queue! Why? Normally I simply check in, go through the baggage scanner and passport control and I'm there, in a kind of no-man's land, sipping coffee and munching on an almond croissant. Not today. "It's half-term," said a man in uniform after I'd retrieved my tickets from the machine. I skulked away and found the end of the queue; fortunately, it didn't take long and I was soon placing my suitcase into a large black plastic tray and walking through the scanner, just the same as when I'm flying. And was I glad I wasn't flying? Apparently, I could make a ridiculous amount of Eurostar journeys to Amsterdam and back and not get anywhere close to the amount of carbon I'd be emitting if I'd flown there. 

On the Metro, leaving Amsterdam Centraal...

I was in coach 7, seat 67, an aisle seat and the journey was, well, I wouldn't say pleasant, there's something rather unpleasant about travelling on the Eurostar and I'm not sure what it is; I suppose it's something to do with the cramped conditions, then it's the frosted (or are they dirty?) windows which mean you can't see properly, there's a kind of grey film over the windows which makes looking out pointless. So I sat there reading The Bear Comes Home by Safi Zabor (oh, please, let me finish it soon, I can't stand it!) I read a few pages, then stopped, then read a few pages and stopped. Around lunch time I made my way to the buffet car and bought a cheese and ham panini or baguette, a bottle of mineral water and a KitKat. I returned to my seat and then realised that my tray, the tray in front of me, was already laden with my beanie hat, glasses, book, notepad, phone and tickets. I decided to pick up the important stuff (tickets, passport, phone) and head back to the buffet car to eat my baguette. I didn't really want to subject the guy sitting next to me to that awful whiff of hot food. There's nothing worse than the smell of somebody else's hot food when you're not eating anything. Afterwards, I returned to my seat and in between sips of green tea and that KitKat I just sat there trying to work out why I seemed to be constantly down. It's a mixture of stuff: the country, the government, the future, and it's not good, it's almost physical in nature, but I won't bore you with it now. Suffice it to say that I need to chill much more than I am doing. I often wonder what other people see when they look at me and I'm guessing it's somebody preoccupied, somebody staring at something invisible, somebody with a look that says paranoia, a look that says I'm being attacked from all sides, nobody can be trusted (or very few people) and so on and so forth.

Postillion Hotel (centre)...

First we stopped at Lille, then Brussels, then Rotterdam and then Amsterdam, our final destination. All was fairly straightforward. I jumped off the train, found the exit, checked my phone for directions to the Postillion Hotel, jumped on the Metro, six stops, and then a walk, not that far, and a much-welcomed breath of fresh air. I love Amsterdam. I love Holland. The bike lanes, everything. As always, I wish I lived there, it would be better than the UK, mainly because everybody rides a bike, anybody can go anywhere in and beyond the city on a bike, it's safe, it's easy and everybody gets exercise, free exercise, no need for gym membership in Holland.

Inside room 915, Postillion Hotel

I checked in to the hotel. Room 915 on the ninth floor. A great view from the window. The room is pleasant, a twin room, decent facilities, nice bathroom, a flatscreen television on the wall in front of the bed, free wifi. CNN is on and of course it's nothing but depressing news about war and earthquakes.

I'll be picked up at 1900hrs and taken out to dinner. I'm looking forward to that. Tomorrow an interview then I'm back on the train at just gone 1600hrs and heading home. A whistle stop trip. I'll arrive back in the UK around 2000hrs tomorrow night and I'll probably get home around 2130hrs.

Being on the ninth floor of a tall building is fine if you're in Amsterdam; I'm just glad I'm not in Turkey where the recent earthquake has taken over 30,000 lives. The Postillion is a quirky sort of place. Check-in was easy and fast and, as always, I found myself standing in the lift wondering why it wasn't moving after I'd pressed the number nine for my floor. The answer was simple: I needed to use my keycard to activate it. Once I'd brushed the card over a specific area of the lift's control panel I felt movement and soon realised we were on the move, upwards, to room 915. I would have preferred room 918 as nine plus one plus eighgt = 18 and that's my lucky number (yes, I've resorted to superstition to relieve my constant anxiety). The number of the train was 9126, which adds up to 18, I was in coach 7 (lucky number 7 perhaps) and the other day I spotted a spider in the kitchen. It was early in the morning, I even wished him (her) – or perhaps it was a transgender spider or a spider version of Sam Smith, in which case I'd probably have to refer to my eight-legged pal as 'they' or 'them' or 'it'. Or in Sam Smith's case, 'nob'. Actually anyone who expects me to address them as 'they' or 'them' will be given short shrift. In my world if you have a dick, you're a bloke; if you have a vagina, you're a woman. But let's not go there as it's just something else to annoy me. The Brits were on over the weekend and Sam Smith arrived in ridiculous inflatable outfit. To be fair to the guy, he made me laugh and I think he was given a lot of (much needed) media attention as a result of what he was wearing, but I found myself wondering how he would manage to sit down and eat dinner, I've always been a fairly pragmatic person. Perhaps he'd dine alone (he'd need the space, otherwise he'd be invading his fellow diners' space, possibly knocking them off their seats).

View from room 915, Postillion Hotel

CNN's still on behind me and they're talking about the UFOs that American fighter jets have been shooting out of the sky. I say UFOs, it's more likely that they're surveillance balloons operated by China, but why? It's not as if they're not going to be seen and shot down. The Chinese are saying that the US has been doing the same, but the US denies the accusation. Four 'UFOs' have been taken out. It's very childish when you think about it. Childish and ridiculous, but let's see what transpires. The first one was definitely Chinese, let's see where the others come from, although I'm putting my money firmly on China.

The hotel room annoys me. It's one of those hotels that relies upon technology and we all know that technology simply doesn't work. There's a panel by the side of the bed that lets you control the room, draw the curtains automatically, turn lights on and off and so forth, but of course it was going to let me down. I went through the panel switching off the lights and then on again to check it all worked and, to be fair, it did work, except that I couldn't turn the bathroom light off. The television came on unexpectedly and eventually I worked that out, although it was easier to simply use the remote control. When I woke up early in the morning I used the bathroom having gone to bed wondering how I could possibly turn the bathroom light on again as there was nothing on the control panel that said 'bathroom light' – which would have been far easier. Actually, a switch on the wall, or cord dangling from the ceiling, would have been far, far easier, but technology doesn't do 'easy', it's not about ease of use, it's just about technology. 

So here I sit, at 0601, in the dark. The control panel now reads 'insert card' but it's already inserted in the slot by the door, so I can't even use the technology, apart from some mini bedside lights, which are next to useless. Fortunately, as I say, the bathroom light comes on automatically, but I'm guessing that half way through a shower the light will switch off 'to save power' and I'll be stranded, naked, and in the dark, covered in soap. For all I know the shower won't work at all for some inexplicable reason, who knows? I feel my first Trip Advisor review coming up, the first in ages, and it won't be good. Not even a decent breakfast will redeem this place. Even the shop downstairs by reception! "Can I put this on my room?" said I, picking up a bar of chocolate, but oh no, there's an automatic system, just like those in the supermarket, so I had to faff around. To be fair, it wasn't difficult, but that's not the point, is it? Just put it on the fucking room bill!

I'm being let down by technology left right and centre and it's happening a lot these days. Like right now. Here I am sitting in the dark early in the morning because the lights won't come on and I have a new digital recorder which is pants basically, the highest volume is too low, the whole thing simply doesn't work the way I want it to and once again, like in Sweden a few months ago, I'm beginning to panic: I have an interview in about four hours from now and I find myself thinking where is the nearest shop where I can purchase a decent recorder? I know darn well that when I reach reception they'll say there is a place but it's on the other side of the city and I'll be left relying upon the voice recorder on my iphone, which is also rubbish. So, not a good start to the day by any stretch of the imagination. I seem to be followed around by calamity and all the faffing about trying to get the recorder to work means I'm missing breakfast and time is moving on. I'm not happy at all.

Breakfast was actually quite good. I had two fried eggs on toast, some yoghurt and granola, a mug of green tea and a couple of mini pastries, not forgetting an apple that I took with me to the room. But just because it was a good breakfast didn't mean I forgave the hotel. When I got back to the room the lights mysteriously came on again. Too late, I'm afraid, I had already been inconvenienced. The problem of the crappy Philips digital recorder was still alive and kicking. Eventually, when a cab arrived at 1000hrs to take me to my appointment I asked the driver if he could take me to Cool Blue, an electronics retailer. He did and soon I was in possession of an Olympus recorder, a brand I trust. I now have two recorders and one must be returned.

After lunch I was driven to the beach to take a look at the sea, then another cab took me to Centraal Station and I was soon onboard the 1647 Eurostar to London. I say 'soon', I got there miles too early and had to sit around until the train arrived, but eventually we got underway and, fortunately, I didn't have anybody sitting next to me, which was good. I ordered some food from the buffet car (a cheese and ham baguette, an English breakfast tea and a KitKat (roughly the same order I had on the way out) and then settled down (with the same book) and got on with the journey. We arrived into St Pancras 10 minutes early, the escalators didn't work, but soon I was on the Victoria line and heading for Victoria station where I jumped aboard the 2050 train to East Grinstead (I'll be getting off at Sanderstead). Yes, folks, I'm on the train now, writing this blogpost, finishing it off and I'm sipping a large green tea I purchased from Starbucks on the concourse at Victoria. Next stop East Croydon and then it's my stop.

A good trip, but rushed. I could have done with another day and a little bit more mooching about. In fact, that's what I didn't get on this trip: mooch time, but I guess you can't have everything.

Things are looking up ...

I say things are looking up because the weather has changed... for the best. I say 'for the best' because it's no longer cold, that all stopped last week. I was in Bruges last week (well, last Thursday and Friday) and it was bitterly cold, even when wearing a fairly heavy suit. I had to wrap up warm on the Friday when I spent most of the day walking around, popping into shops, diving into cafes and so forth, but generally I was just mooching, me and a pal from work. It happens yearly at this time: the company takes the entire workforce abroad for what is billed as the Christmas Party, a kind of belated event, but is really the company conference. The conference bit lasts all of 30 minutes and then, after a quiz (if there's time, there wasn't last week) we head out for dinner and then have the whole of the following day to explore and do as we please until it's time to go home. We went to and from Bruges in a coach and via Le Shuttle, which was fairly painless. We all stayed in the Novotel Brugge Centrum (I was in room 353) and on Friday morning I enjoyed an amazing breakfast before heading out to find a small teashop in which to sit and read for half an hour or so. We left Bruges around 1530hrs and I reached home around 2030hrs. All was good.

In Bruges...lovely place!

On Saturday morning the plan had always been to ride to either Oxted or Limpsfield. I left later than expected (around 0930hrs) and headed for Coffee at Kiwi House in Limpsfield Village. It's my new place. I reckon the cappuccino is to die for and the almond croissants aren't bad either. However, the last time I was in there it was earlier than it was on Saturday and now I found reserved tables and the need to ask people if I could join the end of their table. Still, no harm done. Like the last time I was here I parked the bike outside and padlocked it to a wooden fence. In all honesty, if anybody had fancied nicking the bike all they would have needed was a small wood saw, but this is snooty Limpsfield, I probably could have left the bike unpadlocked.

Like last week I rode along the 269 to Botley Hill and then down Titsey Hill, which sometimes can be nauseous as the bike shakes its way downwards until the road smooths out a little bit prior to rolling into Limpsfield. Normally I turn right and follow Granville Road into Oxted (about another mile on the journey) or, as on Saturday and the week before, I simply turned left, past the church and the pub and into Coffee at Kiwi House.

Tea in Bruges on Friday morning

The problem with making oneself at home in a coffee shop when you're riding a bike is that nagging thought that, at some stage, you're going to have to ride back; and my ride back is up Titsey Hill. It's not a problem for me, but the thought of it remains awful even if there is a fair ride before I reach the bottom and prepare for the ascent. Once, as I rode up Titsey Hill, I turned right as the ascent began and followed White Lane (an even steeper hill) to where it joins Clarks Lane. Now that's an ordeal, but again, I take it in my stride if I'm honest and then the remaining ride is a bit like the ride back from Westerham. I suppose the good thing about White Lane is that it's a short, sharp, shock whereas Titsey Hill is long and drawn out and seemingly endless. On Saturday I rode the length of Titsey Hill, got myself into a groove and all was well, all that remained was the 269, which is fine if you keep your wits about you.

On Sunday I rode to Westerham to see Andy who was waiting for me in Costa Coffee. These days Costa is a little bit hit and miss (is it or is it not open?) but on Sunday morning (yesterday morning – today's Monday) it was open and Andy was sitting in the window finishing off a cup of coffee. I ordered a tea and joined him. I thought that his Kona was looking pretty good and he told me he'd changed the bars and had recently purchased new tyres. He'd also cleaned it, putting me to shame.

Prior to last week's ice ride to Oxted

I've been pretty crap these past few weeks, not really writing much on my blog (the last post to this one was on 10 January) and I had to admit to Andy that I'd not been reading his blogs either, which is a shame because he's got some big cycling plans on the boil. He's looking in to riding a coast-to-coast route from Lowestoft in Suffolk to Land's End in Cornwall, or possibly Weston-super-Mare, quite a trip and not your traditional coast-to-coast cycle ride (like Liverpool to Scarborough, say). I talked briefly about the up and coming Dunwich Dynamo, something Andy and I have talked about in the past. It's roughly 125 miles through the night from Hackney Wick to Dunwich on the Suffolk Coast. Now don't get me wrong, I'd like to do it – at least I think I do – but I might just like the idea of it, the riding through the night, although I've heard bad things about it too. I'm wondering if I could do a straight 125 miles, at night, without engaging in proper training and I think Andy's of the opinion, quite rightly, that I'd need to train. In fact, he's kind of thrown down a gauntlet, which I'm contemplating as I write this: should I commit to it or not? Andy says the only way you'll do anything is to commit to it and again, he's right. He's said that if I commit, he'll do it with me next year, but on the condition that I train for it; I've yet to get back to him as I'm thinking (and I stress the word 'thinking') about changing the commitment from the Dynamo to a day time coast-to-coast ride, something like the Liverpool to Scarborough jaunt, which used to be the Whitbread Coast-to-Coast. That said, I'm not ruling out the Dynamo, just giving myself time to think about it. I think I could do it, my only worry is having a puncture at 0300hrs in the middle of nowhere. We've decided that we'd spend the day and night in Dunwich and then possibly ride back (so I'd better consider training for a greater distance than just 125 miles) but in all honesty we'd probably opt for the train. So, I've got some thinking to do.

Saturday's cappuccino and almond croissant at Kiwi House

There's a train strike on Wednesday and Friday and I'm thinking about riding it; the evenings have started to brighten up and I reckon that if I left the office around 1600hrs I'd almost get home while it's still light, so that's something else I need to consider. The only other option is the bus or the car, but I think it's a good excuse to get back on the bike for those two magical mid-week extra rides.  

Random thoughts from Lazyville...

You know when you come across as depressed or down, there's always somebody there to remind you that there are others worse off than you are? Well, there is something flawed about that position as basically it's stating that if, for some reason (or reasons) you're feeling down or depressed or pissed off, that, in reality, you shouldn't be in such a state, that it's wrong, unjustified, unreasonable, and so forth. So, in other words, whatever is bugging you, you shouldn't be depressed or upset or pissed off about it because of old so and so or this or that person who has something 'real' to be worried about. I understand that entirely and I'm sure that everybody who feels a little down or depressed occasionally, knows of somebody who's in a worse position than they are and that those people deserve all the support they can get. Think of those in Ukraine, for example.

I'm in the basement, thinking 'bout the government

I'm feeling aggrieved, depressed, annoyed, angry, pissed off, down and dejected for all sorts of reasons, not least the state of the UK and the awful government which has presided over the country since the days of David Cameron, Britain's third worst Prime Minister next to Boris Johnson and (at the top of the list) Liz Truss. I feel powerless, there's nothing I can do about it and, as I write this, I realise that there are a lot of people in this country who, for want of a better word, (although I realise this will sound very arrogant on my part) are basically ignorant (in my opinion). I'm talking about those who really thought that Boris Johnson was fit to run the country and those who support the current Tory government.

Harry and Meghan 

Then there is all the nonsense surrounding the royal family and in particular Prince Harry and the revelations from his book Spare, which publishes tomorrow. He's really let the side down and for no reason at all. What has he got to moan about in the overall scheme of things? He's got money, he's wealthy, he hasn't got to worry about where the next meal is coming from, he's living in a huge mansion in sunny California, he's married, he has kids and yet he feels the need to moan about his lot when, in the UK at this very moment, there are people who are nowhere near as well off as he struggling to pay their bills, there are people living on the streets and even ordinary, run-of-the-mill people like me dealing with the cost of living crisis, the strikes and so forth.

Why are we all so gullible?

The media is so obsessed with Harry and Meghan because they know that their stories will sell newspapers, it's that simple. And why is that? Because of the gullibility of the British people and, indeed, the people of the world who lap this sort of stuff up, particularly women for some reason who like nothing more than a gossip over a cup of coffee. There's nothing worse than gullibility. Why are we all so gullible? Why are we happy to go out on the days leading up to Christmas to buy stuff from shops, at extortionate prices, and then, a day after 'the big day' the shops that sold us that stuff are suddenly selling things (and the stuff we bought) at up to 60% off? There was I yesterday looking at the goods on offer in a clothes shop in Sevenoaks, a place where I had bought an expensive jumper only a matter of weeks ago, only to discover that everything in the store was now far, far cheaper. Ironically, the jumper I bought was still the same price. Perhaps next year just a small present to put under the tree (for the sake of appearances) and then a return trip to the shop (and others like it) a few days after Christmas to get greater value for money, perhaps two jumpers for the price of one and so on. But no, everybody is gullible. I wonder how many people will buy that awful book by Prince Harry? 

Looking out from Sheree's in Tatsfield Village, 8 January 2023

Cost of living crisis

The cost of living crisis is a nuisance. Every time I go out I have to fill up with petrol, restaurants are now charging extortionate prices (I say 'restaurants' when I mean cafes, snack bars, traditionally low-spend establishments). Tea at almost £3 a cup, sandwiches for around £8 - with a sad-looking salad garnish and some crisps so we all think the high prices are justified. Rail fares are going up. Can you believe that? All of last week there were no trains and we've all been inconvenienced, but they have the audacity to put up the fares, which are already extortionate. Once the weather improves and the evenings get lighter I'm going to ride to work like I did last summer, except I'll start earlier this year and make the most of it. I've bought waterproof trousers and shoes and there's nothing stopping me but my own lack of motivation, which is probably exacerbated by a lack of exercise brought on by the bad weather, those endorphins need to be stimulated but instead I'm sheltering from the rain.

Pot of tea at Sheree's in Tatsfield

Sunday 8th January 2022

Well, not today! Yesterday (Saturday 7th January) I'd checked the iphone weather app and realised that today (Sunday 8th January) there was a window of dryness that would enable Andy and I to get out there and ride the bikes. Now, it's worth pointing out that unlike me, Andy has continued riding throughout the bad weather using his trusty trainer in his garage. I should buy one too but I'm not sure it would provide me with much more motivation than a real bike to get out there and exercise despite what Andy says about how he warms up fairly quickly and even has to shed clothes as his exercise continues. I'm sure that's true. In fact, I know it is because whenever I jump on a stationary bike in a hotel gym I leave the place drenched in my own sweat. It works. But going out into a cold garage on a cold day is not easy and Andy understands this and it's good to know that somebody has my back and wants me to keep fit. Believe me, that means a lot. And the options are there: start swimming, by a trainer device, buy an exercise bike and put it in the conservatory, ride the Nobbler of an evening, all six miles of it, rain or shine, hot or cold. The easiest is the latter and the crucial ingredient is, of course, motivation. The best thing, of course, would be if the bad weather lifted, like it did this morning. I'll say this, I've felt on top of the world today and I put that down to the ride, the exercise. Remember: my last ride prior to this morning was Boxing Day. Something has to be done and Andy's right to bring it up. The other problem, of course, is the dark. If I opt to ride to work (and believe me I've seriously considered it for tomorrow (Monday 9th January) it will mean riding in the dark and that in turn will mean charging up my lights (both of which are USB-chargeable). Then all I need is some high-Viz clothing, but the lights should be enough. Am I going to ride to work in the morning? No, I'm not, but I might just get on the bike and ride the Nobbler when I get back home. It's no more than 35 minutes of hell and then I'll be back in the house with around six miles under my belt and that lovely feeling of achievement.

Tuesday 10 January 2022

It's Tuesday night, it's raining and I haven't been out since Sunday. I've checked out gym/swim membership at a leisure centre close to where I work, it's £34/month, not bad when you consider I could spend £8 per day on lunches, totalling £45 in a week, so if I take sandwiches then I save and can spend the money on the membership. But will I go? Or won't I? I might start off with all the good intentions, but then things will fall by the wayside and I'll stop, like most people do. I might not, of course, and if I can go just three times a week (and throw in a couple of lunch time swims while I'm at it) then it could be worthwhile. And when the days brighten I can ride to work and all will be well with the world. I might not need the membership for more than a couple of months. Either way I need to act, perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, I can't do anything as it's Tuesday night, it's 1919hrs and I'm waiting for dinner. I'm hungry. I've already eaten a toasted Marmite sandwich, two slices of toast and honey, one hot cross bun and that's all because I only had a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and a cup of tomato and basil soup. I don't know why I ate so much on coming through the door, but I did and, fortunately, that hot cross bun has done the trick. I won't eat any more until dinner is ready, in about 40 minutes or so (chilli con carne with rice). Then I'll be fine, I'll probably have my Snore & Peace tea, watch the box (or read) and then hit the sack.

The bad weather continues...

I'm seriously considering taking up another sport, one that is sheltered from the weather. I can't stand going to the gym so it won't be that and it looks, therefore, as is swimming might be coming back, although the cost of living crisis means that some local authority pools, I am told, will be closing to save money. It's been almost one month (bar a recent ride with Andy on Boxing Day) since I've been out on the bike and it's all down to bad weather, extreme cold in the main, but now it's rain and it doesn't matter how much waterproof clothing I buy, the key is that riding in the rain isn't much fun, let's face it, so why bother? Going into the garage to use a turbo trainer simply doesn't appeal and I don't have the spare cash to purchase a stationary bike, which, arguably, would solve the problem, but I've been there before and would rather go for a proper ride on the roads and country lanes. 

Westerham, Boxing Day morning...

Today, Saturday (New Year's Eve) I had planned a ride to Oxted, like in the good old days, but that was scuppered early this morning as I lay in bed listening to the howling wind and then waking to discover that it was also raining. It's all extremely depressing because all I appear to be doing is sitting around waiting to go to work. Today, being Saturday, is almost 'back to normal' inasmuch as I'll be going to work next week. Now, it's as if I have Monday off and that's it; and to top it all there are train strikes EVERY DAY of next week. There's little more to say other than I am rather pissed off. I feel like time is passing by very quickly and I'm getting nowhere, all the landmark dates come and go: Halloween, Guy Fawkes Night (what happened to that this year?) mum's birthday, my birthday, Christmas and soon New Year's Day - arguably the most depressing day of the entire year as people wake up, hung over and realise that it's the same old shit, just a different day and all they have to show for it is a headache. Throw in a large amount of absolutely rubbish television (largely repeats produced at a time when things were better) and a general feeling of pointlessness and you'll have some idea of how I feel right now. Depressed. And now, as the clock is being rewound, only to be unwound slowly over the next 12 months, it's more of the same: Putin, train strikes, crap Government, COVID, the cost of living crisis and everything else. In short, there is nothing to look forward to except for shite.

Westerham, Boxing Day 2022...

I'm glad that Andy and I managed to ride to Westerham on Boxing Day as the festive ride is a NoVisibleLycra tradition that we try our best to uphold. I was noticeably out of condition having not riden the bike for a least three weeks but I somehow managed to get there bang on 0900hrs before Costa even opened its doors. Andy's bought a new bike and he rode it to Westerham. It's a nice bike with some parts built to spec, ie narrower handlebars and different wheels to what would have been on the original bike. Andy ordered a black coffee and a toasted teacake, I ordered an English breakfast tea and a toasted teacake, but no jam, just butter (Andy ordered just jam). 

Our bikes outside of Costa Coffee

As always, I eat a lot of crap over Christmas and, as always, I start to make up resolutions for the new year, like 'no more crap food', 'no more bread, no more chocolate, cake and so on' and then, of course, I break them. Perhaps it's best to say nothing and just try not to eat too badly. What I need more than anything, however, is exercise, but the weather is so piss poor even a walk is out of the question.

And now I sit here at the dining table looking over at a Christmas tree that will soon be dumped unceremoniously in the back garden awaiting being chopped up and placed in bits in the brown plastic wheelie bin that is currently residing on the front drive. All the decorations that seemingly only went up a few days ago will have to be packed away until next year and then all that's left is to sit and wonder at the anti-climax of it all and why people cram into supermarkets as if we're all expecting some kind of calamity that will leave us all without food when the reality is that Christmas Day is just one day and that on Boxing Day we'll all be able to go out and buy food again. What's even more annoying is that this year I noticed the big stores like John Lewis did their patronising Christmas ads as usual, inviting everybody to go out and spend a fortune, and then, the very same store advertised its sale, meaning that if people had just waited a few days they could have got whatever they bought for half the price they paid a day or two earlier. Again, I found myself wishing that we were not so gullible. Imagine if we all simply said no and didn't bother doing any Christmas shopping until the sales, that would be hilarious, playing them at their own game. But no, we won't, we'll simply carry on like we always do and then go to the sales too. I couldn't believe that I was in a shopping centre in Tunbridge Wells yesterday afternoon looking, but not buying anything (although somebody I was with bought a coat). It's all horrible and I found myself thinking of Guy Debord and a book I really ought to buy, The Society of the Spectacle. Perhaps next year.

Slapstick follows me everywhere!

Wherever I go, slapstick follows me. Something as simple as fixing a puncture! First, off comes the wheel, the rear wheel, now that's a shit show in itself, but off it comes and I figure I'll remember how to get it back on later. Thanks to Halfords no longer selling 'leeches' I'm forced to use 'Scabs'. Horrible things! First, how the fuck do you get them out? Virtually impossible, but the other day, when I first fixed the very same puncture, I managed it... only to discover that I had a flat tyre the very next day. Cold weather kept me out of the garage, away from the bike and in the warm for the next God knows how long, easily over a week. But now the decent weather has returned. Decent? Well, yes, by comparision. So I'm out there again today, the wheel comes off and this time I place the inner tube into a bowl of hot water to check whether or not I had more than one puncture. It turns out to be the same one. Bubbles escaped from underneath the 'scab' proving to me that the scabs are rubbish. I tried placing another scab on the area where the bubbles were escaping from, but no good. This meant just one thing: I'd have to buy a new inner tube and while at it also buy a new tyre and inner tube: £24 the lot from Halfords. And I'm back in the room! Well, the garage, armed with a new tyre and a new inner tube. The tyre's fine and so is the inner tube, just a case of getting it out of the plastic packaging. I know! I'll break a hole in the plastic with a small key on my keyring. But where is my key ring? It must be in my coat which is hanging off the back of the lawnmower. I check. Nope, not there. I must have left it on a shelf somewhere. Nope. In the garage door? Nope. Well, it can't be indoors as I used it to open the garage. I then spend the next half an hour searching the garage, but without success. Where is it? I start to imagine myself sheltering in the garage, unable to pick up my family from the railway station because I don't have my keys. What amazes me is this: I checked my coat thoroughly, every pocket, and it wasn't there, but then on checking it a second time, it's there. Ridiculous. So I go back into the house and using a knife from the draw in the kitchen I open the packaging and then head back into the garage. All I have to do now is put the tyre on the wheel and then the new inner tube inside it. It took an age to prise the tyre on to wheel and then I spent an inordinate amount of time stuffing the inner tube inside the tyre. Once I'd completed the task I then noticed that some of the tyre bulged out when I pumped it up so I had to deflate the tyre and mess around until it all went back without bulges. I pumped it up and managed (unusually) to get the wheel back on the frame. Thank the Lord! Seriously! Thank. The. Lord. I closed up the garage and then decided it was time for a walk, albeit a brief one, to Coco & Nut, my favourite coffee shop (it's about 10 minutes away). I ordered a cappuccino and a toasted chicken and pesto sandwich and then sat there reading for around half an hour or so. After a while I realised it was time to go. I was just glad that this time I got a table. The last time I walked here (on the slippery icy pathways) I was cheesed off to discover that the place was full-to-bursting (no seats at all). I could have sat outside, but it was cold so I didn't bother. I simply trudged home, book in rucksack untouched.

Icy roads en route to an indie coffee shop last week, far easier today!

Today, however, has been good. Once I'd completed a few tasks, one involving the aforementioned puncture, the other taking a faulty product back to IKEA, I decided to listen to music and found, completely by accident, a band called Husker Du, an American rock/punk band who have since disbanded, but not before releasing a number of amazing albums during the 80s. I'm amazed I'd never heard of them before, but there you go. So I've been listening the Husker Du and Judas Priest and the Pixies (Debaser) on a continuous loop almost until I was told no more. I get that totally. While I could listen to Debaser over and over and over again, I appreciate that it's not to everybody's taste and I had a good run so I was happy to switch it off and watch a bit of Dad's Army. I think that I'm at last managing to chill out, ie come down from the stress of working. I'm so glad I had holiday to take off otherwise I'd be at work all this week. As it happens I'm not.

I'm hoping to get out on the bike tomorrow. I'm hoping that when I open the garage door I won't find another puncture. The inner tube I've bought is one of those slime-based products that fix the puncture automatically when it happens. Let's hope, that's all I can say. I'm planning a much-needed ride to Oxted. The new tyre is pretty basic, but it does the trick and it's got more tread on it than the one I've taken off.

The cold weather continues...and there's no cycling

 I'm starting to wonder when I last went out on the bike. I think it was a ride to Tatsfield to meet Andy on a Sunday, probably not last Sunday but the week before. The weather was, if I recall, relatively fine and, as those who read this blog will know, I sat there and indulged myself with a pot of tea and a large slice of coffee and walnut cake. Since then I've done nothing, no cycling whatsoever, and for good reason. Suddenly the weather changed, plummeted to be more precise, into the depths of arctic temperatures and all that goes with them: frosted windscreens, slippery roads, even more slippery pavements, delayed trains, everything unpleasant that you can think of. 

Snow outside the house... it's going, but slowly...

Last weekend I fixed the puncture that led to me walking five miles home because it was just too cold to fix it by the roadside. So, going back to the previous paragraph where I say the weather was 'relatively fine' it clearly wasn't that good. Yesterday I went into the garage and lo and behold, the puncture I thought I'd fixed was not fixed, it was as flat as a pancake; either the fixed puncture wasn't done properly or there was more than one puncture. The one I fixed was bad enough, it was like a tear in the fabric of the inner tube. Perhaps that's it, it's simply unfixable and I'll need a new inner tube... and while I'm at it a new tyre.

I've had no exercise since that ride with Andy, apart from some walks, and while I have considered swimming, it's just too cold. Everything is turning to shit basically and throw in Christmas and all the shite that lands on the table in the office kitchen and, well, I might as well give the bike away and become a fat bastard.

Frozen Sanderstead lake last weekend...

There's one week to go before Christmas and I'm glad to hear that retail sales are down, all those greedy bastards, especially the supermarkets, with their television ads designed to pull at the heart strings, were all a big waste of time as people simply don't have the money, so stop advertising to us, we don't care about what you have on your shelves, we don't want it and, what's more, we don't need it.

People ask me what I want for Christmas and I don't really have an answer because I simply don't know. I have everything I need, although I do hate it when people ask if I'd like socks. No, fuck off! I don't want socks! I can buy them whenever I need them; alright, I need them, but that's not a Christmas present is it? 

"Oh, what did you get for Christmas?"

"Socks."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

I'd rather have nothing than have socks for Christmas.

We've done a bit of Christmas shopping, which I hate with a vengeance, milling around with all the greedy bastards who clasp loads of branded carrier bags in both hands and for what? Oh, yes, just so a few days later they can say "Right, we need to talk about the money, we're currently £400 overdrawn and we've got, er...six weeks to go before pay day." Just the sort of thing I don't want to hear. Personally I'd rather cancel Christmas than be in debt. But then it's not really Christmas is it? No, it's an excuse for big business to make even more profit than they do throughout the rest of the year. I'd love Christmas to be like it used to be, with people not knowing what they're getting, but it's not. These days it's "Well, you buy it and then we'll wrap it up and put it under the tree." So when it comes to the big day I open something that I already know about and so does everybody else. Oh for a desolate cottage on the Isle of Harris, a roaring log fire and no sign of the greed found further south, just the sea and the hills and perhaps an exchange of Christmas cards, a bracing walk to a local pub for lunch and then an afternoon spent in front of the fire eating festive delicacies.

Bleak...

It's now Sunday 18th December and while I think the weather has warmed up a little bit, the snow is still on the ground and I'm guessing it's still cold out there as the cars still have frosted windscreens. I won't be riding today and nor will Andy. We're both busy for a start, then there's my as yet unfixed puncture, the possibility of rain (although I'd love to try out my new waterproof trousers and shoes) and, of course, the fact that it's still cold and icy out there. At some stage I'll fix the puncture. I reckon I've got two of them, not just one, but who knows? Not me until I get out there.

Last night I watched the Strictly Come Dancing final and Hamza won it, just like I thought he would. I also watched JK Rowling's Strike, which I really like. Then I fell asleep and when I awoke it was gone midnight. I got up around 0700hrs, made breakfast of porridge and chopped oranges, not forgetting a cup of tea and a glass of water and now I'm about to get on with the rest of my day.

The cold weather has arrived...

The weather has taken a turn for the worse and I start to wonder if it's worth a bet on a white Christmas. It's never worth betting on a White Christmas. It's cold. Very cold. And I keep finding myself standing on cold railway station platforms with nowhere to go. And by that I mean nowhere to sit and read or drink tea while I wait for my train. It's the same everywhere. Network Rail seem to have a policy stating that waiting rooms are old hat and if they exist they must be unwelcoming and uncomfortable. Why can't railway stations be a bit more like in the movie Brief Encounter? I want a roaring log fire. To be fair, there are some that sport modern leather sofas (I'm thinking of Purley and Merstham and I'm sure there are others) but steer clear, well clear, of Redhill and East Croydon, they're awful and I'm guessing there's some evil thought behind it, like "make it uncomfortable for the bastards". And when it's cold, of course, the whole thing is a nightmare as I end up pacing up and down the platform, killing time in the cold and the dark.

Heavy fog close to Botley Hill recently

It's so cold out there that I can't be bothered to go into the garage and fix my rear wheel puncture (see previous post) even if I need to get out there and do it as tomorrow is Saturday and my weekly ride to Oxted beckons. That said, there's a electric 'coal effect' fireplace out there with a convector heater underneath. I might switch that on and get it done. My rear wheel is a bit dodgy. For the first time ever in my cycling career (not that I have a cycling career) the rear wheel has come away from the frame TWICE! Andy says it just needs to be tightened up properly (he's probably right) but I can't help but think it's more than that, ie it's faulty in some way, but I'll take Andy's more optimistic assessment of the situation.

Andy, quite understandably, is a little wary of the cold weather. I say 'understandably' because he's not like Phil who simply doesn't like the cold, Andy's wary because of what happened to him earlier in the year (he came off on black ice and broke his hip). Last week we met later than normal at Tatsfield Village, giving the weather time to heat up the tarmac so that all would be well (again, see previous post). Tatsfield is a good place to go as it's not too far away, but far enough to be a decent ride. In terms of degrees, Tatsfield is in the number two position in terms of shorter rides, the number one spot going to a ride to Botley Hill (roughly 14 miles). Tatsfield is around 16 miles and there's a decent cafe there too, unlike...well, actually, not unlike Botley Hill, which now has a tearoom at the Botley Hill Farmhouse. In fact, all of our rides are now adequately catered for by decent caffs and, as I was saying to Andy in Tatsfield last Sunday, we've certainly upped our game from the days when we used to sit out in the cold, sheltered by a wooden bus stop, sipping tea from a flask and munching on a couple of Belvita biscuits. It's quite weird thinking back to those days of shivering in the frost, rain and sleet, watching the rain sweep in or the fog shrouding the bare trees. Not any more! We much prefer our tea in a pot, on a tray and accompanied by a slice of cake. It means, of course, that we're now spending money, roughly a fiver for tea or coffee and an almond croissant. I used to put four teabags into a small tupperware container, fill up a flask with hot water and a smaller bottle with milk and then put the lot in a rucksack and head off in the cold to wherever we were heading. We'd meet at Warlingham Green and then ride off on the 269. Today we meet at the destination. Our old meeting place is still there, but we pass it by (or I do, Andy goes a different way). In all honesty, it's better. Far better than shivering in the cold wishing for the summer to return.

Looking out at my parked bike from Oxted's Caffe Nero

The key to success in the cold is to wrap up warm. Last Sunday I think I had four jumpers on. All I need to add is a balaclava and that's me sorted, as long as I'm wearing gloves. I wear a beanie hat under the helmet, plenty of layers, gloves and a balaclava (it'll be out this weekend, rest assured of that) and then I'm fine in the cold. Andy and I ride throughout the year and while I've stopped riding to work because of the dark and the need to be extra wary of bad drivers, I'm busy thinking of ways of keeping up the exercise I'm losing. It's looking as if I'll be swimming. Yesterday I checked out the local leisure centre in Redhill and the pool is empty at lunch times. I reckon I can get there, change, swim and change again within the hour if I simply swim 20 lengths of the 25-metre pool. It's just over a fiver a swim and my aim would be to swim twice a week. Let's see. The problem with swimming in the cold weather is finding the motivation to go. I used to swim a lot, ie three times a week: two half-milers and then a one-miler at the weekend. I always feel amazing after a swim so hopefully I'll pluck up that much-needed motivation and get on with keeping fit.

Oxted and Tatsfield...and I'm still munching the cakes!

Friday week ago – so that's not the Friday just gone (2nd December) but the Friday before (24 November) I rode to Tatsfield Village. I stopped off at Sheree's Tearoom and enjoyed a pot of tea and a Twix, sitting in an easy chair. The other tables were taken up by old ladies, although I'm sure they'd hate to be described in such a way. They weren't 'old old' ladies, this wasn't the territory of the blue rinse and the walking stick, but let's just say these were people who were most likely post-menopausal, comfortably off and enjoying themselves. Well-heeled pensioners talking about visiting garden centres and Christmas shopping. Because we're in festive territory now, it's almost Christmas and once again I'm amazed at how the time-travelling train is racing through stations like 'Guy Fawkes' Night', 'Mum's Birthday' and soon, of course, my birthday... and then it's Christmas. Time is flying again and soon it will be 2023. So I'm sitting in Sheree's having tea and a Twix. I had just completed around eight miles of the 16-mile ride and sitting there with tea and a chocolate bar was my idea of fun, even if I really ought to slow down on the sweets and cake front. That said, I'm always moaning about how much crap I'm eating, but I'm not doing anything about it. I will some day change my eating habits, but these things come in cycles (if you'll forgive the pun). I've just got to control myself, it's as simple as that. It was a good ride and I'm glad I did it as my cycling has been a little touch and go of late. Rain has stopped Andy and I from meeting in Westerham for the past three to four weeks. I've been riding on Saturdays to Oxted and, by and large, I've been riding twice a week, although sometimes that's fallen to just one ride. I've decided to start my cycling week on a Saturday from now onwards, meaning that I get two rides in immediately (if that makes sense) ie, Saturday and Sunday. In the past my cycling week has started on Sunday, meaning that, to get two rides in, I have to ride Sunday and then the following Saturday. Anyway, it's all clutching at straws. After my ride to Tatsfield I rode to Oxted on Saturday and did what I always do in Oxted: sit in Caffe Nero reading and drinking either tea of coffee.

Sheree's in Tatsfield, Friday 25 November 2022...

The following week (that's 3rd and 4th December) - last weekend in other words - I rode to Oxted on Saturday even if I had considered Malabar (it's a coffee shop in Riverhead). The plan was to get a 'big ride' under my hat, a 34-miler no less, but when push came to shove I opted for Oxted and a ride down White Lane. Actually, I forgot to mention that last week when I rode to Oxted I decided on the return ride to climb up White Lane. I started on Titsey Hill but then turned right into White Lane and off I went. I managed to reach the top without stopping and I felt quite good when I reached the top. On the Malabar front, the reality was that I couldn't face the long ride in the cold, because it was cold. And I figured it best to hole up in a coffee shop closer to home. I opted for the Costa as opposed to my usual choice (that of Caffe Nero) and the only reason was to try something different. I say 'different' but to be honest, I visit Costa most Sundays with Andy so it's not as if I'm unfamiliar with the brand. Furthermore, I have a Costa card so I thought I'd use it. I ordered a medium cappuccino and an almond croissant (despite promising myself that I wouldn't order any food). I sat there for some time, reading and chilling and then I reluctantly headed out into the cold weather. It was cold riding down the High Street and remained cold as I headed up Titsey Hill, resisting the temptation to ride up White Lane. A car drove too close, which annoyed me (it always does) and soon I found myself at Botley Hill.

Tea and Twix at Sheree's, 25 Nov...

At the moment I'm taking Fridays off to use up holiday I would otherwise lose. It means that I often wake up on Sunday thinking it's Monday when it isn't. Sunday, of course, is when I ride to Westerham to see Andy and, as I mentioned earlier, it's been three or four weeks since we met, thanks to driving rain. Andy's not keen on the cold and for good reason: he doesn't want to come off on black ice as the last time he came a cropper he broke his hip. As for me? Well, I don't like the rain. I hate it. So Sundays have been off the agenda completely. But this week there was no rain. None at all, so we headed not to Westerham but to Tatsfield and later than usual; we met at 0930 in Sheree's and I weakened when I saw the coffee and walnut cake. To be fair, Andy would have had a slice too, but when he asked if the cake was vegan (and was told it wasn't) he passed...and I sat there scoffing alone (and feeling guilty about it too). After a good old chat it was time to go home, Andy to Caterham and me to Sanderstead. But on the way back, when I reached Warlingham, I noticed a rear wobble and yes, you got it, I had a puncture. It was too cold to fix by the roadside so I knucked down for a five-mile walk, pushing the bike alongside me. So, a 12.5-mile ride and a five-mile walk, not bad going. The bike's now in the garage and needs to be fixed... and it will be before next week's rides.

The top of White Lane...a piece of cake!

And here's a real piece of cake, at Sheree's, 4th December 2022

At this point I had a rear wheel puncture and walked home

I love this, in Limpsfield Village before Titsey Hill beckons...

To Tatsfield...

Two cup cakes. Fair enough, but I could have settled for one. Three walnut whips? I never needed to eat all of them. I could have eaten just one, or none. I could have left them for another day and made the two ill-advised cup cakes the only sin of the day. But I didn't. I should have stopped at one. But I didn't. I should have stopped at two. But I didn't. And when I'd finished I felt guilty. Not because I'd upset anybody else, just because I'd upset myself. What the hell was I thinking? Two cup cakes and three walnut whips. It had to stop, of course it did, but it didn't. And I'm losing track too. Somewhere along the line I found myself in Tunbridge Wells, but I think that was pre-cup cakes. Not that pre- or post- mattered. It was definitely pre-cup cakes, but I had every reason to feel guilty even then, probably because I'd fucked up the day before; I might have bought a Lindt or Lindor chocolate bar, because I love the salted caramel variety and even then, at the point of purchase, I might have said to myself 'no more' and then found myself in the Zero Waste cafe in The Pantiles, probably saying no the cake (inwardly) and then ordering it anyway. And then I have the nerve, the audacity, to eat the two cup cakes the following week and then indulge further with those three walnut whips. Well, let's face it, you don't see walnut whips these days. I mean, that must have been my motivation. Perhaps I looked at them as my long lost friends. Whatever. The fact is I ate them and I ate those two cup cakes and I started to berate myself, saying 'no more, no more, just say no'. But I knew then and I know now that I won't say no, not yet at any rate. And when I got home after the walnut whips I found a double box of Jaffa Cakes in the cupboard. Admittedly, most of the box had already been eaten, but I found three biscuits and enjoyed every one of them. The next day things got a little worse. I was in the office, there were stollen cakes slices, three of them, and these little star-shaped biscuits, similar to stollen, but not exactly the same. I ate quite a few of them, but I left one on the plate when I left the office after dark. I should have eaten it, but I left it and it was probably stale and inedible the following morning.

Sheree's Store and Tearoom, Tatsfield

When I looked at the iphone's weather app this morning there was sunshine spread throughout the day. It was an opportunity I couldn't ignore. Cycling over the past few weeks has been blighted by rain. Rain, wind and a silly cape. Not forgetting the realisation that there's no such thing as waterproof clothing. My trainers are still in the garage and they're probably still wet. The cape is not worth wearing. So I've resorted to a pair of red leather All-Stars that I've had for years. I bought them in Oxford Street probably in the late seventies and they cost me just £19. I love them. I remember once being on the tarmac in Barbados, queuing to board a flight back to the UK. It was 1993 and the same All-Stars were on my feet. A little kid, a local, asked me a question. "Are they leather All-Stars, man?" I confirmed his suspicion as correct. Clearly, the All-Stars had cred and now, in 2022, the maintain that cred. They're still around and they haven't really worn or anything and the fact that they're leather probably means they're a little more waterproof than the walking shoes in the garage. Alright, I said 'trainers' but they're walking shoes and they cost me £22 on Amazon. In the summer, they're fine, but when it rains they're useless. Today there was no rain so I headed for Tatsfield Village and Sheree's tearoom. I rode the 269, considering different routes as I rode along. The weather was wonderful. I wasn't wearing any gloves, that's how warm it was. When I reached the village I entered the teashop, ordered a pot of tea and then I weakened again, but I didn't choose a cup cake, I opted instead for a Twix. For some reason I thought it was the better option, but it did the trick. I sat down among the old ladies who were talking about visiting garden centres and read my book, The Bear Comes Home by Safi Zabor. I like it, but I'm reading it very slowly. I don't know what it is about me at the moment, but I'm reading very slowly, not even daily, just when I find myself in a coffee shop or a teashop. Last Wednesday I went to a Costa Coffee in Redhill, ordered a medium cappuccino, nothing else, and sat and read the book. The previous Saturday I found myself in a Caffe Nero, having cycled there, with an English Breakfast tea doing exactly the same thing and now it's Friday 25 November, almost a week later and the weather is good so I couldn't waste any time. I had to get out there for fear that tomorrow will be stair rods and a ride will be forfeited. Nobody likes riding in the rain unless it's the summer. Andy said in text on Strava that he had maximum respect for anybody who went out last Sunday. I would agree with that. The weather was grim, to use another of Andy's words. Grim summed it up. I stayed in and I wasn't happy about it, but I soon got over the disappointment. But today was good and when I finished the tea and the Twix I headed on out of the tearoom and mounted my steed. I'd tethered it outside, like a cowboy's horse outside a saloon. I rode off thinking about Biggin Hill. I hadn't been there for a while now and I found myself thinking of the hill that leads to the high street and the Costa Coffee. For a split moment on the way into Tatsfield I considered riding down Lusted Hall Lane and then into Biggin Hill, but no, too much, there was stuff to be done at home and I had that feeling that I was on a short leash and needed to get back. As it turns out I wasn't on a leash, but there were things to do and when I got home, feeling energised like I do when I've been on the bike, I set about doing what needed to be done. The weather held out and I have no idea what it will be like in the morning or whether I'll get to Oxted's Caffe Nero. If it rains I won't be going anywhere, but if it's dry I'll head along the 269 and down Titsey Hill into Oxted where I will read for 30 minutes before riding home.

I could be watching England play the USA, it's on now as I write this, but I can't be bothered. The World Cup is for the summer, not the winter and because of the latter the vibe ain't there. I remember my father watching sport on the television but in the back garden. He'd sit there, bush hat on, yellow swimming shorts, his 'Jansen's' as he called them. It was probably a brand name. He sat outside, smoking a cigarette with the television uprooted from it's original position in the living room and turned around to face out into the garden. Dad would have been drinking a beer, probably Tolly Cobbold bitter. I remember how he gave me a glass of it on occasion, diluted with lemonade and with an ice cube added. I loved it, the sharp bitter taste softened by the lemonade and of course it goes without saying that in later life I would go on to drink a lot of beer. 

It's 2115hrs, I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here has just come on and I'm relaxing on the sofa. I could have watched the football, but didn't. Instead I watched The English on iplayer and was tempted to continue watching it, but the temptation to watch crap was overwhelming. Better go, there's a whole hour of it ahead of me.

Just one ride this weekend...

Oxted on Saturday morning...

The day started with rain and I just knew I'd have to abort the ride. It was to be one of those days. The worst part of it was a little later - and by that I mean around 0900 - when the sun came out, but the momentum had already been lost. I don't know, sometimes it happens, the desire leaves me and I find myself envisioning being out there and I feel odd about it. I just don't want to go, the motivation leaves the building but it takes me a long time to realise it. I swan around, I fret, I look outside, I wonder, I sit and I think, I hesitate, but deep down I know darn well that I ain't going nowhere. Eventually I accept it and accept it I did, and then things were better, things levelled out inside my head, but I wasn't relaxed, not until later, on a drive to Sutton to see mum, but first we had to find something for her 93rd birthday, which is on Wednesday 23 November. The darkening skies and the fading light as we walked along Westmead Road was evocative of something, probably my earlier life at home. There was something very 'Saturday afternoon in the 70s' about it, soap opera teens on street corners, winter clothes on, front rooms illuminated but curtains not drawn, and then the shops advertising Christmas, festive music playing and gullible consumers buying into it all. I found it slightly annoying if I'm truthful, the gullibility mainly, the fact that the capitalists put on the music and we dance to their tune, and the goods aren't that good either. Women are still wearing Ugg boots, more's the pity. I spotted a few as I wandered the high street, popping into various shops and not wanting to be a part of the con, because that's what it is. The con depressed me as I considered the so-called cost of living crisis. I never seem to have any money around Christmas time, but I reckon this year will be the worse... or perhaps not. It's hard to tell to be honest. We reached mum's after dark, around 1642hrs. Tea and KitKats followed, mum had the heating on, and her coal-effect gas fire was in full swing. We sipped tea and munched the KitKats, mum keeps them in the fridge so there's no mess. We sat and we chatted. The house looked cosy. It always does. Christmas lights have yet to arrive, but it always looks like Christmas at mum's. I considered another KitKat, but that was all I did, consider another KitKat. There's more rain on the agenda. Only Tuesday is rain-free, according to my iphone, but who the fuck am I kidding? It's dark by 4pm, I won't be riding the bike, probably not until next weekend, but it looks like it'll be raining next weekend too. I really need to look at another form of exercise. Swimming, perhaps. I used to swim a lot, three times a week: two half-milers and then one mile. The only problem with swimming is the boredom. Counting lengths. Not a good idea if you're prone to miscounting. The World Cup is on. Qatar. Nobody likes the place with it's poor human rights record. Comedian Joe Lycett protested against Beckham's greed by shredding £10,000 of his own money*. Fair enough, I thought, as I considered Beckham pocketing £10 million for being an ambassador for the Qatar World Cup. Personally, I can't get enthusiastic about the footy, not in the winter. The great thing about the World Cup is the summer... but not this year. It's now Monday night. I should be in bed because I had a late one yesterday. I watch I'm A Celeb and then the news and soon it's 2300hrs. Put all this together and it's not good: less exercise, later nights, it's not good and it has to change and the key is motivation, which I'm currently lacking.

* Lycett didn't shred the money, he donated it to charity and instead shredded a copy of Attitude magazine in which there was an article on David Beckham.