Roger and me

I'm a horribly neglectful blogger...

2011-02-24T09:00:00.000Z

As you can imagine, it's been somewhat difficult to blog for the last few months as I'm not cycling and am knackered all the time. I also have that elusive and mythical problem: babybrain.

I have, in the past, been doubtful that such a phenomenon exists, but it clearly does. I've chatted gaily to people on the bus only to think vaguely as I disembark 'Who on earth was that?', I've put the tea caddy in the fridge and the milk in the cupboard, I've forgotten to send emails then been mystified as to why people aren't aware of plans.

Luckily, my work seems unaffected and I now only have six and a half days left before I'm off on leave.

So what to blog about... Hmmmmm, perhaps what no-one tells you before you get pregnant.

It's 10 months, not nine. It's 40 weeks of waiting and, believe me, it really feels that long when you start to get big!

SPD. This wonderful phenomenon means that if you're a little bit flexible to start with your pelvic ligaments can get too loose. Oh the joy of feeling like you're being kicked in the lady bits every time you get up, sit down, roll over in bed etc etc. Go to your GP, get a physio referral, it's not normal!

The judgment. Wherever you are you are, whatever you're doing, you are being judged, by them. Carrying a Starbucks/Costa cup? Expect those filthy looks to come flying in. Yes, you're allowed some caffeine, yes, you may well have ordered a decaff but they don't care. They care only that they know everything about pregnancy and know that you are naughty for daring to drink that POISON while pregnant. How very dare you.

If you're feeling particularly masochistic, perhaps you could order that small glass of wine when you're in the pub because that's worthy of a couple of horrified gasps generally. I have had about four glasses of wine/champagne over the course of the past five months, my midwife said I could have a glass a week. So nananananaanaaaah.

'You shouldn't be working in your condition!' Oh really? Thanks for the input, but given that the modern economy works on the premise that most women of childbearing age work you can sod off thank you very much. Oh and get up out of the priority seat you lazy and nobular saddo.

Tube blindness. This tragic affliction should not be underestimated. I am now nearly 35 weeks pregnant and the size of a small whale. I have given up asking for a seat, people pretend not to hear or just look at me blankly.

There are people who are fabulous, they block others from rushing into seats and call me over from across the carriage. There are those who, also standing, loudly upbraid their fellow passengers for ignoring me and then there are those who, on seeing the bump, leap to their feet and demand I sit down. Bless them all. If only they weren't outnumbered by tw*ts who look m in the bump and then whip out a Blackberry/iPhone and start tapping away like their lives depended on it. Eyes glued to the screen they hope desperately everyone will think they just haven't seen me. Everyone saw, they share my opinion that you're a nob.

I single out for particular vitriol those who have pushed me into poles, glass partitions and other passengers as they shove me out of the way to get the seat I was aiming for. Bravo people, being that much of an idiot in public takes balls.

The touchers. People are fascinated by pregnancy, hell, so am I. It's pretty damn amazing that my body can build a whole new person. That said, please don't get too excited and PLEASE don't touch the bump unless I know you or you've asked. Friends, family, even acquaintances who have asked nicely, it's fine. Strangers, it's weird, and a bit gross.

Medical students. I've had a few in my time and I'm always happy for them to join in. They have to learn and I'm generally quite chilled out health-wise. However...

When you're fairly new to the whole Doppler thing and you've been poking around for a bit without success, do NOT half-whisper in a panicked tone 'I can't find a heartbeat!' to the midwife. Most first-time mums aren't as chilled out as me, according to the midwives, they might have got a bit upset. Particularly when it was realised that you just weren't poking hard enough.

Anyhoo, rant over, hopefully this'll tide you over for a bit...

The dry shampoo revolution

2011-01-24T13:30:00.000Z

I like to think I've played a part in this.

I've been banging on about it to friends and family for years. Since I started cycling it's been a constant pannier essential in the battle against helmet hair.

With so many brands now jumping on board I'd advise anyone to give it a go. You'd be surprised at how much it can pep up your hair after a long ride.

Why I love Mr Weenie

2011-01-17T13:30:00.000Z

Yesterday, Mr Weenie and I went for a walk. We've been attempting to change our usual Sunday routine of pyjamas and toast as I'm now meant to be doing light exercise every day and walking is about my limit.

We went to the shops and were reminded why we get our food shopping delivered. My weird hearing means the ambient noise of other shoppers, freezers etc overwhelms my ears and I turn into a zombified simpleton. I can't hear what Mr Weenie is saying and, as he hates shopping anyway, we always end up miffed and fed up.

On the slow walk home, on which he matched my waddly pace and we ended up walking for what seemed like forever, I saw many cyclists.

The first were laughing over coffee in lycra, four drop-barred bikes chained to the lamppost nearby, clearly having just done a Sunday morning distance run, probably just for fun. I tore my gaze away and we walked on. A couple whizzed by, again on bikes with drops and in long-distance gear, chatting and clearly enjoying the window of non-rain.

I confess, I welled up. I very nearly cried there and then. Forgetting our minor tiff and sweeping me into a cuddle, Mr Weenie asked what on earth was wrong.

I launched into a monologue of love for my two-wheeled companion.

My bike is not just my bike. Reg is the instant mood lifter, the transport that takes me wherever I want to go, when I want to go there, the outlet for my grump when I'm in one and my main source of physical achievement. He's not even in our house at the moment and has been banished to the storage garage as more and more baby things start to accumulate.

I finished, expecting a pat on the head and to be told to stop being ridiculous.

The reply came swiftly: 'Well, let's think about getting you a Brompton then.'

That, my cycling friends, is love.

Tube pluses: You wouldn't get a parrot on a bike

2011-01-12T09:00:00.000Z

The snow has receded and the air is crisp and clear. The cold means walking involves being bundled up like the Michelin man and the morning commute is full of glum and depressed faces as the realisation that Christmas is over sinks in.

All that breaks the silence of the tube is the chorus of hacking coughs and wet sneezes that spreads through the carriage and reminds you of just how many germs you're in contact with right now.

The highlight of last week was the appearance of a parrot on the tube. Yes, a parrot.

I had climbed aboard the busy train at Farringdon and been pushed aside by a man intent on getting a seat. Thankfully, another one opened up opposite the one he'd found and I sank into it, faffing with my bag as I went. I looked up to glare at the man who'd pushed me and my now considerable belly aside and was stopped mid-look of death by the very uncomfortable expression he was pulling. The cause? The elderly gentleman in a flatcap who was sitting next to him had a parrot on his shoulder.

It was green and very pretty. It sat on his shoulder semi-dozing, attached to its owner via a lead connected to the ring round its ankle. It occasionally glanced around the carriage or readjusted its wings, but seemed utterly unperturbed to be commuting at rush hour on a mass transit system in London.

As we neared Paddington and I attempted not to stare, it began to coo softly then climbed round to its owner's front to nibble his cap. He spoke to it softly, reassuring it that they were nearing their destination. In fact, they got off at Paddington, and I had the joy of walking up the stairs next to them. And I mean joy, bizarre it may have been but the parrot looked healthy and happy and was a welcome splash of colour to my working week.

I'm really missing my bike and with Eenie getting ever heavier, walking is becoming a bit of a chore and commuting is rubbish.

Bring on the parrots.

More bike trailer/seat stuff...

2010-12-09T09:00:00.000Z

I too am dubious of the trailers if they're on-road as they're low-down and not terribly visible. I have visions of cycling baby through country trails... Sigh.

The under handlebar baby carriers are called Bo bike carriers and I think they're FAB.

I do like Bakfiet ones too (they're the bucket ones) and the Trikidoo is also worth a look. A lady near where I worked in Hammersmith had the Trikidoo and always looked terribly stylish on it.

Bike trailers

2010-12-07T13:30:00.001Z

Have been ogling bikes and, more specifically, bike trailers.

While Mr Weenie is adamant that Eenie will NOT be making an appearance on a bike/trailer while in infancy, surely there's no harm in looking? Besides, some of them are purely cargo ones...

To my shock, what I've discovered is a huge expensive array of options. For under £200 you can get a rather swanky bright yellow option with five-point harnesses for up to two children.

I've also stumbled across the frankly disturbing idea of 'doggy joggers'. Yes, trailers so that even the most pampered of puppies can avoid getting their paws dirty while still enjoying the scenery.

What I also found was AtoB, a sustainable transport mag that has a fairly comprehensive list of the available trailers.

Enjoy!

Spreading the love on the tube...

2010-11-26T16:16:00.002Z

This is my favourite time of year for cycling. Dry, crisp, cold and wonderful.

And I'm on the tube. Sigh.

The good news is that Eenie, the cause of my non-cycling commutes, is getting ever bigger. He (and he is a he we've discovered) is enjoying wriggling and kicking and has decided mummy's bladder is a glorious toy to be messed with whenever possible.

He's also getting heavier and, with my dodgy hips, the regular long stands on the tube are getting increasingly uncomfortable. After a week of ligament pain I gave in and decided to try out the TfL 'Baby on board!' badges.

Having approached three separate stations, two of whom had run out, I was handed two brand new shiny badges with not even a cursory glance to check I was, in fact, with child.

I decided to try the badge out on the way home. I forwent it from Herne Hill but, when I hit Farringdon at rush hour, I decided to go for it. I put it on, unzipped my coat to display the belly and stepped aboard the packed carriage. Nothing happened.

Crammed into a corner, no one had seen my badge. Sigh. I was resigned to another painful stand, refusing to ask for a seat in order to give the badge a proper go.

One stop in, a miracle occurred, a girl lunged for a seat but, as she started to sink down she looked up, saw the badge, and blushed. 'I'm so sorry! I've just seen your badge, would you like a seat?' Hurrah!

I thanked her profusely and sat down in relief, my hips were killing me. I thought the joy was over, but no.

Having witnessed this chivalry, the man next to me leapt to his feet and, turning to the lady who'd given her seat to me, exclaimed 'Please have my seat, I don't need it'. When she sat I thanked her again for giving up her seat and she said she was glad I was wearing the badge as she often worried that, especially with winter clothing, she might inadvertently offend someone by offering and the badge swept away that anxiety.

At the next stop a priority seat was left empty. Instead of the usual scrum to grab it, there was a lot of thoughtful looking around before an older lady stepped forward to sit down. I'd like to hope that the generosity showed by fellow commuters had reminded everyone that not everyone can stand.

I'll admit I felt bit awkward and naughty, a bit like I'd emotionally blackmailed the seat out from under another commuter. It was far outweighed by the physical relief of resting my aching pelvis though.

I won't wear the badge every day, but I'll certainly be whipping it out when I feel rough.

Check out those wheels...

2010-11-12T09:00:00.001Z

We've all done it. That attempt to give a stranger's set of wheels a nonchalant sweep of the eyes. The internal monologue of why your choice is eminently superior, the almost imperceptible nod of approval when it clearly outclasses your purchase.

Yes, I have have pram envy.

We have yet to purchase a contraption but the attitude and technique I perfected for perving on others' bikes has merged seamlessly with my new pregnant status and the brands of Colnago, Pinarello, Dawes and Specialized have been replaced with Maclaren, Quinny, iCandy and the dreaded Bugaboo.

The only thing that now separates me from the others on Mumsnet is my chortles of glee at descriptions of mums and dads going to the local bike shop to get their punctured tyres repaired.

Mwahahahaha

Goodbye house

2010-11-09T09:00:00.001Z

Today my childhood home is handed over to its new owners.

My parents have owned that house for around 25 years and I have lived in it all of the life I'm able to remember. My dad decided to up their already stretched budget after meeting the headmaster of the local school and deciding this was the man he wanted to oversee his small children's education.

It was FILTHY when we moved in. A wooden parque floor so dirty my dad thought it was plain concrete until they started cleaning it. The back room had housed a large dog, whose wee ad pooled under the carpet and whose paws had ripped the paint off the door.

Backing onto a local park, it was the envy of some of my friends. We were able to grab bikes or just wellies and play where my parents could literally bellow off the balcony that it was time to come in. When locked out, we became expert climbers as we scaled the eight-foot alley gate, hopped the garden fence and braced across the old outside loo roof to ascend to the balcony. The neighbours never worried, 'Is someone breaking in?!', 'No, it's one of the Amazonian women tribe whose forgotten her keys again.'

Over the years mum and dad invested in a loft extension and, more recently, a kitchen extension, to accommodate three rapidly growing girls who turned into grumpy teenagers and then women. One by one we left, my older sister returning briefly after university and then my younger sister and her boyfriend moving in again when dad had the stroke and mum needed support. I moved out the week before my 21st birthday and have not lived there the seven years' since. I never moved for though. While my sisters have lived in Manchester, Norfolk and Walthamstowe between them, I always remained close by. I still live around a mile from that house and have always come home frequently for cups of tea, to reassure moomin that I wasn't killed by the car that hit me last year, to cook for my dad once a week when he was ill (and sneak him out to the pub) and, recently, to tell my parents that they were going to be grandparents.

The local community that sustained us all through various massive upheavals is all around and many are sad that my parents have chosen to leave, but although the house remains, much has changed.

When we moved in the neighbours were mainly older couples who had lived in the area since the war, even when new people moved in we all knew them. I babysat for local children when I got old enough and on Christmas day people would gather to sup champagne in the street together and comment on how big each other's children had got.

With rising property prices and a rebranding of the area as a 'village', the only people who can now afford to buy in my parents' street are those working in banking, whose looking to rip the houses apart and resell them and no one knows who these neighbours are, because they rarely talk to us 'oldies'. The local school that so impressed my father has gone from strength to strength and there are far too many children vying for the spaces that inevitably go to those who can afford to live yards from the gates.

My parents have had their bikes stolen twice in three years, burglaries are on the rise and last week a girl was raped in the park I played in as a child. It's time to leave.

My parents chose a couple with a toddler who are planning to expand their family, in the hope that the house would become a family home once more.

I'm sad that my parents will no longer live round the corner and that Eenie, when he or she comes in April, will never walk round the house I grew up in, but I understand why they sold it. Following dad's stroke it became financially necessary, but it also means a clean break. Their children are adults, and it's about time my parents followed their dream.

Goodbye house, I only hope that the next family likes you as much as we did.

Cycling in pregnancy and beyond

2010-10-28T14:09:00.002+01:00

Although Eenie is not keen, this lady was able to cycle right up to the birth.

Worth a read I reckon.

Oh God I miss my bike, waaaaah!

2010-10-27T14:18:00.003+01:00

Yesterday was crap.

Late night on Monday I moved in for a cuddle with Mr Weenie to be met with 'Wow, it's like a bowling ball! It's all hard and you're so much heavier.' Bastard.

Tuesday morning I awoke with the horrendous mood carried over from the night before. I set off for work at 7.20am and took the train with Mr Weenie, all lovely. I had forgotten I was meeting Little Roboat that morning and missed out on a natter.

One stop into the District Line journey, Mr Weenie hopped off to go to work. I got back to reading my Metro. I got on that train at 7.45am, I reached Victoria at about 9.05am. I was on it for what seemed like forever. It was hot, it was slow and t was full off commuting nobbers who insisted on stepping on my feet, tutting at each other and spreading their papers out wide to be as annoying as possible.

I finally emerged from Hades into Victoria station. The next train I needed wasn't until 9.25am so I started to stride towards the Boots to pick up bits and bobs. As I reached the door the sirens began. An emergency evacuation of the station later and I was stood outside, in the rain, with 2,000 other commuters. Sirens wailed, fire engines and police arrived and many of us grumbled about the fact it was probably just some carrot batons in a dropped M&S bag or something.

The station finally reopened and I had that sinking feeling. Baby was on bladder and I needed to pee. Needed doesn't even convey the urgency. In desperation I used a loo on one of the stationary and posh looking trains that weren't leaving for a while. I then did a waddly run down to the distant platform where my train was waiting.

At 10.10am I was nearly at work.

Sheesh.

I then had an utterly rubbish day at work before trekking the hour and a half home without the capacity to pedal out my rage. This blows.

C*ck off!

2010-10-25T09:00:00.002+01:00

No, it's not sodding twins.

Yes, I'm aware that the bump is big, I do not need to be told every time you see me.

Oi, tosser, I see you staring at the bump and the chalky complexion of someone feeling ill, I see you're able to stand and in a seat.

Hmmmmm, why would a pregnant lady be lying across a couple of seats looking dazed, could it be she's near to fainting. So why be so f-ing rude?!

Really, I see, you're an expert on all things pregnancy and feel I should be told what to eat and that cycling while pregnant 'is just irresponsible'? Thanks for that.

And, finally, although it's not happened to me yet, but has happened to someone I know and has nearly happened to me a couple of times already:

Do NOT f***ing touch me without my permission.

I don't give a crap that pregnancy is fascinating, my bump is just that, MINE. I live in fear of this happening as I am seriously worried thatI will kill the perpetrator.

Hormonal much?!

My converts live on....

2010-10-19T13:30:00.000+01:00

Reg is still at my parents' house so I remain bikeless. There is also another problem. Eeenie weenie does NOT like exercise.

He or she has decided to make me so exhausted I can barely walk home from the station, let alone get on two wheels every day. Stairs render me breathless and t's very irritating. I'm most annoyed because I've always thought that the attitude that pregnant women shouldn't cycle is completely wrong and I was hoping to be a good example. Sigh.

However, while I stew in annoyance over my forced exile onto public transport, I have been greatly cheered by news from those I have or am hoping to convert.

TM is a former colleague (pre-work woes). On mentioning he quite fancied giving cycling to work a go I pointed him firmly in the direction of the Ride to Work scheme and he promptly bought a Brompton. He fell in love with it and, as luck would have it, there was a tube strike shortly after his purchase. He used the LCC bike tube to get to an important meeting in town and hasn't looked back. As well as commuting he recently took part in the Brompton World Championships. Wonderful!

The lovely S trekked out to my new office to say hello on a day off a couple of weeks ago. She's still cycling and is, in fact, encouraging others to do so. In a recent email she gaily told me that she was buying her husband a bike, as he had been inspired by her enthusiasm and fancied giving it a go. Rather than get the bike delivered, she had decided to venture out to an area she'd not been to before to collect said bike and cycle it home. Hurrah!

Moomin has ordered her new bike after the theft of her old one but, not being able to wait, has been using Roger and Reg while they've been stored at her house. My sister, who had an unfortunate accident as a child while on a bike, has also decided to give cycling a go and I have decided to give Roger to her to cycle to vet school and back. Marvellous!

I'm aiming to cycle to music school with my sister on Saturday if Eenie is amenable but even if I can't it makes me glow to know there are cyclists in London enjoying bikes and that I, in a small way, encouraged or helped them to do it. Sigh.

Bike theft and insurance

2010-10-12T09:00:00.001+01:00

My new employer is fairly bike friendly. They offer Ride to Work, but their bike racks are butterfly ones and there's often jostling for space.

Yesterday two bikes went missing, during the day, from the racks.

They were both nice bikes and I'm gutted for the owners, both of whom are colleagues. Bike theft really annoys me. Any kind of theft does, to be honest. It's just such a lazy and dishonest thing to do. Bastards.

I, touch wood, have never had a bike stolen but my parents have had theirs stolen twice and many people I know have been hit multiple times. Both Roger and Reg are insured against theft as well as my paying for membership of the London Cycle Campaign so that I get free third party insurance and legal advice of I have an accident. My insurance costs about £7 a month for both bikes and LCC membership is about £35 a year.

In my opinion, it's worth every penny.

Think about it people.

Roger was back!

2010-10-11T09:00:00.000+01:00

And has now gone again....

My younger sister has decided she fancies giving cycling a go, so Roger was brought home briefly and then cycled over the my parents' house for her to experiment on.

Reg went too as we're having a new sofa delivered today and his presence in the stairway would have restricted the deliverers' ability to get it up to the living room.

I've not used Reg for a while and it was nice to pedal him even a short distance. Moomin was cycling Roger and manfully refused to let me put the seat down. As she's a good four inches shorter than me it led to a lot of giggling along the way. Her legs were at full tilt at the bottom of the pedal rotation and she looked a bit like she was riding a clown bike.

Hopefully Reg, Roger, and younger sis will all be cycling to music school on Saturday. Fingers crossed!

Apologies for my absence...

2010-09-30T09:00:00.000+01:00

A heavy cold and stressful work mean I haven't been around much. I also have another excuse up my sleeve.

An Eenie Weenie is expected in April. Yes, I'm pregnant.

Having always said I would cycle if I got pregnant and I have been, but the sheer knackeredness and weird pain in my legs have rendered it impossible most days this week.

Mr Weenie is broadly supportive but has conditions. I must avoid main roads, not cycle at night and I have to stop if the medics advise me to.

Luckily, midwife and GP think cycling's great and are happy for me to continue, I just wish Eenie would allow me to get on with it instead of sapping my energy and demanding food at really inconvenient times.

Fingers crossed it'll get better!

The helmet debate turns to Boris bikes

2010-09-24T09:00:00.002+01:00

It was mentioned when the scheme began, but it appears that the debate on whether Boris bikes should come with helmets has been reignited now that two people have been taken to hospital after accidents on the blue steeds.

See here.

Anyone who knows me or is familiar with my blog will know that I wear a helmet. I don't leave to go so much as to the shops without one and, when I'm Boris biking, I carry a helmet in my bag to use while pedalling.

It may come as a surprise, therefore, when I say that I think forcing the scheme to provide helmets is a very bad idea. Let me explain......

First off, I'm 5ft 10" and a reasonably big girl. I take the smallest women's size helmet I could find and it's only just small enough. My head is just a weird and tiny shape. My younger sister on the other hand, while taller and slimmer, takes a much larger helmet size. Even between the two of us, there is no way in hell you can find a helmet that fits us both. How on earth would you supply them in a size that fits all?

And size IS important. A badly fitting helmet is pointless.

It's a ridiculous notion.

Secondly, it is not a legal requirement for adults to wear a helmet while cycling. It just aint. The people who don't wear them now will just do what I've seen many do before: they'll hang them off their handlebars and use them as an ornament.

The scheme will have been forced to spend our money on helmets that aren't used or don't fit. Dunno about you, but I'd rather it went on something useful.

And finally, where does it all end?

On top of carrying a helmet with me, I also carry my bright yellow reflective Sam Browne. After an altercation with a car last year I promised Mr Weenie I would wear it when I cycle, and I do so for that reason AND because I think visibility is key to safety. Again though, I think, as adults, it's really a personal choice whether you want to wear reflective gear, it's not legally required after all. Will this be the next thing campaigners leap on and demand to be supplied with the Boris bikes? Perhaps it'll be jackets that inflate as you hit the ground, or a neon sign to be attached to supplied helmet with the words 'Please don't hit me' in flashing lights.

In all seriousness, part of the reason I was so pleased when the Boris bikes were announced is that they were sensible and expected the service users to be the same.

I will continue to wear my helmet and reflective gear, but I will fight to the death for others' right not to have to if they don't want to.

Yet more unfriendliness on the trains....

2010-09-23T09:00:00.001+01:00

Last night I had the good fortune to sit next to a rather dashing young man and his weenie baby daughter while waiting for a train. He looked about 19 and was dealing with a full nappy situation.

Having drawn attention to myself by exploding hot chocolate all over my top, we chatted as he changed her. First baby, six weeks old, he was finding it all rather exciting but hard work. After successfully changing her, I was full of praise, he did it like a pro, he gave her a bottle.

However, just as he was busy feeding her, holding the bottle with his chin, picking up his shopping and putting it in the pram with his spare hand, the train was announced as arriving. A look of panic flashed across his face.

'Are you getting this train?' I asked.

'Ummm, I'm meant to be,' was the reply.

I of course offered to get the pram (it was huge) onto the train for him so that he could continue to feed small baby. The look of relief on his face was beautiful to behold. I swept selfish commuters out of our path and we both got on. After a burping baby was ready to go back in the pram and was cooed over by fellow train goers.

There were loads of other commuters on the platform and they must have heard our conversation. No one else offered to help and a surprising number actually got in our way as we attempted to board the train. They moved in front of the pram as the train pulled in. What really took the biscuit though was the t**t who decided that, as the train was so packed and there were very few handholds he would just hang onto the back of the pram. Every time the train wobbled his weight was on the back of the pram and the baby got joggled.

New dad was being very patient and didn't say anything. I didn't feel it was my place but I was livid.

Why are people so selfish and rude? Why?!?!?!?!

A thousand considerations

2010-09-22T09:00:00.000+01:00

When cycling in London there are so many things to consider as you pedal about town.

Has that cab seen me?

Is that road two way for cycles?

Is that pig on a racer going to get out of my way or continue to attempt an overtake on someone going the same speed as him?

Why do people not notice my bright yellow reflective belt?

Why does that guy look familiar?

Who is he?

Oh, is it the police biker man from the night rides?

It is!

Hello!

It was indeed one of the night riders from my beloved FNRttC. We cycled together only briefly but it was lovely to see a familiar face. It was also fitting that we parted at the turn off to Hyde Park Corner, where our night-time cycling adventures begin.

Among cyclists there seems to be less of the awkwardness associated with seeing someone you know on public transport. If one person is really not fancying a chat they can just pedal harder an say they're in a rush. On a train you can be sardined next to someone for hours and when the small talk dries up, it can get awfully quiet.

Luckily, Mr Policeman and I were at an accord and both pleased to see each other so we matched speeds and had a quick gossip while still getting to our destinations on time.

Lovely.

Some people have way too much time on their hands...

2010-09-16T09:00:00.002+01:00

I know not everyone's a fan of banks but whoever pulled this morning's stunt is, I reckon, just a bit sad.

I walked 10 minutes from Paddington to the nearest dock with bikes in it. A guy having problems with his key grumbled about it amiably and I sympathised. We shared our stories of key woes and then he laughed while I was mid-sentence. I pride myself on my wit but this seemed over the top.

'Who the hell has done that?!' he exclaimed, pointing, puce faced, at the rear of my chosen bicycle.

On each side, above the word 'Barclays' someone had put a sticker with the word 'F*ck' on it. Not just on my bike, but on every one in the rack. We looked at each other, incredulous. Then we giggled.

I know some people have a serious issue with Barclays having logos plastered all over the cycle hire bikes but, as a tax payer, I' really don't care that the scheme is sponsored if it means that, by extension, fewer public pounds are spent on what I think is a fabulous service for London.

I also know people hate banks, I am one of them, but I'm not going to cycle past children in a public park (my route is through Hyde Park, which often has families in it, even at the early hour I'm there) with 'F*ck' for all to see.

Finally, these people make me feel like a time waster. What on earth have I been doing in my mornings to prevent me too having the time to get high-quality stickers printed in Barclays blue before going out and having them on bikes before commuters collect them at 8am?

Clearly these people don't have cats to tend to or washing to do...

The Hyde Park Posse

2010-09-13T09:00:00.000+01:00

Slow down!

It's a public park, not a speedway for goodness' sake. I'm getting really tired of swerving to avoid the berks who seem to think the cycle lane through HydePark is a race track. I think it's irresponsible and rude.

This morning I was, yet again, nearly hit by someone overtaking a rival and completely misjudging my speed and distance from him. If it was a road you wouldn't do it, so why do it in a cycle lane?

On my way home I often have to completely leave the cycle lane and move into the pedestrian area to avoid the 'hunting packs' of w***ers cycling at speed across the whole lane and desperately jostling for position. It's just sad.

Hyde Park should be the highlight of my commute but it's being ruined by inconsiderate nobbers.

Anyhoo, on with the day....

Boris and Bob, a conspiracy to promote cycling?

2010-09-08T13:30:00.001+01:00

Yesterday I expected many more bikes on the roads and I wasn't disappointed. I posted about the increase and the unfortunate nobbers among those biking the strike.

This morning, however, I was not expecting what happened.

There were no bikes at Paddington. This occasionally happens, so I toddled down to my failsafe docking point, where there are, on average, about 10 bikes at any given time. I was greeted by the sight of two men taking the last ones. Incredulous, I shared my shock with a fellow Boris biker who had also walked from Paddington and was not used to this situation. I walked on to the docking point round the corner, no joy. I walked round Connaught Square, past the armed police guarding the ex-Prime Minister's home and down to Hyde Park. Even the docking point at the top of the park was empty.

The next docking point had two bikes and I duly grabbed one. I still wasn't late for work and it was a perfectly pleasant morning to be toddling around London but wow.

I have a theory:

Boris and Bob Crow worked together on the strike. Where they met, is a moot point. Somehow, I doubt their social circles overlap. However, it's clear to me that in order to ease crowding in tube stations (making tube staff jobs easier) AND promote cycle hire, they met up and organised a strike.

Yesterday many Londoners discovered that they don't have to cram sardine-like into tube carriages, instead they can cycle.

It's all a conspiracy I tells ye.

Strike woes

2010-09-07T09:00:00.000+01:00

The tube strike has not hit my travel times. As I use two overland lines and a bike in between I went home last night and came in this morning without the usual strike stress.

What did stress me out though, was the rest of the commuting population. Everyone gets grumpy on strike days. Raw animosity crackled in the air and I was smacked by large handbags/briefcases a lot more than usual as people stormed past. The train was rammed by the time we hit Paddington and the crush to get through the gates was far worse than usual.

Knowing all the bikes would be taken in the immediate vicinity, I walked the 10 minutes to my failsafe docking point where there are always bikes. I saddled up and set off. I'm used to a certain amount of snobbery from other cyclists when I'm on a Boris Bike. It's generally idiots though, so I shake it off. What really annoyed me today was the snobbery and attitude of the various people who had clearly bought themselves some lycra togs and then dug their monstrosities out of their sheds to bike the strike.

They were rude, they were arrogant and, sorry boys, they were mostly men. They ran lights, they overtook far too close, they went the wrong way down one-way streets. Sigh. One man in particular stands out.

He nearly hit me as I cycled through a junction because he ran a red light. I was a bit shocked and stammered that it was a red light. His response was to shout 'Oh f*** off!' into my face before wobbling off. He may have been in lycra but the rust on his chain told me he was a strike biker. There was just no need for that kind of attitude.

If only there wasn't that minority of arseholes. I should be rejoicing that so many people will have discovered they can cycle to work, instead I wish they'd just bugger off back onto the tube.

Reg and Weenie reunited!

2010-09-06T09:00:00.000+01:00

On Saturday CC got married. My faithful stoker and good friend is now the wife of a thoroughly nice young man who recognises that while he will be her husband, I will always be her captain. The tandem to Brighton, here, here, here and here got a mention in the speeches and it was wonderful. The day was just beautiful and suffused with love.

The next day, high on the loveness, I decided to cycle to Twickenham to see my sister on her birthday. Reg's tyres were flat from lack of use and I realised an ex-colleague still had my minipump and bits from borrowing them on a ride but I have spares so I packed them up and set off.

It was very weird to be on Reg again. His tyres seemed unnaturally skinny and hard after the fat eclair types of the Boris Bikes and the position was very different. Having a single pannier felt distinctly odd. My wrist felt fine though so we set off. I definitely took it easier than I would have done pre-wrist break and I walked the busiest roundabout on the way as I wasn't sure which lane I needed, the headwind was horrendous, but the experience was FAB.

The wind streamed through my helmet, the wheels spun at the merest push and I seemed to fly down to the river. I laughed and smiled the whole way because it felt so good to be back on my bike. After seeing my sisters and exchanging pressies (hurray for pressies) I set off home. Without the horrible headwind I was quicker getting home despite the familiar, right in the bum ache that comes with cycling distance after a long break.

Bliss.

Message to cats...

2010-08-31T13:30:00.001+01:00

Weenie's bike is not a hidey hole toy. And please do not use it for sharpening claws, particularly the tyres. FYI, that blackish oily substance will never be tasty, stop sniffing it to check. I know you're doing it because your normally white bib is black Mr Handsome.

When Weenie brings work home, don't walk all over the proofs she's attempting to read. Yes it does make a marvellous scrunchy crunch sound when you jump on it but the sound is matched by a wail of exasperation and rage from deep within my soul.

My cycle helmet is NOT a toy. Just because it spins across the floor when batted does not mean it was built to do so. Also, you look ridiculous when you successfully set it spinning only to jump two feet in the air with your fur on end 'because it attacked me'.

You are NOT a tiger. Tigers do not prowl the wilderness by day only then receive with enthusiastic glee biscuits provided by a human. Nor do they snuggle into said human's armpit and roll onto their backs emitting pussycat snores as soon as it gets a bit chilly.

Where have all the Boris bikes gone?

2010-08-25T09:00:00.000+01:00

On Monday I decided not to use a Boris bike as I was just too tired. I went in without my helmet and bike stuff and took the train and tube. Eugh. On the way home I felt so ill with the heat and crammedness I vowed never again.

I was a little disappointed yesterday and today, therefore, to fine no available bikes at Paddington's two nearest docks. I lucked out on Tuesday when someone pulled in while I stood in shock, but today there were none and I walked to the next one.

It wasn't a massive inconvenience or anything but it does show that the planners were wrong to site so many docks in residential areas. I would have thought it was obvious that the people who would jump at the scheme would be commuters like myself who come into a main station and want to hop by bike to another one or into the centre of town.

When I arrive at Victoria there are always loads of docking spaces because all the bikes have been taken. In fact, I am often hovered over by men in suits who patiently wait for me to dock, take off my helmet and reflective belt, get my stuff in my bag and start to walk away before they grab the bike I've just used.

The other problem with the Victoria bike dock I use is that it's in the middle of lots of one-way streets, so I can't cycle the last bit. It's also on the coaches' approach to Victoria coach station's arrivals hall so huge coaches and TfL buses are coming past all the time. I'm always careful when I back my bike out but I've seen several people nearly come a cropper when a coach has wheeled round the corner.

I know my key didn't work properly at first and other teething problems exist, but I really think the scheme's a winner. I just hope that the scheme organisers use the feedback and bike data to make sure that any new docking stations are put in useful and usable places.

Cycling for arthritis awareness

2010-08-20T13:30:00.001+01:00

Someone has brought a campaign by Arthritis Research UK and I'm quite taken with it.

The campaign aims to raise awareness of juvenile idiopathic arthritis. It can cause a lot of pain but with the cause unknown it's difficult to treat.

I've mentioned my dodgy hip on here a few times and it's had a significant impact on my life. As a young(ish) person, it can be very frustrating to be unable to walk long distances or shop for hours with your friends because you have to keep sitting down. It's embarrassing and depressing. Luckily, I am now at a stage where it does not affect my every day life and I no longer allow it yo limit my activities.

Arthritis Research UK are running a London to Paris cycle in September to raise money for research etc. I can't take part, but anyone else who fancies it should give it a go.

Cycling proved to a be a great therapy for my arthritis and has improved my situation dramatically. With research, other young people who suffer with swollen and painful joints will be able to experience the freedom I now can.

Sleepy pootle and an injury

2010-08-19T09:00:00.001+01:00

Sooo tired, this commuting lark's exhausting.

I nearly didn't bike today but sternly told myself off with an internal monologue when I got to Paddington. Unfortunately, I then cut my finger on a wayward piece of plastic under the saddle when I was adjusting the saddle.

A Boris Bike repairman was waiting for colleagues next to the docking stand and, when he saw me sucking the finger in question asked what I'd done. He conscientiously investigated with me saying he'd take the bike out of service if there was a sharp bit on it, but we couldn't find what had done it. I still have no idea but it bled a lot.

Even with the injury, I knew I'd made the right decision as I hit Hyde Park with blue sky up above and the sun shining. Because they're so heavy, the bikes force you to pootle and, in a sit-up position, it was lovely to admire the view and glide through the park. I know my route really well now so I can peer around and admire the various things going past.

Wonderful.

The rage returneth...

2010-08-18T13:30:00.000+01:00

Gosh, just a week or so into my return to cycling and I'm already full of rage.

I've shouted at two naughty black cabs, one dozy minibus driver and have seriously muttered about a lot of cyclists.

It's an unfortunate truth that some of the cyclists in central London are complete peenarses. They speed through Hyde Park like they're in a race, with little old ladies and wayward toddlers forced to leap out of the way even when they're on the pedestrian sections. So intent on overtaking their fellow cyclists, some of these dimwits turn the wide two-way cycle lane into a speedway. A couple nearly hit me head on yesterday while trying to overtake other cyclists. Others just nip out of the cycle lane onto the pedestrian walkway, blindly expecting people to get out of their way.

As I'm still on Boris bikes at the moment I also get the sneery look of derision from some of them as they whizz past. I'm sorry mate, but given that your carbon dream machine weighs about an eighth of the steel contraption I'm on it's no wonder you're going faster than me. It's so not a legitimate scalp you moron.

Then there are the worrisome nobheads on their phones while cycling. They weave around, occasionally glancing up to see what's coming. Sheesh. Get off your phone or get off your bike.

Perhaps I was protected from all this when I was commuting into zone two, maybe zone one is just another twilight zone, infested with evil meanies.

For the last time lame people....

2010-08-16T12:30:00.000+01:00

Whether you wear a helmet or not is entirely your choice, you're a grown up, so why the frick are so many of you bringing out a helmet and then hanging it off your handlebars/backpacks?!

I don't care if you don't want to wear one but carrying one around without using it would indicate to me that:

A: Your significant other/parents have told you to wear one and you carry one so that when you leave the house they see you carrying one and assume you're going to wear it.

B: Part of you thinks you should wear one but you just can't bring yourself to strap the polystyrene monstrosity to your head... in public.

C: You are under the misguided impression that, when one came with your bike, it was some sort of technical thing that belongs with said bicycle and that to separate them by more than four feet will render the bike useless.

To all of you, be it A, B or C:

You are lame. Make the decision and stick to it, grow a pair while you're at it.

Could the cycle hire scheme change attitudes as well as commutes?

2010-08-13T09:00:00.003+01:00

I've been stopped several times by random people while out on a Boris bike.

'How much does it cost?'

'How do they handle?'

'Have you had key problems?'

'Is it easy to find a dock?'

People are interested, they want to know. So I tell them, often wheezing as they're invariably on little carbon fibre things. I've been told a couple of times that they're interest is because they're keen to get a friend or other half cycling in London and it's a nice way to start.

I've also helped several people having problems with the scheme. I've guided people to the nearest neighbouring dock when there's no empty spaces, I've pointed out that putting your key in makes it harder to dock the bikes, not easier and I've shown people which way up to put their key in the slot.

I've been happy to help, but what's shocked me is how many others are equally willing.

On the tube, it's an unwritten rule of London that you NEVER strike up conversations with strangers. Those who do are automatically given the mental label 'tourist'. Eye contact is a no no.

Cycle hire scheme bods seem to reject this. Even suited and booted trader types will give a hearty 'good morning' as we release bikes at the same time. 'Lovely day for it', is called out by the previously sour-faced school maam lookalike. In a London where I'm often the only person to help those with prams negotiate the stairs at stations 'Allow me!' is bellowed by an older gent who has seen me struggle to pull up a stuck seat post. I was so stunned I could barely offer a thank you before he sped away.

Yes, this is a different way to commute. Perhaps it won't just change the way we travel in London, maybe it'll change our entire attitude towards the others battling to work and back. Dare I say the word... camaraderie.

Cycle hire scheme top tips

2010-08-12T13:30:00.000+01:00

Be ready. The green light may only flash for a single second. Insert your key, leave it there, grab both handlebars, keep an eagle eye on the lights and be ready to pull the bike out.

They are HEAVY. If you are used to lighter weight machines, be prepared for this. While it gives you stability after the initial shock, I had a bit of a weaving phase before finding my feet as it were.

Key problems. I have had a few already. The cycle hire line is pants and it's obviously not coping with demand. Don't be put off. At least twice I've called back and gone through to the centre itself instead of the overflow. If they have to reactivate your key and it doesn't work immediately, it's worth trying it again after about 10 minutes. I found walking to the next docking station filled the time and destressed me.

Redocking. Do a BoJo. When he says be firm, he's right. I've seen several people insert their key to redock their bike. You don't need to do this. Again, take both handlebars in a firm grip and roll the bike at a reasonable speed into the dock. Hold it in while waiting for the green light.

Do your research. While I've not yet been unable to get a bike at my dock of choice because of a lack of machines, it does happen. I have memorised the nearest four docking stations to the two stations I travel between so that I can just walk to the next one. Some of them are in weirdly residential places and bikes are always plentiful in these.

Persevere. The initial key problems caused me no end of grief and I got really annoyed. I refused to be cowed and decided to keep trying and it's been worth it. I travel into London and out again to get to work without having to use the tube. Lovely.

Back in the groove

2010-08-12T09:00:00.001+01:00

Hurrah for cycle hire!

Having finally got the hang of my routes to and from Victoria I sailed across London this morning. There were bikes left at Paddington, my key worked first time, I knew where I was going and the weather was cool and clear. I donned my helmet and yellow reflective Sam Browne and I was off.

The joyous thing about my route from Paddington to Victoria is that it's downhill. When still half asleep I barely need to pedal going through Hyde Park, especially as the Boris bikes are so heavy, I just let gravity pull me along. The way back is a bit harder as it's mostly uphill on a fat-arse Boris bike, but it still beats hideous tube interchanges.

This morning I left my house at 7.25am, got the 7.39am train and was docking my bike near Victoria by 8.20am. That, to me, is amazing. Using the same train from where I live I've missed the 8.44am from Farringdon and, if I change to the district line using the same first train, I get to Victoria for about 8.40am. More than that, it's packed with commuters, stressful and uncomfortably warm. Getting in and out through the ticket gates is horrendous, with people pushing all the time and there's no guarantee of a seat.

More than all this though, I think my body's finally remembered how to cycle. It's been a struggle the last two days but this morning it finally clicked. I could almost hear it sighing 'ah, that's what you want me to do'.

The route I'm taking is not direct but it takes in the park and backstreets. I've negotiated Hyde Park Corner a few times but, even with the cycle lanes etc, I hate doing it. I'd rather cycle 10 minutes more and be happy.

Boris biking fun

2010-08-11T09:00:00.000+01:00

I have decided to defy the NHS and begin cycling again.* However, I decided my return to pedal power would be on Boris's marvellous cycle hire contraptions as the sit up and beg position means no weight is being lent on my wrists and the route from Paddington to Victoria is mainly through Hyde Park.

A week after signing up, my key arrived so, on Monday morning, I headed out with my helmet and Sam Browne in my bag, ready to hit the bikes.

My key didn't work.

I headed back to the trains after a call to the cycle hire line that said they were too busy to sort it out and that they would call me back. Train delays meant I was horrendously late for work. Boo. That evening I rang again, pointing out that no one had rung me back. 'Sorry madam, we're still too busy' came the cry.

After getting very cross. I decided to calm down and walk to Paddington as Mr Weenie was working late and it was a lovely evening. I planned out a route and had a lovely walk. This morning, having seen a lovely occupational physio who guardedly said that, while she couldn't tell me I was fine to cycle because of protocol, she could tell me that many other people started back doing everyday activities at this point and no harm came to them. Hint hint.

Yesterday morning I got to Paddington (trains were again late) and my key STILL didn't work. So I rang the line, and they picked up! After apologising profusely for the delay they reactivated my key and it worked.

Phew.

I climbed aboard and, once I'd secured my bag and strapped on my helmet, I was off.

Be warned all those who cycle light and modern roadies and hybrids, Boris bikes are heavy. Vary heavy. I wobbled somewhat as I began but I soon hit my stride and, as I've cycled around Paddington many times, I knew exactly the way to Hyde Park using small backstreets.

The brakes were sensitive without being too sharp and the gear changes were smooth. Yes, the bikes are heavy, but they're also stable and feel well built.

After getting a bit lost I arrived at Victoria in around 25 minutes, a vastly improved time than it's been taking of late. I saw a docking station, obeyed BoJo's instruction of firmly ramming the bike into the dock and the light went green first time. I walked 100 yards to the station and my train was already at the platform. I hopped on and arrived at work far happier than I've been for some time.

I've always supported the idea of the scheme and, although it's unfortunate that the call centre is clearly ill equipped to deal with the volume of interest, I'm heartened that the interest has been so great. Given that only members can use the bikes at the moment I've been impressed by the number of people I see out and about on them. Fingers crossed they work the kinks out as soon as possible.

*I should point out that the doctors do not object to my cycling per se, it is their concern that I will fall over while on my bike. My hip problems mean that I've fallen over about 15 times since I broke my wrist while walking around. Hmmmmmmmmm

Train commuting vs cycling, which is more dangerous?

2010-08-06T09:00:00.000+01:00

I'm still not allowed to cycle... in case I fall off. This means that this morning I was yet again braving the train commute. After noticing I seem to be jostled often, this morning I decided to count the hits.

My right forearm was hit 10 times by people's bags or elbows, and that's only counting the ones that hurt. I also nearly got shoved off the train at Ealing Broadway and would have fallen flat on my face and probably thrown my arm out to catch myself.

The theory that it is somehow 'safer' for me to be doing this every morning instead of cycling is becoming more and more questionable. Dogs and small children are continually at my feet attempting to trip me up, I am shoved from behind as I step off high trains onto low platforms by people anxious to get to work, people with ridiculously large bags with hard edges swing them into me as they plough through the crowds.

I haven't even factored in the higher risk of obesity and heart disease caused by sitting on your arse on a train instead of cycling.

Oh God, I'm doomed!

PS: Am still waiting for my key to a Boris bike....

Romance and the bicycle...

2010-08-04T09:00:00.000+01:00

Yesterday we said goodbye to my grandma's sister, auntie Neen. Her funeral was in Stockport, where my mum's side of the family orginate from.

It was a long drive up north and and, on the way, grandma and I got chatting about how she'd met grandpa as we were passing through where they met. Their eyes met across a field of rhubarb as they were both working on the harvest. The rhubarb was bound for the jam factory, where wooden pips would be put in to pretend that it was strawberry jam. It was 1948.

Apparently, grandpa was 'gorgeous' and, as the only single young man of the group of three he was in, he was highly sought after. Grandma giggled when she remarked 'but I got there first'.

Were there dates, I asked. 'Oh no,' she replied, 'but I cycled 10 miles to work, and he cycled 15, so we would meet at the crossroads and go in together.'

Grandpa's a veteran tour cyclist and I've always known that he and grandma occasionally tandemmed together, but I had no idea that bicycles played such a key role in their romance. How fabulous.

There's scientific proof that the availability of cheap bicycles had a huge impact on the UK gene pool. Suddenly, lads and lasses were able to meet and marry people from other villages and were able to look for work further afield. I didn't realise, however, that their availability had had a direct impact on my existence, for if grandma and grandpa hadn't met in that rhubarb field, I would never have been born.

Yet another reason to fall in love with cycling.

Everywhere I go, people are having fun on bicycles

2010-07-29T09:00:00.000+01:00

London was awash with bicycles this morning. I watched longingly as people whizzed by past Hyde Park Corner and Victoria. I shone green with envy when a young lady took a cab driver on and remarked that he was being aggressive, every bike seemed gleaming and beautiful, every cyclist happy.

I attempted yet another permutation this morning as I had to renew my travelcard. It meant I missed the Victoria tube closure but meant I walked for 15 minutes to reach Victoria. It was bike heavy and only magnified my commuting misery. I near wept at the sight of so many happy two-wheelers.

Sigh, why is it that when you can't do something, everyone else starts doing it?

So unfair.

It's off... ouch

2010-07-28T09:00:00.002+01:00

Yesterday the cast came off.

A large and friendly nurse waved a mini circular saw around with gay abandon and cut off the pink monstrosity that has made life so difficult for nearly two months. I was so excited the night before I could barely sleep. Little did I know...

First of all came the smell. Ewwwwwwwwwww. In my defence, no one's arm would smell like roses after seven weeks sweating into a cast.

Then there was the hair. Oh. My. God. Monkey-like dark brown hair. All over my forearm and back of my hand. My arms have always had quite a lot of hair, but it's so blonde it's near invisible. Not any more.

Then there was the skin. Dark brown scaly patches of dead skin were everywhere. Even in places where this wasn't the case, peeling was a major feature. And then there was the heat rash all over my inner arm and on the back.

The back drop for all this was pale skin (oh the tan line) wrapped around a somewhat thinner arm than the one I fractured at the beginning of June.

Manic arm scrubbing, Jolen bleach (the hair) and Sudocrem (the heat rash) later, it does at least look human. What's rubbish is the pain. And it really hurts. Apparently it's normal but owwwwwww.

Is rubbish. Put it back on.

Why do we do it to ourselves?!

2010-07-26T09:00:00.001+01:00

Following the corporate shafting that resulted in my moving to a destination miles and miles away for work, I have been left with a commute that, this morning, lasted just over an hour and a half. And that was because I ran for a train.

Crammed into hot and sweaty tubes of met with the rest of London's commuting warriors, my mind wandered to my first job. A similar distance, my days were consumed by it and the resulting misery meant that I quit.

The distance to my new company is 15-16 miles and I think it's a feasible distance to cycle once the cast comes off and I've worked up my leg strength and shed the obscene amount of weight gained while eating cheese in Normandy.

God help me, I'll have to think of something because this morning was awful.

Now that I am part of the cycle enlightened I have another option, there's another way. So why do most of us dismiss cycling as an option for so long when the alternative is to fight our way on to crowded platforms, elbow the weak out of the way to climb onto packed carriages, become intimately acquainted with strangers' armpits, and all so we can arrive at jobs we seldom enjoy?

Why why why.

I am a Normandy convert

2010-07-23T09:30:00.003+01:00

When my parents told my sisters and me that they were planning to leave us to live in Normandy I was sceptical. The building they planned to convert was a wreck and, at the tender age of 27, my immediate reaction was but I want my muuuuuuum!

Last week Mr Weenie and I went out there with them and two family friends to view their nearly completed house and the locale. We also decided to sample the cheese.

It was amazing.

The community are friendly and supportive, there's kayaking/canoeing, rambling and other activities on a short drive away and the wildlife is varied and numerous. The local river is clean enough to swim in and was covered in dragonflies, mayflies and damsels with the occasional big fish.

More importantly, the whole area is signposted for cyclists, with picnic tables hidden away in shady nooks in hedgerows for water and rest stops and some spectacular scenery as you pedal around. I was green with envy watching the many people touring the area and the locals weaving back from the boulanger with fragrant baguettes sticking out of ancient panniers.

I can't wait to take my bike over and enjoy the area on two wheels. I also reckon my parents will be very happy there.

I did get to experience some pedal-powered fun, however. The velorail.

I made the combined holiday party of six adults go on this wonderous invention. A four-wheeled pedal-powered rail carriage, it goes along a disused railway track and two people sit on saddles pedalling furiously while up to two adults sit on the seat admiring the view. At the end of the route you use a pivot cage to spin the contraption round and set off back to your start point.

We went on the hottest day of the holiday and spent most of the time giggling our heads off about the entire thing.

There are several velorails across France and I think they're a fab idea for using disused rail tracks. I think, had we had children with us, it may have been more their thing, but it was wonderful to pedal something for a sustained period.

Having made him go on the velorail, Mr Weenie then demanded we go kayaking, but that's another story.....

Holiday!!!!

2010-07-14T10:00:00.002+01:00

I'm finally on holiday for a week, away from work stress and other boring things. I'll be back next week and am massively excited.

Love to all, byeeeeeee...

Grrrr get your bike off the train!

2010-07-13T09:30:00.000+01:00

I don't know why I bother checking the rules about bikes on trains because the people living around me clearly don't.

I live on the Heathrow line and, for good reason, non-folding bikes are not allowed in week days between 7am-10am and 4pm-7pm on trains bound for central London (although there are exceptions outside of zone three). While I would love trains to have more capacity for bikes the fact remains that they don't at present and, when busy, bikes are an obstacle. Especially when they're parked across the door and not in the carriage that has room for bikes/wheelchairs (Mr multi-pierced emo man with a dirty single-speed).

I do my best to check the rules, why can't other people?

Looking for rabbits and other things children aren't allowed to do

2010-07-07T09:30:00.000+01:00

Last night I took the much delayed tube to a station I haven't walked from before. It's fair way away but I fancied a toddle. It's made me all reflective and serious....

As a child, the music school that I now teach at was based at a high school near the station and I was a student. My parents would drop me off at 8am on a Saturday and pick me up at 12ish. With a couple of pounds for the tuck shop and my french horn I was expected to get myself to lessons and behave. The site wasn't closed and behind the school was open land that led down to the canal. The fields were very bumpy as huge rabbit warrens lay beneath and, if we had a sufficient gap between lessons, fellow french horn player John and I, along with various others, would go running across the field, walk along the canal to race sticks in the weir, and look for bunnies. If it was sunny we would just lie in the grass and chat, giggle and hope that theory was cancelled.

Adults kind of knew where we were, we were trusted to not do anything silly, and, as it was before mobile phones, we had no one breathing down our necks in a technological manner.

The music school is now based at a new site, another high school. The site is more secure and closed. The children I teach are, in the main, not even allowed to walk down the stairs and meet their parents in the canteen after lessons and must be met at the door. This includes the ones nearing 10 years old. One child, from the age of four or five was allowed to do this. His father let me know and explained that he was hoping to teach his child independence. He was told where his father would be waiting and, if he wasn't there, he was to return to the classroom. Nervous at first, he soon adjusted to the routine and is far more outgoing than before this arrangement.

Other parents noticed the child leaving without an adult. I explained and I actually heard a tut. When I gaily described what was the norm when I was a student there were looks of horror.

Walking across that field last night I felt like I was eight again. A bunny hopped across the path and I walked down to the canal and along it to my current home. I giggled as I remembered some of the things we got up to and the fun we had. And I wondered how many of the children I teach with experience that same rush of remembered joy when they think back to their time at music school.

Cycling to school, worthy of social services?

2010-07-05T13:30:00.002+01:00

I couldn't believe this article. In an age of obesity and children scared to leave their parents for a minute it's absurd.

How else are children meant to learn independence? This couple have been vilified for no reason.

London's cycle hire scheme

2010-07-05T13:30:00.001+01:00

I must admit that with the various goings on, this has slipped under the radar of late. I saw one of the bikes at the Earl's Court Bike Show eons ago and was impressed. Sturdy and attractive I knew I'd be happy to ride one. They're a bit feminine but, obviously, that's not a problem for me.

The scheme popped back into my consciousness because of my various work troubles. If the changes go ahead I'll be expected to commute to Herne Hill, near Brixton. From where I live that's a bit tricky. There's no tube near me and I'd have to go in to go out, as it were. The train near me goes to Paddington, not terribly helpful... or so I thought.

Mr Weenie was screwed over by an Oyster machine on Saturday and while I waited for him to shout at managers I picked up a leaflet about the cycle hire scheme and looked at the map of the docking stations. I had a revelation.

For £45 a year I could pick up a bike at Paddington and cycle it to Vauxhall every day as well as using one whenever I wanted. Herne Hill's just a couple of stops from Vauxhall. The combined journey time will still be far longer than my current one and it's less than ideal, but it solves my problem of bringing a bike into London at peak times, I won't have to. Plus it means I can still cycle part of the way and not have interchange as much.

If the scheme is well run it could be marvellous, fingers crossed that management get it going well.

Refusing to be bitter

2010-06-29T13:30:00.000+01:00

As the job debacle rumbles on and my cast gets progressively more itchy it's hard not to be angry. I have to admit that the love I've received from friends, family and readers has been very welcome and has genuinely made me feel better. It's also contributed to my attempts at not being bitter.

Unlike previously shafted employees I've decided not to get angry. It's rubbish but I'll be damned if they'll make me slink off into the dark. Leaving do and presents please!

Cast off date!

2010-06-27T13:50:00.001+01:00

It's been a bit of a rubbish week as I found out I've been sold to a new company. Yes, I'm being trafficked. Anyhoo, I have at least got a date for cast off. The 27th of July. At least there's light at the end of the tunnel I spose...

PINK!

2010-06-18T13:30:00.000+01:00

Check it out...

Plus, the rather camp male nurse who put it on joyfully exclaimed 'I haven't done a pink one in ages' when I made my choice, ooooh matron!

Bored now

2010-06-10T21:00:00.001+01:00

So, here I am, all casted up. And I am booooored.

The pain in my fingers means typing with my right hand is out and I'm doing this post over several days using my pointing finger on my left hand. On top of this, it really hurts. God bless Tramadol but it so isn't stopping all of the pain. I'm knackered too and am napping with Mr Handsome every afternoon. This combination means I'm off work, at least until Mr Orthopaedic surgeon man decides on whether I need it pinned. I'll also be getting my new cast then, I'm desperately hoping they'll have pink ones.

Having no right hand use is pants. Who knew that even going for a wee could be an adventure in balance and co-ordination? I was asked to sign for my prescription earlier and just looked at the pharmacist blankly. I'm starting to get the hang of left-handed Sudoku, but it takes a squillion years.

On the plus side I'm not able to do housework either, nor can I cook. Turns out Mr Weenie is a fabulous nurse. He's been downloading recipes to take over the kitchen I've run for seven years(amazing chilli mmmm), ensuring I don't have to go out braless (intrepid teenage boys who learn the one-handed bra undo I salute you), attempting to tie back my hair and telling me my new hair cut looks lovely (hurrah for Louis, hair saviour for ladies who have one hand with which to sort their bonce), and just generally being fab.

The love I've received from various quarters has been most marvellous. Not only have friends and loved ones been voicing concern and offering help but when you're a damsel in cast even teenage boys on the bus rush to your aid when you drop your phone for the third time.

When I pass Reg in the corridor, however, it pains me. Taking the bus and train has been crap and when I see cyclists whizzing past I wish it was me...

Anyhoo, enough ranting, I need someone to remove the wrapper from my ice lolly. Mr Weeeeeeeeeeeeeenie...

No bikes were harmed in the breaking of my wrist

2010-06-08T09:30:00.001+01:00

Yes, I have managed to break my right wrist.

I fell playing rounders at a barbeque. I've managed to split my ulner, chip it AND possibly dislocate my thumb. It sucks.

I can barely do anything. Typing is taking an age and the pain means I can't even use my fingers to hold anything still while I use my left hand.

Mr Weenie has been marvellous.

So... the story...

I was fielding and ran for the ball. My ankle went over and I landed with all my weight on my wrist. I felt sick for a moment and it was sore but I decided to get up and soldier on. I played left handed for another hour or so. Afterwards, we went to the bar. I'd only had two bottles of beer all day but decided to have a coke.

I started to feel really sick and, as we left, asked to be taken to the hospital on the way home. We arrived at 8.45pm, and left at 2.30am. I swore and moaned while being x-rayed and nearly passed out when they took the sling off.

A mean nurse plastered me eventually and we walked home. Mr Weenie carried my bag, made sure I kept warm and, with the foxes and a clear night it could have been romantic.

The annoying thing is that I can't blog much, if at all. Nor, crucially, can I cycle. Six weeks in plaster. Sigh.

Ridiculously good mood

2010-06-04T13:00:00.000+01:00

Hmmmm, why am I so happy? Could be because:

I have a new personal best getting to work, 25mins door-to-door.
It's beautiful weather.
Mr Weenie has started planting herbs and things in the balcony plant boxes and they look beautiful.
I'm seeing my lovely sisters this evening.
My copy of Replay has arrived (written by the marvellous T).
Reg is still clean and gorgeous after his mid-week wash.
I ran out to catch the ice-cream man last night and he gave me an extra big Mr Whippy.

All of this has counterbalanced the nasty scratch on my forehead that Mr Handsome gave me last night when he misjudged a leap from my chest to the arm of the sofa. Ouch!

Oh and just because, this was the Thames path yesterday afternoon as I cycled to a medical appointment. Beautiful!

Ealing Cycling Campaign and singing chums

2010-06-03T09:30:00.000+01:00

When Mr Weenie announced he was off the rugby AGM there was a niggling feeling that I'd been asked to go somewhere, then I remembered. Ealing Cycling Campaign meets once a month and last night was the night.

I decided to attend. A asked me ages ago and I was hijacked in the local Waitrose car park by another member asking if I wanted to join.

It was a nice evening on all fronts. A very nice man on a Brompton bought me a beer, there was a space next to A for me to sit, and I found out about the various Bike Week projects going on in the borough. It was, a bit like the FNRttC, the kind of cycle group where everyone is welcome and, while some were in jerseys and some were in jeans, we were all cyclists together.

Afterwards, having had no word from Mr Weenie, I decided to visit some old friends who I had no doubt would be in a local pub as they always are on a Wednesday night. I arrived unannounced and had wine thrust into my hands and a hearty welcome.

I then cycled home in the balmy evening, not even having to put a jacket on. Bliss.

Blend those blues away

2010-06-02T09:30:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I was having a less than spectacular day. To top it off, a guy walked out straight in front of my bike on my way home. Noticing that he wasn't looking I had rung my bell with no response and, luckily, had slowed in the anticipation of his suspected stupidity. It didn't stop him swearing at me though. By the time I got home, wet and muddy, I was less than bubbly.

As Mr Weenie and I waited for our shopping delivery I decided to take action.

For my 21st birthday I bought myself a blender. A £120 blender. It has about a squillion attachments, including a juicer. We have a regular fruit and veg box delivery and have been woefully rubbish at eating the fruit. I decided to blend my blues away. I juiced the oranges, then I did some apples and, while it took about five to make one large glass of juice, Mr Weenie pronounced it delectable. I juiced the pears as well and, with no fruit left, I decided to attack the kohlrabi that had arrived instead of detested courgette.

Using the shredder I reduced it to paper thin strips along with some carrots and an onion. Mr Weenie and I snacked on the resulting mix while waiting for the shopping.

Yes, there's nothing quite like shredding and pulping the hell out of things to make you feel better.

The Evans in Brentford

2010-06-01T09:30:00.001+01:00

I was off buying cat food nearby and realised that Wizzbikes has now completely morphed into a branch of Evans Cycles.

My company's Ride to Work scheme is through Evans, so I decided to check it out in case I decide to get Rupes, my third bike. Wizzbikes was much loved by local cyclists and, with their staff kept on and the Chiswick Evans super busy, I wanted to check out the customer service etc.

I got lovely, if alarming young, lad, who was super helpful and had no problems whipping out bikes for my inspection and allowing me to sit on them. He certainly talked the talk and was very helpful. He was a little obsessed with me getting a road bike even though my heart's set on a cyclocross, but he made some compelling arguments. They also had some GORGEOUS sit up and begs........

In short, I'm fairly sure that it's the shop I'll be going to if and when I go through Ride to Work. Evans can be a bit patchy on service (Fulham Broadway were particularly awful when I went in) and I want somewhere that treats me like a proper cyclist without bamboozling me with details. I'll let you know when I go next.

It's taken me a couple of days to notice the new transport minister... and it appears he's a nobber

2010-05-28T13:00:00.000+01:00

Oh dear. According to an interview with the Evening Standard it would appear he's too scared to cycle in London but, at the same time, thinks cyclists aren't aware of the dangers. Hmmmmmm

'Perhaps they need wingmirrors'? For what? To be distracted by instead of learning behind properly?

He's frightened by the way 'we' pull out around other cyclists 'unaware of the car behind' is he? Perhaps he should be more scared of the cars behind 'us' cyclists who refuse to acknowledge our signals as we pull out and seem intent on running us over for having the audacity to cycle quickly. These are often the same cars whose drivers berate others for going too slowly.

There there dear, get into the cool dark interior of your Jag and it will all go away.

Lady Julian has done a magnificent post on this subject, enjoy.

The pupil has become the master...

2010-05-28T09:30:00.003+01:00

Last night S and I bumped into bicycleslut on the way home. She accompanied us part of the way on a gorgeous red Brompton and the three of us pootled home. It was only as we hit the A4 cycle track that I realised our average speed was up by about 4kph and I anxiously looked at S to check she was ok. Of course she was. In fact, she looked positively radiant so we continued at the increased pace and dropped her home.

This morning S and I set off once more and I found myself looking behind for her only to realise she was out in front and we were making record time. By the time we hit Hammersmith she was going like a pro. But then we hit a snag or, rather, it nearly hit her. The traffic up to the one-way was stationary and S decided, quite wisey, that she didn't fancy going up the left-hand-side of the large lorry in front of us, so she stopped.

I heard a nasty roaring whine from behind me and a motorbike decided he'd squeeze past us. He was too close when he passed me, but by the time he got to S, his wheel was halfway up onto the pavement to get past and he missed her handlebar by a couple of inches at most.

I was worried and, trapped by a car, could only look on as S carried on up to the ASL box. I was confused as normally she's happy to queue. She handled the lane change with aplomb and I caught up at the next light. I turned to ask if she wanted to stop for coffee.

'He said I was going too slowly!'

'Eh?'

'I caught up with that motorbike and said could he try not killing me next time and he said I was going too slowly!'

It transpired that S had gone up the ASL to tell said motorbike that he had come too close and he had no idea what she was talking about, so oblivious had he been to what he'd done. Far from upset, S was enraged that he'd been so careless and put her in danger for nothing. She'd caught up with him so he hadn't saved any time.

After we'd arrived at work, showered and got coffee we were laughing about his micropenis, so there's no lasting damage. I'm proud. She didn't swear or get overly aggressive, she simply alerted him to the fact that he'd been driving dangerously and, with me far behind, then got on with her commute and crossed a large and difficult junction alone without letting him ruin the rest of her day.

What a gal.

Nothing to talk about....

2010-05-27T09:30:00.001+01:00

A smooth ride in with S, so nothing to report, how boring.....

**Edit: 100 posts so far this year, hurrah! Long may the wittering continue.

Trackstands and leaf blowers

2010-05-26T09:30:00.000+01:00

Hi guys, yes you, the ones with the trackstand attempts.

Let me let you in on a secret people: that whole attempting to stand upright on a wobbly stationary bike; the slow creeping forward that's made at least two of you fall over in front of me; that super extension of the neck and swivelling motion to see all junctions; the sudden halt as a car comes haring round the corner; the near misses with cars; the being sworn at by drivers; all of it can be avoided.

Yes, wait until the light's green and you can cross the junction without all that palarva. Simples.

Oh and Mr Council Road Cleaner Man, thanks for cleaning the streets, but using your leaf blower to direct the dust, dried flowers and leaves and road crud right into my face? Not cool.

Gloves

2010-05-25T09:30:00.002+01:00

Having been asked about gloves, here are some thoughts.....

Definitely wear them! I started developing unsightly callouses without and I have been assured by those more experienced at falling off that your hands often go down first so they're vital to protect you from road rash.

I used to own some Altura Synergy gloves. They have gel in the pressure points and make for a very comfy ride. Said gel did start to escape after a couple of months of every day wear but, having spoken to a couple of other people, it would appear that this happens with other gel gloves and for £17.99 a pair (less when they're on sale) I didn't worry too much about it and just replaced them.

My current short finger gloves are also Altura, but they're from the Gravity range. I can't find the ladies ones on Wiggle at the moment, but that's where I got them from, again on sale. They don't have gel padding but as I'm mainly on-road that works for me. I sweat a LOT, therefore I like gloves that can be cleaned without damaging them and I don't tend to spend a great deal on them on the basis that if they start to smell, I can get new ones.

For those who fancy smarty ones in leather or the like, Knog do nice ones available from Cyclechic. The Love Hate ones in red and white are my favourite. I dunno if they'd be great for sweaty commuting though as leather can get hot.

I'm not an Altura junkie as such (I own clothing and kit but various other brands) but these are the gloves that seem to suit me and I also own a pair of long-fingers from their brand. They are fleece with grip in convenient places. Again, because I get hot I need ones that can be washed and they allow air in so stay comfy as well as warm.

Hope this helps....

A weekend in the country

2010-05-24T09:30:00.002+01:00

This weekend I toddled off to the Chilterns for a weekend of patter songs and drunkenness. The venue is not too far from High Wycombe and, as I knew I'd probably be late and was taking the train, I was reluctant to call for a lift. So Reg came along too.

The weather has been glorious and when I left High Wycombe station it was balmy and beautiful (if one looked away from the passed out drunk guy who'd thrown up on himself). The station is on an incredibly nasty hill so I was anxious not to go the wrong way and exhaust myself. I, of course, then went the wrong way. Once I'd walked Reg back up the hill we embarked on the right course and headed into the country.

I had my bright reflective seatbelt on and had my lights just in case because it's all tiny country lanes (with remarkably smooth tarmac) and cars come haring round the bends. It was mainly uphill but the inclines weren't too steep.

Around 20 minutes of wonderful cycling later I hit THE HILL. The venue for the weekend is up an enormous hill. It's near vertical in places and no one even walks up it. Well I did. I decided it attempting to cycle it wasn't worth the pain and, with my lights on in case of cars coming up, I set off.

A few cars passed me (I moved over for all of them as I had my ears on high alert). What I thought was very sweet was that a cab driver, having dropped off his charges and turned round, pulled over with his window down saying 'Keep going, you're nearly at the top and you're doing really well!' before giving me a cheery wave and disappearing down the hill.

I arrived late for the first rehearsal and ran in in lycra. Moomin had collected my music and attempted to hide her worry and assumption that I'd had a disaster. Reg was duly propped against some fencing for his first experience of being outdoors overnight and Gilbert and Sullivan's Ruddigore was wrestled into submission.

I had a fab weekend seeing people, singing and admiring beautiful small children and, in a flash, my time there was over. Moomin drove a lot of my stuff home to keep down the weight and I headed off into the early afternoon with the sun bright above me and so much suncream on I glistened.

It was mainly downhill to the station and it was gorgeous. One rude station staff member and a missed train later (I couldn't see the bike carriage) I was speeding towards London with a fellow singer who I haven't seen for years.

As we approached Wembley I suddenly realised it would probably be easier to cycle from there than to train to Marylebone, cycle to Paddington and take another train. I whipped out the incredibly useful mapping system on my phone to get my bearings and was soon on the road to Hanwell.

When I arrived I drank a pint of water and had a very cold shower. Blissful.

Excellent article on cycling while pregnant

2010-05-21T09:30:00.002+01:00

The Guardian Bike Blog again but this time it's a fab post by a pregnant cyclist.

A tricky topic handled really well.

Check it out.

Must... stop... racing... A2... gasp...

2010-05-21T09:30:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I cycled in with S before enjoying an eight-mile ride across London for a meeting. At A2's suggestion I crossed Richmond Park and it was AMAZING.

I didn't know there were cycle and pedestrian only roads through the centre. Smooth tarmac and gorgeous surroundings. Enormous Red deer were right next to one section and they sat looking menacingly beautiful with enormous spring antlers as I slowly pedalled past to take in the sight. They're HUGE close up, but while I kept a respectful distance and kept moving just in case they seemed happy to let me pedal past.

I left the park and headed for the river before crossing one of the locks.

All this was very picturesque but my God I was hot. It was incredibly muggy and the air was alive with the sound of small buzzing insects. I arrived for my appointment sweaty and dishevelled. Luckily, A2 works where I was headed so tucked my panniers away and guided me to a washroom where my carefully packed kit of washing equipment, moisturiser and dry shampoo came into its own. I re-emerged looking far more human.

When business was concluded A2 offered to guide me part of the way home. He knows the area far better than I do so I was grateful for the help. But then it happened. I attempted to race him. I was back in my lycra at this point but I was still laden with two heavy panniers on a mid-range bike compared to his carbon fibre lovely and a small rucksack for luggage.

We whizzed along anyway as we're both fairly quick off the mark but my one overtake (23mph) was an error. Afterwards I panted for some time as A2 discreetly took a notch off the speed to allow me to compose myself after seeing my tomato face and hearing the panty wheeze of someone ill-matched their opponent. He dropped me off and I cycled the rest of the way alone. All in all I cycled around 11 miles home, plus the eight I'd cycled two hours before.

I was a wee bit tired this morning. Probably not a good thing that I had to drop camping supplies to my parents' house for them to drive them to where I'm going this weekend before picking up S this morning. Sigh.... Sooooo tired.....

Screw the scouts, cyclists are the preparation kings

2010-05-20T09:30:00.000+01:00

This afternoon I have to cycle straight to an important appointment. It's eight miles from the office and there's no direct transport link. I don't really have any other practical option other than to cycle.

Prep started last week. I looked into the transport situation and decided to cycle.

The last two days I've been researching routes. Yesterday A2 sent me a perfect one that's not too arduous (read sweaty) and it's pretty as it goes through Richmond Park.

This morning I was up early to decide on outfit (transferable from bike to walking around looking smartish) and 'the kit'. Facial wipes? Check. Dry shampoo? Check. Deodorant? Check. Make-up? Check.

Get to work this morning. Damn! I haven't bought new shampoo (current one makes my hair greasy and gross). Off to Hammersmith Broadway in lycra to pick some up.

I'm now ready, in a transferable outfit with clean hair and all the necessary bits and bobs. I'm also knackered. Zzzzzzzzz

Yet another 'why are women so rubbbish at cycling' article

2010-05-19T16:30:00.000+01:00

This time it's the Guardian Bike Blog.

The topic is valid (why are more women being hit by HGVs in the London even though they're the minority of cyclists). AND my comment got lots of recommends.

However, I'm sick of this victim-like approach to reporting on female cyclists. The whole 'I'm frightened', 'Cars will beep at me', 'Wobbling around' attitude, personified by Petronella Wyatt, is just so boring. Not to mention offensive. Yes there are some women out there who are nervous, but so are a lot of the men I pass every day.

When will a national newspaper have the balls to publish an article by a confident, competent woman cyclist?

My regular readers will know I cycle around 100 miles a week on-road and am fairly new to the cycling game. Am I a hero? No. I'm just trying to get to work and can't drive.

The pink jersey

2010-05-19T09:30:00.002+01:00

I own two Pearl Izumi jerseys, both have pink on but one is really pink. I also own a long-sleeved one that's REALLY pink.

As a rule, pink is fairly rare among the cycling fraternity (and sisternity), particularly among those who wear lycra. This means I'm rather distinctive, especially with my bright yellow 'seatbelt' worn over the top at all times.

Yesterday A2 was in town working from a local office and saw me streak past as he ordered his corporate coffee, our company's chairman often says hello when he sees me out and about, children I teach see me and wave, my parents' church friends mention they've spotted me when they see mum and dad at choir practice.

There's an upside and downside to all this:

The upside is that when I complain about evil bus drivers I can tell TfL that I know I've been repeatedly offended against as a personal insult because I don't look like any old cyclist; I must also be on best behaviour a lot, which to me is a good thing as it often stops me from tempting naughtiness.
The downside is that when you nearly hit said company chairman because he didn't look when he crossed the road you were turning into you spend the rest of the day worrying that he knows it was you........

Boring analytics

2010-05-18T13:30:00.000+01:00

So, I have been totally lax in checking the blog's analytics. They basically tell me how many people read my musings, whereabouts they are and how they've come across the site.

Last year I discovered a scary, but hilarious, number were looking for 'boys pissing', 'labia' and 'rogering'. Hmmmmmmmm

But the results are in and this month people have been looking for super boring things:

Wheeled weenie
BNP Ealing north
Roger bicycle
One whole bike

Booooring.

Let's throw some spanners in there:

Labia
Ladies
Pissing
Boys
Rogering

That will do nicely....

Sunny!

2010-05-18T09:30:00.000+01:00

It's SUNNY!

It's about bloody time frankly, but the sun has finally got his hat on. Last night I nipped to Hobbycraft to get wool for my latest secret knitting project. Coming back I went through the local park along the cycle track and it was gorgeous. Bees, butterflies and golfers, it had it all. Even a grumpy cab driver this morning couldn't bring me down from the high.

This morning I picked up S and we went via the river but not the long route, which we may do tonight. The sun sparkled on the water and the traffic through Chiswick was fairly light. I even got my shorts out and the legs were on show.

Altogether now... Let the sun shiiiiine, let the suuun shiiiine, the ssuuuuun shhining!

'I was going to say hello...

2010-05-17T13:30:00.000+01:00

But you were going too fast.'

I've heard this three or four time recently as I'm often spotted by people I know when I'm out and about on Reg. Have I turned into Speedy Gonweenie? Hmmm I think not.

I have a nasty suspicion my lycra means people are frightened to approach. It's like armour.

Victory for me, not for Mr Weenie

2010-05-14T09:30:00.000+01:00

Last night I had one of those sweet sweet moments that occasionally crop up when you commute by bike.

Between Shepherd's Bush and Acton a guy on a phone swerved left and nearly hit me as I came back. He was a youngish bloke and, in response to my shout of 'Watch it you idiot!', he and his passenger waved with saccharine smiles. I waved back with a similar smile and a slightly different gesture. They laughed and apologised, I laughed and thought nothing of it.

It was a popular model silver car so when I passed it the first time I barely registered it. He overtook again but I definitely noticed when I passed it again a mile later. I didn't see him again for a couple of miles and assumed he'd turned off.

I got to west Ealing and, while stopped at traffic lights, two familiar faces peered out from the car next to me and waved, giggling. The window was rolled down, I couldn't resist: 'About time! Where the hell have you guys been?'

The reply came: 'Naaaah man! How many gears have you got on that thing?!'

I shouted back '24' before pedalling off while they stayed stuck in the traffic queue. I didn't see them again and arrived home triumphant.

Car stomping weenie-style.

In other news though, Mr Weenie came off Roger this morning. He snapped the pedal and has grazed his right side on his arm, leg and knee. Luckily, however, he was wearing the cycle mitts I bought him for our anniversary and his hands were spared. Phew!

Shiny shiny and Roger's home!

2010-05-13T09:30:00.001+01:00

Mr Weenie has been warned repeatedly about not using my bath products. I often get given sparkly products and he has emerged with an unhealthy sheen several times. Last night though, things went to a whole new level.

Last night he used whet he thought was a bath bomb but was, in fact, a Lush Shimmy Shimmy bar. As a result he has glitter chemically welded to him. We've tried everything to get it off. In addition, everything he touches shines, the sofa, the bed, the cats, you name it. Sigh.

Mr Weenie's arm:

More importantly, Roger is home!

Mr Weenie has decided to start riding him locally and he cam home yesterday. His gears are still a bit out and his front wheel's still got that slight buckle but he's still sexy.

In celebration I took the 10-mile route to work this morning. I was knackered again yesterday so only came halfway to work but with the sun out and blue skies this morning I threw caution to the wind. It was gorgeous. There's nothing like cycling along the Thames when the sun's out. Bliss.

A weekend of wows

2010-05-10T09:30:00.002+01:00

It was a bittersweet weekend.

I missed Mr Weenie a lot but went out a lot too.

After wine at a leaving do on Friday night I carried Reg up and down many stairs, took him in a lift and eventually arrived home knackered only to have sleep evade me as I subconsciously waited for Mr Weenie to come home.

Saturday morning I took George the tandem to my parents' house. Moomin and I giggled our way through Ealing backstreets to music school, where various children oohed and aahed at his magnificence. Moomin agreed that hills are easier with two pushing.

Afterwards it was rugby time and I set off with my sister and dad to the Stoop in Twickenham to watch the Harlequins beat the Sale Sharks in an excellent game that involved a lot of beer and shouting. I've never been to a pro game and it was really exciting and masses of fun. I've always liked the attitude of rugby supporters and, many hours later, when I took a cab home, the driver agreed they were lovely. Originally from Leeds and not a rugby fan, he'd not worked the first few match days just in case. When he eventually did, two rival fans were in the back and he was feeling uneasy. His fears proved unfounded though as they debated both teams' performance in an amicable fashion. He now loves being called to pick up both players and supporters.

Eventually Sunday rolled around and, unfortunately, it was time for George to go home. His owner had very kindly said he could be left with the nearby bicycleslut. I had coffee with her and Julian and met their beautiful quails and chooks. I was sent off with a King's ransom in quails' eggs, three of which I had for breakfast. Mmmmmmmmm mini egg goodness....

To top off this most excellent weekend I then visited a secret bunker. A secret bicycle bunker. So secret I can't disclose anything. But.....

My goodness, it was amazing. Bikes of all shapes and sizes adorned the walls and even the ceiling. None of these new pre-built ones either, but lovingly restored ones, other rescued ones awaiting restoration, custom builds with beautiful metalwork and many more. It was magnificent to behold and somewhat humbling.

All in all a fab weekend, now all I need is for Mr Weenie to come home!

Congratulations Steve Pound...

2010-05-07T09:30:00.001+01:00

He's managed to hold the Ealing North seat.

I'm not a huge Labour fan, but I do like Steve Pound, he knows everyone and gives a genuine s*it about his constituents. He was untouched by the expenses scandal as he hadn't done anything wrong and any MP secure enough in his manhood to dress as a Cheeky Girl at a parliamentary event is a good egg in my books.

With a hung parliament upon us and the ensuing mess I'm genuinely pleased that at least one decent MP is in place.

Edit: My goodness, he increased his percentage by 3.5%! Class act.

Unfortunately the BNP also stood and got 1,045 votes. They came fourth out of seven parties.

Cycle lanes... you're doing it wrong

2010-05-06T13:30:00.000+01:00

There are many things that frustrate me about cycle lanes but a few things top the list:

Bad design that puts you in danger (ones in the door zone for example).
When they're not protected from people parking in them.
When they're not laid properly.

That last one is a real bugbear. In Ealing there are a couple of sections on the Uxbridge Road that are directly in front of new developments/building sites and they're rubbish. Not only that, but many of the sections that have been dug up for water/pipe maintenance are relaid as bone-jarring bumpy tarmac not fit for a badly done driveway.

There's a new section before Ealing Common coming from Acton, and just before the Tesco garage. I went on the shiny new blacktop yesterday and nearly came off.

When will the council demand that those who dig up cycle paths must put them back in usable format? They should be level, safe and at least as good quality as the main road surface, if not, better.

Whoa! You f*cking idiot!

2010-05-05T09:30:00.000+01:00

I'm sorry silver car, but if you change lanes without looking or indicating and nearly hit me, I shout.

Granted I was already cross but still.

Last night Reg's back tyre felt very squidgy but, seeing no puncture, I decided to pump it a bit. The valve broke. It's a presta valve and the middle bit snapped clean off. I decided to chance it and cycled home on it.

However, after getting home and receiving anniversary pressies I forgot all about it. (Thanks Mr Weenie, I woke up to the dulcet tones of Chris Moyles after getting the clock radio I wanted.) Mr Weenie received chamois cream and padded undershorts. He laughed at both but couldn't resist trying on the latter. He then strode round the house saying 'It actually feels like I've pooed myself!'

This morning, as I awoke, I remembered the inner tube. I duly got up and decided to work in the front room rather than go outside in the cold. With Reg tipped up, Mr Handsome decided to 'help'. As I wiped the oil from his nose I couldn't help but giggle.

My hands are sore after a hard weekend's riding and each time I thought I'd got the tyre back on I heard the defined 'SchmoCK!' sound of it popping back out further round the rim. I got it back on eventually and all was complete. I washed my hands and set off.

Only for you, Mr Silver Car, to nearly hit me then wave with a sly grin as I shouted. Grrrrrrr

Gorgeous George and a Friday disaster

2010-05-04T09:30:00.002+01:00

On Friday morning I picked up a beautiful and marvellous machine.

After the March FNRttC's tandem success CC and I were keen to give it another go. Charles had lent us the last one (Miranda) but he was prohibitively far away to collect and drop it off.

The lovely Bicycle Slut had responded to my question of whether she knew of a tandem I could borrow with the response 'Of course!'. Her equally lovely partner the Lady Julian has parents in Harrow and they were willing to lend us their Dawes.

I set off to their house full of hope and they didn't disappoint. I arrived to see a red and black beauty sitting in the drive with huge puffy tyres and sit-up handlebars on the back. J, Julian's dad, talked me through the various bits and bobs before announcing he would drive me home with it. Reeling from the shock of the niceness I climbed into the car and we headed off.

Not only is he cool enough to own a tandem, he also keeps bees. What a guy.

Back in Ealing I took dad for lunch and then cycled the newly christened 'George' to my house. It was surprisingly easy to maneuver and balance.

That night the signs were not auspicious. It hammered it down at around 9pm and then drizzled. At Hyde Park Corner I was dubious. CC arrived looking bedraggled having been drenched as she left the house. The rain eased and we decided to go for it. George is a comfy ride and we set off with aplomb. It's a fairly flat route and, frankly, apart from a heavy shower as we left London, the ride went without incident until we neared the halfway point.

There had been an accident. A shunt had a domino effect and A2 was the final victim. He smiled bravely and waved us on. We waited for him at the service station.

He arrived and said he was ok, we iced the right elbow he'd fallen onto and we had coffee. But then it happened. The colour suddenly drained from his face and he looked very unwell indeed. I decided to get bossy and ordered him to lie down. We found a quiet spot and raised his legs. I went to get ride leader Simon and the decision was taken to call an ambulance.

They came quickly and Simon called the rest of us to attention. We would continue under the co-leader's direction. CC came over. She had decided to go with Andrew as I could pilot the tandem alone and, as she didn't have a bike, she could take care of A2's and get him home.

We said goodbye and I joined the rest of the group. Many calls of 'Where's your stoker?' were answered and we set off.

I had forgotten about the big hill. The Bread and Cheese is steep and nasty with a false ending that fools you into thinking it's over before going steep again. A charming policeman took my pannier and we set off. I made it. I even passed someone.

The back of the ride broken I was able to get George to Southend with only a couple of hairy moments, mainly involving tight turns. I wolfed a hot breakfast and thanked all I could for their support. I'm fairly sure a few of them had stuck with me to make sure I'd be ok.

Luckily, Bicycle Slut and the Lady Julian were also on a tandem (a hugely swanky custom build) and, as they live near me, we decided to head home together.

Getting two tandems on a train is tricky but, apart from a very drunk rude man (he called us Conservatives, the very nerve), we had a nice train journey home chatting about all sorts. Back in London they led me in convoy with another bike back to Hyde Park where I decided to take the train from Paddington rather than cycle home.

The final challenge was carrying George down the stairs at Hanwell, it sapped my last bit of energy and, once indoors, I stepped into a hot shower before sinking into the bed with Mr Handsome purring along side.

It was a challenge I rose to, but when Mr Weenie arrived home and decided to get into bed with me for a nap, I was glad it was over.

(Not a) faulty light and practical romance

2010-04-29T09:30:00.001+01:00

I bought a new front light and it aint working! Am so cross.
**Edit. Looked up reviews of light which suggested shaking it, it worked and it's now working!**

On the plus side, two of Mr Weenie's anniversary pressies have arrived. On 5 May it'll be an obscenely long time since we snogged in my parents' porch and became 'a couple'.

We don't generally do huge presents etc but the other day he came home with a bedside table for me. He'd painted it himself in a shade of green I like and wanted to give it to me because I always have loads of books piled higgledy piggledy by the bed. Now they have somewhere to go.

We're into practical presents, one Valentine's Day I got a cat litter tray, it was, sadly, just what I wanted.

Oh the romance....

The rage returns

2010-04-28T09:30:00.002+01:00

Having been pootling peacefully through Barnes with S and then being off sick I have, thankfully, been able to avoid the Uxbridge Road for around a week.

This morning, I was cut up by cyclists and cars, left-hooked by a complete idiot even though we had been waiting at lights and I'd been there first, and caught in really bad traffic.

I arrived at work hot and grumpy.

It's amazing how the route can affect your mood and enjoyment. I may well switch to the route via Barnes permanently as I don't like how the Uxbridge Road makes me feel. Grrrrrr

Best comment ever from a car and a fittie in lycra

2010-04-27T13:30:00.000+01:00

On Saturday Moomin and I cycled to music school as her car is stuck in France being repaired. It was a beautiful day and we didn't meet any nasty drivers.

We were both a bit breathless from pollen but that was about it.

The highlights, however, were on the way home. Waiting for a green light at a bike crossing a silver car pulled up and, as it swung round the corner we heard 'Laaaaaadies.......' I braced myself mentally, I wasn't in lycra but nine times out of ten the comments aren't good. I was a little surprised, therefore when this followed in a French accent:

'I'm soooo drunk.... eeet is teeerrrrible.'

It was the passenger looking Pimmsed to the hilt but happy. Moomin and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. We continued on and, soon afterwards, a rather slim and spectacular-looking bike glided up to the lights next to us. I glanced over, surprised that he'd given us lots of room and executed such a courteous overtake.

I was shocked..... He was actually quite hot.

All in lycra, on a fab bike AND a bit of a hottie? He was next to Moomin at this point and they were both slightly ahead of me. Moomin gave a dazzling smile and glanced back at me with a conspiratorial wink.

All in all, a great day's cycling.

Where's Weenie?

2010-04-27T11:00:00.000+01:00

So, after catching a horrible stomach bug last week I then developed tonsillitis on Friday night and had yesterday off as well. I sound like Shirley Bassey and am drinking water like it's going out of fashion.

It sucks.

Luckily I'm on the mend as we have the Southend FNRttC on Friday and I REALLY want to go.

Aargh! Now I've been bitten by something and am developing a red rash on my boob. Sigh.

Eugh what a beautiful morning....

2010-04-22T09:30:00.000+01:00

Those following Twitter will know it's been a rough couple of days. Having caught the hideous stomach bug going round, I'm feeling less than chipper.

It's especially annoying since S and I have managed two spectacular triumphs this week.

On Monday, following our morning adventure, we took the long route home as well, leading to a grand total of around 15 miles for the day for her and around 20 for me. That's around double S's usual commute and was worthy of praise.

While I was off she took a well-earned rest and this morning we took to the road again. We did the usual short route but she conquered the Chiswick roundabout for the first time and we got to work in 25 minutes. Our first ever trip using that route took nearly 50 minutes so we've practically halved the time and have bested public transport.

I just wish I felt well enough to celebrate.....

Distract your bottom with nice scenery

2010-04-19T13:30:00.004+01:00

As it was such a beautiful day, I decided to take S on a route via the river this morning.

We bobbed down to Kew Bridge, crossed over and I was planning to use the Thames path. But it was closed! Grrrrrrrr. Adding 10 minutes to our journey we carried on regardless and went on a more inland route through Barnes. It was beautiful.

What I didn't mention to S is that the route I had chosen is around 3-4 miles longer than our usual route in. Relying on the charm of the river and less traffic, I was confident her muscles wouldn't notice until it was too late! Although some of the roads were narrower the route we went on is a favourite with cyclists and the attitude of drivers (particularly those piloting buses) has been effected. Lots of room was given by most and not a nasty word was shouted.

Sure enough we got to work slightly later than planned because of the path closure. S was hopeful we'd gone further than usual, but not convinced. When I sent her the Gmap pedometer showing nearly eight miles from her house to the office she was thrilled.

I've always thought a beautiful route can make an amazing difference to how your legs, and indeed bottom, are feeling and this morning was the proof. Long may the sunshine continue!

Blissful

2010-04-16T09:30:00.000+01:00

Even after yesterday's near miss I'm finding it hard to stay bitter.

The sky is a milky blue with a few clouds puffing over, the daffodils are still out and the sun has got his hat on. Cycling in this weather is wonderful and I'm loving it.

After the horrendous rain-filled weeks of March this is like a wonderful dream and it's recharged my cycling zeal.

Hip hip hip hooray!

What if?

2010-04-15T13:30:00.001+01:00

Work is horrendously busy so my posts have been woefully late and rubbish, I apologise. Anyhoo.

This morning I was an awe-inspiring example of common sense, marred only by the fact it was prompted by someone else's silliness.

I came in early this morning so I was among unfamiliar cyclists. I was watching carefully as, I have learned, some cyclists are worth avoiding for various reasons. A lot of lorries seem to be coming along the Uxbridge Road of late and they also warrant attention.

One in particular was being a bit silly. A bit too close a bit too often. I decided to steer clear and let him get ahead of me rather than creep up the left. He was ahead of me when we hit a nasty junction. It's a two-laner. The left lane is for left-turns and those going straight ahead. The right lane is for those turning right.

People weave across the lanes and/or forget to indicate all the time so it's a junction I'll queue at rather than head for the advanced stop line a lot of the time.

Silly Lorry Man was ahead of me and, despite there being a cyclist waiting at the lights in the left-hand lane, he steamed right up to the stop line and sat looking menacing. Like this (lorry is blue, bike is pink):

My heart was in my mouth. The cyclist was a lady older than myself and looked sensible (I believe she was on a Brompton and had lights and all the kit etc), but I still worried. Perhaps she was turning left, but perhaps not. Maybe the lorry would go straight on..... What would happen?!

Then, as my fear reached its zenith, something very peculiar happened. The cyclist looked up at the lorry, saw there was no way of getting in front of it, got off her bike and lifted it onto the pavement. As she did this, the lights changed and the lorry, of course, turned left. The cyclist then walked her bike across the crossing and got back on the road as I swept by, having queued in the traffic behind.

I was mightily relieved and continued on my way, but I couldn't help thinking. What if?

What if she hadn't taken the initiative? What if that lorry had turned left as she'd gone straight on. What if I'd been behind a horrific accident?

The rules

2010-04-14T09:30:00.002+01:00

Take note boys:

When a woman is skint so can't afford to buy any clothing, has a jazz gig coming up and wants to look nice so is trying on all her available dresses do not say the dress you prefer is the one she's already said she can barely breathe in. And definitely do not suggest she just dresses down.
If a lady picks up her handbag when getting up at an odd time in the pub/workplace don't ask loudly 'where are you going?'. She's clearly on her period and now everybody knows, thank you for the news bulletin.
Your girlfriend is irrationally moody, she's snapping, she's feeling unattractive and crying when haven't told her she's gorgeous for the fifteenth time today. Then inspiration hits: it's the right time for PMS. Revel in your cleverness at the realisation and act like nothing's different, do NOT, under any circumstances say something along the lines of 'Oh, I've just realised, you're really hormonal, I forgive you for being grumpy.' You may well be murdered.
If you drive a rather sexy car, don't rev past lady cyclists closely and loudly to show off. She will assume that having a micropenis has dented your self-esteem and you have over-compensated by buying a luxury car that you can't drive properly.
When a woman can't fit into her favourite dress, NEVER say 'Well you did eat all that ice-cream last night.'
Shouting 'Wahey!' at a lady cyclist as she pedals past just makes you look sad.

This may be added to at a later date.

While you're waiting....

2010-04-13T09:30:00.000+01:00

Am working on a post but this morning's accident on the A40 and the subsequent diversion of many drivers to my main commuting route meant I was late.

Here's a moral tale of why cycling on the pavement with no lights, going through a red light and then attempting to cycle away from the police could cost you nearly a grand.....

Telegraph reports on nob-head cyclist

In other news....

2010-04-12T13:30:00.003+01:00

A round-up of other exciting things while I was off:

I went on a canal towpath for the first time since my fall last year. It was a stretch between Greenford and Alperton. I was seriously crapping myself but was determined to do it and survived. Beautiful herons and sunshine went unnoticed in my terrified state.
I managed to half-swallow then cough up an enormous fly and it survived! A black cabbie behind me when I started to cough and splutter pulled over to check I was ok as I came to an abrupt halt and was hugely amused when I managed to say 'The little b*stard's still alive!' before pedalling off.
Mr Weenie is considering cycling a bit locally and has asked to use Roger. Hurrah!
My cycle map of France arrived so I can start planning my holiday, which will involve taking bikes on a ferry and cycling in Normandy.
I had a marvellous jazz session with the boys for this Saturday's gig and spent a blissful two hours singing mostly about how rubbish men are.

I'm back

2010-04-12T09:30:00.000+01:00

So, after a lovely few days off seeing American A and small bebe who is now walking and almost talking I'm back at work and, therefore, a computer.

In amongst the visiting for various foodie places and the animal park near my house I cycled to Borehamwood to see my grandpa. He recently gave up cycling (he's now in his mid-eighties) and has already passed on his overshoes to me. An avid tourer back in the day I cycled the near 20 miles to his house to check he was ok as my grandma was away soaking up the sun in Tenerife or somewhere similar.

Of course, what this really meant is that I rang him to admit I got lost a couple of times and he greeted me with a full fried breakfast and a Mars bar for the journey home as he knew I'd be starving. And I was. After scoffing the lot in record time we had a nice chat and sit-down with cat Benny.

We pulled out the map books to see where I'd gone wrong and planned my route to London. I pretty much used the Edgware Road, walking over the roundabout at Staples corner and met American A for delicious Wahaca and LOTS of water.

After all this I was pretty exhausted and decided to hop on a train from Paddington to get home. Still, 40 miles in a day isn't bad.

I'm off

2010-04-06T17:28:00.002+01:00

I'm off for a few days so I'll see you next week!

It was me!

2010-04-06T13:30:00.000+01:00

I'm sorry, but the sight of such woeful neglect when Reg was standing clean and shiny next to your bike was just too much. The dry and dusty orange film of rust on your chain and gears was hideous to behold.

Yes, it was me. I oiled your chainset.

One whole year canal-free

2010-04-01T13:00:00.000+01:00

Yes, it's been one whole year since the infamous canal fall.

The memories......

Sugar crash

2010-04-01T09:30:00.000+01:00

I've had this happen a couple of times, but nothing like last night.

I went to the doctor last night* and, as I left, I suddenly went wobbly. Brushing it off I cycled the two minutes home but, as I walked through the door it happened again. I sat on the stairs for a minute before going upstairs and having to sit on the floor of Mr Weenie's office because I thought I was going to fall over.

It was a bit like that bit in Lock Stock when he leaves the card game having lost half a million pounds. It all went a bit sepia and shaky.

Luckily Mr Weenie had delicious mini coconut macaroons to feed me. After two I suddenly felt better and was able to make dinner, but it was deeply unpleasant. I think it's because I'm fighting off several office bugs that are doing the rounds but I'll be keeping an eye on it.

It's cheaper than drugs at least.

* It was nothing serious, fear not. My doctor is rather cool though and we often have a giggle.

The tandem: Pictures

2010-03-31T13:00:00.000+01:00

At the top of Ditchling it was beautiful. Well worth the climb (almost)

Those of us who were already at the top took a well-earned rest waiting for the other riders.

The pink avengers on the sea front, proof that CC is always photogenic as no one should look that good after a ride of that magnitude.

The tandem: Ditchling, the final frontier

2010-03-31T09:00:00.000+01:00

Refreshed and full of KitKatty goodness, CC and I decided to go for it.

CC hates getting off her bike and has an amazingly stubborn attitude about hills, she successfully conquered Ditchling on her first go in June last year. I just wanted to prove the doubters wrong but, secretly, was terrified I'd let CC down. On the same ride that she'd mastered it, I'd had to give up before I'd even seriously begun because my knee hurt and I just didn't think I could do it.

As we began the ascent we passed a group who had stopped at a layby before the hill began, we could have stopped there but decided an uphill start on the tandem was just not a good idea. A few of the bystanders cheered as we passed before the trees either side of the road closed in and we were encased in a steep green tunnel.

Although alone to begin with, there were others on the journey, to our shock we passed a couple and then we saw some walkers. Ditchling curves so you can't see where it ends and each corner is a fresh mini-hill. You can start off optimistic and quickly lose hope. I was a walker last year so steered clear of them, and would never have mocked. CC and I were forced to call out to one walker though as she veered in front of us as we climbed. We had announced our presence but had to call repeatedly for her to move.

If one of us flagged the other would encourage and that's how it went for the whole climb. As more people abandoned their bikes to walk we start to overtake larger clumps of people and many of them cheered us on and shouted encouragement.

At this point I felt like someone had thrown a cup of brine in my face as the sweat was so heavy, sexy in the extreme, I'm sure you'd agree.

There's a sign with a horse on it on the last curve and we kept our eyes glued to the horizon willing it to appear. When it finally did I nearly cried. That last corner was murder and it was only a shout of 'It's the tandem! And they're still on!!' that kept my legs going. As we crested the hill it was all too tempting to just stop dead in the road but I was determined that we would glide to a stop in style. A gorgeous dog was ahead as his owner was chatting to some of the riders. My aim was that we would stop near it so I could pet it.

We had made it. After CC and I had laid Miranda gently down and hugged in an overly emotional manner I rang my mum, who had texted to check I was ok. I proudly announced that CC, the tandem and I were at the top of Ditchling, 'Did you push it?' was the reply.

After Ditchling there are a few more dips and swells before the descent into Brighton and it didn't take long for the adrenaline high to wear off. Yes, we were nearly there, but we were also exhausted. Talk was of breakfasts and we spent the last half hour detailing what exactly we would eat. It was the smell of the sea that enlivened us and, as we swept onto the sea front, CC even took her hands of her handlebars to do jazz hands as we came to rest at the Madeira cafe. We stuffed ourselves with fried tasties and regaled our experience to Charles, owner of Miranda.

As we prepared to leave we went to say goodbye and thank you to Mr Fabulous for yet another great FNRttC. It's a bit like getting an audience with the king as there's always a queue. We thanked him and received the highest honour possible:

'I underestimated you girls, I thought it would be a disaster and didn't think you could do it. You've proved me wrong, I've never seen such commitment.'

With the equivalent of a cycling knighthood ringing in our ears we headed for the station, CC on Reg and Charles and I back on Miranda. We thanked Charles profusely for lending us his fabulous machine and got on the train home. We ended up with bicycleslut (owner of the penny farthing) and J (a fellow Uxbridge Roader). They own a tandem and a prior conversation with them was part of my inspiration.

What better way to end such a weird experience than to sit next to a penny farthing?

I got home and showered before settling down for a nap with Mr Handsome. As I dozed off I reflected on our achievement and sent CC a text:

We are actually certifiably mad.

Then I slept and dreamt of Miranda.

The tandem: The magical KitKat

2010-03-30T13:00:00.001+01:00

CC and I had arrived at the halfway scout hut against many people's expectations and the surreal nature of the challenge started to sink in.

I didn't mention it in the first post but joining us on the ride were a full-size penny farthing and a double height bike. I shall endeavor to find pictures!

Having decided to name our trusty steed Miranda we had begun to talk about her as if she were another person on the journey. Even more surprising was the realisation that we were nowhere near the back of the pack, and we watched those arriving after us join the food queue with a growing sense of pride.

Climbing back aboard we faced the problem that plagued us throughout the ride, namely that people refused to let us on the road and we were cut up mercilessly and repeatedly.

We tootled without incident until we hit Turner's Hill. It's a nasty and sharp shock that's steep and vicious but short. We got a decent run up and went for it. We passed several people as we made the ascent and, at the top, were rewarded with Mr Fabulous's comment that he knew experienced tandem riders who wouldn't have made it. It was just a comment but I was greatly cheered by it and we led the cheers as the guy on the double height bike made it up.

It should have been a great stretch after this but we finally hit problems. The claustrophobia of the stoker position started to tell as CC became convinced we were on a tilt and suffered something a lot like vertigo. Having already decided to be sensible on downhills we went at a snail's pace and stopped a couple of times to ensure she felt able to continue. Then, as we re-established our rhythm the pannier rack went weird and the pannier caught on the rear wheel. We had to stop and, for the first and only time, needed the assistance of the rear riders to get going. The pannier was put in the sag wagon and we were ever more determined to finish.

What we failed to realise was that the pannier contained all of our emergency rations and, as we approached Ditchling Beacon, this came as a nasty shock.

For those of you unfamiliar with Ditchling, it's horrendous. Around a mile of solid uphill that never seems to end. CC had managed it solo before but I hadn't and was dreading it. Even experienced riders often fail to get up it on-bike and many believe doing it on a tandem is even more difficult.

Exhausted and with Cathy still suffering vertigo-like symptoms, it looked bleak. Then a realisation dawned: I had a KitKat in my jersey pocket. I straightened in my saddle at the thought and an ill-sounding CC enquired as to my shift in position. When I told her we both near-wept with joy. It sound ridiculous but it's true.

At the last stop before the ascent we pulled over and shared the four-finger bar. Our spirits lifted and, suddenly, we knew that we could do it. We set off with purpose and decided we going to get up that hill even if it killed us.....

The tandem: An inauspicious start

2010-03-29T09:30:00.003+01:00

Eleven pm on Friday night saw a nervous weenie standing alone at Hyde Park Corner.

I was waiting for the tandem to arrive. Charles had agreed to lend it to CC and me and we were going to attempt the Brighton FNRttC on it. With only an hour to practice, I knew we were pushing it, but the contingency planning was in place. If we really didn't get the hang of it Charles would ride it with us taking turns as his partner, he would be on the ride (on Reg) the whole way so would be on hand in case anything went wrong and, as he was riding Reg, I knew we had all the repair kit for both bikes.
This ride involved a LOT of novices who were raising money for their local hospice so the pace was fairly light. Plus we had a 'sag wagon' in case of disaster. All good.

More importantly, we both had our matching pink jerseys on.

Disaster struck early on, he was late (trains, eugh). He arrived at about 11.20pm and we got to work. I tried both positions but I had already decided in my head that I wanted to go on the front (the term is 'be the captain'). It was, however, good to give the back (or 'stoker' position) a go so that I could help Cathy when she arrived. She got there at 11.30pm and we did a couple of circuits.

Then ride leader Mr Fabulous arrived, and he was NOT happy. He thought it would be a disaster and we were treated to stern words and a glare as we headed to sign up. CC and I were determined that we would not cause him problems.

The hardest part of the ride for me is getting off Hyde Park Corner. On this ride there were close to 100 cyclists and I hate pack cycling. This, combined with the turning circle of a boat on an unfamiliar machine, was a challenge. We smacked it. We held our nerve and sailed through. Keeping up communication with 'stopping', 'braking' and 'changing gear' being shouted frequently, we set off into the night, establishing a good rhythm from early on.

We headed through London and were soon feeling like pros. Aside from a hairy moment while squeezing through a small gap to get onto the road off Mitcham Common, we were fine. And this was lucky as we soon hit the first on the hills. It's not a steep one but it goes on FOREVER.

Hilariously, we overtook several riders on out way to the top. Once there, we discovered part of why Mr Fabulous was sceptical. What goes up must come down, and down and down. Reigate Hill is very steep and the combined weight of two people on a tandem means you pick up speed VERY fast. Again, CC and I were of a similar mind: we'll ride the brakes, life is better than speed.

We cautiously made our way down. On the front I could see everything and knew we were fine but CC was the brave one as, riding blind, she completely trusted my instincts and we reached the bottom intact and still friends.

After this excitement the rest of the ride seemed uneventful. Our main problem was being cut up by other riders and, at the rest stops, no one would let us out so we were often left battling to get back to the middle from the back.

The halfway point was a scout hut in Horley where sandwiches, hot tea and cake were on hand to greet us. We ate, drank and felt refreshed. At the last minute, a tray of KitKats was passed round. Despite being full and having food in our pannier I tucked one into my jersey pocket. Little did I know that this decision was the difference between success and failure.....

Tandem

2010-03-29T09:30:00.000+01:00

I didn't announce in advance in case we backed out but, on Friday, Cathy and I attempted a Friday Night Ride to the Coast on a tandem.

It was the Brighton run (the hilliest one) and neither of us had ever been on one before. I will blog about it at length but it'll take time to find the right words to describe what was a bizarre but amazing ride.

Keep your eyes on the skies.....

Smiling happy people

2010-03-25T09:30:00.000Z

The last two days have seen a definite increase in smile occurrence. I even got a little wave yesterday, marvellous!

Everyone from van drivers to pedestrians seems willing to give me a grin as I whoosh past. I often smile at drivers and pedestrians in order to say thank you or, on occasion, to reinforce my moral superiority if they've acted nob-like. In the past though, I have rarely got a smile back.

Perhaps it's the fact that spring is at last looking sprung and the flowers are out or perhaps it's just that all the miserable people have sought help... and Prozac. Whatever it is, it makes a nice change from the usual grumpy faces I see every day.

My current theory is that my vibrant pink tops are finally out after a winter shrouded in a yellow jacket. The weenie butterfly is emerging from her winter cocoon. Yes, the improved mood is definitely all down to me. Weenie's plan for world peace, one postcode at a time.

Mr Mercedes

2010-03-23T09:30:00.004Z

Hello Mr Mercedes,

I do hope you're having a lovely morning. No doubt you've forgotten all about our near collision yesterday. I really do think you were in the wrong.

See my fabulous illustration (I am, of course, the pink blob):This is the junction where it happened. I had plenty of time to cross car one as it turned left, get behind car two after it had turned and be well out of your way. The car behind me (the blue box) was certainly in agreement as he was following me across when you made your move.

Your decision to change lanes without indicating, nearly hit car two when squeezing past it and then roaring across was not a good one.

If I hadn't squealed and you hadn't stopped you would have hit me side-on straight into the path of the big van.

Thank goodness you have big expensive brakes on your big expensive car. You should be ashamed of yourself you horrible person.

Froggies everywhere!

2010-03-22T09:30:00.001Z

I live practically in a park. It's lovely in many ways. Foxes sometimes run alongside my bike when it's dark, I often hear owls and woodpeckers as I cycle home and now that the daffodils are finally starting to come out it's obscenely pretty.

But....

Occasionally nature collides with man. There are a lot of froggies in the road. Flat froggies. I've already run over two of them and been SERIOUSLY grossed out. They were flat before I hit them but eugh. Not nice.

It was nice, therefore, to find one hopping around in the rain on Friday night. He was at the end of the path to my front door and as he was relatively far from the road and obviously enjoying the rain I took a photo and left him to it.

I do like froggies.

Forced to wash my towel

2010-03-19T09:30:00.000Z

I have a nice blue towel at work. It's my cycling towel and it normally hangs off a cupboard next to my desk every day so it can dry out and be reused the next day. Of course I do take it home to be washed occasionally but my towel is treated with reverence and respect, not like the slimy specimen's hung in the showers and left there all week.

Observant readers will have noticed a distinct lack of proper posting yesterday morning. I had a biomechanical assessment and now have funny new insoles for my shoes. I therefore only cycled halfway in normalish clothes and didn't need to shower.

I was a little worried when I arrived at work to find an empty space where my beloved towel usually hangs. I was livid, a towel thief!

Then I realised I had probably just left it in the shower the day before. I nipped up to get it. I had not used my towel in two days and was horrified to find it was damp. Really damp. Damp with the dampness of being pressed against someone's damp body. And it hadn't been mine! Someone else's bits had been rubbed all over MY towel.

Eeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

I took it home and beloved blue towel now smells of Bold's Silk and Jasmine. Order has been restored to the universe.