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.....
Showing posts with label Moomin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moomin. Show all posts
Friday, 23 July 2010
Monday, 10 May 2010
A weekend of wows
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!
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!
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Best comment ever from a car and a fittie in lycra
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.
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.
Monday, 28 September 2009
Setting an example
On Saturdays I teach small children music and I love it. I teach with my beloved moomin and recently we've started going by bike some of the time. And the children love it.
There are dozens of teachers at the music school but only around four of us come in by bike. I forego the lycra and wear black leggings with a long top but we often are still wearing our helmets and yellow vests when children start arriving and saying hello.
When I do night rides I tell them and they're often open-mouthed with awe, they love to hear about them and a few are bikers themselves already. At least one girl is desperate for a stunt bike for her birthday.
Too many parents are frightened of letting their children ride a bike. They don't have to go on a road, although one family locally goes to school every morning by road with the children carefully marshalled in the bus lane. It's a source of great joy to me to see the many tinies on bikes in the park near my house on the weekends. Increasingly I see whole families and the bike path near me often has a red-faced father towing children up the steep bit in a tow-along buggy or clip-on extension.
The best thing we can do to encourage children is to set an example. If they ask whey I wear my helmet and high-vis vest I tell them but it's all personal choice. Harder is fighting the temptation to swear at rubbish drivers when I'm near the music school. A range rover came so close to moomin and me on Saturday that I thought he was going to clip my ankle. You never know which parent drives which car and seeing their music teacher calling their dear mummy a c*** could undo all the good bicycle work even if dear mummy can't drive.
Until cycling is seen as a normal way of getting about children and young people won't see it as an option, so let's set an example.
There are dozens of teachers at the music school but only around four of us come in by bike. I forego the lycra and wear black leggings with a long top but we often are still wearing our helmets and yellow vests when children start arriving and saying hello.
When I do night rides I tell them and they're often open-mouthed with awe, they love to hear about them and a few are bikers themselves already. At least one girl is desperate for a stunt bike for her birthday.
Too many parents are frightened of letting their children ride a bike. They don't have to go on a road, although one family locally goes to school every morning by road with the children carefully marshalled in the bus lane. It's a source of great joy to me to see the many tinies on bikes in the park near my house on the weekends. Increasingly I see whole families and the bike path near me often has a red-faced father towing children up the steep bit in a tow-along buggy or clip-on extension.
The best thing we can do to encourage children is to set an example. If they ask whey I wear my helmet and high-vis vest I tell them but it's all personal choice. Harder is fighting the temptation to swear at rubbish drivers when I'm near the music school. A range rover came so close to moomin and me on Saturday that I thought he was going to clip my ankle. You never know which parent drives which car and seeing their music teacher calling their dear mummy a c*** could undo all the good bicycle work even if dear mummy can't drive.
Until cycling is seen as a normal way of getting about children and young people won't see it as an option, so let's set an example.
Monday, 29 June 2009
Safe at last!
Swine flu Weenie is no more and to my incredible disappointment I've been declared safe to work in the office. Sigh.
I'm pleased though as it means my Friday ride to Brighton is not in jeopardy. It would have been gutting to miss it after all this planning. I'm still super excited about it all and after last week's massive mileage I'm gaining confidence that I'll be able to stay the course.
Moomin and I cycled to teaching on Saturday again. It's way fun and we always laugh at the guilty faces peering out from people carriers as we pull in. This week we went past a big group of friends so gaily binged them as we barged through. Soon dad'll be able to join us. He's been using his new bike a bit and, after three months of not being able to drive, he enjoys the experience and freedom. I've already picked out a nice pub we can cycle to when we're both free.....
I'm pleased though as it means my Friday ride to Brighton is not in jeopardy. It would have been gutting to miss it after all this planning. I'm still super excited about it all and after last week's massive mileage I'm gaining confidence that I'll be able to stay the course.
Moomin and I cycled to teaching on Saturday again. It's way fun and we always laugh at the guilty faces peering out from people carriers as we pull in. This week we went past a big group of friends so gaily binged them as we barged through. Soon dad'll be able to join us. He's been using his new bike a bit and, after three months of not being able to drive, he enjoys the experience and freedom. I've already picked out a nice pub we can cycle to when we're both free.....
Friday, 5 June 2009
Cycle Tourette's and Moomin care
Last night I was singing in a concert with, among other people, M the cycling hero (she of the giggling at padded shorts).
Some of us went for a drink before the concert and, as a group of motorcylists and pedallers, we soon started bitching about bad drivers, those in cars and those on two wheels. We shared stories of awful drivers and cyclists, including one particular driver who, at some traffic lights, tipped his ashtray contents out of his car window and all over M and her bike. She daintily scooped it off herself and through his sunroof pointing out that he was littering.
We also talked about cycling Tourette's. This is the involuntary and very crude swearing that comes with being nearly run over while on a bike. My response, or tic if you will, seems to be 'You motherf***ing c***'. I tend to swear a lot anyway (although rarely AT people) so I've never really been surprised by the severity of my tic but even mild-mannered M confessed to the same phenomenon of intense swearing when one's life is at risk on two wheels. I wonder if it should be registered as a condition.
The only other cycling incident of note was the Moomin care I undertook last week before Rome. Moomin (my mum) got a bike before I did but, like me, has found dad's illness is a great motivator and is now often seen gaily gliding around Ealing in her bright yellow vest and helmet. However, she came acropper after a trip to France.
She drove to Portsmouth before taking her bike on the ferry and cycling the 20 or so miles the other end to her destination and, at the end of the holiday, cycled back to the ferry. All of this in driving rain, thunder, mud and wind. This caused an alarming grinding and ticking noise everytime she took her bike out. So on Thursday when I had the day off I went round armed with my bike brushes, scouring pads, white spirit, oil and rag bag. After pulling a field's worth of dead grass from her derailleur, cleaning the gears and chain to within and inch of their lives, white spiriting, rinsing, drying and oiling, the grinding was gone and a beautiful purring sound emanated.
My Moomin is once again, in her own words, 'silent death on two wheels'.
I shall be forever grateful to the various people who, as experienced cyclists, helped me out when I was a complete novice. It makes me sad that not everyone has that kind of help.
Some of us went for a drink before the concert and, as a group of motorcylists and pedallers, we soon started bitching about bad drivers, those in cars and those on two wheels. We shared stories of awful drivers and cyclists, including one particular driver who, at some traffic lights, tipped his ashtray contents out of his car window and all over M and her bike. She daintily scooped it off herself and through his sunroof pointing out that he was littering.
We also talked about cycling Tourette's. This is the involuntary and very crude swearing that comes with being nearly run over while on a bike. My response, or tic if you will, seems to be 'You motherf***ing c***'. I tend to swear a lot anyway (although rarely AT people) so I've never really been surprised by the severity of my tic but even mild-mannered M confessed to the same phenomenon of intense swearing when one's life is at risk on two wheels. I wonder if it should be registered as a condition.
The only other cycling incident of note was the Moomin care I undertook last week before Rome. Moomin (my mum) got a bike before I did but, like me, has found dad's illness is a great motivator and is now often seen gaily gliding around Ealing in her bright yellow vest and helmet. However, she came acropper after a trip to France.
She drove to Portsmouth before taking her bike on the ferry and cycling the 20 or so miles the other end to her destination and, at the end of the holiday, cycled back to the ferry. All of this in driving rain, thunder, mud and wind. This caused an alarming grinding and ticking noise everytime she took her bike out. So on Thursday when I had the day off I went round armed with my bike brushes, scouring pads, white spirit, oil and rag bag. After pulling a field's worth of dead grass from her derailleur, cleaning the gears and chain to within and inch of their lives, white spiriting, rinsing, drying and oiling, the grinding was gone and a beautiful purring sound emanated.
My Moomin is once again, in her own words, 'silent death on two wheels'.
I shall be forever grateful to the various people who, as experienced cyclists, helped me out when I was a complete novice. It makes me sad that not everyone has that kind of help.
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