Gertsamtkunstwerk

Exercise sucks

Sod all this for a game of soldiers.

We went out on the bikes on Sunday, just down to Tooting Common and back, not very exciting, but just enough to loosen up and get a breath of fresh air and blow off the cobwebs.

(We would have been out longer but we had spent quite some time looking through the internet for somewhere to go on holiday...we have now booked apartment in and flights to the Costa Blanca, between Alicante and Benidorm, but most definitely not Benidorm).

On Monday we set off to continue our Thames Path adventure. Last time, we finished at Barnes Bridge Station in the rain, so this time we caught the train there, at which point it started to rain! Fortunately it cleared up after we had had coffee in a chi-chi coffee shop, and we set off along the Thames.

That was a really lovely ride.

We got as far as Richmond. I would have liked to have gone on, probably as far as Kingston, but it wasn't actually very warm, and Jimmy decreed that we had done enough. We had got caught  in the rain in the middle of nowhere, and at one point it was a bit wet and cold, but we survived, and it stopped.

We stopped off at the White Cross at Richmond for a pie. I made the mistake of having a pint of shandy. That was a really stupid thing to do. The beer's fine, but I just can't take the lemonade. In fact, it's not the lemonade, it's just the bubbles. Just a half pint of bubbles, and I'm still hiccupping at bedtime! So, long and short of it, we caught the train home.

I would strongly recommend the Surrey bank of the Thames from Hammersmith Bridge down to Richmond. A great deal of it is through woodland, often under a cover of trees. If it wasn't for the constant roar of jets approaching and leaving Heathrow, you wouldn't know you were in Zones 3-4. I can't say I'd care for living under the flightpath, but house prices don't seem to suffer, so I can only conclude that aircraft noise doesn't matter quite as much as people pretend.

I only took fifty photos, and of course, several are instant rejects. That's the problem with cycling, rather than walking. On the bike you whizz past and see the big picture, whereas with walking you have more time to take in the details.

When I'm walking, I tend to have the camera round my neck, out of its case. Cycling, I keep it in its case in the ruck-sack, so taking a photo involves getting off the bike, taking off the ruck-sack, taking out the camera, taking it out of its case, and turning it on, whereas walking, it's just point and shoot!

It was so good to be in Richmond on Thames Borough rather than Wandsworth. Wandsworth really is a horrible Borough. Unfortunately, it's far too close to where I live and thus difficult to avoid. It is extremely bike unfriendly in so many ways - for example the way they mark paths on Wandsworth and Tooting Commons as being 'no cycling' without suggesting a feasible alternative to get from a to b. They even have signs instructing cyclists to give way to pedestrians on the designated cycle paths that run alongside wide footpaths. They barely pay lip service to the London and National cycle networks, and are very grudging about even green tarmac (which I admit is not much more use than a chocolate fireguard).

But what annoyed me most about Wandsworth was their disregard for the Thames Path. It's a wonderful idea and a wonderful asset, but Wandsworth aren't interested. A combination of allowing developments to encroach onto the riverbank and failing to provide adequate signage. Richmond, in contrast, has clear signs, not only showing directions but also mileage, and at intervals they also provide maps with details of local attractions.

When we got home, it was lovely to have a shower, and then to sit snuggly and yet cool in light cotton pyjamas. But I couldn't help thinking, despite all the cycling, it's still my feet that hurt, from too much walking!

This evening I went swimming. I was delighted to see a new sign outside the changing room stating that no boys over five are allowed in the female changing room, please use the family changing room. Of course, that won't prevent the 6-8 year olds being taken in molly-coddling mothers, but hopefully it will be a useful tool against those who allow their 10-11 year olds to run around and climb the cubicles to stare at older women getting changed (breeding a new generation of perverts).

I went in the pool and my arms gave out. At first, I told myself it was because I was out of practice. Then I began to think it through logically. The arms are usually the last to go, in or out of practice. Then it dawned on me, I was suffering the effects of carrying the bike up and down steps at Streatham Hill, twice up and down at Clapham Junction, and down at both Barnes Bridge and Richmond. So in fact my arms got more exercise from carrying the bike than my legs did from peddling it. So I might as well take up weight-training!

Tomorrow night, it's a double Proms night!

Along the river

It seems that by accident, I have organised a mini expedition that may eventually lead us to the source of the Thames.

It all began last week, when we were debating what to do on our mutual day off. "The coast" had been suggested, but ultimately was postponed for a future hot and sunny day.

After much discussion we decided upon Battersea Park. You would think that Brixton to Battersea and back again would be easy, but nothing is ever easy with Jimmy and me. We had a full and frank exchange of views on how to get to Clapham Common. At one point in Abbeville Village, I said "I love you more than anyone in the world". A man passing by smirked; he knew I wasn't being soppy and sentimental.

But we got to Battersea Park with little further ado. We stopped for coffee and to watch the ducks, then I had the brilliant idea of heading to the river, which conveniently runs alongside the park. We found ourselves at the Peace Pagoda. Bizarrely, neither of us has ever actually been there.

It's always interesting, being in a park, people-watching. We saw a man performing Tai chi on a marble podium which may well exist specifically for this purpose; a couple having a romantic picnic - I guess it would have been more romantic if she had ignored the Blackberry -  and a posh late middle-aged couple who didn't care as their dog peed on the flowers (Jimmy says the acid kills the flowers; I say how  dare these people mindlessly and wantonly destroy something created for all to enjoy. They're no better than 'hoodie' vandals). 

When we left the park we continued along the river. We stopped a few times, partly so that I could take photos. That is one of the downsides of cycling. You see something, and before you have registered that it might be worth stopping, you've sped past.

The views change between each bridge. Between Albert and Battersea Bridge there is a lot of detail to take in. Modernistic buildings, a collection of boats that seem somehow to belong to a small coastal town, and views across the river to Chelsea. It was good to see a development, called Albion I think, that is modern and funky and in keeping with its setting, although there were others, no doubt where flats cost a fortune, that just look like they were assembled from flatpack with never a care about their setting.

Past Battersea Bridge, the view changes totally. A glimpse of an industrial London I am barely aware of. We cycled along this part, but I would like to return and photograph. It's a bleak landscape, could be anywhere, seems unlikely existing so close to swanky Chelsea Harbour. I didn't know then, but I do now, that the Surrey bank casts a strange shadow on the Satellite version of Google Maps

As approached the London heliport, the road seemed to run out. It's variously signed in rather quaint 50s looking-signage as 'Riverside Walk' or in more up-to-date National Trail sign as 'Thames Path'.

We realised that we would have to leave the river to get past the heliport, so decided to call it day and head inland and home (via The Nightingale). But not before Jimmy had pointed out the glucose factory, and Price's Candles, where his mother worked when she first arrived from Ireland, and reminisced about picking up the paraffin from wharves nearby, having been delivered to depot by boat.

We took up the route yesterday where we left off. In hindsight, I would say, just ignore the bit between the heliport and Putney Bridge - it ain't wurff it.

I got increasingly angrier with Wandsworth Council. Actually this anger had started long before we reached the river.  The route we took is supposedly part of the London Cycle network. They condescend to provide this information on blue signs, but it's a joke. I think green strips of road are pathetic and only marginally safer than a bus lane (with off-peak free parking) being designated a 'cycle lane'.

My attitude is sod this, it's not like anyone actually walks around here, they're too busy dangerously driving their overlarge cars. Therefore I shall cycle on the pavement, being very alert to pedestrians and slowing down to slow walking pace when pedestrians' needs dictate. I see the signs threatening fines of £100 for cycling on the pavement and just ignore them...if some jobsworth dares trying to fine me, they won't see me for dust.

The path just runs out somewhere round Wandsworth Bridge. An absence of signage and evidence of new development on the footpath makes me angry. I understand that, with the best will in the world, it may not be possible to maintain the path next to the river every single inch of the way, but I do not appreciate signs pointing to a building sight, I do not appreciate being sent all round the houses get from the river to the river. I was losing my rag on one friend's road, and if I had followed the randomly positioned signs I may well have ended up on another friend's road - but one lives in Wandsworth and one in Putney, and yet they're only four roads apart!

However, we decided to pause in Wandsworth Park despite its forbidding signs saying 'No cycling or we'll shoot you to death cos we are Wandsworth Tories and hopelessly out of touch with Boris and 'Dave' who pretend to want to encourage cycling'.

On the way to Putney Bridge, we had to dismount to squeeze through a flotilla of BMWs parked in obstruction of the cycle path outside a pub ( if I had been on my own and not with Jimmy, they'd be needing a paintjob now!).

Now, this is where I am confused. I concede that I may be going back quarter of a century, but I swear that there used to be pubs along the river at Putney. Like, proper pubs, with beer gardens where you can sit and watch the river, like at Richmond. I distinctly remember going to one with my Putney Aunt, and being distinctly shocked at her encouraging me to drink beer under-age. I did not see any riverfront pubs as such. Sure, I saw antiseptic 'developments' of glass and steel, which I would applaud if I thought they were reclaiming derelict land. But no riverside pubs!

We then went along Embankment. This is full of great big bloody signs saying it's part of the National Cycle Network, be considerate to pedestrians, and even has a token strip of green paint marking the contra-flow cycle lane. Great big 'f*** off don't cycle on our pavements or one hundred smackeroons are uz' signs, so the law-abiding us decide to cycle on the one-way, dead-end road past all sorts of boathouses. We only narrowly avoided being hit by some wanker in a four-by-four they couldn't control.

Beyond there, it's all fields. Or trees. A wooded ride, like being in the country. We relaxed on the beach for a while, laughing as Dulwich College boys fell in the water while learning to scull. 

I had a couple of happy incidents of scaring smug posh people. I think my glares are getting more scary the older I get! One was this couple whose dog decided to dash in front of me just as I approached at my specially seriously reduced 'I'm scared stupid by dogs' speed ie  walking pace. I think they were waiting for me to apologise; my glare changed their mind.

Then there was the walking group who walked five abreast, strung out across the track. Perhaps they thought 'cyclists are aggressive, why should we move over for them?' So I waited and waited, and they steadfastly refused to acknowledge this in the customary fashion - a slight nod or a twitch of a lip. If I had been a pedestrian, I would have just walked up to them and forced them to part; if they had some basic manners, they would not have hogged the whole path.

In contrast, riding along the Embankment, on the pavement, I saw a woman lifting a very small baby out of a buggy. In doing so she was walking backwards, not looking behind her.  The very last thing I wanted was a collision with someone holding a tiny babe in arms, so I moved to over to the far side and slowed almost to a halt. Then she saw me, smiled at me and stayed still: I gave a bit, she gave a bit. How it should be.

I had this bright idea we would turn off and cut across the promontory to Barnes Bridge. However, perhaps typical of our luck for the day, the turn-off (Queen Elizabeth Walk) was closed for resurfacing. So we ended up cycling all the way round the promontory, up to Hammersmith Bridge and back down to Barnes Bridge. I don't know how much that added to our journey, but when we were cycling through the wooded glen, barely able to see the river let alone any landmarks, such as, um, a bridge, it did seem in the region of a hundred miles. It probably was about that, roughly.

We were very grateful to find a pub not far from Barnes Bridge station, where we ate. The menu was extremely limited; I had warm goats cheese tart and salad - which was very very good. Simple, but everything a salad should be. It seems to be a major Jazz venue - The Bull's Head

While we were in there I checked Facebook and Twitter, where people were reporting storms and torrents around the country. We could see clouds that threatened a storm. It had been the plan all along to get a train home, so we strolled along to the station, passing houses with blue plaques for Gustav Holst and Ninette de Valois. Just as we were in the station and under-cover, the heavens opened and it teemed it down. The train came and we soon overtook the storm, finding it to be dry by the time we reached Putney, and still dry at Clapham Junction.

Clapham Junction is where I experienced extreme numptiness. Now, I thoroughly admit that reaching CJ at a few minutes to six on a week night may not have been the most intelligent thing I have done all day, but even so!

I was carrying my bike down the stairs only to find my way blocked by a bloke just standing there. He seemed to have no reason for standing there, just did it.

It's a pretty narrow staircase and was full of people -  off the train from Victoria and wanting to catch their connection - going up; going down were people who were wanting to head to Balham and The South. Pretty hectic. Ignore the fact that I was carrying a bike; ignore the fact that there may have been people with buggies or luggage, it was still a very stupid thing to do.

So, the train comes in, and I tell Jimmy to get on before me. I go to the platform edge and I'm trying to lift the bike up, indeed I'm succeeding. But we have a problem. I cannot haul myself up into the train (which is thigh-high relative to where I'm standing) and hold onto the bike. Hearing the station staff blow his whistle (because the train is ready to depart - right?) I scream at Jimmy to hold my bike as I fling myself into the carriage, almost to find myself unable to get on, blocked by my bike, which is blocked by two blokes standing in the way.

Yes, I know people  stand on trains, when they're full. There were a dozen empty seats just in the third of the carriage to my right. I got on and I got on safely. But the bikes were in people's way. If those blokes had moved, we could have put the bikes out of the aisle. But no, they had to prove just how macho they were by standing. I could kind of understand it if the train had been packed from Victoria and they were only going to Wandsworth Common. However, it came in pretty empty, and they were both still standing there when we got off at Streatham Hill. I wish I'd said something now.

I felt a few drops of rain at Streatham Hill, so we raced like the clappers home, and even had time to sit in the garden as the rain came. And then went away again.

Next time we do Barnes Bridge to Kew, which isn't particularly far, but may well include a Botanical Garden!

Dear Diary, again

Those who follow me on Twitter and/or Facebook will know that I had a spill from my bike today. The only surprising thing is that this is the first since I got it seven months ago. It was my own stupid fault, the details are tedious, suffice to say that I swerved at speed to avoid a tree and hit a railway sleeper (that had been laid down to mark the path).

The worst aspect was the dent to my ego and the realisation that it is much harder to take a tumble at 41 than at 14. No great damage done, other than a trembly feeling that took some time to go. I have a grazed knee and a few sore points that will turn into bruises by tomorrow or Wednesday. I broke one fingernail, but not seriously - not down to the quick, or loss of blood or anything. My toenails hurt when slammed against the front of my trainers. The best bit was that I bumped my head. Not in any serious way, but I did wonder, if I hadn't been wearing a helmet would it have hurt a bit? If I carried on hurting during the week would I develop hyperchondria? A cycle helmet is never going to save one from a collision with a 12 ton lorry but it takes the hassle out of trivial spills.

Then Pewari twittered me some virtual medicinal wine, which inspired me to demand gin, large and several, which then caused much of the rest of the evening to descend into farce, as I randomly misplaced kitchen utensils and became extremely philosophical about science, religion and social science (a programme recorded a few weeks ago where Professor Colin Blakemore theorised that one day, science will replace religion - I exclaimed that that was a typical scientist's reaction when any social scientist will know that people behave irrationally, want something that one might call a crutch, or social networking, or community, or comfort.

Fitness and fatness, latest

The change in the weather* and the change in the clocks is making a difference. I think.

Being away in Brighton overnight on Thursday for work, I did grab the opportunity for a swim in the hotel pool. It's not ideal, being half the length of the standard local authority pool. But it's convenient,and it's there. And I went dancing later on, which is not exactly exercise, but I suppose compensates for the sugar contained in the large quantities of alcohol consumed!

Yesterday and today was cycling. Yesterday, Tooting Common;  today Wandsworth Common. We have rather got into the habit of cycling there, having a coffee, sitting around for a while, and then cycling back. There is a part of me that thinks it's sort of cheating, it's not real exercise.

I then tell myself to get a sense of perspective. I couldn't have cycled to Wandsworth Common and back this time last year. Objectively, that is good. I measure myself against my Autumn performance, and feel that, even though I slacked off over the winter, I am able to get to the top of certain hills, without getting off, in second gear (or gears 8-14, depending on how you see it). I don't feel that my pulse rate is so severely raised after exertion as it was, say, six months ago. I think I recover more quickly from stiffness in my leg muscles.

I said from the outset that this was not about losing weight in the strict sense. I said I was not going to be ruled and depressed by what my scales say. Which is a good thing, because my weight isn't shifting. I'm about half a stone less than I was at my heaviest, and I suspect that if I go to my GP's I'm going to get another lecture about losing weight, so I don't want to go, because they are obsessed by the discredited BMI (Body Mass Index).

My major motivation in changing my life was all about clothes. Seriously. When you go shopping for nice things and realise that you can no longer get into sizes that used to be right, that as you go up the sizes, the choice becomes less. When you try on clothes that were bought to last and you just look like someone squeezing into a size too small.

When I set out doing this, I read up a little and discovered that one of the measures better than BMI is waist-hip ratios, but I couldn't work out where my waist was. I can now, that's cool. I moaned about my enormous, bloated stomach. Now, I can't work out what I should think about it. Like so many people I am confronted by images on a daily basis of malnourished models with photoshopped figures, so when I see that my stomach isn't flat, I despair. And yet, I know it's firmer, it doesn't hang down as it did.

As for clothes, I am now in the ridiculous situation that some of my trousers and skirts, and not just the ones I bought at my fattest last summer, are either slipping down past my hips or looking baggy and unsightly.

And yet, my tops size has got bigger. My boobs are definitely firmer and less droopy, which is good, but I think my back has become more muscular. I've been avoiding buying clothes, fearing that my size will go up again, and hoping that it will go down. It's kind of frustrating not really knowing what will happen in the next six months, maybe in the long term I won't change size or weight very much, but just replace the fabby fat with nicely toned muscles. But the simple fact is, I have to continue with regular exercise for ever.

It's good to know that I have been able to pick up again after the winter go-slow. And it's good that I enjoy the experience, going out to a local park or Common, enjoying the fresh air, seeing the change in seasons. I know that they say that it takes two years to lose weight in a way that makes it permanent. But I was never aiming at losing weight.

* I mean, the general upwards trend, irrespective of the occasional cold blitz

Getting back into the swing

We went swimming on Friday, the first time in over a week, at least. It's a lot harder to motivate myself to go without Jimmy. Unfortunately our working schedules are such that we don't get much opportunity to do such stuff together. I do wish he had an ordinary job which gave him weekends and evenings off and we could properly do stuff together - although we'd then get in each other's way and on each other's nerves.

I can't say that I was highly motivated when I was in the water. I didn't exactly push myself. I think I did ten lengths which was a but pathetic. But not bad for someone who wasn't trying! I didn't really get that feeling of pounding heart or having pushed my muscles. again, I think that that's probably a good thing.

Afterwards we went to the Fujiyama Noodle Bar

Good food and excellent VFM. But I don't think we will go back because neither of us likes to sit in a restaurant where disco music is blaring out, particularly not the sort that sounds as though the needle has got stuck for the entire 45 minutes or so we were there, and especially not so early in the evening.

Today we decided was a cycling day. I popped out early afternoon to go to M&S at Clapham South. I was quite taken aback, although not surprised at how crowded the Common was. I can't say I care for Clapham Common. It's flat and boring, and is dominated by large groups of Baying Hoorays and Loud Antipodeans, the sort of men who wear Bermuda shorts, wrap around shades and flip-flops and give the impression they are doing it to prove how trendy they are. Plus there is so much broken glass on so many pathways - too moronic and selfish even to take their bottles away.

We set out to Tooting Common, which was nicer. It is possible to find spots with comparative tranquillity, although we always seem to head for the pond and then the café, which were heaving, especially with unsupervised brats and dogs. I did get a little bit of insight into myself. One child was beginning to irritate me like nobody's business. I did wonder when, rather than if, she would cycle into one or other of us. It was me, and it was a surprise attack, from behind, wrenching my right arm forward awkwardly.She said sorry, then her mother said, say sorry, so she said she had said sorry, so I thanked her for saying sorry, then her mother made a couple of guilt-stricken faces of sorry.

And I realised,it's not thoughtless behaviour I detest - it has taken me many years slowly to learn how to think through the consequences of my actions and their impact on other people. What I truly detest is people who behave thoughtlessly and then, when there action has a tangible effect on someone else (me) fail to recognise the significance of that. Whereas in this instant, something happened, and I got over it.

Again I don't think we over-exerted ourselves; in retrospect we spent too long sitting round and not enough time riding. Our excuse is that we have neglected it over the winter. But it's almost like we just cycle out to have a coffee and then cycle home again. That having been said, climbing up the incline that leads to the loco sheds I worked up a sweat and a state of breathlessness, and I didn't have to dismount once on the steep climb up to home. I was also sensible enough to have a shower immediately I got home, rather than sitting around procrastinating, which is my wont. It's also so much better to shower at home than at Brixton Rec because I can unhook the shower head and pound the water against my thighs.

I weighed myself. I am actually heavier than when I weighed myself in February, but I'm not too upset about that. I can still feel and see the difference in my body, and I have the next seven months or so to continue working on it.

Then was dinner. An M&S special, starting with mushroom crispbakes on a bed of wilted young spinach; smoked haddock with cheddar and mustard melt, served with baby new potatoes and asparagus, followed by lemon ricotta cheesecake, washed down with Chablis

Spring has sprung, so it's down to the park we go

It's March, the daffodils are out, and we have been having unseasonably mild weather. So the time for excuses is past.

Monday afternoon we got out our bikes and went down to Tooting Common, not so very far from Gert Cottage.

It was the first time I had been on my bike since Christmas; longer for Jimmy.

I can't in all honesty say we had a strenuous session. It hurt. there were times going up slight inclines that my thighs screamed for mercy. I showed them no mercy. But it hurt.

We were out for little over an hour, which included a rest by the pond and then a coffee in the café; we also paused on a bench at the edge of the park.

When we got home we settled down to a fish supper and agreed that although we both felt sore and tired, it had been good. We have to work back up to big days out, my muscles have reverted to flab. And it was good for our mental health to be out in the fresh air and sunshine, and doing something together.  Achy and tired can be bad or good. This was good.

We watched some telly, then I said Maybe we should clear away the plates before we settle down for more telly and before our joints seize up.

He said Yes; I'm beginning to get a bit stiff

Oh good I said Time for wild sex  (admittedly, that's a given in Gert Cottage)

He said Not in that way! My legs...

At which point I had to confess that my lady bits were feeling just a little bit battered and bruised - from barely an hour in the saddle. And I still don't know why  Ladies' bikes have a hole in the saddle. I mean, I know the theory but I don't understand in practice

Fitness update

I don't for a minute think that blogposts about exercise are the most thrilling blogposts , coming slightly below dreams although significantly above cat pictures.

However, because I started writing about my embracing of exercise, if I don't carry on, there will be readers thinking, yeah, we knew it,it would be a passing phase, she'd soon give up. So it acts as a motivation. There is also a part of me that hopes that maybe someone thinks 'bloody hell if that fat lazy cow can do it, there's no excuse for me'  and that would be a positive thing in itself. (If they then act on their thought!).

I am pleased to report that my weight is holding absolutely steady since the last time I reported it, which is two kilogrammes heavier than four months ago, and makes me more than twenty kilogrammes overweight. Yet several people have said stuff like "You're looking really well" or "You've lost so much weight". I patiently explain I have lost fat and built muscle. 

Jimmy going back to work full time plus not long after the clocks going back has rather stymied the excellent routine and mutual encouragement we had developed. It had been at least a couple of weeks since I got the bike out, lame excuses like it's cold, it's wet, it goes dark early,and the lamest of the lot...the best way to get the bikes out is to wheel them outside the front door of the shed, lock the shed from within, leave by the back door of the shed, lock the kitchen door, go to front door, put on outdoor shoes, go outside front door...at which point there is a risk, however slight, of the bike being nicked. So I decided to carry it through the house, which is a lot less hassle than unbolting and bolting the shed door.

On Saturday I went out to Tooting Common for an hour, and this glorious sunny and clear morning I cycled to the top of Brockwell Park and gazed for many miles across the skyline of London, soaking in the UV Rays of the sun.  Really, being out in the cold is no big deal presuming one is well wrapped up and gloved. The cold hits the face initially but that soon goes. Until you stop, then the chill breeze once again hits the face moistened by light sweat a ladylike glow.

I went swimming yesterday evening. I did six lengths to warm up and realised that in that five or so minutes I had effortlessly completed what represented a full session not very long ago. Oh heck, what do I do now? More lengths. One thing that I wonder about. As I get fitter and more muscular I find I am doing more lengths in a shorter time than it took to do fewer. So eg I can do a lot more in 20 minutes than I used to do in 30 minutes. Is it more important to up the number of lengths, in order to continue to do half an hour, or to have a target number of lengths in shrinking time period, or to increase the time and the intensity in the pool?

I picked up a leaflet from my Pharmacist which says being active on five or more days of the week - 30 minutes for general health benefits and 60 minutes to 'help you lose weight and stop the weight going back on'.  Then it categorises various activities - eg strolling  (light), cycling, 10-12 mph (moderate) or swimming, crawl (vigorous) but doesn't really say whether 60 minutes of 'light' is equivalent to 30 minutes of 'vigorous' or whatever.

And I also don't like that constant use of the word 'weight'. I don't give a damn what I weigh; if I did I would have collapsed disheartened in tears and given up disillusioned by now. I am far more interested in waist measurement, and hip-to-waist ratio (and would be even more interested if I could actually locate my waist). This is known in everyday parlance as dress size.  Above my navel I have the beginnings of a muscular and well-defined six-pack; below my navel I have a bloated gut that is not a pretty sight and can only be disguised by my droopy breasts hanging down (that last bit is a joke, my boobs are very pert thank you). 

It's not just a theoretical moan with me.

I am absolutely and totally not losing any weight whatsoever, yet I am measurably fitter and clearly less fat than I was four months ago. If I was on some supervised programme, be it Fat Fighters or the NHS, I would be weighed in the balance and found lacking, or rather, found not lacking, but would be judged a failure.

I'm strong, energetic, high self-esteem, high level of knowledge and therefore don't give a shit, but if I were different, I would probably by now have embarked on some lunatic diet contradictory to basic science, would be feeling totally miserable, and would soon fall off the diet, and with the damage done to my metabolism and Christmas looming, I would balloon up by another five kilogrammes or more, or at least a dress size, which would make me more depressed, so launch me onto another faddy diet, doomed to fail, which would notch my fat levels up higher whilst stripping away my muscle.

Surely a major contributory factor to the 'obesity epidemic' is  the cynical marketing of and profiteering from stupid damaging diets that screw-up people's bodies. One of the (many) evils of unfettered capitalism.

But what excuse the NHS has, I don't know. Although, significantly, their Change4Life website, about tackling childhood obesity, does not use the word 'weight' once but does say 

There is a clear link between having too much fat in your body and preventable illnesses like diabetes, coronary heart disease, cancer and depression.

Which is gratifying. But the Department of Health has a strategy called Healthy Weight, Healthy Lives which does not seem at all helpful. And their PSA target is defined by weight. Sigh. It should be fat. Fat. Fat not weight.

Birds bearings and the school run

Today we went for a cycle round Tooting Common. Nothing too strenuous, not for me, anyway. What it did prove was that there is a difference in performance between Jimmy and me.

When I was free-wheeling downhill I easily caught up with and then overtook him while he was peddling. On the straight, I overtook and gained on him without feeling I was making any effort. I leaned on his saddle and pushed his bike back and forth; I could feel some resistance and hear a rubbing noise. I made him do the same and he was able to identify it as the bearings in the rear wheel. When he had taken it for service, including tightening of the rear wheel, they had suggested that any more problems would necessitate a new wheel.  As it's under guarantee, that's no great problem, and, I suppose, the consequence of buying the 'second cheapest in the shop'. I suspect that bikes are sold at a loss, especially at the bottom end of the range, in order to get people to spend fortunes on accessories which often seem over-priced for what they are.

We sat down by the pond, and there was not a human soul in sight. Every bird on the pond flocked to us, cheekily demanding or expecting to be fed. One of the swans - the male,  we decided, and I christened him Mr ILoveMyself - got out of the water and preened and posed to show us how gorgeous he was. A small boy with Mum or Nanny went past in his pushchair. Later, we could see them across the pond on the beach. It became apparent that they had bread, and we watched as the ducks, geese and seagulls, and some pigeons raced over to them. The swans followed at a more graceful, regal pace, but soon dominated. They stood on the beach and ate out of Mum/Nanny's hand as small boy chased a pigeon on the grass!

A couple out walking came past and we fell into conversation. (We were hogging two benches, having leaned our bikes against one and then discovered it had been recently visited by a bird; I asked if they wanted a bench). They are both retired and make a point of coming out for a walk every afternoon, having spent the morning doing chores etc. They were asking if we cycled a lot; I explained that we had only just started. Jimmy mentioned that we had done part of the Wandle Trail last weekend, they recommended the Thames Path. They suggested Clapham Common, we suggested Wandsworth Common.

We made our way for the de rigeur coffee. It looks like the café may be extended, although it already has subsidence caused by tree roots, and any extension needs to take other roots into account. Such a location is almost a licence to print money. Even on an albeit quite pleasant Friday in November, trade was steady. I think quite a lot was school run; that's regular trade, whatever the weather. It is nice to see kids being taken home via the park, and secondary school kids on bikes. Not much evidence of the epidemic of obesity. It started to chuck it down, and I exchanged pleasantries with two young women. They were determined to stay put despite the rain - it will pass. I wasn't sure where they fitted in. Far too young to be retired, no toddlers, seemingly not on the school run (too young for that, sort of), no dogs, no bikes. Misfits!

It did ease off so we got going again, only for the heavens to open. We joined a small crowd sheltering under a railway bridge. When we left the Common, we hit the school run traffic, when the standard of driving deteriorates dramatically, and the proportion of drivers with no consideration for other road-users rises dramatically. One pulled out of a side-road into my path and then, without signalling, stopped outside a parade of shops, and I ended up in the grid of a storm drain,  trapped by traffic in each direction. I encountered several more examples, somewhat less egregious, that irritated me, less for my own safety as an adult, but for that of the numerous children who have to withstand that daily.

Yesterday was swimming. We coincided with an aquarobics class. In theory, I can see the point of aquarobics - using the natural buoyancy of the water to reduce the impact that classic aerobics inflicts. But in practice, I am not so sure.

The class was held in such shallow water that I am dubious that there were any benefits from the buoyancy. It seemed mainly to be about bouncing up and down, which seemed less fun that swimming, and also less likely to get the heart pumping. I was rather scathing (privately, of course) but Jimmy said 'At least they're in the water, doing something.' I argued that swimming is better; he suggested that maybe they can't swim. Maybe they should learn, I suggested.

You see, my way of thinking, if you are able and willing to pay the money and devote the time to a weekly class, and go through the hassle of changing and getting wet, you are in the right place to learn to swim. And once you've learnt, you've got a skill that will last forever.  The class was all women, none of them slim, many of them considerably fatter than me.  I think some women and maybe some men are deterred from swimming because of a fear of exposing flabby bodies in public; they were exposing more expanses of flesh, for longer periods,  than I was. I also noticed none was wearing a costume that was designed for their figures; I was, it cost me money but I think it was worth it - hey it even has an internal tummy control panel.

Wandle Wander

I have stolen that headline, but it just seems so right.

We cycled along part of the Wandle Way today. We cycled to Earlsfield and joined it there, following it all the way to (near) Mitcham Junction from where we caught a train to Balham - which really is a gateway to the south, I'm surprised nobody's ever thought of describing it so.

It was really fun being out - over four hours, including a pint at the William Morris in Merton Abbey Mills and a coffee outside the cinema in Balham. Some of the route is extraordinarily rural - heading off through the woods, fighting off the midges (I think I swallowed a couple, and gagged a few more), wheeling through the fallen leaves.

In other places we had a strange juxtaposition of trees and a rural feel on one side, and a highly industrial urbanscape on the other. We found ourselves on National Trust property  - Morden Hall Park - which may be worth revisiting for an hour or so one day.

I feel really good after the exercise. It was the first time really we have cycled anywhere with a purpose, rather than heading fora common or park and cycling round like big kids.

I do have several criticisms of the Wandle Way. The first one is the map. It's so busy being twee and seemingly user-friendly, it's not much better than a chocolate fireguard. We didn't help ourselves by going in the 'wrong' direction but nevertheless the map should have been sufficiently easy to follow that we didn't need to keep referring to the A-Z. It's also very badly signed. Many of the signs that show it's the Wandle Way are positioned along stretches where there are no turns or junctions. Many of the turns or junctions are completely without signs, so we took a few wrong turnings. Also, sometimes where there are signs, they have been twisted round to face the wrong way.

Colliers Wood/Merton Abbey Mills was a bit a nightmare, trying to work out how to get from Wandle Park past Savacentre and on the way to the City Farm. Really grotesque arrangement of roads, designed for the car and sod the pedestrian etc.  I can't work out why there are cycle paths on the pavements near the crossings that suddenly peter out into nothingness. It's all very well putting green bikes next to the green man, but the only logical progress is to cycle on the pavement, which is technically illegal (except where marked for cycling, which it wasn't).

I was annoyed at the entrance to one of the small woods - Poulter Park. There was a very tight chicane at the entrance which was extremely difficult to manoeuvre a bike round. I also thought it would be nigh on impossible to get a pram or a twin buggy through it. Looking again at the map it might be that there is a separate entrance for cyclists, but it wasn't obvious from the signs, and, as I say, the map is more an artist's sketch than anything usable. So, sorry if we unwittingly cycled on a dedicated footpath, but it wasn't our fault.

I also found that I took very few photographs. Partly because, although woods and trees are nice to look at  and traverse, they don't make for exciting photos. And also because it would have necessitated frequent stopping which makes cycling a drag.

Despite having been serviced just two days ago, Jimmy's bike is playing up again. I didn't realise until we were cycling away from Balham, so the poor dear was a lot more knackered than me!

Riding in the rain

We had grand plans today, we were going to explore far and wide. Then we thought, actually, it's pissing it down, it's not too warm, it's a tad windy and there's no sunlight. Rather than act like bloody fools, we went out to Tooting Common for an hour or so.

I cannot tell you how much better my bike feels having had the rear wheel tightened. I did most of my riding in third gear (or 15-21, whichever way you look at it). I never got out of breath and I although I felt my muscles working I never felt them hurting. I stopped for traffic, and also for the obligatory coffee, but there was no need to stop from over-exertion. It is such a relief that the problem was a minor mechanical one, not a 'me' one. And, meanwhile, because I had to over-exert to get anywhere, I have better leg muscles and better fitness than if all had been well.

I took my cagoule with me but didn't wear it. But my trousers got fairly wet. It wasn't really a problem for the hour we were out but it might have been a bit miserable if we had gone further and were out longer. I know that wearing jeans in the rain is not a good idea; what I need is waterproof trousers. It was nice to be out for a while in less than ideal  conditions, but nothing can convince me of the attractions of cycling to work.

And it was lovely to get home, tochange intodry clothes and sit in the warmth with a steaming hot drink. Tomorrow looks cloudy and dry with light wind; if that proves true we'll be off on the Wandle Trail. Diamond Geezer has been there already

Serviced!

I have written in this blog of the physical effort and pain I have been suffering cycling even the  slightest incline. I worried, because I can feel that my legs are getting more muscular, yet I didn't feel this has paid off in making the cycling easier.

I don't give up easily but I am not the sort of person who perseveres with something if I am  not making progress. I know that I am making progress in swimming. I went swimming on both Monday and Wednesday after work. I didn't feel like exerting myself at all, nevertheless, I did several lengths effortlessly. So, although I worried that the law of diminishing returns may apply, it is nevertheless gratifying to know that I can do more now without effort than I could when trying very hard less than three months ago.

Part of the deal when buying my bike was a 'free' service after 6-8 weeks. On Tuesday, Jimmy rode it down the hill to the shop and left it to be serviced. He rang me to say that he had found it very difficult to ride, despite it being downhill all the way, and even allowing for our ten inch height difference. Two or three weeks ago he had observed that my rear wheel was not rigid in the frame. He had had a similar problem with his from the outset, but had got it fixed (he had also needed his saddle mount fixed). Getting his fixed made a tremendous difference to him.

We picked my bike up last night and rode up the hill. It was dark (I had had lights fitted), and having come from work I was not dressed ideally - trousers too flared, jacket too bulky and thick - but nevertheless, I found it a cinch to ride. Admittedly, I did dismount to walk up the steepest part of Brixton Hill (from the prison up to the lights), but that was because there was massive traffic congestion on the road and many pedestrians on the pavement. If I had had to ride up the hill, I could have done.

We went out this afternoon, to Brockwell Park. It is reasonably flat to get there; I think I went in to second gear on one stretch just so that I could coast. Twice I rode up the hill to the café. I am not going to pretend that it is a massive hill, nor am I going to pretend that I did it in a gear higher than first, but it's not a trivial climb, and the point was, I did it much more easily than I was managing even on the flat on Monday.

Which is a massive relief, because I wasn't getting much joy from the hard work I was having to put in. I think we were actually cycling for over an hour - we did also stop for coffee at the café - and I reached home feeling as if I had done a gentle work out but knowing I had more a lot left in the engine.

Still, the hard struggle of late probably won't have done me any harm in the long run!

Beer is not Good

Obviously, in the grand scheme of things it is, but not specifically today.

Mind you, whiskey might be part of the problem. We went out for a quiet curry last night and ended up drinking large quantities of whiskey. I think they were on the house. I'm not really sure. I was already drunk after my opening gin. Three glasses of wine left me legless. I have a funny feeling I might have written strange things on the internet.

A very late lay-in this afternoon. But womanfully, I insisted that it was essential to get out on my bike. Just up to and round Wandsworth Common and back. Via The Nightingale and a pint and a half of Young's Ordinary, which was tasting exquisite. I didn't quite manage to go all the way there actually cycling. I dismounted to cross Balham Hill (an A road) by the pelican crossing,  then I wimped out in the climb up to Nightingale Lane, and for the last few feet up to the Common.

Clearly it was the beer's fault that my legs gave way on the way back. That is the worst bit of cycling. The very worst bit is the long slow climb up the south Circular to my road, getting slighter steeper with every revolution, at the end of the journey. Home so near yet so far.

I know it's doing me good, I can see my body changing shape, and I can feel my muscles getting stronger but when I collapse into my chair sweating, short of breath (yeah yeah I know why...) and having to wait and observe my heartbeat take it's time to return to resting level, I wonder why. Jimmy doesn't break sweat and his heartbeat doesn't increase (I don't think he's trying hard enough...). But it is worth it, on the flat and especially downhill. And even on those painful climbs when it takes it all my physical strength and willpower to get up them, there is a tremendous sense of achievement to have got there at all.

Cycling on the pavements

I know it is illegal. As a pedestrian, I know that it is intimidatory to be approached by a bike ridden at speed possibly aggressively, maybe nefariously. Clearly, on a pavement which is busy there is really little excuse to ride - if you don't fancy the road, get off and push.

But an awful lot of pavements are empty. I have lived in my house 13 years (on Thursday) so I am an expert on its immediate environs. No one walks along the South Circular. Or almost no-one. About the only walking that is done from a bus-stop to a side road.

But it's not just the South Circular. From leaving Wandsworth Common to getting home today I almost exclusively rode on the pavement. I passed one pedestrian on Nightingale Lane; one group on a side-road off it, one on Atkins Road. And that was it, other than alongside the Common, outside the pub and between the South Circular and my house.

It's in my nature to be compliant. Also, my bugbear with laws such as these that are made to be broken is that if there happened to be a PCSO around in a mood to punish a pavement-riding cyclist, they'd be far more likely to pick on a middle-aged woman like me than maybe some other demographic groups. If I were stopped and reprimanded my attitude would be a) where are the pedestrians b) where are the cycle lanes (and by that I don't mean some pathetic strip of green paint but a proper dedicated cycle lane)? Wandsworth is a scary borough, with signs of every lamp-post warning that cycling on the pavement is illegal and liable to a £100 fine. It makes me feel guilty.

As I say, I don't pavement-cycle in busy town-centres or shopping parades; schools at key times are a massive no-no. When I do encounter pedestrians I do one or more of a) slow down b) ride on the edge of the pavement c) ride on the grass verge d) go onto the road or e) stop.

I would love to think that we could have laws with a special  'common sense' clause. Eg there is a junction near me that is no right turn; to make the right you have to go round the one-way system, unless you're a bus. I know drivers who feel its stupid at six o'clock in the morning. I agree. Some  people  feel that speed limits - or, at least speed cameras - shouldn't apply at such times. There is  an argument that the fewer signs, white lines, mini-roundabouts etc exist, the more carefully people drive, and, actually, on the whole I would agree.

One thing I have learnt from cycling is how considerate the majority of drivers are, although I would like to remind certain South London Women that if you are turning into a side-road,  it is correct to start the turn once you have passed the central white line of the side-road, otherwise you end up driving on the wrong side of the road. The fact that you are obscuring your peripheral vision by wearing a veil is no excuse and in fact ought to mean that you take more care when driving.

The trouble is, the majority of laws don't exist for the considerate conscientious majority with common sense. Try making a law that says 'You may exceed the speed limit if the road ahead is clear and common sense dictates that there won't be children dashing out unexpectedly' - it isn't going to work because of those people who believe that '30' is a target speed even on a residential road with bumper to bumper parking, outside a school, at minutes to nine on a weekday. Similarly, a law that says 'cyclists may ride on pavements that are wide enough and not busy, and must give way to pedestrians' will be interpreted by certain people as 'cyclists own pavements'. That having been said, as they already have that attitude, so a change in the law wouldn't make matters worse.

No pain without gain

Five weeks with bikes and it doesn't seem to get any easier.

Gloriously unseasonal weather today. The forecast is for it to continue. The maximum temperature will only be 14 on Thursday but with a gloriously circular yellow sun as the dominant weather. Out today, feeling hot in short-sleeved t-shirt and light cotton trousers. Queues at the ice-cream van. Beer gardens full. When I returned home,  I realised I had caught the sun. Tanning in October!

I would willingly forego a hot baking humid stuffy sweaty summer if the pay-off is a glorious autumn like this. I like my temperatures in the high teens and low twenties. Anything higher requires a beach, a foreign language and idleness. In less than four months the days will be getting longer, new life will be pushing through the soil and the weak sunshine of a temperate winter (second half of) will be as welcome as a Glorious Autumn.

I was in considerable discomfort on the bike today. Almost all the time it seemed that my legs were really killing. My thigh muscles are firming up spectacularly, but they don't seem to be very effective. Last weekend I was having real problems with a racing pulse and tremendous sweatiness. Today,  I was simply sub-par in energy and strength. Part of me thinks that it is cycle related (and I don't mean bicycle). But why should that have such an effect on my leg muscles?

I had to sit down and rest having crossed Balham Hill, and again on Nightingale Lane. It was actually nice to abandon the bikes and walk round the pond on Wandsworth Common. A quick drink in the Nightingale, scared away by stentorian yummy-mummies and a quick sprint to The Grove. Fortunately, we sat outside, because inside was a baby that never stopped crying. It was a small baby and that's what they do. I don't want to be the sort of person who objects to babies crying in public places, but, a pub's a pub, and it used to be the one place you could go to escape crying babies.

I don't suppose large quantities of beer were particularly helpful, but I really did struggle to get home. Most of all, it's the final stretch, up Atkins Road from the pint it becomes the South Circular. It's not really far at all, indeed on the way out the regret is that the freewheel down is so short. But uphill, on the way home, when thigh and calf muscles are aching to the point of despair, I really would not recommend it to anybody. It's a long way to walk!

I had a long soak in the bath, which was good. I fell asleep in the bath, which felt good but probably wasn't. I just don't understand why Tooting Common on Monday and Wandsworth Common today were so painful. Why just a few yards down the road were so painful. Why was it so easy two weeks ago and not today? It stands to reason that I ought to be getting fitter (although why my belly is expanding is against reason...) so why does it seem more difficult?

Exercise update

10 weeks in. In the past week we swam on Tuesday, went shopping on Friday (which doesn't count, but the thud thud of feet on hard pavements, and the constant change of temperatures between autumnal outside and tropical in shops is more tiring than anything else).

About an hour's cycling on Saturday but we caught in a few spits of rain which we thought was the onset of the promised deluge. It wasn't.

Sunday, swimming, several lengths. If I chose I could swim happily for dozens of lengths or a considerable period of time without exerting myself, which is a vast improvement on Session 1 when I struggled to do 3/4 length without physical pain! I don't choose to do so. I do lengths in twos - first, my special hybrid front-crawl/doggy paddle which acts as a warm-up. Then back stroke, which is the ultimate lazy stroke, especially when I can't be bothered to use my arms. Then I do a sort of front crawl but with a float to make me use my legs because otherwise I rely too much on my upper body. Then I do front crawl. I am trying to recapture/perfect my technique ie breathing every third stroke. My trouble is that I am comfortable swimming with my face wholly submerged and eyes open that I leave it too long to come up and breathe, then I'm gasping. I repeat this routine, not necessarily in the same order, until bored or over-exerted.

Today, out riding again on Tooting Common. I found it frustrating that my legs didn't seem to be working. Except on the decline or the very flat I was finding it very straining on my thighs, and when I rested it took a long time to get my breath and heart-rate back to normal. I am trying to figure out the effect of different factors such as how long since the last meal, the frequency of drinking, and where I am in my cycle. I am sure I used to know all these things instinctively, but I have to keep reminding myself I can't magically return to being 27 and fit.

I know that my skirt/trouser size has decreased - I can now remove such garments without unfastening them (potentially embarrassing were someone to inadvertently step on the trailing hem of my skirt going downstairs, for instance...). I can feel a much better definition of my arm and leg muscles. My belly still resembles a mound of jelly and I do believe that I have gained two kilogrammes in weight!

Fun on my bike

Buying a bike, you fill your head with all sorts of nonsense at how cheap it is. 'Less than two pound a week for a year'. Ridiculous, of course.  I have so far bought the bare minimum of peripherals - locks, pump, puncture repair-kit. Not even lights, yet, although I intend to by the time the clocks go back. And the list of desirable, bordering on essential peripherals, is endless.

However, we have saved a small fortune on days out. The intention was, and remains, to use the bikes for travelling far afield. But we are frighteningly unfit. Last weekend we went to Streatham Hill station. I was shocked at how strenuous that was (there's a clue in the name!). But we got there. Only to find an absence of trains. So we changed our plans from "Richmond" to "local".

The weather has been a bonus. Not entirely surprising for the time of year - warm, sunny and dry  -  but better than anyone could reasonably have expected, especially after a lousy summer.  We ended up in deepest darkest Streatham, which was a surprisingly pleasant ride. A couple of pints in the Pied Bull and a strenuous climb up Streatham Common allowed a long free-wheel home, well, until the last stretch, which is a slog up to the house (it's a climb from every direction, hopefully, before too much time passes, I can read this and mock myself at my almost inability to ride the final leg home!)

On Saturday we went to Clapham Common and decided to give The Windmill a miss; it was very busy, on account of the gorgeous weather. We cycled round the common and had been out only an hour when my chain came off. Now, this was a perfect example of how I have become a very  pathetic girlie. It would have taken me seconds to replace the chain if I had applied my mind, rather than whingeing in a girlie way 'Jimmy, my chain's come off...'. They get you like that, blokes. Then five minutes later, I realised that I wasn't riding right and discovered I had a puncture. On the one occasion I had failed to bring out the pump or puncture repair kit. As far as Jimmy was concerned, the day was over. I suggested tentatively that he cycled home and back. As it only took him twenty minutes, that turned out to be a good idea.

It took us ages to repair the puncture. Or, rather, to get the pump to work. I was just about sussing it out when he decided he would take over. We had a conversation along the lines of, it won't stay in the hole, pump a bit harder, so I remarked, 'it's a bit like sex, this' to which he replied 'no, this takes longer'! Anyway, puncture repaired (it was caused by a bit of broken glass; Clapham Common seems to have way too much broken glass on too many tracks), we set off, and my bike gave off a big bang, which startled dozens of people all around. Don't know why, but the entire tyre had blown. I was not happy. I had the bright idea of walking down to Evans' on Clapham High Street and they fitted a new tyre, at not inconsiderable cost - although it was obvious that it was a far better quality than the one that had originally come with the bike. At Evans' they said "You'll be in next week for a matching one on the front".

I have to say that I was a bit pissed off. Punctures are inevitable and trivial, and I've mended plenty in my time, so I didn't expect a blow-out. I don't especially want to be getting new tyres too often (although the tread is wearing down significantly on the three remaining tyres on two bikes). We cycled across the common and down to the Nightingale, which I had never been in before, I don't think I've even been past!. It seemed decadent to be sitting outdoors as if it were summer, yet with the glorious autumnal light. And then back home. Miscommunication meant that we ended up cycling along the South Circular, which wasn't nice. The cars were fine, it was the encounter with first the coach then the articulated lorry that scared me. And the hill...

Yesterday we headed out round the back roads to Wandsworth Common. Neither of us has previously set foot on Wandsworth Common, so that was pleasant. Although it's not the most exciting Common in our area - it makes Clapham Common look exciting by contrast...maybe! Actually that's unfair, we stayed this side of the Railway Line, and the maps seem to indicated that there is more interesting stuff over the railway. We had planned our own route up going, and, other than crossing Balham Hill, it was fine. We even spotted a pub that neither of us knew existed, and might actually be the closest Youngs Pub to home, The Grove, so that might well be visited sometime. And we have been inspired to plan future outings round the existence of Young's pubs, of which there are gratifyingly many in South West London. On the way back we followed the 'official' cycle routes, which were inferior to mine - as well as taking us down roads with parked cars either side, we also had the dubious pleasure of passing Sainsburys, whose customers (Sunday afternoon) were characterised by a general sense of panic and despair, coupled with bad driving.

It was just so nice to sit for a while on the edge of Tooting Common, soaking up the sunshine, and watching the other people also taking advantage of a gorgeous day.

Travels with my bike

All this time I have been going on to Jimmy about how we ought to get bikes, and all this time he has been hesitant. He did suggest rather than buying, we ought to try hiring. But I wasn't keen. I reckoned it was as much hassle - more, maybe - to hire one for a day than to buy. When I finally plunged, he didn't plunge with me. Although he followed suit swiftly.

Now, I reckoned getting a bike, it would be nice to go out maybe once a week. Do I have such a luxury? Oh no! On Friday we were out for three hours. Only down on Tooting Common. And not riding constantly - we stopped for coffee, we stopped to have a domestic on the mean streets of Furzedown, we stopped to watch the swans, ducks and dogs in the pond, and we stopped again for lentil soup. I was doing just fine until we got off the common and my legs stopped working.

There are many advantages in where I live, right at the top of Brixton Hill. Mainly the fact that it's the top of the hill, which is handy in times of flood. It does however mean that the 'home straight' is uphill all the way. Oh yes, it's fun to freewheel all the way down to the Common. Not so much fun to do the opposite of freewheel back. The opposite of 'freewheel' is, of course, 'get off and walk'.

But it was civilised on the Common on Friday. Mainly dog-walkers, a few people with small children, an older woman in a mobility scooter. Pleasant, talking to people, with people, nothing substantial. Different on Saturday. Admittedly it was a gorgoeus afternoon, perhaps the best Saturday of the summer - clear sunny and not too hot. No great surprise that it was a lot busier. Always interesting to people-watch. I know one shouldn't jump to conclusions, but it did seem as though the Nappy Valley Yummy Mummies and their smug husbands were out in force. Maybe I'm being stupid. There are paths with a white line down the middle, one side painted with pictures of bikes and one with pictures of walking people. If I spy a group of eight adults and three buggies parked on the cycle path,  two toddlers on trikes and an older child on a bike weaving his way back and forth across the entire path, if I slow down to barely moving, I don't see why I should be glared at.

Still it's better than car drivers. Obviously, the majority of people who drive on side-streets are careful and considerate. I oughtn't to be surprised but it never ceases to amaze me how many stupid people there are behind wheels. The other evening, we waited to cross Atlantic Road, an important-but-minor thoroughfare that meets Brixton Road in the town centre. There is no pedestrian crossing, but it's usually easy to cross. The light was red for the side road, green for the main road. We crossed. I just reached the pavement when I realised a car had overtaken the three cars waiting at the red light and was accelerating towards the main road. Straight out, in front of a bus, wanting to do a right, only to come to a halt because of the traffic coming from his left. So he stopped. The bus driver sounded his horn. Eventually the car reversed out of the yellow box and back to be in front of cars waiting to emerge from Atlantic Road. As he was clearly unconcerned about his own safety, I doubt he had the slightest awareness of other road-users.

The next morning I walked through Smith Square and spotted four police horses. It's not unusual to see two, on patrol or going to and from the stables. But four is unusual. They are gorgoeus animals. Big. Docile and well-trained, but, still, big. And horses. As they walked away to my left, a car approached in the opposite direction,and obviously deliberately revved their engine exactly as it passed the horses. AsI say, they're docile and well-trained, but even so, they're big. Who in their right mind would deliberately provoke a horse, police or no? As I say, I ought not to be surprised, but there is no limit to the stupidity of people, especially when they get inside their invincible driving machines

Tales from the cycle trail

So, by mid-morning Saturday we had two bikes in the shed, gleaming new and raring to go. But Jimmy  wasn't feeling too good (and felt worse Sunday) plus the weather forecast was heavy rain. The actual weather on Sunday was something or other wet in the morning, dull, overcast and dry in the afternoon. But never mind. Today's another day.

Remember that it is cough years since either of us has properly been on a bike, and we are generally out of condition. Absolutely no point taking unnecessary risks. Besides, even cough years ago, I found no pleasure in cycling down busy A roads with dirty lorries and fast cars whizzing by, some in quite an intimidatory manner. So, in order just to re-familiarise myself with riding, and specifically to familiarise myself with this bike, I suggested we went to Tooting Common.

Tooting Common is very near where I live, really just at the end of my road. It's also very close to where I used to live. So that's 17+ years of living very close to Tooting Common. Whether from Tooting Bec Road or from Emmanuel Road I have always considered Tooting Common to be very boring, just expanses of grass, regularly mown, and neat paths, ideal for walking dogs and small children, but essentially boring (except for the Lido). But being flat and boring, I thought, ideal for trying out bicycles.

Of course the first thing you encounter are pathways designated 'no cycling'. I interpret that as 'use your judgement'. I imagine that on a hot Saturday afternoon, these are teeming with pedestrians, and as a pedestrian of many years' standing, aggressive cyclists are a nuisance. On a dull overhung Monday morning, they are practically deserted, a few dog walkers,  some parents (or nannies) with toddler and the odd jogger. As we got deeper onto the common, these became fewer. When we encountered pedestrians we rode at walking pace and gave them a wide berth, or we paused to let them cross first.  In any case it was more fun to leave the tarmac path and explore the mud or pebbled trails. Round the pond, just about deserted, through the trees, under railway bridges. We were both astonished. We had no idea that Tooting Common was so rural.

Obviously, it's not really rural, not in a technical sense. But when you are surrounded by nature, shielded from traffic, it's as good as, in many ways. I know people yearn to live 'in the country' for peace and quiet, but I never have - too much hassle, too much inconvenience, too far from anywhere, too great a need to conform. I much prefer visiting the countryside occasionally and enjoying the green spaces on my doorstep.

So it's a little crazy that I have never previously explored the countryside at the end of my road, two minutes from home!

There's a good Flickr Stream, which includes some excellent photos

Bike trials

Ten days ago, as you may recall me writing, I ordered and paid for a new bike. Having the maturity of a small child on Christmas Eve, I wanted it there and then. But the man in the shop explained that they had to build it and check it for road-worthiness, because if I took away a bike that wasn't roadworthy, and ended up under a bus, the shop will be liable.

They had a sign up that said 'Our promise. If you order before 12 noon we will build your bike for the same day. If you order after 12 noon, we will build it for the next day.' As this was early Friday afternoon, I could have possibly expected a Saturday build, definitely Monday. But no, they said Tuesday at the earliest. Tuesday wasn't convenient so we agreed Thursday.

On Monday we returned to the shop and ordered and paid for a bike for Jimmy. Basically the same model, although obviously mine is female geometry and without the crossbar to enable me to ride side-saddle. We agreed Thursday also for his.

Thursday evening we go there, to be told that my bike is ready but his isn't; it hasn't been built, it wasn't on the list. After some deliberating we decide to take mine and he said he'd collect his Saturday (we were at a funeral Friday).

He suggested that I ride it round the car-park, but I declined, seeing as though the car park was being used for boy-racers thirty-something women, with children in the back,  doing handbrake turns. "It's like Brands Hatch!" I exclaimed.

Being that I am middle-aged and increasingly nervous cautious, and I haven't actually properly been on a bike in cough years, I thought - should I ride on the A204, a busy bus-and-commuter route in the rush hour,  or should I wheel it to the park conveniently situated just round the corner. Immediately inside the park gates I mounted, eased down on the right pedal and fell off.

Yeah, yeah, I can see you all laughing now.

What I did was remount immediately, and then go "Er? How come my handle bars are all wonky?"

Simple answer, they were loose in the mount, so the smallest amount of pressure meant they just swivelled round to 90 degrees. I wheeled it back to the shop, spoke to the sales assistant who summoned the manager. The manager was all apologetic and said this shouldn't have happened. It's part of procedures when issuing a bike to tighten the handlebars because they are stored hanging up with the handlebars in line with the body of the bike. I suggested that part of the procedures should be training staff to follow procedures. The manager said the sales assistant had been there three months and it was unlikely that it was the first bike he had issued*.

I also raised the issue of Jimmy's bike not being ready as booked, despite the 'promise' on the yellow notice. The manager ran a print and realised that it was actually scheduled for collection on 30 December 1899. Yes, really... I suggested that there should be some recognition of the late delivery and the manager said he'd see what he could do. Jimmy collected his bike on Saturday (no 'recognition' offered) and it was only when he got it home that we realised that my mudguards, paid for and annotated on the order, hadn't been fitted. Sigh

Naturally, an email, stating all the facts, has been sent to Head Office Customer Service. Auto reply promised a substantive reply in 7 days.

* You might say I should have checked: my going round to the park was my way of checking. That does not in any way resolve them of the duty of care, stated at the point of purchase, to ensure a bike leaving the premises is road-worthy.