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!
