Saturday, 18 February 2017

Mojo Found!

It has been a good week on the whole, despite a possible major set back, but I have got my Mojo back from wherever I left it, and have had a couple of very satisfying days.

First up was Monday and a little TLC for the Jamis. I finally got around to fitting the new chain I'd bought for it a while back, and gave the cable disc brakes a tweak, followed by a thorough clean. Time spent doing these jobs is always time well spent, especially when things go well.

Tuesday came and after an anxiety filled trip into town, I got home and headed straight out again aboard the Jamis for a quick potter around the village, and my usual loop by way of a road test to make sure the chain was chooching as it should and I hadn't put it on inside out or anything daft.


Sunny St Erme. This field is earmarked for about 80 new houses... oh joy.



Outside the dead centre of the village...

It felt weird at first getting back on the gert big wagon wheeled Jamis, after Fatso and the Voodoo, it was like riding a five bar gate, and the cable brakes are definitely not in the one finger league, but it only takes a few yards to remember all this and I do enjoy riding this bike as much as the others to be honest. I only ride it on the road though, as the other two are both much better suited to low speed nidgery nadgery and mud plugging and so on. What the Jamis does is pace. It doesn't accelerate quite as readily but once you get it moving it feels very long legged and makes a delightful mechanical whirring noise. 


Bozzing along Tregassow Lane.

Wednesday wasn't so clever to start with, but by the evening I was getting the urge to go exploring - I needed a bit of an adventure! I really wanted, no needed, to get out and go somewhere preferably new, or at least seldom visited, and just poke about and take lots of photos. 

Thankfully, I was still feeling the urge the following morning, so once it was light I boarded the Jamis and set off into the mist, heading initially for the ruined church at Merther.

The weather out was superb! It was chilly at first in all the mist, but the sun kept trying to break through and it was clear that once it did, a nice day would result. But I wasn't in any rush for the sun to burn off the fuzziness, as it made for some good photos and stunning views all around.


 The lane from Trevella Stream up to Four Turnings junction.

There was one drawback to this mist though, it didn't half make the brakes howl! Coming down the hill into Tresillian I met a car coming up and so applied a goodly amount of brake, only to be rewarded with a noise like someone strangling a couple of Wolves. But that wasn't all, as the mist was coating every forward facing surface on both bike and old giffer, and that included my glasses which had droplets of water form near the bridge in the middle and so not only was the bike howling like a loon at the moon but I was trying to peer out from the lower part of the glasses as I braked to a stop, head cocked back as if I had a pony tail caught in the back wheel or something. What the driver coming the other way must've thought I don't know. 



Those puddles are from water running off the field on the right. The farmer has been spreading something on this field recently, and boy did that water pong - it was humming!

Where the sun failed to penetrate the mist properly, everything became almost monochrome.

Anyway, after hopping across the A390 at Tresillian I set about the long climb up towards Tregerrick. It's not steep by any means, just a bit of a long drag with not a lot to see in front as you climb - sky mostly, and the hedges lining the road. No, it's all going on behind, which is a good excuse to stop and have a good stare at the view I reckon as you can't see much looking over your shoulder.


The Tregothnan Estate Gatehouse at Tresillian is all Grade 2 listed, including those bollards.


Riding in the mist everything forward facing got covered in tiny water droplets, looking a bit like frost. This included my moustache/beard too, which made me look like I had shaving cream on my face...

I first visited the ruined church at Merther last Summer, and had decided then to return in Winter when the trees would hopefully be bare and a better view of the church might be available.

Sadly that wasn't the case, and the Western end of the church and its tower is still nigh on impossible to photograph satisfactorily thanks to all the trees being so close to it. 


Merther Church was abandoned in the mid twentieth century, but the grounds have recently started to be maintained once again.





A few years ago the whole plot was thick with brambles apparently (so my research on the net tells me anyway) but recently the churchyard has been cleared and appears to be regularly mown and strimmed. The building itself though is in a pretty rough state, and signs warn not to go inside. Truth is, there isn't a lot to see inside anyway, once again it's all overgrown in there to the point it's not worth even trying to get a photo.






The church was dedicated to St Coan who was a martyr apparently, but apart from that, I can't find anything much on the bloke. Information on the church itself is hardly generous either, but I do know it fell into disuse mid way through the 20th Century, and the font and bells now reside in the church at Tresillian.

The church is at the end of a dead end road, with only a farm and two houses for company, so to say it is quiet and peaceful there is to understate matters rather, and I spent almost an hour mooching about, reading gravestones and snapping away, and generally feeling very relaxed indeed.


 It's that yellow time of year again already, when the fields round hereabouts are full of Daffodils. The sun has just started winning the struggle against the mist...

A rather splendid looking tree at Eglosmerther, opposite Merther church.

Looking on various maps suggests a road or path continuing on from Merther church but it goes through the farm yard, and there were signs up saying 'private - no public access' and 'bugger off' and so on, so it was back the way I'd come again, just as the sun started to win the fight with the mist. Like someone slowly opening a curtain, the sun broke through and warmed me up considerably to the point where I needed to stop and lose the jumper I had on beneath my jacket, and swap gloves too.


It takes me ages to ride anywhere, 'cos I'm always looking for possible photos, and that includes stopping frequently to look at what is behind me. On this occasion I was rewarded with the above view just as the mist was lifting. Within minutes, it had completely gone.

From Merther I headed down another dead end road that leads down to the armpit of the Tresillian and Truro River's confluence. The lane was steep but with (very) fleeting river views on both sides as it descends to distract the vista hungry cyclist who strays down it. At the bottom though, lies disappointment. A couple of houses and more signs saying 'sod off' and 'be off with you' and so on, or words to that effect. So there was nothing else to do but to turn around and slog back up the hill to the top again.


Halfway down the hill to erm... not much actually. 


The Tresillian River is in shot here, but the Truro River joins it just out of sight in a fold in the countryside on the left. 
I went down the hill on the left. This was taken at the top after coming all the way back up again. I knew it was a dead end from consulting the maps, and there is a sign there too of course, but I had hoped there'd be at least something to see at the bottom, but it wasn't to be.


Dropping down the hill just at the start of Lamorran Wood, and what a superb day it was turning out to be.

Once back on the bigger road again, I sallied forth heading along new roads to me, bound for Ruan Lanihorne. All around this area is land belonging to the Tregothnan Estate, and it is also an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, with creek views and unspoiled woodland in every direction. Riding in the sunshine was nothing but a delightful pleasure, but all was about to come unglued...


 Down the bottom of the hill and where the road bisects Lamorran Wood with a small meadow on the right for added photo appeal. It was while shooting these shots that the bike dropped its chain.




Where the lane bisects Lamorran Wood I was doing a bit of photography, doing a ride past with the camera on the tripod, and then a couple of on board Go Pro shots, to get some movement into my photos. It was while doing the second Gopro shot that the Jamis dropped its chain off the small front chainring, leaving me coasting along, but not especially perturbed, after all, I've had a dropped chain before, it's no big deal is it. Is it? Well yes, it flipping was! Quite how a chain can casually drop off, yet wedge itself so tightly twixt chainring and Bottom Bracket I don't know, but it was resisting all attempts to fish it out with my trusty Leatherman pliers. Nothing for it but to turn the bike upside down and try and fnnnnngggg.... bas....tad....fish the fugnnnnnnn.... chain out woo you.....fnnnngggg....bast... that flipping way... Finally, after much industrial language and bloodied fingers, out came the chain. Being about 12 miles from home at this point, I had started to become just a little concerned at the state of events as I imagined what it would be like to do the walk of shame and push the errant bike home. It would be rather painful I knew that, so when the chain relinquished its grip and broke free so I could replace it on the chainring, the relief just washed over me and I broke out in a big smile - the ride was saved! Erm....

What I then did, in all my relief, was to grab big handfuls of bike and lift to flip it back onto its wheels. Big mistake. I ricked my dodgy back a right one. It felt like someone just lobbed 50,000 volts up my spine, down my legs and around my ribs. It wrung the breath right out of me and I dropped the bike sharpish as the air once again was turned as blue as the sky by some rather advanced level swearing. It bloody hurt I can tell you. I now had a fully functioning bike again, but could hardly move to get on it! Hmmmm.... this ride wasn't going quite so well now... 


Gadzooks this day has taken a turn for the worse... Not only was I leaking claret all over the place, but I'd just given my back an almighty tweak. I took this just as I was slowly getting back on the bike again. The other hand was leaking just a bit too. Darned sharp these chainrings...

All I could do was was painfully lower myself down and sit propped up against a fence post and let everything relax, while swallowing the two remaining Ibuprofen I had on me. Slowly the tightness and pains all over my back ebbed away and I gingerly got back up. I tweaked it again and pain shot up my spine, but it subsided again after a few moments. Slowly, painfully and carefully, I managed to get all my guff together and get back on the bike, amid many tweaks and bouts of shooting pain. The aim was obviously just to get home, but going back the way I'd come wasn't the best option, or so I thought, going forwards and staying on the route I'd planned would be the best way to go. As it happened maybe going back might've been shorter, but there we go.


Setting off again with the aid of gravity, but this proved to be too fast for comfort, literally.

I did stop however to capture this burned out car near Ruan Lanihorne. One of the benefits of wearing an ugly bum bag is having the camera easily to hand.

I set off coasting down the hill wincing and grimacing at every slight bump, despite having the soft front suspension unlocked to ease the ride. It was too much, I had to slow down, and ended up in the very bottom gear pedaling extremely slowly, as every stroke of the pedals meant pain around my lower back. Going so slowly at least made bumps in the road easier to avoid or anticipate. The first uphill gave me a fresh problem of course, and I soon ground to a halt. But having painfully managed to get off, I found I could push the bike. It still hurt, but I was also still moving homewards, albeit very slowly. As I slowly plodded on, back on the bike on the flat and downhills, pushing on the ups, the pain was lessening and the tweaks getting fewer. Eventually, after 12 of the slowest miles I have ever done in my life, I made it home and was able to set about sorting myself out with tablets and rest.


Crappy map of the route. Merther Church is at the end of the dead end road numbered 6, the other dead end is number 10 and my back went ping roughly by the 'o' of Lamorran. 25 miles was the total and the weather was splendid, so despite the problems with bike and spine, I still enjoyed the ride immensely.
The full size map can be found at http://gb.mapometer.com/running/route_4483965.html
Why it says I was running I don't know - chance would be a fine thing!

Now, a couple of days later, my back is a heck of a lot better, in fact, it feels better than it has been in ages. The recovery has been quicker than usual, which is odd, but I'm not complaining!

The main thing is though, it hasn't dented my confidence, and if anything, it has actually given it a boost. I have always had concerns with regard to my back and what I'd do if I really ricked it while out. I've tweaked it many a time, and headed for home immediately, but never as badly as this, and certainly not out in the middle of nowhere with a bike in tow! But I made it home. It hurt like hell at the time but at least I made it, and what's more, with my Mojo still feeling refreshed, it hasn't spoiled the ride for me. I enjoyed every moment until the chain fell off, and as I think back to it now, I think of the positives rather than the negatives, which is unusual for me to say the least! Maybe all the pills I take are starting to work at last!

Whatever, it was a great day to be out and about, and I'm glad I went. I plan to head back to those roads and that area again soon too, as it is clearly all right up my street! 


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Sunday, 12 February 2017

Sausage or Bacon?

Not much has been happening Bimble wise again this week - just the one sallying forth. In my defence, not only am I still not fully back to normal mood wise, but the weather hasn't been up to much either.

I did manage to get out for one spin though, on Thursday, and once again I took the Voodoo as it was already mucky. Fatso, my On One Fatty really does look proper peachy when all spick and span after a good clean up, and it takes me ages to summon up the will to get out and get him filthy again, especially as he lives in my living room and I have to sit and either admire him all the time, or get depressed looking at all the grolly stuck to him after a mucky ride. I could of course, give any of my bikes a good power wash or hose down after every mucky ride, but... nah, that ain't happening! Most of the time I'm busting to get in the shower and have something to eat rather than wanting to fanny about with bike stands, hoses/pressure washers, power leads and buckets of frothiness.

So anyway, it was aboard the Voodoo that I set off into the bitingly cold and very stroppy South Easterly that was blowing, and nearly had me turning back too, such was the bitterness of the wind. But, I'd got that far, and wasn't planning an epic, just a light Bimble, so I thought I'd plug gamely on. 

Heading out along the old A39. The main road was updated and realigned some years ago, and now passes just 50 feet or so to the left here, so this isn't a quiet spot by any means. 

Another reason to carry on was that I had made the decision to liven things up a bit on this ride. Oh yes, I was going to throw caution to the (considerable) wind, live life well and truly on the edge, and go around my usual loop the other way to normal! Gadzooks! Yup, I normally go around in an anti clockwise direction, as the geography and attractions, lend themselves to that route, but every now and again I take a bravery pill and mix things up. Yup, that's the kind of guy I am.... (my tongue is pressed so firmly into my cheek right now it looks like I've got a whole Toblerone stuffed in my mouth. Sideways).

 Just along a bit from the above photo lies this (very) private wood. I'm busting to poke around in here as it all looks very photogenic, but there are fences, gates and signs up all warning of dire consequences awaiting any trespassers. The fallen tree here came down some months ago.

It's quite remarkable how different things can feel and appear too, simply going a well worn route in the opposite direction. For a start I was using the other side of the road of course, and that meant I was getting caught out by some of the bumps and lumps, whereas normally, I know exactly where they lie and avoid them without even thinking about it. 

From a photographic point of view, not much is different, 'cos of course, I stop to take photos and examine every angle anyway usually, but it's still rewarding to ride t'other way and see the views unfold from the other direction for a change. 



Mostly I was in the shelter of tree lined lanes, and even in winter when most of the trees are bare, they still give respite from the wind. But I did have to traverse a couple of open sections and my word, I copped some turbulence. Forget listening out for traffic creeping up behind too, that wasn't possible with the roaring in my ears as I bravely headed straight into the near gale. Like sticking your head in an Airbus shed when they're warming the engines up it was, glad I haven't got big ears that's all I can say. I can see why my old mate 'Wingnut' Wilkins never liked riding push bikes, not with his sticky out lug 'oles. Like a taxi parked with the doors open his head was, great with a tail wind mind you, not so hot going into it though.

The noise of the wind in the trees is joined here by the water of this stream gushing beneath the road via a culvert and emerging on the other side in a mini waterfall as the stream continues at quite a lower level. 

All in all though, it was well worth the effort involved in getting out, and I thoroughly enjoyed the ride once again. 


A couple of shots from a quick photo stop. This lane always has water running down it even many days after rain as the fields drain into it.

I didn't find complete absorption and peace in my surroundings though, as a couple of things were buzzing about in my head - like what the hell has happened to the word 'Fewer' all of a sudden? Has it been declared wrong or something recently? On the telly, in the local paper, on forums and so on, all I see suddenly or hear is 'less' when it really should be 'fewer'.  I don't know I really don't. I'm no language expert, but these things really steal my lunch. I know the common excuse is it's merely language evolving, but I don't see it as evolution (often a good thing) but rather just dumbing down, people not knowing or understanding basic words and terms in our own language, and in some professions, like journalism for instance, that is criminal. It's often the case that foreign folk speak, write and spell English better than we English ourselves, because they were taught it properly, possibly, and maybe are less exposed to it being mangled in public. Possibly the same is happening with their own languages too, I don't know. It still bugs me though. Makes me want to tread on a Doll's House it does. Oh and as for 'Levverage' being the force applied with a 'Leaver' (Lever) grrrr...

On a less grumptious note, I also was pondering on this ride, another matter of great importance - what is the best combination of food items to fit on one fork and then feed into one's welcoming mouth? 

For me there has to be the yokey bit of a runny fried egg, a bit of a chip, and some beans smeared over the top. But there is one additional ingredient to add and I can't make up my mind which adds the most flavour to this already scrumptious mouthful - Sausage or Bacon? I was pondering all this on my ride as I had decided I need to treat myself to some proper stodge for a change come dinner time that evening, and hang the repurcussions I would suffer later. The decision was made easier for me really as I only had Sausages in stock at home (Irish ones - lovely...) and not any Bacon (Boo!) but I can't decide if I was missing out on the perfect mouthful or not. I think I was pretty close with Sausage, Egg,|Chip and Beans though, but the big question still won't go away - Bacon instead of the Sausage... Hmmmm... only one way to find out I suppose...

Chuntering along Tregassow Lane once more, and I caught a glimpse of something bright red out of the corner of my eye. Normally unusual colours in the hedge or verge turn out to be discarded beer cans or similar rubbish, but on this occasion it was living soft and squishy things. I think this is Scarlet Elf Cup Fungus, I'm not up at all on Fungi and Mushrooms and so on, but whatever it is, it certainly catches the eye, even from a few yards away.

Important comestible matters aside, the great feeling I took from this ride was the sound of the wind thrashing, squeaking, graunching, cracking and clacking the branches about in the trees above me as I rode, snugly warm and calm in the shelter of the high banked lanes. Pottering along at about 5 mph and listening to all the rushing commotion going on above me was really rather special, and one of those invigorating moments when it just feels great to be outside.

Bacon, it has to be Bacon - it smells better while cooking too...

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Sunday, 5 February 2017

Is That A Storm Or Is It Just Winter?

There are some photos down yonder a bit, but no doubt they've got a bit muzzy fuzzy in bringing them across, so if you want to see 'em properly, right click and open 'em in another tab.

Like the Daffodils that are growing and flowering round here, the upward trend of my general mood continues, albeit slowly. 
I got out for a ride mid week but t'was a pretty straightforward bimble about, nothing much to report. The forecast said to expect rain from mid morning, and after setting off later than planned, sure enough it rained on me, but it wasn't enough to spoil the ride, and anyway, I was wearing overtrousers that do a fair job of keeping water out. I was sweating like a glass blower's arse mind you under all that clothing but still, I prefer that to the cold dribble down the neck or the damp crotch of shame you get when caught in the rain.

The big news this past week was the progress of imminent destruction that was storm Doris. The media was full of promises of woe while the Met Office tried to play down the threat but while also admitting it would get a tad blustery and wet. The Met Office are in a difficult position in many ways. Since the big old blow of 1987 when they denied a Hurricane was on the way, and a Hurricane then promptly trashed the place big time, they have been on their guard, not wanting to get the blame for not warning us properly. But then you have the media who need to sell papers and/or mouse clicks, who at the merest hint of a couple of snugly packed isobars, start warning us we're all going to be obliterated in the storm to end all storms. 

As it was, things did get pretty wet and also a bit windy on Thursday and Friday, but the culprit wasn't storm Doris (and who the flipping hell gives these storms such naff names by the way?), no, it was just winter. It's like that at this time of year, every year. Yes a few trees blew down, but that happens all the time anyway, and it is part of the slowest game of dominoes you'll ever see. A tree blows over in a wood, or beside a road, thereby exposing the next in line to the elements, and then that one cops it during the next big gusty period and so on. 

Anyway, we down here in Cornwall like a bit of a blow, it wakes us up a bit and blows the cobwebs away an' stuff. While some folk are nailing down their garden furniture and boarding up the windows, the Cornish are on the beach, or on a cliff top somewhere, facing into the wind, having the snot blown out of their nose and all over their face, flying their dog on its lead like one flies a kite, and generally enjoying being thoroughly weather blasted. What some people label severe and damaging gales, the locals round here call a good drying day and make plans to wash and hang out their smalls.

I'm not a huge fan of the Met Office though, despite defending them here, as they do seem to rely too much on their vastly expensive super computer and ignoring what is actually going on outside their very own office windows...

But still, enough of all that, Saturday dawned a lot brighter, and just a bit breezy, so as it was forecast to once again stay dry to start with, I thought I'd set off to see if the stream at Boswiddle Ford was running above the road again. 


Now this photo is the result of some serious surgery in intensive care, or Adobe Camera RAW, as it is otherwise known. It was very grey and overcast, yet the sun was still making its presence felt enough to cast shadows and generally give a witless photographer, and his camera's metering, a very hard time. I do love days like this, but by crikey it gives me some headaches trying to capture the resulting light adequately.

Firstly though, I had to pay a visit to Tregassow Lane, knowing full well it would be flooded in the usual places, and I'm a sucker for some splishy splashy photos. So I fished out the Magic Arm and clamped it to the Voodoo's crossbar (I'm old, bikes have crossbars...) so I could dangle the GoPro above the bars so it looked down over them and onto the front wheel beyond. It all looked a bit ungainly, and mounting the bike certainly was most inelegant with that lot waiting to to punch me in the face or chest, but I got the shots I was looking for. Only thing was I didn't place the clamp for the Magic Arm far enough back towards the seat, so it appears in the shots and cropping it out makes for an unbalanced photo, but there we go. That'll teach me to pay more attention to what I'm doing in the future.



I'll grow up one day, I promise. In the meantime I'll carry on playing in the puddles and trying to see how big a splash I can make. (Fatso is the bike for that, but he was tucked up in the warm on this day as I've just cleaned him again...)

I didn't ride the full length of Tregassow Lane this time though, instead turning back and making a more direct heading for Boswiddle. 


Trevella Stream, at the bottom of the hill out of St Erme. When the stream runs that muddy brown colour, you know we've had some rain. That and everywhere is wet and soggy of course...

It really is very pleasant riding on days like yesterday, as long as you're dressed correctly of course (and it was properly chilly when I set out), and the breeze was comfortable and calming rather than boisterous and physical, and everywhere had that eerie feel you get after a good storm bit of winter turbulence. The light gusts would still bring down a gentle shower of drops from the trees, and the lanes tricked and gurgled as water ran down them, but otherwise, all was tranquil.


I was stood on the verge at Five Turnings junction taking snaps when a young lady on a bike came up from Trevella Stream direction and hung a right heading towards Four Turnings. She was most apologetic about the fact she would be 'in the way' of my photos. Not at all! It made a nice change to show a cyclist in the scenery that doesn't involve setting up tripods and getting my photo face on and so on.

Having said all the above, here is a selfie shot of me out and about in the world. This is on the lane that drops down from Five Turnings towards Boswiddle, and I've often looked back up the hill from the sharp right hander and thought it might make for a photo, but usually the bright sky has been highlight blowingly bright. But given the grumpy sky yesterday I thought I'd give it a go. I did take other shots as I came down the hill and got a lot closer to the camera, but I like this one, although I did give it a short back and sides with the digital scissors, as the original was zoomed in anyway, so some cropping was needed here to show off the old boy on the horizon better.

Boswiddle Ford wasn't very tranquil though, although the roar is still addictively refreshing, and the stream was indeed running above the road, which is how I like it! So I parked the faithful Voodoo at one end of the ford and set about taking a few photos to try and capture the feel of the place. 


 It wasn't me that busted the fence... It was like that when I got there... honest...


I'm not a huge fan of long exposures for moving water I must admit, as it seems to be very over done now, although the technique does have its place, and as with everything, it's all a matter of taste anyway. But I find it's often quite refreshing to see photos taken by 'non photographers' on their phones and sent in to the papers and so on, as they show, for example waves, as we see them - all splashy and lumpy, rather than smooth and smokey as 'proper' landscape photographerists are prone to displaying them. The same goes with streams and rivers, but on this occasion, I did want to try and capture the speed of the water flow so got busy with the tripods, both normal and tiny, and spent an absorbing 45 minutes or more, wandering about, looking at the angles and at what was there to see - all the kind of thing I enjoy about being somewhere such as this and poking about with a camera in my hand. 


 Sometimes you have to break your own rules, and on this occasion I broke one of mine and made the exposures as long as a fat bloke's fart to capture the speed and flow of the water.

Huge panorama, but I hope it conveys a little of why I find this spot so appealing.

Riding a bike you get to see, feel, smell, taste and hear the  surrounding countryside and the weather too, and with a camera along for the ride, you go looking for stuff to photograph, and so see, and in my case learn, more as well. For banishing all the bad stuff from life a good ride and poke about with a camera does me at least, a power of good as I get lost in my immediate environment and the task at hand.


Bike wheel on the still side of the ford. Fascinating stuff eh?

Back to practical matters and I'm pleased to say that my twenty five quid boots from Decathlon continue to repel water, even when submerged almost to the ankle in a fast moving ford - I know I've wittered on about these budget Beetle Crushers before, but I am really rather impressed with them to say the least.



Riding under the trees is sometimes like riding up the aisle of a big church, or a cathedral even, albeit one without a roof, and without the wine and nibbles too. But anyway, the wine is just a sip (and the priest geezer always holds the base of the goblet with his other hand to stop you tipping it up to get yourself a good mouthful) and the bread is pretty poor I must say. You spend the rest of Sunday trying to unpeel it from the roof of your mouth, and it'd make some pretty lousy sandwiches it has to be said. At a tenner for 250 slices online you'd think it was a bit of a bargain, but give me a Kingsmill 50/50 every time. At least you can fish the Kingsmill out of the toaster, unlike the stuff from the church.

What relaxation looks like.

The remainder of the ride was peaceful and pleasant, if a bit uneventful, as I headed homewards for lunch. I got home just in time too as it slapped it down just as I parked my freshly showered backside in my favourite chair with a bowl of steaming soup. I say just in time, as unlike on the previous ride, I hadn't bothered wearing, or even taking, my leggings with me, so would've got a right sluicing. But I trusted the forecast and again they'd got it right. (I still give 'em hell and call 'em useless articles when they cock it up though...)


Almost home and I saw the Daffodils on the corner have started to come out already. A very welcome sight they are too.

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