A misty morning meant it was a long sleeve lycra top first thing. Plus the plus four cycling tights, and don’t forget the GILET as well.
I look a right side.
It all felt FANTASTIC.
The ride itself was the usual Wifey Weekend Roll Out, minus the Wifey. She was stripping back in South London.
…we’ve got the plasterers in tomorrow.
And so my solitary, singular ride gave way to a smile shortly after rolling out when I passed a couple on a tandem. This would never work for Anna and I. There would be arguments and accidents before we even had time to shift the first gear.
It seemed that the entire Essex cycling community - whatever that is - was out riding before 8am on Sunday. We are entering the transition period where road bikes are put away for the winter months and the blood;y ugly winter bikes with mudguards start to clog up the lanes.
Many of the back lanes were still a little too heavy on gravel for my liking. It certainly slowed me down, leading to a rather disappointing Strava outcome.
My random unscientific observation from the morning is that road bike cyclists are lovely; it’s the MTB brutes that fail to return a friendly HELLOOO!
Get back to the dirt track, boys.
I stopped off for a quick swim on the return leg. Pool was full of poseurs and plasters. I failed to contribute to either category.
I settled down for some work after luncheon, and then admitted that I’m entering another of my musical obsessive phases.
These come along every six months or so - I simply can’t stop playing a particular album.
The late summer of 2014 has been defined by The Front Line CD box set, a sampler of the Virgin imprint form the late 1970’s.
I just can;t stop playing it.
It’s mainly roots, but with a little bit of early dub in there as well. What is striking is how some of the South London political messages from back in the day are still relevant now.
The trick with any musical obsession is knowing to get out before the overkill sets in. A rather unhealthy Beatles obsession back in the day has still kept me away from endless Twickenham outtakes.
But I’m enjoying immensely The Front Line for now.
I downed tools mid-afternoon to watch the England t20 twaddle. The traditionalist within rather enjoyed all of the excitement.
Poor old / young J-Roy. A rare, careless slog, and back in the hutch for 8.
His time will come.
It's been quite a week in hyperlocal matter for the borough that hangs out the arse of London. The Tory Leader stepped down after it was revealed that he took a legal extra £10k on his already high allowance salary, yet forgot to tell anyone.
I'll try and edit and publish #METROKNOBBERS tomorrow. It was refreshing to have a third voice joining in with the podcast crap.
And then an evening of work.
What else are Sundays for?