A returning Anna from the Lakes, via South London, to start off Saturday morning.

The poor girl had been up since before 6am, working as well.

I had a more leisurely start to the weekend.

The Postman Delivers: A Dennis the Menace hand-knitted jumped.


I have been searching for something similar for sometime.

After fruitless online searches, I was put in touch with a charming lady from the north who does hand knitting to order.

A simple Paypal transaction, some measurements, and then three weeks later and my transition to a childhood cartoon character is almost complete.


There was almost another Saturday fashion faux pas when it came to the weekend ride.

We have entered the season where short-sleeved lycra is a little risky.

I put on the armies, and then a short-sleeved lycra piece over the top.

The short walk down to the garden shed brought me out in a minor sweat, and so off came the armies.

BIG mistake.

Five minutes in to the Wifey Weekend Roll Out and I was bloody freezing.

We pressed on out towards Wrabness. It's a destination that has long been on our radar.

Passing Transpontine lifestyles has meant that timing has been tricky.

The highlight of the ride out was a rather large pheasant flying out right in front of us from an Essex hedgerow.

I thought that it was a mutant pigeon at first.

Wrabness was reached. We took a luncheon picnic outside Grayson Perry's Essex house.

A wander along the beach / estuary followed.

I had been told about the rather up-market beach huts. I fell in love with them instantly. I confess to some property porn Googling back at base later in the evening.

Anna took me on a slightly different detour for the ride back.

I have no idea where she has picked up this estuary wilds back lane knowledge.

But then again she gets confused when I try and show her the Brixton back routes.

We had optimistically packed the swimming kit, penciling in a quick swim and clean up at the pool for the return journey.

Balls to that.

We were both bloody knackered.

ROCK 'N' ROLL gardening during the fading estuary light was the alternative.

A lone large daisy (haven't a clue what the botanical name is) is shining a solitary light for a fading summer.

The lawn has long since had its final mow of the season.

Saturday came to a close watching the rugby with the same level of interest that I have in watching a D***y match.

Another BIG day in the saddle tomorrow.

Oh dear.

Last built: Sun, Jan 31, 2016 at 3:07 AM

By Jason A.Cobb, Saturday, September 26, 2015 at 3:54 PM. Still diggin!