Urban Cycling Stories

I caught an episode of The Montel Williams Show this morning, (an American chat show on ITV3 for the majority who have probably never heard of it - and it's my job to watch it ok!) and as a picture of two women on mountain bikes was shown, I turned the sound up. We went into the commercial break and I noticed the theme of the show was "When Animals Attack", hmmm, this could be interesting.

When I first went out to ride in California I heard a horrific story about a mountain lion that had attacked some cyclists on the trail - this couldn't be the same story could it?

Back to the show and Montel was talking to Anne. She'd been out riding with her friend Debbie one day on their local trails somewhere in America. Anne had ridden ahead slightly and came across a man who had stopped in an inconvenient place on the trail and was holding a second bike. He asked Anne if she knew whose bike it was because he'd just found it lying by the side of the trail. Anne thought he was joking and that his mate must be somewhere in the bushes answering a call of nature, and rode on.

A hundred yards on, just around the next corner, a 120lb mountain lion pounced on the back of Anne and bit down on her head and cycling helmet, dragging her to the floor. The cat was constantly readjusting its grip and grabbed onto Anne's cheek, tearing it partially off. At this point Debbie came around the corner and heard her friend's screams. A 'tug-of-war' ensued, as they described it, with the lion trying to drag Anne down into the gorge by her face, and Debbie desperately clinging onto her legs! Some more people came to help and threw whatever they could find at the cat to get it to let go. Finally it did, and ran off.

Anne was air lifted to hospital, and as the helicopter took off the pilot spotted another body, the owner of the abandoned bike. The mountain lion was hunted down that night and shot, only to find that it had attacked and killed the other rider, Mark Reynolds, earlier on that morning before the attack on Anne.

It's easy to forget just how easy we have it riding bikes in the UK sometimes; apart from our own stupidity and maybe the odd nutter, there's nothing we really have to worry about. I often pop out for a ride, especially in the summer, in shorts and t-shirt with just a water bottle and a basic tool kit safe in the knowledge that my life isn't in danger.

I'm sure this complacency will bite me in the arse one day. It's come close a few times (especially the Downieville incident a few years ago!) and for a while I will make sure I take food, a long sleeve top, first aid kit, space blanket and other sundry essentials with me on every ride. A dozen rides later and I'm back to the minimum.

I'm heading out to California again in a few weeks so this was a poignant reminder to retrieve a few survival essentials from my winter walking rucksack and throw them in my Camelbak. You never know what might happen...

Balance

I'm a great believer in the natural balance of life. Similar to a commercial that was on TV a few years back, I believe that for everything good that happens, something equally bad will happen; for every high in life, there will be a low of equal proportion.

My life is full of fantastic experiences and exquisite moments of fun and happiness, there's never a dull moment. But it did take me a while to figure out that every time I was having loads of fun, at some point this would come crashing down and plummet to some very low places; 'heading for a fall' is a phrase I often hear. Still, you can't have the highs without the lows, so I wouldn't change it for all the world.

Anyway, I've digressed slightly and this philosophy stuff can all get a bit heavy. But the theory is also carried over to intelligence - for every moment of genius, there follows one of equal stupidity: my boiler broke down during the week and I didn't have any hot water. I called some plumbers and heating engineers and after 2 days none of them had returned my call. So I looked up the problem on the internet and within 15 minutes I'd saved myself a call-out charge and fixed the boiler. I also bled the radiators and balanced the system. Oooh, look at me! I was very pleased with my new found plumbing skills and carried a rather smug grin for the rest of the week.

Fast forward a couple of days to the morning of Saturday the 19th of July (i.e. today) and I jump in my car early this morning to drive to work. Turning out of my road I can't quite remember whether I normally take the main route or the windy back route to the A41 when I drive to work. As I drive down the road and join the A41 dual carriageway, the reason why I can't remember which route I normally take suddenly dawns on me: I don't actually take the A41 to work. I take the M1, which is on the other side of Hemel Hempstead. I was going the wrong way!

All local road knowledge abandoned me and it took a good twenty minutes to find the M1 and get on my way to work. I smiled to myself with the calm realisation of what had happened; my moment of boiler genius had been equalled by getting lost half a mile from my house and going the wrong way to work.

Balance has been restored.

A Perfect Bank Holiday Monday?

So another bank holiday rolls around (aren’t there a lot in May?) and the dilemma of what to do. Actually it’s more like a quad-ilemma but I don’t think that’s a word, so we’ll go with double dilemma for now.

Option a) Cancel your leave and have a long lie in followed by a relaxing day at work with no office staff or managers around, take it easy, watch some TV and drink as much free tea and coffee as you can manage, get home around midnight then have another day off.
Aha? Interesting. It’s a possibility but it is still work. And it does mean travelling into central London on a Bank Holiday – there’s probably engineering works on the train line, replacement bus service, tourists everywhere etc etc and I hate all that!

Okay, option b) Don’t cancel your leave. Have a long lie in followed by a relaxing day on the sofa, eat what you want, watch want you want and listen to the rain pounding on the window from underneath your cosy, warm duvet. Just generally kick back, relax and take it easy.
Oooh! Like your thinking. Now that does sound like a good way to spend a Bank Holiday, because I am still ill obviously…
Well, obviously…
And that sounds like just the kind of thing I need – but I’ve been doing that for the last couple of days really and I’m a bit bored of it now.

I see your point, so how about option c) Go on a mountain bike holiday to the lovely Swiss alpine town of Verbier – take in the fresh mountain air, stay in a luxury chalet, drink lots of ice cold beer, ride great trails all week and just admire the views.
Hey! Now you’re talking! Just one problem – there was a slight error on my part when booking the flights and now they’re going to cost a fortune and I can’t really afford it at the moment because I do have a new bike to pay for…

Fair enough. So option d) Get up at 6am, drive 100 miles in the pouring rain and spend the day doing building trails on a steep, slippery, muddy hillside, hacking through shoulder high bracken and thistles, getting scratched by thorns, stung by nettles and give yourself blisters on your thumbs whilst desperately trying to stay upright in the thick mud and the driving wind and rain. Get soaked to the bone, covered in dirt, freezing cold and totally wear yourself out.
Hmmm…
What?
Well apart from the obvious…
You mean the early start, the mud, the rain, the cold, the wind, the manual work, the blisters, the thorns, the nettles, the slimy bugs…
Oh yes, I’d forgotten the slimy, nasty little creatures, well remembered…
Thanks, so where were we? Oh yes, nettles, the slimy bugs, that nasty little drip that drops off your sodden woolly hat and down the back of your neck. So apart from those…
Yes, apart from those… Oh, arse!
What?!
(sigh)I’ll get my car keys, you fill the thermos, it’s going to be a long, long day…

Back to Earth with a Bump

All good things must come to an end; it was inevitable that after my great week playing about on bikes, that it would end. In fact it came to an abrupt halt.

I read somewhere not so long ago that Noel Edmonds believes the universe is constantly trying to give us exactly what we want, but we either ignore the signs, don't listen or fight against it. I've always be someone who goes with the flow and happily cruises along through life taking whatever it throws at me and not really worrying too much about anything else. This may be one of the reasons why I enjoy life so much - I have no inclination to fight against the universe and it obviously appreciates this and leaves me alone. Most of the time...

Now and again however it gives me a little reminder that it's still there, watching, waiting for me to start a rebellion. There was a small skirmish on Sunday but my pathetic attempt at a power shift was rapidly overthrown. I should have known. All the signs were there, I just didn't see them.

It was the Forest of Dean Classic sportive and I'd decided to drive over to Monmouth at 6am as a last gasp attempt to get fit for the Tour of Ireland. (I know, I know, it's far too late to gain any fitness but at least I'd give my legs a spin and I had to feel like I was doing something.) Anyway, 6am, the sun was shining. Pah, what do the weathermen know - rain my foot! I picked up my kit bag and as I loaded into the car I felt a sharp pain shoot across my lower back. Ow! Sitting in the car was uncomfortable to say the least. But I persevered.

Somewhere near Oxford it started to rain. I turned on the windscreen wipers and they started smearing an inch wide strip right in my eye line. After a few miles I had to stop to clean the wiperblade and as I leant over to pull it up I felt another sharp pain in my back. This was going to make it a very long and painful day. I looked back up the road and thought about going home. But no, I persevered.

On the A40 approaching Birdlip there was a huge black cloud somewhere over Gloucester and three, large, consecutive lightning strikes! Now if that isn't a sign from a higher power to turn around now or face certain doom, then I don't know what is. But still, I persevered.

I finally arrived at Monmouth and set off on the 85 mile route. Just minutes into the first of the fourteen climbs my heart rate was unusually high and after riding out of the saddle for a few minutes around one of the hairpins my shoulders went dead; a sensation I usually only encounter at the end of a long ride on a steep climb. Being a finely tuned athlete (ahem!) I knew there was something very wrong, and persevered...

Just a couple of miles later my recurring knee problem started. For some reason I thought I'd be able to ride it off the way I had done on the last couple of rides. After 15 miles it wasn't easing. After 20 miles I was dropping into the lowest gear on any incline so I could spin up rather than having to put pressure on my knee. At 25 miles I was wondering which was the shortest way back to the car. At 30 miles I was standing in a torrential downpour, removing my number and getting directions home. I quit. I was beaten. But the worst was yet to come...

I started the drive home and soon got tired. I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open. I was feeling slightly unwell by this point and even though I clocked up 46 miles on the bike, hadn't felt like eating anything. Traffic was slow and it was taking longer than usual. I pulled over to take a snooze, jumped out of the car and promptly threw up. Another deluge started as I was standing by the car.

So there I was, standing on the side of the A40 in torrential rain, throwing up, with a bad back, a sore knee, a headache and the first signs of flu. The universe had reasserted its authority without any room for doubt about who's boss and it's not a theory I will be testing again in the near future. From now on just stay quiet, watch, listen, and the universe will take care of the rest. Trust me!

Trying to be a bad day

Still buzzing from Sundays surprise podium place, Monday was a day off to relax and enjoy the sunshine. Or so I thought. My mobile phone had been covered in coffee Sunday morning and had stopped working. It had been on the radiator all night in an attempt to dry it out. It still wasn't working and my mobile phone company were less than helpful. I tried to check the internet for tips to sort out the problem, my internet connection was down as well.

I made myself a cup of tea and a good breakfast and settled on the sofa to watch a bit of daytime TV - my digital receiver had packed up. This was a technological conspiracy. I know I rely on my mobile phone a lot, but this was getting ridiculous - my mobile phone breaks and the rest of my house throws a hissy fit.

So, DTT box unplugged I set to work on the internet connection. Some fiddling and frantic searching for long forgotten passwords and it was up and running. Yes! My website was down. No! More internet faffing with passwords and the website was back up. Yes! Technology 2, me 1. No! I was still losing the war against the machines.

I went to do something more basic that didn't involve anything with a chip in it - a bit of DIY. I started assembling the flat pack set of drawers for my bedroom. After rounding off the ends of two Philips screwdrivers, one of which was an electric one, I was reduced to assembling the furniture with a freebie multitool from the front of an issue of MBUK magazine! My hand was getting sore and sweaty and as I put pressure on one particularly tough screw I slipped and a flathead screwdriver on the other side of the multitool went into my palm! I jumped back in shock and banged my head on the corner of the chimney breast.

It was definitely not my day. Inanimate object 1, me 0. Time to quit while I still had some dignity and drown my inadequacies in the bottom of a large wine glass. It was at this point that trusty, reliable humans stepped in to save the day.

I received an email from an old university friend, Niall Varley, who'd googled me and found this website. I haven't heard from him for at least 5 years, but hopefully we'll get to meet up in Ireland when I'm there in May. Maybe technology isn't all that bad after all. Then some great news I'd been waiting for from another friend in Canada. I'm not going to say too much about that just yet, it'll be a surprise! But I am very, very excited. I went to bed happy (with a throbbing head and sore hand, you can't have everything I suppose.)

"30 in 30" Days 6 & 7

When did I cross over into a parallel universe? If somebody could tell me, and then pull me back into normal universe, that'd be great, because at the moment I'm in the Universe of Cycling Chaos.

Day 6 - hour on the turbo. I'm going slightly mad, it finally happened, I'm slightly mad...
Then, riding through London on the way to work I stopped at the traffic lights on a pedestrian crossing. People crossed. The little man turned red, the traffic lights turned green and I pushed off - just as some woman walked straight into me in the middle of the road. Then she shouted at me!
That's right, SHE shouted at ME for going through a green light! I swear if I'd had a handbag like old Baroness whatsherface I'd have clouted her round the bonce with it. I rode off in a British (quietly outraged) manner.

Day 7 - Finally out on my bike in the fresh air and physically moving. Couple of hours exploring the local woods again.
Then, having spent much of the ride stealing cheeky trails, a man wearing an anorak holding a litter picker shouted at me for making the bridleway muddy.
That's right, HE shouted at ME for riding on a bridleway!

Looks like I'm not the only one who's gone mad, the whole word is slightly gaga. But these last couple of days have taught me a valuable life lesson: do what you want, when you want, where you want, because someone will shout at you for doing it anyway.

Barcelona!

(Sing it like ya mean it, Freddie Mercury style!) Well, what a couple of days. I'd never been to Barcelona and I'm so glad I decided to go - it's a lovely city and my makeshift host for the day was fantastic. I find in life that there are some people you just click with - there's no awkwardness, you're on the same wavelength with everything and the whole thing just feels natural. Troy is definitely one of those people, with an extra something special on top.

Soon after we met in Placa de Catalunya and found a quiet little place for coffee, the conversation turned from the usual catch up chatter to the random everyday observations of two friends who meet up regularly, rather than once a year. Topics ranged from American politics and global warming, to turtles and philosophy, with plenty of laughter and jokes thrown in. I can't remember the last time I laughed that much in one day!

Talking only ceased to be interspersed with lots of "oohs", "aahs" and "wows" as we toured round such sites as the Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's extravagant and still unfinished 19th century church in the heart of the city. And believe me when I say that "wow" was used every other word, but still doesn't fully express the magnificence of this building!

More site seeing under the guise of a pub crawl filled the afternoon and from the way were just wandering into any bars, cafes and restaurants we came across and still being treated to superb coffee and excellent food, I'd say Barcelona is a fairly good city for all of these things. And pretty cheap too. It's also small enough to be able to walk around without any real destination and bump into the various churches, museums and architectural masterpieces of Antonio Gaudi that Barcelona is famous for.

The Spanish eat late, so we went to the popular, exotic La Fianna restaurant and cocktail bar and soon made ourselves at home on the huge cushioned seats sitting cross legged with our shoes off (no, it wasn't just us, this is the style of the restaurant, honest).

Many hours and a few more drinks later (ahem) and the day was well and truly over. Troy had to leave early Wednesday morning to catch his flight and I was sad to see him go - but I don't think my liver was. The day was spent taking in more sites in the cool sea air and then it was time for me to leave.

An extremely successful and fun little adventure that I'm unlikely to ever forget and a tenuous friendship well and truly cemented; hopefully for a return trip in 12 years to see the finished Sagrada Familia. That would be awesome!

Zippededoodah!

Having such a busy week ahead really kicked me into gear. I got everything done that I needed to on Thursday and Friday - taxis booked, paperwork sorted, final bits of shopping done, I've got all the essentials I need now; I can't imagine the next time I'll walk into a chemist and ask "do these diarrhoea tablets come in larger packs?" I usually end up leaving this stuff to the last minute and it's a mad panic at the end, but I'm actually ahead of the game now. As my secondary school tutor once said (Mr Pickles, not the other idiot), "if you want something done, ask a busy person." Never a truer word said.

Then to the weekend. I couldn't possibly have asked for three such perfect days! An early start saturday morning in glorious sunshine with clear blue skies saw Tony, Jim, Me and Newbie Dale set off on yet another section of Offa's Dyke. This time it was the 15 mile stretch between Hay-on-Wye and Kington (aka Tony's house, and the 15 miles was actually the estimation straight to Tony's door, rather than a town down the road...)

Jim had packed his spare sense of humour but we didn't need it this time. He steered clear of the Coins of Doom (chocolate coins) which he blamed for his bad mood swing last time, and stocked up on Tangfastics instead. We decided to ply Newbie with Coins of Doom instead and restrict the antedote, to see if they had the same affect. They didn't. It's just Jim. Newbie got his comeupence on the last stretch over the moor. It was fairly boggy in places and Tony and I were slightly ahead of the other two and walked around a large section of bog. Jim and Newbie approached and started to walk round as well, after a few feet I shouted to Dale "It's alright there." Actually having no idea whether it was or not, but just curious to see if he'd fall for it? Thinking that because I'd only met him that day and therefore wouldn't possibly be so cheeky to lie to him about it, he stepped ankle deep into the bog. He just doesn't know me at all...
Another superb 6.5hours of walking and the weather was just silly for this time of year. Can't wait for the next one!

Straight on up north Saturday night and another frosty, crisp, stunning morning on Sunday. The cold didn't help my poor, tight hamstrings and I hoped they'd loosen up after a few miles. Hours later they did loosen up, and then died. Maybe a 100km road ride wasn't a great idea after a long day walking. By the time I'd come to this conclusion though it was too late and I was already at the furthest point. No way out now.

Many, many, many miles later (50 ish) and my GPS was saying only 20km to the end of the route. Hurray! It was getting dark, I was very hungry, out of water, my legs were like lead and it was getting cold, but I can manage that. Sadly, I'd done a 'Tony' - it was 20km to where the end of the route meets up with part of the first section, the hotel was further away...

Oh dear. Another sense of humour failure, from my riding partner. It probably wasn't the right time to tell them that the batteries on my GPS were dying. Must ride faster. And even though the setting sun did signify impending doom (hypothermia, dangerous roads with no lights, increased possibility of getting lost), it was really pretty! See, there's always a silver lining!

A beautiful forest walk today and then home to prepare for the next leg of my journey. If the rest of February is as amazing as the last few days, I'm in for a real treat!

The Best Kind of Predicament

So here's how my day took a bizarre turn. All was going pretty well. (Actually, the word catastrophic had been used more than once today, but fortunately it wasn't our fault, so it depends from whose point of view you look at things, anyway...) Early evening I got a text from a friend in Colorado who said he was on a plane to Barcelona for the week, did I want to meet up?

It sounded fun so I looked at the price of flights and getting a couple of days off. It would mean the next few days would be a bit busier than I'd hoped because I had shopping to do, nurse appointments, was driving to Wales friday night for a weekend walk and then heading north to ride bikes for a bit. Still, perfectly do-able.

Then it dawned on me, I don't have my passport, it's with the Tanzanian High Commission! Hmmm, with a little bit of effort and a lot of organisation, this is perfectly do-able; I think...

So, after some frantic phone calls: if I swap my Thursday early shift to a late shift, move my nurses appointment to friday afternoon, go to the Post Office Thursday morning to see if my passport is there and if not go to the Tanzanian High Commission, that all means I can still do the shopping I need Thursday lunchtime, do an early shift friday, straight to the nurse for a Rabies vaccination then onto Wales. Phew! That's if I spend all evening packing my stuff and then load the car tomorrow morning.

Then, I can be in Wales late friday evening, do a 20 mile walk on Saturday, drive north Saturday night, ride bikes on Sunday and Monday, be back in time for night shift Monday night. Get to the airport early Tuesday morning, fly to Barcelona in time for lunch. Spend the day there, fly home Wednesday evening in time for night shift Wednesday. Unpack the car on Thursday and start packing my stuff again. Sleep.

Night shift Thursday, drive straight up to Todmorden Friday morning, birthday ride for Chipps' 40th birthday on Saturday, drive home in the evening. Unpack the car, tidy up, straighten the house, double check I have packed everything for my holiday(!), get to the coach station at 4am to catch a plane from Heathrow at 8am Sunday 17th February to fly to Tanzania for two weeks. Woohoo!

Yep, that's er, do-able. Only time will tell I guess.

Karma v Red Ken

I get the train to work most days and use a Giant Halfway folding bike to get to and from the stations. After a late shift the trains are few and far between, one every half an hour, and to get home at a reasonable hour means I have exactly 24 minutes between my shift finishing and the 22:54 leaving the station.

The equation for this little task goes thus: L = d/(t-2f) x 12K. Where L is the likelihood of me making it, d is distance, t is time, f is the faff time it takes me to get my coat on, run down the stairs, into the underground car park, unlock the bike, turn my lights on and be let out of the security gates; and also the time it takes walking on the pavement to get into the station, across the concourse, find my ticket, down the ramp, wait for the lazy, jobsworth ticket collector to stop chatting to his mate and open up the gate, along the platform and onto the train, all -30secs because "doors will be closed 30seconds before departure time to guarantee a prompt departure".

And then we get to the 12K part, and as anybody who lives in London will know, this stands for Red Ken, the good old Mayor of London himself; whose loves of traffic lights is second to none! His traffic calming measures, one way systems, bendy buses and random 1lane-2lane-3lane-1lane policies are so radical that no-one else in the world seems to be able to understand them enough to implement them, any of them...

So here stands my problem: 12 sets of Red Kens finest traffic lights between me and my destination, making L = about 0.33. But, to fight the red hand of Ken I have employed a much older philosophical approach, that of Karma. Tonight, at the second set of traffic lights, desperate to make the train, the lights were red and pedestrians were waiting to cross. The little man turned green and they stood there looking at me.
"Little man green, people move feet, walk across road..." I barked patronisingly. Not a good move, the next 2 sets of lights were red for ages!! I wasn't going to make it. Damn him!

Set 5 and again the lights were red. A pedestrian was waiting to cross so I pulled up slowly. He saw me and before stepping out bowed his head slightly and waved me through (like a proper gent).
"No, no, I insist" I replied with the same gesturing wave of my hand.
"Why thank you very much" he said politely, smiling as he crossed the road.
"My pleasure!" And I was on my way once more. Hallelujah! It was as if Moses himself was riding ET style on my handlebars - every single set of traffic lights turned green just as I approached and I sailed on up the road to reach the train with time to spare! Karma 1, Red Ken 0.

Old Friends, New Aches

So with a hectic and exhausting Christmas and New Year behind me it was time to go and relax and do those things I enjoy. Sadly Friday was a total wash out with torrential rain all day, ruining my plans for any kind of ride in Herefordshire. I hoped the weather would improve on Saturday ready for my annual walk with an old friend.

Many years ago in Ludlow my running partner introduced me to one of his work colleagues, Tony Collier. Days later the three of us were on the summit of Mont Blanc - an event which kick started what we all consider to be one of the best three weeks of our lives. Then I went off to university and didn't see much of them. Life changed for everybody, a lot!

But I somehow managed to stay in touch with Tony and once a year we combine our busy lives and pop out for a mountain walk. I use the phrase 'pop out' at its most ironic. These are rarely walks in the park and usually turn into epics; Saturday was no different.

A beautiful crisp morning with a dusting of snow on the hills greeted us. The plan was to walk a 15 mile stretch of the Offa's Dyke Trail from Knighton to Kington (a practice for something even more epic Tony has planned for next year. Eek!) Straight up the hill out of the valley and onto the tops. Progress was slow with endless styles to cross - made all the more difficult due to Tony still recovering from a severe arm injury last September.

Now, on a bike, I wouldn't even blink at the thought of a 15 mile ride, everything changes on foot though! 7 hours later, darkness drawing in, a few spots of rain in the air, concentration waning and senses-of-humour failed (if anybody finds a sense of humour up on the totally pointless mile long dog leg round the field on the Path just outside Kington, could they return it to Jim please?) we were faced with Tony's minor miscalculation - it was indeed 15 miles from Knighton to Kington. However, Tony lives 4 miles outside of Kington...

TONY'S PLAN A: Walk up and down the really, really steep hill and down the other side, in the slippy mud, in the dark, with no map, the 1.5miles to Tony's house.
JIM'S PLAN B: Walk the 4 miles along the very dangerous, fast stretch of main road, wearing all black clothing.
Obviously, being the hardy outdoor adventurous types that we are - Tony and Jim are ex-army - we cunningly came up with another plan.
PLAN C: Phone Tony's daughter Beth to come and pick us up from Kington in the car. Problem solved! Minutes later, cup of tea and cake in hand, we were regaling Beth with the tales and photos of the last 7 hours and already planning the next, longer walk.

Some photos to follow soon; I'm still recovering, I mean, er, I'm too busy, tending my blisters... Hardcore me, hardcore!

The Meaning of Life

So on the train into work this evening I was feeling a bit old - it was packed with young girls in little skirts and tight black tops, and boys trying to look older than they were rehearsing their birth date in case they were asked. All of them had carrier bags full of 'tinnies', large bottles of Magners or the timeless bottle of Coca-Cola or Sprite (which as we all know has been half emptied of its original contents and topped up with vodka). Still, I can hardly pass judgement, that was me not so long ago. And just as I did all those years ago, I bet they sat there thinking how cool they looked and I was just a stuffy older person who'd never done any of that stuff.

It was only the other week I was reminded of what great times I had as a teenager. I met up with 3 uni friends in Essex for our annual 'my birthday/Xmas/annual/we-really-don't-see-each-other-enough' night out. These were the 3 guys I spent a couple of amazing New Year's Eves with in Edinburgh - including Millenium New Year, and I don't think any of us will ever remember exactly what happened THAT night (apart from the kissing competition obviously, 250 to beat boys!)

At that point, I smiled at the young pups on the train. Whatever they thought they were doing and however cool they thought they were, it had all been done before - and it was old news when I did it...

I finally made it to work. Believe it or not New Year's Eve is by far one of the best nights to work. We have, without doubt, the best view in London. I fought my way through the crowds of thousands on Waterloo bridge into the building and up to the roof. More pictures posted tomorrow, but there's really no place I'd rather be. It's the only perk left in my job.

When that had all finished I went back to work and while we all sat there discussing what may happen in the year ahead, I was reminded of this:

"Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving,
Revolving at 900 miles an hour.
That's orbiting at 19 miles a second so it's reckoned,
A sun that is the source of all our power.
The sun, and you and me, and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day!
In an outer spiral arm at 40,000 miles an hour,
In a galaxy we call the Milky Way.

Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars,
It's a hundred thousand light years side to side,
It bulges in the middle 16,000 light years thick,
But out by us it's just 3,000 light years wide.
We're 30,000 light years from galactic central point,
We go round every 200 million years!
And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions in this amazing and expanding universe!

The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whizz.
As fast as it can go, the speed of light ya know,
12 million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth?
And prey that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space,
Cos there's bugger all down here on earth!

Thanks to Frank for that one, and Monty Python obviously. 2008 is going to be a good year, I can feel it...

Happy New Year everybody!

A cough...

So, following on from my last blog, I'm still ill. And I'm too fed up to rant now. It's been a rubbish couple of days. Not least because I spent over an hour waiting to see the doctor again yesterday; for the third time in six weeks. Big deal you might think? But before this, I hadn't been to see my GP once in 3 years!

I have nothing against doctors, I just personally don't find them very useful as I have very little need for them. On the few occassions I have been to seem them over the years, they've mostly been rubbish - giving me the wrong information or the wrong diagnosis. Like the time I damaged the tendon in my shoulder joint and the doctor had me doing shoulder shrugs - my physios mouth dropped when I told him. Or the time I had mumps and it wasn't spotted until the following week when 4 of my class mates got mumps! Other instances I won't go into.

But it's not just the good old NHS, it seems it's the same across the Atlantic as well, no matter how much you pay.

Last September I flew to Colorado and a few days later I woke up one morning with a cramp-like feeling in my right leg. Fortunately, it didn't totally cramp up. A few days later the area started to get quite solid, looked bruised and was really quite painful when walking. I popped in to see a friend who recommended a physio to see for a massage to work out what was probably a muscle knot. The physio refused to touch it when I told her I'd only flown in last week as it could possibly be DVT and I should go to hospital immediately!

So I went. And walked up to reception and told the receptionist I'd flown from the UK last week and the physio thinks it's DVT and that I have a "pain in my right calf." It was serious enough to be placed ahead of the guy with the foot and the woman with the finger.

A waiting room stint, a check over, some tests and an ultra-sound later, I was diagnosed with, wait for it... "right calf pain"...

Fast forward again to thursday, a different doctor to the first two times. She read my notes and I added that the bronchitis I'd been diagnosed with wasn't getting any better, I had a back pain almost constantly and these last couple of days I'd been feeling quite dizzy. (I didn't mention that I'd almost collapsed whilst brushing my teeth wednesday night, it's not the most strenuous of tasks and, well, I have got an electric toothbrush...)

Again, more checks - she told me to breathe. I did that. And from that in depth investigation she came to the conclusion that I have, wait for it... "a cough"... But seeing as I've had a cough for so long now, I should probably take some time off work; and take some stronger drugs because the last lot didn't do anything.

Super.

The Cookie Story

It's funny how the simplest of things remind you of the strangest of memories. On my way in to work this afternoon I decided to treat myself to a Millie's Cookie from Euston Station. It's been a long time since I bought one of these, but I certainly remember the last time I did and it always makes me smile.

About 7 years ago I moved down to London to start my first job at a small start-up television channel called whereits.at. The thing that struck me about London was how unfriendly it was and how nobody ever spoke to anyone or smiled or made eye contact. So, one night I was working down at our studio in the Trocadero shopping centre and a friend and I decided to treat ourselves to a cookie. As per usual I was bantering a bit with the cute guy behind the counter, trying to get a freebie, but he wasn't having any of it and we paid and went on our way.

Later that night when the show had finished it was the custom for the crew to go to the pub and have rather a lot to drink - who was I to argue. The pub closed and I made my way to the tube station, passing the aforementioned Millie's Cookies. The cute guy was cashing up for the night and a few random cookies lay under the counter so I tried my luck again. I'm not sure whether it was drunken charm or whether he just wanted to get rid of me, but minutes later I was merrily on my way with a bag of 8 free cookies! Result!

So there I was, midnight, stumbling through the London underground with a bag of cookies, passing unfriendly faces. What better opportunity to cheer a few people up than to share my delights with them! On my way up the escalator I politely asked the man in front of me if he'd like a cookie; "oh, er, well, yes, thank you" he said, slightly unnerved that a stranger had spoken to him, and even more puzzled by the fact it was a young lady offering him a cookie! At the top there was a smartly dressed woman, "excuse me, would you like a cookie?" I asked, "they were free and there's too many here for me."
"Oh, thank you very much" she said, and smiled.
Another grey haired man in a suit and two young Asian guys also partook of the free midnight snack.

I got on the train feeling rather satisfied and happy, and I hope everyone who took a cookie that night also went home a bit happier; and that maybe they recounted the story of the crazy midnight cookie girl to their friends the following day and made them smile as well.

And here I am, tucking into my cookie with a cup of coffee, smiling as much now as I did that night. I hope it's brightened up your friday afternoon as much as it has mine. If not, buy a cookie on the way home, that'll cheer you up.