Peace & Quiet

I did something I've never done before this morning. I woke up around 4am and was restless, my head spinning with a thousand thoughts. Suddenly the episode of Top Gear I watched yesterday popped into my head - Jeremy Clarkson had done a piece about how no-one just goes for a drive any more, so early in the morning he got up and hit the open road in a Mercedes.

Inspired by this I got out of bed and hit the open road on my ever so faithful Surly Cross-Check. It's been a long time since we rode together, too long. But no matter how long I leave her in the shed gathering dust, I can always rely on her for perfect gear changes and steady, reliable handling. So off we went into the damp, dull morning to do what was at one time a regular route, but is now almost forgotten.

There's a certain peacefulness at that time of the morning that I love but rarely get to experience, even missing out on it at 24 hour races this year. Yes I was at Twentyfour12 for a few days, but had to leave just after the race started on Saturday afternoon. It's around 2am at those events that the atmosphere shifts from an adrenaline pumped competition to a mellow camaraderie, every rider just trying to make it safely through the night into the dawn. For many it's also a unique experience, how many of your friends can you say you've sat drinking beer and eating bacon sandwiches with at 4am? How many of your friends have you seen sleep? It's not something that occurs in every day life and is actually a very personal and trusting moment.

Rolling almost effortless through the now familiar lanes, Surly was leading the way and my mind wandered back to the peacefulness of working night shifts at The London Studios. In a 22 story building bustling with thousands of people during the day it was rarely quiet - except during the early hours of the morning. I'd walk down the corridor to the restaurant on the 2nd floor that looked out over the South Bank of the River Thames; St. Paul's Cathedral and Blackfriars Bridge in the distance. For those of you that have ever watched the local London News it'll be a familiar view. London would be shrouded in serenity. I could stand for hours at that window in an oneiric state, looking out onto the world watching nothing go by. Once or twice I ventured down onto the stillness of the South Bank and just stood and watched and listened - I felt like I had the city to myself, I loved it. Too often I hear people say how much they hate London, when what they actually mean is they hate the people in London. Quiet and empty like that, London is simply breathtaking.

An hour later I was home, calm and peaceful. Last week was a strange week, but it seems so far away already. I think I might like bikes again...

Absence

Well, I've been away a while and what a 7 weeks it has been! There have been plenty of visits to muddy fields for mountain bike races and venue recces, I've been up and down and backwards and forwards across the country, sent hundreds of emails and made dozens of phone calls to strangers.

I've started a new job; I've run my first mountain bike event and launched Britain's first 100 mile mountain bike race; I attempted to walk Offa's Dyke and failed miserably (more on that at some point) and had a sense of humour failure getting a quad bike stuck in 3ft of mud in the middle of nowhere at sunset.

Then there have been those surreal moments, like having an 8 hour conversation that finished at sunrise with somebody I barely knew. I spent a day at the Victoria and Albert Museum looking at 400 year old works of art; I saw Rowan Atkinson play Fagin (with a hint of Mr Bean) in Oliver! in Drury Lane, laughed a lot and sang every word of every song. I didn't go to Mountain Mayhem. That's right, I didn't go to Mayhem, for the first time in 9 years.

Sadly, the one thing I haven't done is ride my bike. Partly due to a rib that simply refused to stop hurting, but also I haven't had the time or motivation. I'm not in love with mountain biking at the moment. The fates have joined forces against me and I'm just not having a good year.

I've had this feeling before though, not just with mountain biking, but all the sports I've played throughout life and I find it's better just to give it a rest for a while and do other things. The feeling of wanting to go for a ride soon comes back. Trying to force a ride at this stage, knowing I'm not fit, that I'm not going to enjoy it and I'd rather be doing other things, is futile and will ultimately make me less motivated to ride and prolong the down time.

So it's a while longer off the bike for me, for no other reason than I don't fancy it. But as Dodger once said "I'll be back sooooon!"

The Buzz of Live TV

Sometimes, I really, really love my job - I get a tingling feeling, butterflies in my stomach and a sense of truly being part of something special. It doesn't happen very often, but tonight was one of those rare occasions. Why? Because of Ant and Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway. Now, you may not like the show or the presenters, but in terms of real life, live studio, quality television production, it doesn't get much better than this!

The building and the studios take on an atmosphere; there's a buzz of excitement in the air, you can feel the magic of television. The "on air" lights flash red in the corridors which are ever so slightly clouded with smoke machine smoke, Studio 1 is in use packed to the rafters with a live audience, the scene dock is frantic with sets and props and costumes being moved, celebrities are being ushered around by an army of crew from dressing rooms, to make up, to green rooms and back again, Chris Akabusi and Jenny Bond are talking to Toyah Wilcox in the Luvvies Cafe and Take That have just wandered past. This is good old fashioned ITV Saturday night entertainment at its best - and some of the best in the business are downstairs in the studio making everything run smoothly. When ITV put their mind to it and tell the accountants and shareholders to sit down and shut up, they can actually produce some fantastic shows, just like the classic family favourites of old when they regularly got 15 million viewers on a Saturday evening.

Very little television is live nowadays, it's too expensive and too risky. But when a show like this happens in the famous London Studios, I'm proud to be part of ITV, you get the feeling you're working with true professionals who are passionate about what they do - this is what television is all about!

Sadly, tonight also marks the end of an era for me, and soon it will be the end of an era for ITV. My department was outsourced a couple of years ago to a company called Technicolor based in Chiswick and though a year overdue, the final channel migration happens in the next couple of weeks. This is the last day shift I will work here - I'm on night shift next week, and then it's all over. ITV's transmission has been here in the heart of ITV for more than a decade and I've been here 7 years. I'll be made redundant very soon and ITV will no longer be a complete television channel; it'll do everything except the thing that actually makes it work - the transmission.

I have to say I'm glad I'm leaving though. Moving the operation to a glass walled call centre on an industrial estate in West London is hardly the same as trundling across Waterloo Bridge every day, passing dozens of London landmarks and walking through the revolving doors of the London Studios (the ITV equivalent of the BBC's Television Centre) on the south bank of the Thames, having lunch in the canteen over looking St Paul's Cathedral. Every now and again pushing my way through the waiting paparazzi or crossing the red carpet of some awards show or other to get to work. It just won't be the same.

These are memories I will never forget. It's been a fantastic 7 years and I've had a great time with everybody I've worked with, I've met some real characters who have taught me a lot. It's been a pleasure to work with all of them (most of the time - working in such close proximity with the same people for so many years has caused the odd argument, think of us as the most disfunctional family you can possibly imagine and times it by 10, throw in some long hours, tiredness, PMT and some stress and you can just about imagine how tempers have flared.)

So good luck to everyone who's staying on at Chiswick, and good luck to everyone who will soon be joining the ranks of the unemployed during the worst economic crisis in living memory. I'm sure we'll all bump into each other again some day, TV is rather a small world after all...

A Pendulum Week

Things have either gone my way or they haven't this week. Monday couldn't have been better, everything fell into place with the perfect ease expected from life. Having a working bathroom makes life a hundred times easier - a day at work, back home on the turbo trainer for half an hour, jumped in the shower, cooked a hearty homemade meal whilst supping a glass of fruity red and settled down to answer a few emails and watch a bit of television. Life is good.

My perfectly effortless world was brought crashing down as quickly as I was Tuesday morning - yards from my front door I slid on a patch of black ice. One minute I was happily rolling down the hill towards the station on my folding bike, the next I was lying on the cold, hard road looking up into the foggy darkness somewhat unsure of what had just happened. I'd ripped a large hole in the left knee of my trousers and the right elbow of my coat. I returned to my house, changed my clothes, cleaned up the blood trickling down my leg, patched up the missing chunk out of my knee and set off once more - making it to the train station just in time to see my train leaving the platform. The next train was 15 minutes late. As was I.

The day improved but when I arrived home I still felt nauseous so relaxed and had an early night instead of going for a ride. Wednesday was long and boring and by the time I left work I was thoroughly fed up again. When I got home and opened my post I had a fine for not paying my congestion charge last week, £60. Thursday was also long and boring but spirits were slightly improved and the day went without incident. Things were looking up again.

On Friday I regained my cycling mojo - this had disappeared sometime just before Christmas. I had an excellent morning ride on my usual road loop; everything just seemed to click and I was happyily spinning along for a couple of hours, enjoying every freezing moment. Then my train was delayed, again (I'm going to have to stop writing about that as you can almost take it as a given these days) and work was chaos from the minute I started to the minute I finished. I didn't even have time to eat dinner! It was a relief to finally get home knowing I had the morning to myself.

I intended to pop out for another ride this morning, but I woke up with the tell tale signs of the beginnings of a cold due to being worn down, so instead I made a nice breakfast, some fresh coffee and planned a new route for my next ride. I was late for work (you know why...)

Gun For A Day...

just one day a month, that's all I'd want. Just a license to kill with a gun for one day... a month. And the world would be a better place by Summer. Why the outrageous statement you ask? This morning riding through London from work to the train station traffic was heavy. There were lots of buses in the bus lane so I was between them and normal moving traffic. I had two red lights on the rear, I was wearing high viz and reflective clothing. I had stopped at every red light and pedestrian crossing. I was going about my business according to the highway code.

The particular section of road I was on was full of nasty pot holes so I was giving the buses a wide berth. Then some idiot in a private hire cab decided he wanted to squeeze between me and the next lane of traffic - promptly clouting me with his wing mirror and knocking me into the fortunately stationery bus!

The lights at the next junction were red so I pulled up alongside the car and knocked on the passenger side window. He opened it up with a smirk on his face. "Excuse me, do you want to watch where you're going a bit more, you've just hit me with your wing mirror" I said. "Lucky I didn't 'it ya wiv somefin else then innit" he screached at me in an annoying, high pitched, '40-a-day', cockney accent. What sort of bloody response is that?! Obviously he was disappointed he'd only clipped me and was trying to kill me instead. "Are you fucking stupid?" I shouted back and rode on my way.

Who knows what his passengers in the back of the car were thinking, but it's not a car I would have liked to have been in for any length of time. I still don't understand his response - what an idiot. What was it supposed to mean? Understandably I was fuming! Mainly because there was nothing I could do to stop this fool driving dangerously through the streets of London with no regard whatsoever for cyclists! It's people like him that kill cyclists.

That's why I want to get in first. If this had been the day, I'd have quite happily pulled up alongside the car and shot him in the head. Idiots like that are better off dead, at least they can't do any damage to others that way. Shooting him was my first thought as I pulled up alongside. After he'd made the ridiculous remark I wanted to drag him from his car buy his scraggily, curly hair and beat the living daylights out of him with my bare hands - that would have been more satisfying. Apparently violence doesn't solve anything, but I'm sure in this case violence would have stopped the possibility of future injury to cyclists.

It took me the whole train journey to calm down. After that the day improved - which is fairly easy after that kind of start. I'm particularly looking forward to a relaxing hot bath in my oh-so-nearly-finished bathroom. And this glass of wine, my first sip in over a week, is tasting particularly good. There are some perks to working a week of night shift - for a while everything you do is just so much more enjoyable!

"You Got A Friend In Me"

This is my mate Jodie on Christmas Day at work (she was a bit tired):

I didn't realise until she said, but we've actually spent the last 7 Christmas Days together, and it will be the last one we spend together in this job. Says a lot about the relationships we form in our line of work I think, how many other people can say they've spent 7 Christmases with a work colleague? Cooked each other breakfast? Shared Christmas dinner?

We made a day of it again. We've been known to go a little crazy in the past, possibly cabin fever due to the amount both of us work over Christmas - it normally involves a dance session of some kind. It started whilst we were watching a music review of the year one Christmas, we danced our socks off until we couldn't dance any more! Everyone thought we were mad, but you have to do something to make the day feel a bit different, a bit special, try and enjoy it even though you'd rather be somewhere else.

It's become an annual tradition now and this year started with Radio 2 and by a funny twist the Disney song "You've Got A Friend In Me", very appropriate, followed by a listener request for "Nelly the Elephant". It soon moved on to a full on YouTube request session: crazy dance moves, a few twists and jives, lots of jazz hands and tears of laughter. In all honesty it was a pretty good Christmas Day, one of the best, just me and Jodie messing about again in fits of laughter. I'm going to miss my Christmas Dance Sessions with Jodie.

Dance like nobody's watching. Sing like no-one can hear you. Work like you don't need the money.

Merry Christmas!

I thought I'd get in nice and early, plus I'm bored at work. I do love Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and Santa Claus the Movie this morning was great; I'm trying to avoid the playout of Mary Poppins as I don't want to peak too early and I've got all day tomorrow to get through as well. Shouldn't complain, plenty of people have far worse Christmases than me, even though I spend the entire time at work, hardly strenuous (I basically do what everybody else will be doing on Christmas day - eating, drinking and watching TV, except I get paid).

The start to life as a 30 year old has gone fairly well, things are kinda falling into place, stuff is getting organised, diaries compared and plans discussed. There were a few stresses at the start (though technically I suppose I could class that as the last few hours of being 29, maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was life's way of getting it all out of the way before I turned 30.) But all is moving along in a jolly festive spirit - long may it continue I say!

So, the first event I'm organising is sort of out in the public domain now so there's no turning back. There are big plans afoot and The Slick n Knobbly is just one thing I'm involved in next year. Obviously everybody is invited, the more the merrier! (And yes, this is a blatant plug, but it's my blog and I can write what I want ;-)

Hopefully my blog will become a bit more interesting again and a bit more bike orientated, otherwise I'm going to have to start reminiscing about the good old days of adventure and stupid ideas. (Steve, what happened to all the stupid ideas anyway?!)

Anyway, have a very merry christmas everyone!

S x

30 Not Out

So it's my birthday tomorrow. I'll be 30 years old. To be honest, I never thought I'd make it this far, too many stupid, drunken, risky decisions as a teenager and student. But I somehow always managed to come out of it smelling of roses and stumbled through a series of tricky, sometimes dangerous situations. And here I am.

And just lately I've been thinking quite a lot about where exactly that is. I'm 30 years old. I'm single. I've never had a proper relationship. Most people I consider friends don't even know it's my birthday tomorrow (for many years a lot of people didn't even know my surname, I was just 'Sara'.) And in a couple of months I'll be out of a job during the worst economic crisis the world has ever seen. I find myself waking up in the morning and wondering what the bloody hell I'm doing, where am I going and what's the point of it all.

I think about those questions a lot. I've had discussions about them with far off 'friends', sometimes even strangers. And however negative and depressing and self-pitying this sounds, it's actually not. I'm 30 years old but everybody says I don't look it, I certainly don't act it. I'm young, free and single (and a terrible flirt!) I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whomever I choose! I'm headstrong and independent. The world is my oyster.

I have friends all over the country and all over the world and over the years these have been whittled down to the ones that understand me. They know they're only going to get a phone call or an email once every 6 months, they know they won't get a birthday card, they're aware of the fact I just may turn up in their town one day and send them a text telling them to put the kettle on. And they accept it. They know that's me. I don't have any hangers on. All of the people I currently consider my friends are true friends no matter how infrequently we speak. They will be my friends for life. And just recently I've started to realise the importance of these people - Gina, Em, Mike, Miggy, Tom, Davies, Jodie, Chris, Dan, Steve, Tony and a few more. Friends are good, I know that now. (I'm normally a fairly quick learner but this seems to have taken me a while - better late than never though.)

As for the rest of it, I love my life. At times it's not been easy, the early years were difficult. But the way I look at it, everything I have ever done, everything that has happened to me, everybody I've met and every experience I have ever had, good and bad, has led me to where I am now, to this very point in time and made me the person I am today. And I have to say it all feels pretty good. 2008 has been a difficult year, the most stressful I've ever had in fact. But I'll be leaving 2008 as a better person. I've been coasting for far too long, never really challenging myself, and now a convergence of events has given me the kick up the backside I need.

Tomorrow feels like the start of a whole new life. 2009 is completely unknown and my life is going to change dramatically, but I have the opportunity to make it one of the best years ever. I could wake up tomorrow and change anything or everything, the same as anybody can any time they want to. The first day of the rest of your life is probably a good time to do that obviously, though I wonder if you have to do it first to realise it's the first day of the rest of your life. Hmm, I'll have to ponder on that one... a chicken and egg scenario by the look of it.

And there we have it, my reflection on the first 30 years - in short, it was brilliant. (God that sounds weird saying that; 30. And I know some of you are feeling really old now, I met a lot of people who read this blog back when I was a teenager!) I'm really looking forward to the next 30, I get butterflies in my stomach just thinking about next year. So many opportunities, so many things I want to do - and there's really nothing stopping me. Nothing at all. You can't see it but I have a cheeky smile on my face at the mere thought of the possibilities.

Tomorrow is a whole new world and I can't wait to go and enjoy it with you all!

Motivation

Sometimes I find it hard to get out of bed and go and do something. This morning I found it hard not to get into bed and do nothing (the first night shift will do that to you). I didn't last long. An early start yesterday and a trip across the country for a meeting with Epic Cycles in Tenbury meant by mid-morning today I'd already been awake for 30 hours. Sleep was needed. Sleep is good.

It seems I'm not the only one lacking motivation at the moment either. Work is in chaos and showing no signs of improvement. I won't go into full details but the brief background is my department was outsourced last year and a plan started to relocate in June 2008 - missed that deadline. The relocation to Chiswick involves working somewhere nobody wants to work, doing a job nobody wants to do, working for a company nobody wants to work for. So much so that in this current climate of economical turmoil and unemployment, most staff are actually thinking of leaving. (They're offering us a 'finders bonus' if we recommend a new member of staff for God's sake!)

So with this in mind, and the fact that staff morale is similar to the FTSE100 (just when you think it can't go any lower, it drops a few more points) and stress levels at an all time high, (8 months ago we had 30 engineers running the place, now we have about 12) this was a scenario that came about the other day:

- The Vice-President of the company was standing with a group of managers at the new location. Deadlines are whizzing by like traffic on the M4 outside - you know it's there but it comes and goes without any real impact. A new deadline is approaching and, remembering everything I've just said, the VP comes out with these motivating, inspiring, pearls of management wisdom, "If we don't get this place up and running in two weeks, we're pulling the plug!"

Apparently the minor management were seen giggling in the corner and the staff let out a loud cheer; the biggest improvement in morale and staff solidarity that has been seen in many months. With this renewed vigour for the ailing project, they then went and put the kettle on...

I do love the people I work with sometimes.

Enough now... no really

September has not been my month. Whilst some of my friends have been clocking up hundreds of miles, having fantastic holidays and generally enjoying themselves. I haven't. It started well with a committed and determined start to a 30 in 30, and at times there were glimpses of the good life, but it didn't last for long.

My boiler was fixed after 5 visits from the gas man and 6 weeks without hot water. My radiator is leaking.

I sorted out the insulation in the loft. The fuse blew on the lights downstairs. The hallway light blew on the upstairs ring main - either downstairs lights with no lights as I came in and out of the house, or upstairs lights and cooking by the light of the hob.

My week of convalescing in the Lake District was all very pleasant with a good mountain walk or two; in dreary weather. My only ride of the week resulted in the biggest crash I've had in many years. A big, hard, fast crash. Bruised and scraped from my right shoulder down to my right knee, including my ribs. A good chunk out of my right elbow and a lump the size of a tennis ball with a rainbow coloured bruise on my hip. I hit my head and cracked my helmet. Fortunately Hyacinth, my Maverick ML7 only suffered superficial damage to her handlebars and brakelevers and a slightly buckled rear wheel. Fortunately her fall onto the jagged rocks was broken by my stunned and helpless body. Lucky her. I gave the Grizedale Mountain Bike Challenge a miss the following day.

Traffic on the way home on Sunday night was dreadful so I got back in the early hours of the morning to cram in a few hours sleep before an early start to some long days at work. A heavy schedule over the next few days, coupled with a repairing body, the continuing course of antibiotics and the damp from sleeping in a tent all week gave me a wrotten cold. I still have a wrotten cold.

On the way home from work on Friday various pedestrians, cyclists and drivers seemed determined to kill themselves and/or me, by completely ignoring every single line of the Highway Code and their common sense. My journey time home was doubled by roadworks and heavy traffic on the M1.

Ah, my front door by midnight. But no hallway light. Time for a shower. The shower head flew off and hit me on the forehead. I sighed. A deep, shoulder-dropping sigh. I looked around for someone to give me a hug, one of those "don't worry, everything's going to be alright soon petal now dry your eyes and be a big brave girl" hugs. There was nobody there. I sighed and put my head under the pathetic dribble of warm water that was coming from the remnants of my shower head.

One more long day at work and then a day off. I think I'm just going to curl up on the sofa and try not to hurt myself, break anything or burn the house down.

Bring on October, please...

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.