Pivotal

 It has been a very lean year in terms of writing. This is the first post I have done since way back in early January, and that was really a retrospective for 2024. So it's with a light heart and a cheery wave that I bid you hello to 2025 from the Mendip Rouleur, just as I'm about to turn tail and scarper into 2026. Perhaps next year will be different, I do have a set of very big plans for the year. But then again my road to now was paved with some good intentions for the last 12 months, and sadly, none of those have come to pass.

That's not to say those plans can not be resurrected at some point in the near future. I had intended to write a series of seven stories, loosely based on some of my ancestors true stories. Part of the preparation involved me wandering around old haunts of Spitalfields, and other places, imaging Huguenot and other ancestors past. The idea was to make them much more interesting that the reality probably was, and get Hollywood scriptwriters interested for a major seven-film deal that would see the next seven generations comfortably into the next couple of centuries. 

Not quite true, obviously, I just fancied writing something a bit more interesting than random stories of cycling and work. I thought I might paint a literal picture for each story too, in my own inimitable style. All of this would have been purely for my own creative interest, but who knows, some people might have been interested. Let me know, and I'll get onto Lazarus.

That said, the stories are not going to be written by anyone else, and just as a leaky tap will sometimes fix itself (especially in areas with hard water), so I feel these stories will one day just get written. The longer I leave it the more chance I have of being even more inspired in my painting. The Tate Modern has become a bit of a second London home for me this year, it's a veritable treasure trove for all those people who ask "yes, but is it art?".

Yes it is.

One thing that did get written, though not by me, was a BBC news story about my road crime reporting. It also made local and national news and a load of social media. That was my 15 minutes of very tiny fame, and although the headline was a bit lurid, and the lovely below-the-line comments were predictably vile, overall the piece did a good job of calling for safer roads. 

But life as they say, had other plans. Fortunately no major illness or injury this year, although I was too keen when I woke up in the middle of one night in May feeling like someone had hosed the bed down with a few hundred gallons of water. Nor did my mood improve when the Doctor spoke of crackles in the lungs and possible trips for scans and the like. But fortunately the chest infection was sorted within a couple of weeks and didn't interfere with my trip to the Ariege at the beginning of July.

Where it was inordinately hot for a few days. So much so, that the first couple of days' riding was confined to early mornings, before the mid-40s Centigrade temperatures made riding up mountains too uncomfortable. By the end of the week it had cooled to require the use of gilet and arm-warmers coming down in the mist from the Etang de Soulcem climb. Something that had been on my to-do list for over three years since I had contemplated going for a swim in the lake to escape from 2022. For once I am glad that plan didn't work out either.

Nor did illness stop me getting another 110km Dartmoor classic gold medal. It was a filthy day, blowing a gale and wet, so much so that I abandoned the quest for that elusive 100-mile gold, I simply wasn't enjoying it enough to want to make it worthwhile. Life is for the joy, and there will be another day to come.

It's been quite an eventful year in many other ways too. In August I was the victim of a road rage attack, which subsequently ended in the perpetrator admitting guilt and accepting a police caution. Much to my relief really, I really didn't want the hassle of a court case, even as a witness, and the bloke had no previous and admitted he'd acted out of character. Maybe he'd just never been caught before, but everyone deserves a second chance. In my moral maze they do anyway. This photo was taken about an hour before the event, how quickly things can turn? This is the way I'll choose to remember that day from now on.

The Mendip Rouleur family enjoyed a week in Malta in September, which was hot and relaxing, but combining three holidays into the second half of the year made for a long wait to get there, then a bit of added pressure in the back half. Still, the highlight of visiting Cambodia and Vietnam really made it all worth it, for us anyway, I think I'll be apologising to colleagues for some time to come. Either way, it brings home (yet again) how fortunate I am to have been born who I am, when I was, no-one is yet trying to murder me as a matter of policy.

Stewart Lee was funny but not at his best.

I also decided to step down from my role as a Chair of Trustees at Wesport, where I'd been working with Steve Nelson for five amazingly educational (for me) years, and take on a smaller role as a volunteer Trustee at Lifecycle - a charity that uses bikes in many ways to help people. Steve is one of the best leaders I have ever met, and he and the team at Wesport are doing amazing things to promote physical activity. I'm proud I played a very small part in that, and hope I can continue my contribution at Lifecycle.

This is not supposed to be one of those round-robin things, no really. They are all on Instagram these days, or podcasts. I think blogging is a dying medium. But I enjoy the process of tapping it all out, reviewing my pictures, remembering what the year contained. If someone else gets this too, then great. But I'm writing it just for me. I started writing about cycling many years ago, and of course we all know the cliches about cycling as a metaphor. But how about identity?

Maybe, but I'm far from convinced. It's just about keeping up isn't it? With friends, with the weather, and with yourself. So yes then.

Last year I ended up doing the Rapha Festive 500 by accident. Now I know you can not cycle 500km in eight days accidentally, but regular endurance cyclists will know a serendipitous occurrence when they see one, and that was one. This year, well I can say that the "plan" to make 2025 the year with the second greatest distance cycled didn't really enter my thoughts until early November. Randomly looking over my Annual Summary spreadsheet (doesn't everyone have one of these?) I noticed that, two week holiday at the end of November notwithstanding, if I continued cycling to work twice a week, with an added ride at the weekend to boot, I'd make 2025 the biggest year for ten years.

Back in 2015 I rode a staggering (for me) 18 rides of 200km or more, with a further 4 imperial centuries. Add to that a trans-Pyrenean ride, and plenty of commuting, well it all added up to 13,574 km on the bike. As I write this I'm about 1500 km short of that for this year, but given the downward trend of the last few years, it's pleasing to have overtaken some other big years in 2018 (Cent Col) and 2014 (also an Audax-heavy year).

It's all pretty meaningless though, what does it ultimately prove? I'm slower than I was then, do fewer big climbs, and spend much of my life cycling to and from work in Bristol. But it does prove one thing I think, and that has been a recurring theme for much of my life, and I hope will continue to do so for quite a while longer.

I just keep going. 

You can throw stuff at me - Brachial neuritis, knee injuries, or more psychological stuff like crises of mood or confidence - but I (so far) have always refused to let these things stop me forever. I did some of the best work of my professional life too this year, and although it's small beer by comparison to others, it reinforces my belief that I will not let the advance of decrepitude define me. One day I will be forced to give in and hang the bike up on the big rack up in the sky. Until then, I'll just keep trundling on in my own plodding way.

Which brings me to forty. Or more precisely, "sing this with me this is 40".

2026 represents another anniversary. Forty years since I started work, earned my own living and paid my taxes. Whilst I do not have forty paintings in my head, I very definitely have forty stories I'd like to write. I just have to figure out a way to tell them without getting sued. 

Let's hope I finally get round to writing them this time. I have been asking my new friend a lot of existential questions recently. How to get the cover off a boiler, the effect of statins on HbA1C and the violent crime demographics in the UK. But last week I asked "what is my life for?" and got a surprisingly insightful answer. No, I'm not going to share it, that is definitely just for me. But the word my friend suggested that best summed up 2025 for me was also very close to the mark. 

Pivotal, a year where your work, influence, and direction noticeably shifted - and set up what comes next.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. 

What to do with the time that is given to us

 2025. I still can't believe it has arrived so soon. I remember sitting in my class at school one lunchtime and discussing how far away the year 2000 seemed. It still does, only in the wrong direction. No, actually it seems like yesterday, which makes 2025 even more worrisome. In another 25 years I will be (I keep telling myself this, I WILL BE!) older than both my parents were at their deaths by a hefty margin.

It's only 8 years since I set out to achieve the Rapha Festive 500 on a cool Christmas Eve. A fairly benign 200km DIY Audax kicked off the attempt, to be followed by three 100km before New Year's Eve. I had a desultory entry the following year, but I'd realised it's actually a fairly miserable experience if you are not careful. For a start, apart from occasional social rides, hardly anyone else wants to ride at Christmas. The weather is usually rubbish, and the daylight is fleeting. I've known people who go for the little and often strategy, to some success. But that "little" amounts to an average of 62.5km per day - every day if you ride the minimum - which is still around 2-3 hours outside at a time you want to be sociable. Or eating and drinking, or watching football. Or whatever.

If you go for the long-rides strategy, you commit to doing a fair amount of riding in the dark, and are usually pretty knackered on the days in between. Or at least I am.

So I had long ago decided it was an event ticked off, accomplished and not to be repeated, for the good of my Christmas sanity and the like. That doesn't mean I couldn't if I wanted, blah, blah, blah. It's not just physical, it's majorly psychological, in my opinion anyway.

That's not to say I have left compulsive behaviour behind. Quite the reverse. At the start of December I realised that because of the knee malarkey, I hadn't ridden a 161 km ride at all this year. So I thought I better put that right and made a few high-level plans. Then whilst chatting to Martyn about it, he offered to join me, which seemed a good excuse for a long ride at Christmas and plans were hatched into something a bit more concrete. Then we decided that if we were going to do 161 km we might as well do 200, and also knock off a bit of the | North Dorset Trailway Network, part of the former S & D Railway, into the bargain. 

Unfortunately at the 11th hour Martyn had to duck out to deal with a domestic crisis, and as I was all kitted out, I decided I might as well just go anyway. Last Friday was one of those horrible drizzle days, and visibility was very poor, so equipped in my Proviz commuting jacket for added safety, off I trundled. My route is 2024 or bust · Ride with GPS, and if I could have seen further than about 50 yards, I'm sure it would have been amazing. It was good to accomplish a 200 for the first time in over a year, and I'm sure I will do it again on a sunny day. At least there was virtually no wind, so I made reasonable time. I even found a couple of well-positioned, and very pleasant cafes, so the ride has everything really. Below is my one photo of the day, such were the unphotogenic conditions.

Cut to a couple of days later there was that social ride, with Jon, completing his Festive 500 by an amazing feat of Go Medium - no massive rides, but to do it with 2 days to spare is quite something. Then again, he's an amazing rider, so I'm not too surprised, and he did it at a very rapid pace too, on a road bike I'd guess, apart from one slightly shorter indoor ride. He joked that I still had time to do it, which elicited the usual response from me, ending in off I think, and I thought no more of it.

But then things happen don't they? I ended up doing a few more KMs on the Sunday than I'd planned. About 20 more actually, and combined with the solo gravel spin I'd done on Christmas Eve, and the short (7km) ride I did on a Watt bike at the gym on Monday night, I realised I was "only" about 150km short.

Cue next thought. I'd missed the Somerset 100 in May because of the knee injury but Mark Cox, organiser in chief gave me a12-month pass to get it done. What if I went out on NYE and did the 100km route from Sweets, with riding there and back, I could make it up to a 161km ride and hit the target by nightfall. So it's not my fault, what else could I do? I decided to use the gravel bike again, in fact all of my 503 outdoor km were on it, and although I'm not as good a rider as Jon, mine was a bit hillier I think. And outside. Just saying.

A few more photos from that day are below. It was a bit windier this time, but the weather was a bit brighter too, with fleeting sunshine. 

So what can I learn from all this? Compulsions aside, am I not done yet with ticking off meaningless events, honestly what is the actual point? True, I do feel amazingly pleased with myself, but honestly, where is this all going to stop? I thought I was so over this all by now but apparently not. Martyn keeps talking about Super Randoneur. I tell you now I am not tempted in the slightest. No really. Anyway, one of his events is the Brevet Cymru - the same day we play Spurs at home - and I have done it before. It's hard, why would I do that again?

I think the truth of it, if there is such a thing, is that I just like riding my bike. It isn't any more complicated than that. And that is an encouraging thought.

Autrefois tu respirais le soleil d’or

I stopped counting how many rides over 161/200km I had done back in 2017. It was at the point that I had pushed my Edington number over 100-Imperial, which had taken a concerted effort over a couple of years, from its previous 92. It was hard enough doing the additional rides, a lot more than 8 in case you are wondering, but it took even more effort to keep a record and plan the intricacies. For once in my life I was able to drop a compulsion, leave it behind, and concentrate on just the sheer pleasure of riding a bike. 

There were still challenges though. The Cent Cols in 2018 still ranks as the biggest and toughest event I have ever, probably will ever, do on a bike. Then I have had health issues, job issues, family and friend issues, all of which take a little bit out of you, and change you, sometimes in a positive way, sometimes not. But I like to think I always learn something productive if I strive hard enough.

One thing I did learn from riding all those rides back in 2016-17 was how to get through the tough bits of a journey on a bike. The hardest part of a long ride, for me anyway, was between the 60-80% mark, give or take a few KM or the odd hill. This has happened consistently enough to make it one of my known rules.  I reasoned a few explanations. At 60% you have already put quite a lot of effort in to be a bit tired, but you are still a fair way off the finish. On a 200km ride that could be 2-3 hours away. Likewise, you may need to eat something, and it will take a bit of time to have a restorative effect. I’m always rubbish at fuelling early, I’m always playing catch-up.  If you are very tired, it’s amazing how restorative a short stop can be, especially when combined with the refuelling.

Last week I was in the Cèvennes, on holiday, tracking down some of the ancestral Huguenot haunts, but also rehabilitating my soul, and my knee, with some moderate hilly riding in very quiet and deserted hills. It was a great break, very refreshing, and a wonderful place to refresh the batteries before the onslaught of an English Winter. There was also plenty of fuelling, but generally of a nutritious kind, and enough activity to also enable the shedding of a couple of kg of baggage.

I don’t know about you but I’m hoping not to die at all, to be the first person to live forever, in a real, literal and physical sense. What’s more I hope to maintain enough physical fitness to be able to ride a bike until eternity, albeit  may have to continue to compromise on the gearing. 

Failing that, like French legend Robert Marchand, I’ll settle for a decent performance into my 11th decade. That being so, tomorrow I’ll enter that 60-80% zone. It seems astounding to me the ride is that far advanced already, it seems like only yesterday I was at the first control, or cresting the halfway point. 

What can you do to slow this ride down? Of course, there is nothing to stop the passing, and the ravages of time. My knee for example, whilst better, is not perfect, and I still have some pain in it. I think I may try some more physiotherapy. But it might also be that horrible of horrible, the “new normal”. But I can still ride up 20% gradients and 15km climbs without stopping, so it is not a disaster.

There really is only one answer, and it’s the same answer as for all those other long rides. Eat something, preferably the right thing, have some restorative breaks when you can, savour what you have accomplished, enjoy the company of your loved ones and your friends, but  more than that, take pleasure from the ride while it lasts.

Chapeau

 Hats off to the Met office. Apparently we have just had the warmest month of May on record in the UK or England, or somewhere. Perhaps the whole world, seems likely. I don’t know exactly where because I haven’t been paying enough attention to the weather over the last 48 hours since I came back from a gloriously sunny ride to the Bere Cider café with Steve on Sunday. We had hoped to go to Langport, but one of their cafés has become decidedly cyclist-unfriendly, and consequently the other was overflowing with Lycra and merino-clad, fair-weather seekers. And fun seekers.

Our family was quite fortunate though as we did benefit from a fantastic holiday in the Maya area of Mexico back in late March and early April. It was hot and sunny every day, and we had a wonderful time. Junior is now 23 and it was very, very scary when he decided to climb a fairly precipitous pyramid in a very isolate jungle site, well out of the range of mobile phone signals, towns with hospitals or anything vaguely resembling health and safety. I suppose it’s good for him, and good for us as parents, to indulge in the kind of moderate risk-taking that I probably thought quite tame back in the 1970s. This is him in the blue shirt going up, anbout halfway to the top, and trust me, it’s a lot steeper than it looks. But I couldn’t watch him come down.

I haven’t seen much evidence of this warmth though in May that they talked about so much. A quick internet search revealed that it was an average warmth caused by a lack of Spring frosts. The daytime temperatures were generally shit, and from what I experienced, murky and/or dull and/or wet. So Sunday was a very welcome tonic. 

But there were as I said, hundreds of cyclists out on the roads on Sunday. Not that I can blame them. As it was my last ride for a while, I too was desperate to get out into the rare 2024 Spring sunshine, and was delighted that the café at Bere was so quiet. A lovely chat and ride before, during and after, enabled by a very fit Steve. Thanks for the shelter back across the moors. In fact it was such a lovely day that we ducked into Sweet’s cafe, immediately post lunch, for a quick ice-cream. To be fair, I did do the longest ride I’d done for quite a while. Although my hill-climbing has suffered by (lack of) virtue of not riding up any hills recently, I have been chugging up and down the back lanes and gravel paths in May. All of which has helped build a certain, if not high, level of fitness.

The reward for which came yesterday, when my knee surgeon gave what I took to be a compliment, saying my leg was in “fine shape”, just before he drew two arrows in indelible marker pen, pointing directly to the right knee. It was oddly comforting to know that despite all the high technology interventions, monitoring and minimal invasive nature of meniscus surgery these days, some things do need an old-fashioned touch. Not that I’m complaining in any way. The internet, home to all medical truths, is full of stories of the wrong thing being done, all for the want of a good marker pen.

The tear in the meniscus was too bad to repair, so it’s been trimmed. Apparently this is a quicker operation to recover from, which is good, a slightly higher chance of future osteoarthritis, which is bad, but then to do nothing presented an ongoing risk of further deterioration requiring major surgery and almost definite bone on bone contact. I did the injury about seven months ago and tried physio, exercises and it clearly was getting no better. It wasn’t fully functional on the bike - I couldn’t go hard or ride long hills, and I couldn’t really walk longer distances than a half mile or so. 

So it had to be done. I’ve got crutches, more to take a bit of pressure off for a couple of weeks, pain is minimal and well-controlled by just ibuprofen and I am feeling confident. Before you say anything I will follow the advice of my CMO (Chief Medical Officer), aka Mrs Mendip Rouleur, not to be too impatient. The most surprising thing has actually been the impact of the general anaesthetic because I’m still tired today, despite lots of sleep, but it has been only 24 hours as I write, since I came round from the operation.

I also know I am very, very fortunate to be able to get it done relatively quickly. It’s also a very, very minor condition and “procedure”, so a speedy recovery is very doable, mainly thanks to those legs being in a fine condition. 

A big thanks to Mark Cox if he’s reading this. Or even if he is not. I was originally supposed to be doing the Somerset 100 as usual in May, but of course all this malarkey put paid to that, even though the operation got delayed by two weeks to the beginning of June. But it was so kind of him to allow me 12 months to enter and complete the course. So here is my plan:

1. Try not to eat too much for the next month.

2. Gentle and easy riding in  July then August, building up to a few hills towards the end of the month

3. Off to the Cevennes in September, for a mixture of warm weather flat road, tree-lined boulevards, hunting the haunts of the ancestors, enjoying the food & culture, and maybe, just maybe a few gentle gradients.

4. Come back and do the Somerset 100 on or near my 60th Birthday. Weather and fitness permitting. If I wimp out and do the 100km, I can call it 60 at 60. 

The hospital did offer me the non-slip socks as a leaving present, but I declined on the basis that they weren’t Rapha, or even Merino wool, and that shade of chartreuse doesn’t quite match the lightweight Brevet jersey I have. But is was a very kind and tempting offer. No one wants to think about the surgical pants.

I do have a big event coming up in a couple of weeks time over in Cardiff, which I’m hoping I’ll be able to go to because I’ll be safe to drive by then. I should be. The nurse told me that if I can crush a matchbox with my foot that indicates I’m safe enough to brake for an emergency stop. I thought about asking her what psi I’d need for that, but decided against. The constant questions about how soon could I ride a static bike, a bike on the road, a bike uphill and a bike in the mountains, had clearly led her to the belief that I was some kind of obsessive freak, and I didn’t want to give her any more evidence. But I’m pretty sure the Principality stadium, middle tier, should be fine. I’ll take the crutches, I might even get the Hat

I do love her music, especially her later stuff. The new album is great as was the last, but it was the two lockdown albums that I enjoy the most. I’m also looking forward to the cultural phenomenon that is a Taylor gathering. Just hope that all the younger Swifties are not trying to stand up the whole time, I may have to deploy the crutches in a way they were not intended.

Just like stand-up comedy and gravel riding, you have to put yourself outside your comfort zones sometimes and just go for it. Put on a different set of clothes, a new mindset and a new hat, and live a little. Or even a lot.

Like an angel on a balcony

I’ve got a lot going on at the moment.

Work is super busy and home life is a juggling act sometimes, with three people now working in the house. Yet again it has felt like a long Winter, with a dose of flu to improve the mood and almost perpetual rain it seems since January. Despite all of my vim and vigour, I’m a bit ground down by the mundanity of it all. Isn’t that how things end? Not with a blaze of glory but a mild disappointment and the slow grind to a halt?

My left shoulder bore the brunt of the brachial neuritis attack in 2021. After my own immune system had done its best to mess up my motor neurones in my arms, shoulders and hands, the differing rates at which all my muscles recovered pulled the shoulder out of alignment. It took the excellent work of a physiotherapist, and great support from a personal trainer to gently ease it back together again. The most complicated joint in the body apparently.

But shit happens to all of us and I was fortunate to have the resources and support in place to recover. Now I have conquered the shoulder I have moved onto the next most complicated joint, the knee. It all started with the acquisition of a titanium gravel bike back in January last year. Unbeknownst to me titanium is quite a slippy material, particularly when you have a carbon seat post stuck in the frame. I had noticed a bit of knee pain, more of a dull ache really, in my left knee in the late Spring, but by the time the late Summer came around it was pretty much gone.

Then just before Christmas all of a sudden I got an agonising pain in my right knee. To cut a very long story short, it transpired that the seat post had been slipping down by tiny increments all the way through the Spring, probably causing the dull ache, until the switch to the carbon bike over the Summer halted the damage. Then switch back to the gravel in the Autumn and boom, a problem. 

Some physio diagnosed meniscus inflammation, he reckoned it would heal over a few weeks, with some leg strengthening thrown into the bargain. I followed the prescribed routines and did see small, gradual. improvements. I also fixed the saddle height, and made sure I measured it every week, and added a stronger clamp. But what I hadn’t bargained for was the impact of some walking. Having walked from Temple Meads to my work office and back last Thursday I was a bit sore on Friday. But all seemed OK on Saturday so I thought nothing of heading out in the cause of democracy to deliver some leaflets in the remote parts of Winscombe on Saturday. Six miles to be precise, who’d have thought there could be that many long drives in Winscombe and Sidcot.

By Sunday morning I couldn’t walk. I could barely bend or extend the knee, put weight on it when I stood up and it kept locking up at awkward moments. Generally once I got going I could hobble about, but it was pretty painful and very stiff.  It’s improved a little today - not locking up and I can put weight on it - but it’s still far from its best self.

 Very, very annoying. But those resources are going to come in handy again, I’m getting the knee scanned on Sunday in an MRI scanner, so I hope at least I know what I’m dealing with. Ironically I did find the 10 yards of cycling on the patio didn’t hurt at all. Getting on and off the bike was agonising and problematic though, so I guess that rules it out as a means of transportation for the time being. If only I was a member of the Royal family - I could have a footman lift me on and off the gravel bike at each end of the journey.

I’m also going to have to fess up to our next MP (I hope!) that I’m going to struggle to deliver her last set of leaflets. If you fancy a good walk in Winscombe, let me know, you’ll be doing democracy and the country a massive service. 

All of this is a proper pain, figuratively as well as literally. I’ve calculated quite a few numbers recently, and all of this time off the bike is eating into my lifetime-available riding days. Anyway, once I get this knee sorted out, however long it takes, I’m not keen to work through more joints, complicated or simple.

Especially as Spring is round the corner. In every sense. I just hope it turns out like Spring ‘97 not ‘92!

We had great fun last week one night after work, a team event making clay pots. Mine is below, and I think it looks amazing. It’s obviously a self-portrait, the likeness is uncanny. From the weather-beaten face, the wispy hair, to the huge ears and ever-growing eyebrows it is 59-year old me made clay.

 In all senses of the word, make of it what you will. I won’t claim to have any technical proficiency, nor monetisable talent or much imagination. Well, not in terms of clay pots anyway. But I tell you one thing. It will take a very clever type of Artificial Intelligence to replicate this in a hurry.

Anyway, just in case you were worried about the downbeat nature of this post, rest assured I am not giving up. That’s not what I do. Quite apart from anything else, I am too stubborn to admit defeat and there are a few people I have to prove wrong before I’m finished. I think Hunter Thompson was a bit of an idiot in most senses, but in one respect he had it right when he said this:

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow, what a ride!””

At first you never notice then the years go flying by

 In 2020 I wrote 12 pieces on this blog, in 2021 it was 13. But last year I slipped to just 5, and now in 2023, this is just my 4th. It will be the last for 2023 I promise.

It’s not as though there isn’t much going on to write about, nor have I been short of opinions. I suspect that’ll never happen. No, the reason is that paradoxically as life moves on, I seem to be getting busier, with little time to reflect. At least through the medium of a blog which is read by, at best, around 100 people. My attention span, never the best, is ever-shortening too. I read recently of a new acronym, insidiously encroaching on the corporate world - TLTR - “too long to read”.

More is going on, more is happening to us, there are more sources of content, and because of this, we have less time to actually absorb anything meaningful. Or perhaps, our poor, overloaded brains, have less capacity to actually discern the wheat from the chaff, the spam from the insightful.

If you have made it this far, well done, you obviously can still follow a narrative, and I welcome you to my review of 2023. A tradition that I both despise and embrace, deride and celebrate. Life is indeed full of yet more paradoxes that I can count.

2023. The year it finally happened.

January, at last a time for a good wedding. In Irish, in Donegal, with everyone a friend. Some very interesting conversations over quite a lot of drinks. Dancing, singing and much joy to start the year with, after a really awful 2022. See, I told you things would get better.

January was exciting in other ways too as I was back in London, for football, for work.  Also I took flight and went out on the bike across the flooded levels, wow, January looked like a fantastic month. Not sure how 2024 will top that.

But then a new bike arrived in February and my life was transformed again, opening up the gravel tracks and muddy paths to make commuting to Bristol interesting again. There was more London, with my dear brother this time, fantastic hats are they not?

 

March saw me have one last stab (for now!) at stand up comedy, playing to a packed back room in a very small pub in Bath. A few laughs, but not as much fun as last year, I realised I’m a big-time Charlie who does it for the response of the crowd, the joke de vivre and not for the graft. Fun though. I may put a recording up on my YouTube channel at some point. 

April saw us over in Ireland again, this time in Joseph Conrad country, amongst the old days and the event reminded us a bit of the dark times. Still it was a mixed marriage, by that I mean Nationalist and Unionist, so I suppose that is progress of a sort. Not quite as picturesque though and there were distinctly fewer laughs. 

There was also time in April to see Stewart Lee with Steve and Junior, Basic Lee in Bristol. Very good and funny as ever. Going again in 2024.

May, well that was campaigning season, and although WE didn’t win, I think all of the villages of Winscombe and Banwell won really. Hopefully more of that too as time allows. Watch the space. In a couple of years time.

Into the Spring and it was time for more bikes, bees and beautiful things as Pablo fired us into that final.

I’ll come back to June.

So the Summer rolled on and what a washout it turned into. But a massive highlight, probably, almost of the whole year, was a successful conclusion to Junior’s time at University. A somewhat benighted time it has to be said, as the twin ravages of lockdowns and Covid destroyed a University experience. But at least we got to celebrate on a dry day, in some style in Cardiff, and it was a very proud moment for us all.

Then it was onto our Silver wedding anniversary and this time it really did rain. It rained a lot, as only Devon knows how to rain. But that didn’t stop us, we had a great time walking, eating and celebrating in all our old haunts. 

Into August and another old haunt, this time Lyme Regis. Did a 200km ride with my mad friend Martyn. Times like these are what I will remember at the Moment of Surrender.

September had a brief warm and dry spell at the beginning of the month, then it turned wet again so we left the country, well you would wouldn’t you? Ironically our hotel in Cyprus was a kind of paradoxical Brexit central in a faraway land in the EU, well most of it anyway. 65% or thereabouts. We contented ourselves by touring cultural sites, eating and drinking the local food and sunning ourselves by the pool. It was a great break. 

Before we got to that, I’d nearly forgotten (how could I?) the fantastic reunion with my friends of 40 years’ standing, back at my University. With partners, husbands and wives along too, it was a very fun day, and you know what? The weather held that day too.

After a busy period at work, well actually the whole year has been that, but October was particularly manic, the Autumn slowly slid in. Nights drew in, and with the exception of trudging through the weather and the darkness, I looked forward to a Christmas break, nearly upon us. I did catch the sunrise one morning before work at Blagdon Lake, just demonstrating that even if it may be hard to find, there is beauty almost anywhere and any day, if you go looking for it.

I saw Billy Bragg at the Bristol Beacon, very inspiring, entertaining and the acoustics are brilliant. Glad they’ve got rid of that horrible name of the venue too, don’t believe the loud voices, Bristol is a progressive city.

To end the year, two things to finish, what better way to celebrate than by looking backwards. June. June the 7th. 9.30PM BST. Lucas slides the ball into space. Jarod is through on goal, he won’t, he can’t, he does. Mayhem. And that’s just our living room.

Then later in the month, over in the Ariege, a moment of stunning tranquility in some remote valleys and passes, great company, and at last, one last demon slayed.

A climb I’d dreaded for over a year turned out a lot nicer than I thought it would be, and I ticked it off with aplomb in my brand new maillot rouge. All that remains now is to go back next year and polish off  the last couple of km of paved road beyond the official finish. And conquer my fear of cows and hope my knee heals in time.

Always look for the positives eh?

I enjoyed pulling that together, hope you enjoyed reading it. You have to look for the good things, focus on them. It really does make life better, despite the misery and mayhem that swirls around us. People are basically nice and kind, if a little stupid and misguided at times. Apart from the small number of bad and evil men who exploit us from time to time. Usually whilst giving us a very fake smile which we all see through. And the very occasional woman, usually, but not exclusively, a Home Secretary in a Tory government. But I’m hoping that will soon be gone too.

So now I’m looking forward to my 60th Birthday, there will be a ride to celebrate, even if I don’t make it, I expect a memorial one please, and I am also hopeful for my friends and family. Life really is precious and fragile but it is also there to be embraced and enjoyed. 

Let’s do that in 2024.