tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76889750149055258712024-03-13T00:49:47.238+00:00Mendip Rouleur"He seems to experience a rather strong sense of adequacy about his ability to handle most situations"Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.comBlogger267125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-46374711230645071732024-03-13T00:46:00.003+00:002024-03-13T00:49:04.838+00:00Like an angel on a balconyI’ve got a lot going on at the moment.<div><br /></div><div>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?</div><div><br /></div><div>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.<div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div> 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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Especially as Spring is round the corner. In every sense. I just hope it turns out like Spring ‘97 not ‘92!</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div> 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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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:</div><div><br /></div><div>“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!””</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy1gzw3R20NHlBZ4497LvWIJRMEw1LWevq1yvKdVCkzABV5gIXd2wevXUQWKta9KuRfu99OC6_Ydq6KoDSC2CVjXBm3eNND8ZIVm0_dnjMxXp6vS5YLJEU2xTGo51Ub9VG8511HjZ1j68_3P-gGnMDYv0_jwGHrKRDkj4LnB_jaKxS20jU6Udf8lzSPU0/s4032/IMG_6962.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy1gzw3R20NHlBZ4497LvWIJRMEw1LWevq1yvKdVCkzABV5gIXd2wevXUQWKta9KuRfu99OC6_Ydq6KoDSC2CVjXBm3eNND8ZIVm0_dnjMxXp6vS5YLJEU2xTGo51Ub9VG8511HjZ1j68_3P-gGnMDYv0_jwGHrKRDkj4LnB_jaKxS20jU6Udf8lzSPU0/s320/IMG_6962.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-3859737187110046052023-12-18T15:57:00.007+00:002023-12-18T16:19:36.261+00:00At first you never notice then the years go flying by<p> 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.</p><p>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”.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>2023. The year it finally happened.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kEkhyL1C78lZ6jsLuwOOYU1ORtDtY0wGyaztIGqPOOExuZtEkIxABKC2pQNYSpzDBe-faMTg5HODYlUxoA8hC2K1EwyOU0PG5Wj4Vqv5B5qVXpJIgn_rbC3Au329x-fJCpD0xcgyn1nEbAXG1J0nGtR97fEjJw-EAMWmTctmmHvC_ripi4rMPosoXuc/s1170/IMG_0234.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1170" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kEkhyL1C78lZ6jsLuwOOYU1ORtDtY0wGyaztIGqPOOExuZtEkIxABKC2pQNYSpzDBe-faMTg5HODYlUxoA8hC2K1EwyOU0PG5Wj4Vqv5B5qVXpJIgn_rbC3Au329x-fJCpD0xcgyn1nEbAXG1J0nGtR97fEjJw-EAMWmTctmmHvC_ripi4rMPosoXuc/s320/IMG_0234.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQS81E1532OsID41-DP5qN2iWcCGlquLmYm0GN3lKq8WlnjgRmQxj5lM6ML9ik39Ly7TZetgGEoPtV0Y84sZ0AnVAjHEV9PXczzRzO3OqcmPL2_GEQxssEFRDXNDFi48R9u-O0wwVux6qCiR_hp_uYkAykvGOO9vbk4AuVZb-M6ZjJB0QC6rxgHuJ_YU/s3088/IMG_5309.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQS81E1532OsID41-DP5qN2iWcCGlquLmYm0GN3lKq8WlnjgRmQxj5lM6ML9ik39Ly7TZetgGEoPtV0Y84sZ0AnVAjHEV9PXczzRzO3OqcmPL2_GEQxssEFRDXNDFi48R9u-O0wwVux6qCiR_hp_uYkAykvGOO9vbk4AuVZb-M6ZjJB0QC6rxgHuJ_YU/s320/IMG_5309.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFp3wwzBOWUMXDBPPq9D8CBb2onGJ8PVI8w2BTKF0upoRxKZjzGcLvGGN5cSoUN1LAUPHL5xRulxhZyfJ16SDW0RUqhNVT9Xwxg3FFqPtKDpQyAE0B393p_hcNY7eu_OrAhlrglZAjczvatB7Mm-Rq8sRPbDjiw7QS766ITM-yHO6XHQQQCKzjmzUANIw/s2903/IMG_5313.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2903" data-original-width="2432" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFp3wwzBOWUMXDBPPq9D8CBb2onGJ8PVI8w2BTKF0upoRxKZjzGcLvGGN5cSoUN1LAUPHL5xRulxhZyfJ16SDW0RUqhNVT9Xwxg3FFqPtKDpQyAE0B393p_hcNY7eu_OrAhlrglZAjczvatB7Mm-Rq8sRPbDjiw7QS766ITM-yHO6XHQQQCKzjmzUANIw/s320/IMG_5313.jpeg" width="268" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUKxdS6l_P75D4fG448AitDig6T5yHLFtmFAPoMCti99XERwD85DJ7aMoiKEIoU4Nl_TmnAjXe7-qC7SExYHlS5FCy-F7mjZQV3bngXq2CNMT3EkFbQ7w0_4Z_22FomYmVmNnk8omdA4jwyIx4eXM6ZX9yANiZdDGTWKE1txzDKdn8FX6grNm_hpdvu8/s4032/IMG_5327.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUKxdS6l_P75D4fG448AitDig6T5yHLFtmFAPoMCti99XERwD85DJ7aMoiKEIoU4Nl_TmnAjXe7-qC7SExYHlS5FCy-F7mjZQV3bngXq2CNMT3EkFbQ7w0_4Z_22FomYmVmNnk8omdA4jwyIx4eXM6ZX9yANiZdDGTWKE1txzDKdn8FX6grNm_hpdvu8/s320/IMG_5327.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipRklJP-PCiKznIPoV9v4YIgWUG9Jsytn4uRbTU6jc4TsZieffjy-nin_RXA49UBEhyzR2CUCJc42JjhI0J-_krvUpmQsDFjCYoaWytBQdcIJUnB-mk98eKqBX_8swlzRKzmyzWMVubFQNPbM1BxKyZ2iqUThn4f1Pdx0tl-firDqa8a-x9DC6GFp2lZM/s4032/IMG_5375.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipRklJP-PCiKznIPoV9v4YIgWUG9Jsytn4uRbTU6jc4TsZieffjy-nin_RXA49UBEhyzR2CUCJc42JjhI0J-_krvUpmQsDFjCYoaWytBQdcIJUnB-mk98eKqBX_8swlzRKzmyzWMVubFQNPbM1BxKyZ2iqUThn4f1Pdx0tl-firDqa8a-x9DC6GFp2lZM/s320/IMG_5375.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMi9cYm4YsThncl3-RZ7xm_XvotXLggWr76wqU9l083G4iOLNgSiQeg8ATxgrGLCrNeiS8v2Aoxp3pZf4AfLVw3fEtN98KK4UJvD6YWzC4UrbBHITT0Q-B20SqBIRE1fUp8r3DlYFMmaZQl2JSO9RyUvRRSoDwDluoA3qlnllhM8qG9zMBxOO5ebi47k/s4032/IMG_5421.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMi9cYm4YsThncl3-RZ7xm_XvotXLggWr76wqU9l083G4iOLNgSiQeg8ATxgrGLCrNeiS8v2Aoxp3pZf4AfLVw3fEtN98KK4UJvD6YWzC4UrbBHITT0Q-B20SqBIRE1fUp8r3DlYFMmaZQl2JSO9RyUvRRSoDwDluoA3qlnllhM8qG9zMBxOO5ebi47k/s320/IMG_5421.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS37KOA27DD7VeB7kNSCYobm3aMkxjsDFsVR-9lgRge0oBJWgvumEeWP7wf0o3sxLQn_eHwGlNflTr2CVa3bLk6wL9L0phtscHv9EpE7kxZFdfCoaWyfCbOxyV2ArczVHMpMAM0v6rZk-rZvTYihzJ4PcPGl7L7WiLK62XuSPyQtIlTvVws5DUqlcCG2o/s4032/IMG_5443.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS37KOA27DD7VeB7kNSCYobm3aMkxjsDFsVR-9lgRge0oBJWgvumEeWP7wf0o3sxLQn_eHwGlNflTr2CVa3bLk6wL9L0phtscHv9EpE7kxZFdfCoaWyfCbOxyV2ArczVHMpMAM0v6rZk-rZvTYihzJ4PcPGl7L7WiLK62XuSPyQtIlTvVws5DUqlcCG2o/s320/IMG_5443.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZS_Dfmx06hSo1uEPUPAcWGqY4q30qvbJ0G_d_0_c_aWB-QWV5-Lu8mBEHgFWECgC0mkQq7UcVoHeIGWRAALnv73jFA6pILmagvLFNlVJ-mCS3Y8d2xQ88L9WDr99IWXkJ-EGgV293IHoCDlfBaF9khtmqV7fbfuAcV7lgSXgvgC79Ut10_iqquoixfM/s4032/IMG_5542.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZS_Dfmx06hSo1uEPUPAcWGqY4q30qvbJ0G_d_0_c_aWB-QWV5-Lu8mBEHgFWECgC0mkQq7UcVoHeIGWRAALnv73jFA6pILmagvLFNlVJ-mCS3Y8d2xQ88L9WDr99IWXkJ-EGgV293IHoCDlfBaF9khtmqV7fbfuAcV7lgSXgvgC79Ut10_iqquoixfM/s320/IMG_5542.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6kYsc7hGInULLORd13LvhRTs8kSoriFYnfw8pjBqE808mElWOG61ihYx99rsMu5uMF0Bp6N9_AL1US1P-1ikTxgYqAoxnypuO9ayq8-xr2dl6F25-l7exxiFvF7vpna58L-x7GweZ5FdfTJiSgpdoW4jKfiyVKpYJbAf21I45aK_ifCaCI-ryo6T3UM/s4032/IMG_5563.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6kYsc7hGInULLORd13LvhRTs8kSoriFYnfw8pjBqE808mElWOG61ihYx99rsMu5uMF0Bp6N9_AL1US1P-1ikTxgYqAoxnypuO9ayq8-xr2dl6F25-l7exxiFvF7vpna58L-x7GweZ5FdfTJiSgpdoW4jKfiyVKpYJbAf21I45aK_ifCaCI-ryo6T3UM/s320/IMG_5563.jpeg" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1wE9qHq0pgS3AjTE6KgueD2GTiITvnv2MCyHUOqeska5eGpjc3CTOceZS3ykbS4AyxTuK3zJoZKKNlUQVDlfMkPlnyGifXrPFGBqsKTbKWCJ2P8WNsY5BbvUlatuhaKAyYqf5gs19YHsVBBbDQ3nCoF1vqYSbfqhEvdLvMBZO4DQFfobS5xHFkCT4bM/s4032/IMG_5777.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1wE9qHq0pgS3AjTE6KgueD2GTiITvnv2MCyHUOqeska5eGpjc3CTOceZS3ykbS4AyxTuK3zJoZKKNlUQVDlfMkPlnyGifXrPFGBqsKTbKWCJ2P8WNsY5BbvUlatuhaKAyYqf5gs19YHsVBBbDQ3nCoF1vqYSbfqhEvdLvMBZO4DQFfobS5xHFkCT4bM/s320/IMG_5777.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Into the Spring and it was time for more bikes, bees and beautiful things as Pablo fired us into that final.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I’ll come back to June.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKM5-5ZKaeBJ4dFAAnnEmiDT51jJyXbxypNPrhKKuJOo3AbIfzYL0c_D4AuFKLUDF_oo4njBg_eTd669uOACeYfPt7D-pOPJYEjHBVFwktkVtZ3IS4-27YF4Xs-_DXjllly4aWJ9XMRI92eO7hx3y7wuYPe6ymd8ICshQ7u5v8s-cyVS-hN5jDAXWxnlY/s4032/IMG_6205.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKM5-5ZKaeBJ4dFAAnnEmiDT51jJyXbxypNPrhKKuJOo3AbIfzYL0c_D4AuFKLUDF_oo4njBg_eTd669uOACeYfPt7D-pOPJYEjHBVFwktkVtZ3IS4-27YF4Xs-_DXjllly4aWJ9XMRI92eO7hx3y7wuYPe6ymd8ICshQ7u5v8s-cyVS-hN5jDAXWxnlY/s320/IMG_6205.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7pMlx9MfqonZ_HA4wDqQsudlS8wl9t2EXFWheKh3Wv_M7HpAkKcV840O4R_FomN4k1334DWBCcpK28mZ7CVyGGFg8WHnRCsFgwErytraFvYA9_HYF037gZzgyz4-ZMlEmydYkZFggvgW6gk-xe-NlFwCojjiAR25q0e6mbFt7Kk4GhLnP_OCG9HlUFGY/s4032/IMG_6214.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7pMlx9MfqonZ_HA4wDqQsudlS8wl9t2EXFWheKh3Wv_M7HpAkKcV840O4R_FomN4k1334DWBCcpK28mZ7CVyGGFg8WHnRCsFgwErytraFvYA9_HYF037gZzgyz4-ZMlEmydYkZFggvgW6gk-xe-NlFwCojjiAR25q0e6mbFt7Kk4GhLnP_OCG9HlUFGY/s320/IMG_6214.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghcfCfonSXVXDuyQCQhMmdMeUMNcvOw4MpjWbTe9mc6d-qHXWfzPRd2QQ_ihBlO2cpS6a0qZmotuJk1kuDYHrsDG_9tcf4NjKF-jo3cLXfqnoVq1Faju3B6xHO3mjVzajV3BCUuh2puwiMPoDA5LB-vJmyyKvDKSQuLzfiipl5HWfLp8kIePYNNA3VzX4/s4032/IMG_6231.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghcfCfonSXVXDuyQCQhMmdMeUMNcvOw4MpjWbTe9mc6d-qHXWfzPRd2QQ_ihBlO2cpS6a0qZmotuJk1kuDYHrsDG_9tcf4NjKF-jo3cLXfqnoVq1Faju3B6xHO3mjVzajV3BCUuh2puwiMPoDA5LB-vJmyyKvDKSQuLzfiipl5HWfLp8kIePYNNA3VzX4/s320/IMG_6231.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqy1cAPexxcO8vfgfN7gfJm-ZiFfQYQ70zFXbIQVjzWZcJRjWHLIkT83AvExJAasmYx66D8An248CaerJxaSta63Eu4Fihkt94hOmDDpAB6d_mqkfi_FimnI6KJLpIREjq5viXwBNABBqDoCNi41cnQ956GSEq_lAKFXleeY4sik21jv4dXBGhDsyJ30o/s4032/IMG_6290.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqy1cAPexxcO8vfgfN7gfJm-ZiFfQYQ70zFXbIQVjzWZcJRjWHLIkT83AvExJAasmYx66D8An248CaerJxaSta63Eu4Fihkt94hOmDDpAB6d_mqkfi_FimnI6KJLpIREjq5viXwBNABBqDoCNi41cnQ956GSEq_lAKFXleeY4sik21jv4dXBGhDsyJ30o/s320/IMG_6290.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtUIyAjLToGrH6j9q0x-kqLxcLT7B09B_aadupS7ltrJQVB9QxZO07N64N-QcleOmB9enyG817DWjMUim7xtZ6CF0IM2BiQT_aBrUJK7dVnP6Hz-NccmvNMCAQD9JXLSbOi6m31j-wO23BRfCcNWbNK0C-OhToS6u6X8_Tx6RGZw2XI00OYKvQvHDOYA/s4032/IMG_6292.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtUIyAjLToGrH6j9q0x-kqLxcLT7B09B_aadupS7ltrJQVB9QxZO07N64N-QcleOmB9enyG817DWjMUim7xtZ6CF0IM2BiQT_aBrUJK7dVnP6Hz-NccmvNMCAQD9JXLSbOi6m31j-wO23BRfCcNWbNK0C-OhToS6u6X8_Tx6RGZw2XI00OYKvQvHDOYA/s320/IMG_6292.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ylp6qBiqtgeO5xKUiGDNjK9njGKu0bOeVNUDmg9jbFfASjmVUC7FYqOliHd6lFKCL05pZ68-6pled1qy_8GQ0BNN3vbzkqEez_rclQ3ld6SDPv7LdV2EYHND2zutgpL5FqGe3lSD33xAm3ePfTMckFk6l6Oln-SHrmSCpXJpJ7jCTJnRukaFa6l8UFQ/s4032/IMG_6293.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Ylp6qBiqtgeO5xKUiGDNjK9njGKu0bOeVNUDmg9jbFfASjmVUC7FYqOliHd6lFKCL05pZ68-6pled1qy_8GQ0BNN3vbzkqEez_rclQ3ld6SDPv7LdV2EYHND2zutgpL5FqGe3lSD33xAm3ePfTMckFk6l6Oln-SHrmSCpXJpJ7jCTJnRukaFa6l8UFQ/s320/IMG_6293.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEFR4gW9KH6ayxsOIltbb66OOV2RqKfZLuZ5lNOVTACvhQd38gNXHNT3sI6Co0l1RX2OJwUEdj_ESebguWBSITSQXbKpxueR1ThVFhsuG-Mj2fVFX0inli2RXo285bT6l4nlQZy87F50u-1YdpBLiDv_HC4rDSlXDuFM9HHhexZAHyttUy8pEVGqYNqSQ/s4032/IMG_6374.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEFR4gW9KH6ayxsOIltbb66OOV2RqKfZLuZ5lNOVTACvhQd38gNXHNT3sI6Co0l1RX2OJwUEdj_ESebguWBSITSQXbKpxueR1ThVFhsuG-Mj2fVFX0inli2RXo285bT6l4nlQZy87F50u-1YdpBLiDv_HC4rDSlXDuFM9HHhexZAHyttUy8pEVGqYNqSQ/s320/IMG_6374.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCTHSrhEm2Nw9p4p95V98BP51qvQ702SXdj5W5IAA8PfIYLtsyjemKsx7zBRHROjUYMcd3Nw4yO5O_FicflSMSwGc4qk80B838otnjz3DbFSRpKW4W10P2Tu5fKUd37-64y2rbuWHKg3QW8WAysEk3PyN0C8fWjktzXohrpfIoXoSMwOg1GCcqnNEhUM/s4032/IMG_6391.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCTHSrhEm2Nw9p4p95V98BP51qvQ702SXdj5W5IAA8PfIYLtsyjemKsx7zBRHROjUYMcd3Nw4yO5O_FicflSMSwGc4qk80B838otnjz3DbFSRpKW4W10P2Tu5fKUd37-64y2rbuWHKg3QW8WAysEk3PyN0C8fWjktzXohrpfIoXoSMwOg1GCcqnNEhUM/s320/IMG_6391.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJS3n7RTP7NADosHtz1zWtX7x9VORuWl2npMPG1oWFXz_VHA87CxreY8NgFRc5NQVk1JOPHTstrsVl_pIpZHSZnFRA-fR5ttXopihtU2odwtF8Qt_2_LV9W-MyxXK5AcgQiT8xeEnGcCNNRnJVP-_o1GWkUfxBZx30lYzPS-aEoICZAN_ejCGSC0HcTA/s4032/IMG_6468.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJS3n7RTP7NADosHtz1zWtX7x9VORuWl2npMPG1oWFXz_VHA87CxreY8NgFRc5NQVk1JOPHTstrsVl_pIpZHSZnFRA-fR5ttXopihtU2odwtF8Qt_2_LV9W-MyxXK5AcgQiT8xeEnGcCNNRnJVP-_o1GWkUfxBZx30lYzPS-aEoICZAN_ejCGSC0HcTA/s320/IMG_6468.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHRY-Y5LnDC9AICPvKUr_IHtf6OnlV5cdkVJYDH5QD3aDkMUZpNP_GxCFez5tUFSrBN025SLwzOhR4qA9E7JQGUpznW4lcP0TYSUyFaF5tMbbi05QWX0fbXsLgQO6WCinn4ASKqJ9Gq38uqV918KGoHQbs2XMJDuedHAGeepna979Faa9zb2ubq_feQus/s1600/7d4b8819-9b4b-4969-ab5b-0bba447b3b41.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHRY-Y5LnDC9AICPvKUr_IHtf6OnlV5cdkVJYDH5QD3aDkMUZpNP_GxCFez5tUFSrBN025SLwzOhR4qA9E7JQGUpznW4lcP0TYSUyFaF5tMbbi05QWX0fbXsLgQO6WCinn4ASKqJ9Gq38uqV918KGoHQbs2XMJDuedHAGeepna979Faa9zb2ubq_feQus/s320/7d4b8819-9b4b-4969-ab5b-0bba447b3b41.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEgcuhyphenhyphenPJEKZ8jyGJ5dj93WGCZcbMKijnS_N3U9pB8PogRsehEqDy_ev4XK6IDFmKXGRYxIouk-zm6nWn9St9bm-GJeZGklcJaMcT1S39PidHIJny2lKOsdGkTQPAFQVeePFE_4-7JiL7yDLqPF5EdZrAHdl-fUcmbx8B43AbvUjtGz9btAcUK-8LlOA/s4032/IMG_6331.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEgcuhyphenhyphenPJEKZ8jyGJ5dj93WGCZcbMKijnS_N3U9pB8PogRsehEqDy_ev4XK6IDFmKXGRYxIouk-zm6nWn9St9bm-GJeZGklcJaMcT1S39PidHIJny2lKOsdGkTQPAFQVeePFE_4-7JiL7yDLqPF5EdZrAHdl-fUcmbx8B43AbvUjtGz9btAcUK-8LlOA/s320/IMG_6331.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJA7AsydJulx3qNVCJR-PmuvyKYHtK4bMc7xvd0PyOis63yMa2d3nd4NZ46UqILfTRd2QYNauzTyhpmuBzWK6tyIOFbT0s3oRxG4zITA-tK2KA7ZgXotsPyG-m0lFcUOgOEx2ZF-2bpvq0GfZpKBmvxL4KBsOozKcvvsR_QJoA2a5sbMh1aC2flYgAJrM/s4032/IMG_6642.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJA7AsydJulx3qNVCJR-PmuvyKYHtK4bMc7xvd0PyOis63yMa2d3nd4NZ46UqILfTRd2QYNauzTyhpmuBzWK6tyIOFbT0s3oRxG4zITA-tK2KA7ZgXotsPyG-m0lFcUOgOEx2ZF-2bpvq0GfZpKBmvxL4KBsOozKcvvsR_QJoA2a5sbMh1aC2flYgAJrM/s320/IMG_6642.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLy5q5EfPrddbbjb3E2cLPW8qBioNWmzj391I4ryyKgOTGK__WlElOLSFXUK8PEJ6PKHKEYU8AFUmUB_1pJj3tVk1AqEXtVDEnZKalMtgd_l89e17tRHJNGjkYL4CyTxflgjLQSQZty9YmEQ_g016T4KSuMYS5lJte9OwijD5mh5Sy4v55E24K9BQB14o/s4032/IMG_6697.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLy5q5EfPrddbbjb3E2cLPW8qBioNWmzj391I4ryyKgOTGK__WlElOLSFXUK8PEJ6PKHKEYU8AFUmUB_1pJj3tVk1AqEXtVDEnZKalMtgd_l89e17tRHJNGjkYL4CyTxflgjLQSQZty9YmEQ_g016T4KSuMYS5lJte9OwijD5mh5Sy4v55E24K9BQB14o/s320/IMG_6697.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX_8-zxjP8XBdTulpnIE3UCaUxFGRAqXOYSpEGFXBaoWFQhLGO9ns8fqBT4GDmSjLmLaHqdkcQl4djTGlA06-pGX3ESTGZc0_fZv3hj3NXTkEzLXnOjOCIrT75flAg7bjrynk-4T0Leg0nKF_CzClImwbSvm1uujSxRlwokwFQKV-WXZn10sotTdJNTPU/s4032/IMG_6705.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX_8-zxjP8XBdTulpnIE3UCaUxFGRAqXOYSpEGFXBaoWFQhLGO9ns8fqBT4GDmSjLmLaHqdkcQl4djTGlA06-pGX3ESTGZc0_fZv3hj3NXTkEzLXnOjOCIrT75flAg7bjrynk-4T0Leg0nKF_CzClImwbSvm1uujSxRlwokwFQKV-WXZn10sotTdJNTPU/s320/IMG_6705.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgngjaFfreRZhCcHIiVy4de0gTunduy9p8CbZUTvvQXp7yGpCUSrJzxnqnMJNbmA39niQqM7pGzgLPB7Q2WVp2DoJ5HjjHX4XFD0hfc3cSj3XutfIeJfBStNwHvveOKhaw3c5u-e0dK7fKtQyfCH_Huwy-X7WQULAAP-Ri8JPuvesyVZjc2WinJeRO6QtU/s1220/IMG_0233.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1220" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgngjaFfreRZhCcHIiVy4de0gTunduy9p8CbZUTvvQXp7yGpCUSrJzxnqnMJNbmA39niQqM7pGzgLPB7Q2WVp2DoJ5HjjHX4XFD0hfc3cSj3XutfIeJfBStNwHvveOKhaw3c5u-e0dK7fKtQyfCH_Huwy-X7WQULAAP-Ri8JPuvesyVZjc2WinJeRO6QtU/s320/IMG_0233.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-UNF5PW12IxPoLKuNdVmYcvQxmB0IVyuQ2EWMGurVimem0fo8w3I2bQjiD97bCsW5gMdvUtE7DQmfBUObG5EVmgVOr_Hwgu5f2lyntHyCpVbbvJ8F-8AnYkc1vOiX3lTso-yE4oowSVzgVZ7DLBNzd5hW2LXdYYcGMSt5Lb7FrYVZQCVerz1Z_C1dMA/s4032/IMG_6106.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-UNF5PW12IxPoLKuNdVmYcvQxmB0IVyuQ2EWMGurVimem0fo8w3I2bQjiD97bCsW5gMdvUtE7DQmfBUObG5EVmgVOr_Hwgu5f2lyntHyCpVbbvJ8F-8AnYkc1vOiX3lTso-yE4oowSVzgVZ7DLBNzd5hW2LXdYYcGMSt5Lb7FrYVZQCVerz1Z_C1dMA/s320/IMG_6106.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6vlk0s9ecqvJMLasYTEnpgilwQld1TimVErzm5SQuapWDl7awGMEUFImC4XMaWZPFV9-3hluCeFVATFjhy1JGVBB_Is6EtGSjEDLo1xpVTA_HNIYE_gyy_xM4_54UcRpsthbhq31B5H0c3feX0bzxEV77sUxFunwvnyDdfhsGH0ixDLHOoLS99IMQMg/s4032/IMG_6072.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6vlk0s9ecqvJMLasYTEnpgilwQld1TimVErzm5SQuapWDl7awGMEUFImC4XMaWZPFV9-3hluCeFVATFjhy1JGVBB_Is6EtGSjEDLo1xpVTA_HNIYE_gyy_xM4_54UcRpsthbhq31B5H0c3feX0bzxEV77sUxFunwvnyDdfhsGH0ixDLHOoLS99IMQMg/s320/IMG_6072.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-6pqmIahTjQwNR0pEyyihOwnK9lvl5KfCmj_kWCxMdUsQO2VKTcaC8jF4xJ8LurA-DgrgsVubZQFqpAuRDv73x6_GmnXu3yB9UNhaigH48iWV2FmxwsdhdQYpqm4PH1fOYEXAN4p9j6LmybzoPPBsPHXp7_MU-cv8_drH70m8Ue9d7F_dq6zKD_FZ1k/s4032/IMG_6067.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr-6pqmIahTjQwNR0pEyyihOwnK9lvl5KfCmj_kWCxMdUsQO2VKTcaC8jF4xJ8LurA-DgrgsVubZQFqpAuRDv73x6_GmnXu3yB9UNhaigH48iWV2FmxwsdhdQYpqm4PH1fOYEXAN4p9j6LmybzoPPBsPHXp7_MU-cv8_drH70m8Ue9d7F_dq6zKD_FZ1k/s320/IMG_6067.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcAW7eO1dm3Is51EdHATAIdZv740W2nNBP80a55mKj3lD1bWmznm9m7Wy5p9s3YW-IcLpFWmpWl2Fzzvx0ZRXQirvOLjyWSjj1huqEAcd-vz7FClF49d5oWO1Yl8RkndHTQZb2JSYeDR71pcirFQylwWqj84npemSDLB_r37A4M7SQ252Ib-OaUs5CiQs/s1795/6FA79578-D347-48E7-828B-CA53BB8F8B94.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1795" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcAW7eO1dm3Is51EdHATAIdZv740W2nNBP80a55mKj3lD1bWmznm9m7Wy5p9s3YW-IcLpFWmpWl2Fzzvx0ZRXQirvOLjyWSjj1huqEAcd-vz7FClF49d5oWO1Yl8RkndHTQZb2JSYeDR71pcirFQylwWqj84npemSDLB_r37A4M7SQ252Ib-OaUs5CiQs/s320/6FA79578-D347-48E7-828B-CA53BB8F8B94.jpeg" width="257" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Always look for the positives eh?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let’s do that in 2024.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-44132329432164478802023-09-29T18:05:00.000+00:002023-09-29T18:05:00.464+00:00"If your dreams don't scare you, they are not big enough"<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>"I have no thought of time"</b> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">59. Almost doesn't bear thinking about does it? But there you go, it's happened and as I myself once so very famously said, what is the alternative? In less than a year I hope to be entering my seventh decade, who knows, perhaps I will live forever?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The Summer has been nondescript. Awful weather with the exception of one week in September and one week in Cyprus, and one week in the Ariege. But the cycling has been good, the afore-mentioned French sojurn, a terrific 200km ride down to Lyme Regis on August Bank Holiday weekend, a wonderful short ride to the sea at sunset at Berrow with Steve, and well, other mucking about on bikes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> "If I hadn't seen such riches I could live with being poor"</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yet that September sunshine brought a lovely reunion of my friends at our University, more or less forty years since we first made our trepidatious steps there. It was good to see them, the last few years have been so tough for all of us in different ways, but somehow, despite our lack of hair, our wrinkles, our extra baggage, it was like we had never been away. No, better.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Even the slightly mucky and wet day in August brought a kind of charm to the Blackdowns and our associated riding. Even better, that rain held off for the day in Cardiff when we celebrated Junior's graduation. I cried as much as when that winner went in off the goalie's thigh. No, more.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>"I gave my blood, sweat and tears for this"</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Even work has been good. I really like and respect the team I'm working with, and am beginning to see that we are actually doing stuff that is quite ground-breaking as well as meaningful. It's well-paid too, so what is not to like?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">To cap it all, Mrs Mendip Rouleur and I celebrated 25 years of matrimony in a deluge in Devon. Not a metaphor, but at least the storm kept the crowds away and allowed us to enjoy the outdoors almost to ourselves. The cafes were certainly pleased to see us.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ78aEQYpFrH_4k8G8FFxlMh_TvRiNiU7F3nsh5-uYfCGGIxh7DurXpKwukPoVP5Ef8CFyicbAwE3fY_-c16KGT3AII0QJWWARKLEXuZwMOfsSN-IcvqqGkldaVwG-x-QwTFrJLVDZd7Y1i30Mn9h4NMa2YVctE5hFWFnnbovwdGXGfSGIBvTeg5ffv50/s4032/IMG_6097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ78aEQYpFrH_4k8G8FFxlMh_TvRiNiU7F3nsh5-uYfCGGIxh7DurXpKwukPoVP5Ef8CFyicbAwE3fY_-c16KGT3AII0QJWWARKLEXuZwMOfsSN-IcvqqGkldaVwG-x-QwTFrJLVDZd7Y1i30Mn9h4NMa2YVctE5hFWFnnbovwdGXGfSGIBvTeg5ffv50/s320/IMG_6097.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZB7Poxk2AmFWIk00wD3PFbvJqWfWiCX-Kfr89c-PAhTDTJA03HZu4qXc5Y26f-vmQsCAgdgLTYBpypQbGoPapGLjOAeLFREemfqRee6Px0JK8Un3egdUvdXHTzIZCdx4x16zpxgWDBHtw9s5DMeGtO3YJq9Vlu5M8iJrTQ9kob_OjNMdEkVaykChDSoc/s1286/IMG_6147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1286" data-original-width="965" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZB7Poxk2AmFWIk00wD3PFbvJqWfWiCX-Kfr89c-PAhTDTJA03HZu4qXc5Y26f-vmQsCAgdgLTYBpypQbGoPapGLjOAeLFREemfqRee6Px0JK8Un3egdUvdXHTzIZCdx4x16zpxgWDBHtw9s5DMeGtO3YJq9Vlu5M8iJrTQ9kob_OjNMdEkVaykChDSoc/s320/IMG_6147.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUMRdPU6SqK2mGdjtHI3petm3v2hjzlWwkqAgZkGDKvhoET9S4zA506fWdhkA5tSYK9x53F4otgT5WTmX16rUkSQStJ-_oFNMl3xP-UspS0NESmQ3a60Fo-tpmvPqBWiEO0SRfJAXU_20Zh358gRjR1gxk-JEIjj3MAmRC_AWcCSTiP2pCeJZmnoHIPUc/s4032/IMG_6205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUMRdPU6SqK2mGdjtHI3petm3v2hjzlWwkqAgZkGDKvhoET9S4zA506fWdhkA5tSYK9x53F4otgT5WTmX16rUkSQStJ-_oFNMl3xP-UspS0NESmQ3a60Fo-tpmvPqBWiEO0SRfJAXU_20Zh358gRjR1gxk-JEIjj3MAmRC_AWcCSTiP2pCeJZmnoHIPUc/s320/IMG_6205.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhS6al8WwPlBuKdGlHmAElquDX2v1P5eYvm5sP4DqPVEr5Vgal_gWNEL77a-rl51IoURFeANSCTVyF4RANjEZhyphenhyphen-mQ2qEMEcRdkltzfo0b17h8bLaBcD1X28eV26O4J8-sz0G6lA4eycz2ufhealoMqCMTgtZDYSGAs5ai7088uDF6sIa5TUJPs4c2Zok/s4032/IMG_6224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhS6al8WwPlBuKdGlHmAElquDX2v1P5eYvm5sP4DqPVEr5Vgal_gWNEL77a-rl51IoURFeANSCTVyF4RANjEZhyphenhyphen-mQ2qEMEcRdkltzfo0b17h8bLaBcD1X28eV26O4J8-sz0G6lA4eycz2ufhealoMqCMTgtZDYSGAs5ai7088uDF6sIa5TUJPs4c2Zok/s320/IMG_6224.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Cpd-pNIgCXfvBLEXOwsLD25DjatE0QcCD_QLAMJgeya-g3n_SWmmx39bFsaucW0YvcmUyfkbY8WU5galohkI8eJzZABW37iqI7E32A03rrXLOXSHhBY9yI2NVcdc8MitpIKAL9ZnNQK6MBLxfzo9kP-vhH7q_84w9ynU4obhsJ0d2V6p_Ck3Lnecyg/s4032/IMG_6293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Cpd-pNIgCXfvBLEXOwsLD25DjatE0QcCD_QLAMJgeya-g3n_SWmmx39bFsaucW0YvcmUyfkbY8WU5galohkI8eJzZABW37iqI7E32A03rrXLOXSHhBY9yI2NVcdc8MitpIKAL9ZnNQK6MBLxfzo9kP-vhH7q_84w9ynU4obhsJ0d2V6p_Ck3Lnecyg/s320/IMG_6293.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMRTcMSb4PpFb_PqVysqV1kRPyqaL5GUxl6YkXtTOkWMqM6CHGue9tGt0c0KuQDn-W7k2PnZuj7t3Ko60urpXTFeQsVQaMKH2GyRY19ZmhgB3uugB8zF-9AGF3c3UAHk9xpJtvxcw9HAbRaiWIfK1U9YxfdTabffh_uHDm2znAFe1MlPGdqAfri9wvDE/s4032/IMG_6332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMRTcMSb4PpFb_PqVysqV1kRPyqaL5GUxl6YkXtTOkWMqM6CHGue9tGt0c0KuQDn-W7k2PnZuj7t3Ko60urpXTFeQsVQaMKH2GyRY19ZmhgB3uugB8zF-9AGF3c3UAHk9xpJtvxcw9HAbRaiWIfK1U9YxfdTabffh_uHDm2znAFe1MlPGdqAfri9wvDE/s320/IMG_6332.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>"Off with the horns, on with the show"</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But now my thoughts turn to 2024. That year. What is it to be? Am I scared of my dreams?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">You'll just have to wait and see.</span></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-60930444392706003322023-06-08T18:08:00.002+00:002023-06-08T18:10:54.508+00:00Just like my dreams<p> <span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Some things you just can’t put into words. Even as I type these </span><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">lines,</span><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> I know I’m struggling to translate those precious moments of delirium, as well as the nice warm afterglow that sits upon me now, into anything that could </span><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">possibly</span><span style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> feel as real as they do.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">I first became a West Ham fan in the very late sixties and watched my first live game in 1971. The addiction and attachment </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">have</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> waxed and waned through many phases over the years, with varying levels of resignation and intensity. But it’s always there and will never, ever go away. Many people associate me with cycling, others with my work in law firms, and others as a strong advocate of road safety. </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">All</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> these matter of course, but none have the longevity, or the meaning that comes from being a West Ham fan.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Which is awful really. What about all the personal relationships I have, you may ask? My wife, my son, my siblings, my </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">friends,</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> and colleagues? My son of course shares my attachment, although again, that word does not reflect the visceral connection to abstract notions of loyalty and blind faith that he often possesses. It was me that ensured he was enrolled as a Junior Hammer at 5 days old, bought his first season ticket at 7 years of age, and ensured, through a steady campaign of bribery and propaganda, that he would also have no choice but to be an Iron.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">My wife’s situation is more problematic. In the early days of our </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">relationship,</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> it was a “fun thing about Guy”. She didn’t know what she didn’t know. There was a crisis of course, and </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">in our first few years together, and then when our son was first born, there were compromises to be made and logistics to agree. </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">So,</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> we have come to an agreeable way of managing this thing.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">My family, in particular my younger brother, well, they just get it. They saw me grow up with it, latch </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">onto</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> it, be subsumed by it, from a young age.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho129Fzf2SIrMvl83a8RvuoCa8d0c2ZN6EMU7CPwiPutd8s1nFtqnuIBM9OPkoO0vAWf1Y1pS-bRIdmavmC8vSVX89vhAoKA6faDy6FsvK3rjfakPVOcriu4h69m7eg-M5jZo_3ZlPcLPsW0oYdapND8NBABJayfnykSRoZhKWm55KCbITimLEfIzh/s2048/3B998463-B79E-4E34-BFFB-CDA359DF7ED7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho129Fzf2SIrMvl83a8RvuoCa8d0c2ZN6EMU7CPwiPutd8s1nFtqnuIBM9OPkoO0vAWf1Y1pS-bRIdmavmC8vSVX89vhAoKA6faDy6FsvK3rjfakPVOcriu4h69m7eg-M5jZo_3ZlPcLPsW0oYdapND8NBABJayfnykSRoZhKWm55KCbITimLEfIzh/s320/3B998463-B79E-4E34-BFFB-CDA359DF7ED7.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Where were my parents when all this was going on? Well thankfully they were aiding and abetting it. My Dad took me to matches, starting in 1971, and though I remember little of those early days, I can claim to have been there when Bobby Moore scored a rare goal for us on that day. My Mum did the research that allowed replica kits to be bought, badges sewn on, in a world long before the internet and the voracious world of football club marketing. We had to scour the far-flung sports shops for them, and I’m pleased to say that those early 1970s jerseys, shorts and socks have a special place in my collection. I even had a classic blue and two claret hoops kit in the mid-seventies.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsIc47E5aO53jvhzR-A6Ju6gnX8dMpfLeNgqwRyi6jlzw2xYc8ScfbNBe0zam8XHQACWttLd0hQRsUDI_0AcU7rm7ZgQVG3fwxt3FxE-tJ33Kmait55klT3X_ozDU6Qc1FnEDmVDNC0AVAE6kP4RYouu8JQ_PNaiU23opg2bfPCqNV8UfPOt5knB-/s960/B079BEBC-F7E1-4BA3-9E1B-E9C90413BFAD.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsIc47E5aO53jvhzR-A6Ju6gnX8dMpfLeNgqwRyi6jlzw2xYc8ScfbNBe0zam8XHQACWttLd0hQRsUDI_0AcU7rm7ZgQVG3fwxt3FxE-tJ33Kmait55klT3X_ozDU6Qc1FnEDmVDNC0AVAE6kP4RYouu8JQ_PNaiU23opg2bfPCqNV8UfPOt5knB-/s320/B079BEBC-F7E1-4BA3-9E1B-E9C90413BFAD.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">When West Ham conducted their open top bus parade in 1964 after winning their first FA Cup, my Mum stood on the balcony of their flat in High Street North and was just a short pass away from Bobby Moore on the top deck. Within her at that very moment was an embryonic fan in the making. In a strange coda to that tale my son was present in utero when my wife came to watch the game with me where Paulo scored his wonder goal. It starts early.</p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">My brother has his own team, his own cross to bear too, so we have shared understanding. He now comes to occasional games with me, we message each other as we watch the same games on the overpriced TV platforms that serve us our fix when increasingly getting to games is impossible. I don’t have to explain it to him. He is sometimes a voice of ridiculous optimism, trying to get me to be more positive. But he has not been through what I have.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">My brother watched me watch the 1980 Cup Final, so he knows. </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Just as stressful an occasion as last night as I recall, St Trevor scoring in the 13</span><span class="s2" style="font-size: 7px; line-height: 8.399999618530273px; vertical-align: super;">th</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> minute and Willie Young chopping down the babe that was Paul Allen, to ruin a fairytale ending. </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Years later my Dad was </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">sitting</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">next</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> to Trevor Brooking at Buckingham Palace (really) and I only half-forgave him for not asking for an autograph. Even though I was 36 years old at the time. </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">But we won the FA Cup again, for the third time, much to my relief, and after four trophies in 15 years, it seemed a regular thing. </span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">But the long wait started right there. </span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFxkFmqwu7nGSUEIkpeXPmHOocy5_9CFvsbJVx8ljzHXGgfhkP1GGFT87uMm3Q2gIzg3Zq5fC4xLXVLlCXCwzlEoci4vbD5mpKeHTBcc-WjkZoGBMzFjymMOUQESkR82jTplUmCJc3jOK1KVq3JNFXSEqpC_1rR7LnAjyDo-bVknb8oNvdlJTcwH4/s4032/7E168FC0-8A0D-4D88-9816-EB8DDCA7D1D8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFxkFmqwu7nGSUEIkpeXPmHOocy5_9CFvsbJVx8ljzHXGgfhkP1GGFT87uMm3Q2gIzg3Zq5fC4xLXVLlCXCwzlEoci4vbD5mpKeHTBcc-WjkZoGBMzFjymMOUQESkR82jTplUmCJc3jOK1KVq3JNFXSEqpC_1rR7LnAjyDo-bVknb8oNvdlJTcwH4/s320/7E168FC0-8A0D-4D88-9816-EB8DDCA7D1D8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I really care about my friends, have deep attachment to my work and colleagues, and some have become friends too. Some will understand, some may not. There was a point about 12 years ago where I was thinking of giving up my season ticket, and it was a then-colleague who persuaded me not to. I’m grateful to her, but really it was never going to happen. The attachment is too deep, too much a part of the essence of me.</p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So all of these relationships matter, it’s just this one matters in ways like no other. It’s more than just tribal too. It’s like all the neuroses and all the joys I ever had, wrapped up into a force that is embedded in my very essence. I will never understand it and I can never explain it. As Nick Hornby said:</p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“We do not lack imagination, nor have we sad and barren lives; it is just that real life is paler, duller and contains less potential for unexpected delirium.”</p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">I drifted away from it a bit when I was in my late teens and early twenties. University was too cool for football in the mid-eighties, but I still checked the scores and the teams every week. That our best-ever League finish happened during that time is a source of disappointment to me, I </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">didn’t</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> really </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">revel in that as much as I might now. Though of course there would have been crushing disappointment at failing to win the League, and I was shielded a </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">bit</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> from that because of an immersion in politics, music and well, women.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">But all it took was a little heartbreak and my first love came roaring back into my life in my </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">mid-20s</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">. I met and became friends with a group of season-ticket holders and that, as they say, was pretty much that. I’ve had a season ticket myself now for over 30 years, and still sit with the same group. Our own </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">children have come and joined the party, and despite the inevitable slim pickings of success, we have become a big club, almost against our own will. With over 50,000 season-</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">ticket-holders</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> and filling our 60K-plus seater stadium every week, how could we not be?</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">And now this. A trophy. A victory. Genuine success in a way I can barely remember. It feels odd, amazing, deliriously good, tortuously stressful in the final minutes of the game, when we were 2-1 up and all I could say was “please not again”. Memories of Gerard’s </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">fluke</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">, shinned shot into the top corner to deny us the 2006 FA Cup</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">, all came flooding back like some recurring episode of defeats past</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">. As my son said to me today, it’s normally us conceding last minute goals, our hopes dashed but our expectations fulfilled. Homer Simpson so eloquently summed up the secret of happiness as “lower your expectations”, and ours can’t generally get much lower. The fear of disappointment is so huge without that, and the pain that comes from a dashed hope is the most acute of all.</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> The feelings associated with last-minute victory, Jared Bowen’s run and shot finding the bottom corner are all the sweeter for their scarcity.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">That I wasn’t at the match leaves me with another discombobulation. Now a resident of Somerset I am used to missing games, but not big games like this. I wanted to be there, but with only 5000 tickets allocated, it was beyond the complexities of logistics and cash to make it happen without a winning place in the ballot. I won’t be at the victory parade tonight either, but that doesn’t lessen the feelings of acute joy, a</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">s</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> unusual </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">though those feelings are.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">The delirium at the second goal was so unexpected and so joyful, counterbalanced by the pain and stress of the final few minutes. My son came home to watch the game with me, and we jumped and screamed around the living room, incredulous, mad with joy and disbelief. Even my son knows, already at 22 he is well-versed in the agony of being a West Ham fan: “it’s just not our thing to score last-minute goals and hold on to win, it’s usually the other way round”.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAu4nCNZ_rvFg1HREdWa1ABk7jJjXr-0bsXGVQXZc1wwBZhzwI4hI6w5PUXd8R03XmLL9TCLz3dcXwWXxP9chVa2g7gwLordoEmc_QVICGPGAiZELPwNxgDNLC8Pni7j2HIyLCYd0cQqD7leld9BlIk9quQvoZLsnxg1cKasoQZ8ZsVR4XLdj8zYt/s4032/F622CE7D-7287-497D-A583-8ECA72917ED9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAu4nCNZ_rvFg1HREdWa1ABk7jJjXr-0bsXGVQXZc1wwBZhzwI4hI6w5PUXd8R03XmLL9TCLz3dcXwWXxP9chVa2g7gwLordoEmc_QVICGPGAiZELPwNxgDNLC8Pni7j2HIyLCYd0cQqD7leld9BlIk9quQvoZLsnxg1cKasoQZ8ZsVR4XLdj8zYt/s320/F622CE7D-7287-497D-A583-8ECA72917ED9.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">It may not be the usual thing, but it is possibly the greatest moment of being a West Ham fan that I have ever experienced.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">I have a shirt collection. Of course I do. Every single West Ham shirt, without fail, goes into it. I’m a traditionalist too, I like the kits with largely claret body, blue sleeves. That’s it. Away kits should be dark blue, or nowadays I’ll allow black, or light blue. This year I was appalled. The home kit was awful, but the “third shirt” was without doubt, the worst in our history. A kind of white, but with this mess of orange and yellow and other flaming colours in it. A proverbial breakfast for a canine.</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">I cursed it, I swore not to get it out of its wrapper, but my compulsive urge to collect would take no prisoners, so of course, I bought it along with all the others. It’s an irony of history that it had to be the shirt we wore last </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">night,</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">wasn’t</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> it? A taunt to my obsession, a tweak to my slavish addiction to this club and its history. That shirt will go down in our folklore, and if I’m honest, I </span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">think</span><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"> that we won because I hate that shirt so much. That some mesmeric force somewhere decided that this must be my price for victory. A constant reminder that it would have been so much better in next year’s home kit. </span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">Do I mind?</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;">What do you think?</span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT6SUgOckV-z7zKR2vMRt8fwGnC6XksZ6FPGLmXqqXLtp2DRDO-bo05lmXiNu8vdqCXz6lSBWTuYA1Rhu4tfVdCxRWTYQD7tPlemOKUM27LaD8y5K1K95vD4whBYIyIB_pmSZuIyXg10vcbtxV-FrAiDsRvtPi5mSIlLdebhuLsSwwFGVHJ5MANttB/s2048/64C7118F-E784-4089-AB90-EAC3DEEC2D4E.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT6SUgOckV-z7zKR2vMRt8fwGnC6XksZ6FPGLmXqqXLtp2DRDO-bo05lmXiNu8vdqCXz6lSBWTuYA1Rhu4tfVdCxRWTYQD7tPlemOKUM27LaD8y5K1K95vD4whBYIyIB_pmSZuIyXg10vcbtxV-FrAiDsRvtPi5mSIlLdebhuLsSwwFGVHJ5MANttB/s320/64C7118F-E784-4089-AB90-EAC3DEEC2D4E.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><br /></span><p></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-16446777472374015202023-06-08T17:31:00.001+00:002023-06-08T17:31:24.867+00:00It’s a long climb up the dusty mountain<p> <span style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124; text-align: center;">“It's a long climb up the dusty mountain</span></p><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;"><div style="text-align: center;">To build a turret tall enough to keep you out</div></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;"><div style="text-align: center;">But when you wage your wars against the one who adores you,</div></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;"><div style="text-align: center;">Then you'll never know the treasure that you're worth</div></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;"><div style="text-align: center;">But I've never been a wealthy one before</div></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;"><div style="text-align: center;">I've got holes in my pockets burned by liars gold,</div></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;"><div style="text-align: center;">And I think I'm far too poor for you to want me”</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Today was a great day, no, wait, the best of days. I was slow, so very slow up the hills. Choosing a steel-framed, heavy-wheeled, saddle-bag-ladened and mudguard-equipped bike didn’t help. As Ray asked me, “why did you bring a knife to a gunfight?” Whilst my three companions were on disc-brakes, I was squeezing for grim death on the steepest of gravel-infused gnarly descents on my poor rim-braked 32-spoked wheels, hoping they wouldn’t stop too fast. But in truth, my lesser climbing ability and lower power to weight ratio probably mattered more.</p><p>But that all didn’t matter much. The views from the Wellington monument were superb, the lanes with their bluebells were exquisite and the company at coffee, with the camaraderie on the ride was the best.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Lately I have been thinking more and more about what really matters in life. My Dad’s (almost) final words to me was that real life is about relationships. Just because it’s such a cliché doesn’t mean that’s not true. But I think it’s more subtle than that. It’s about sharing the journey, seeing the same things, laughing at the same time, and being prepared to wait for the slow coach at the top of the hill, whilst loving the exhilaration of riding together down the other side.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Today is an anniversary of something I didn’t enjoy or like, but it’s led me into good places. It’s also started something of another journey for me, I don’t know what exactly and I don’t know where it’s taking me, but I’m really enjoying it so far. When I focus on that, instead of the petty stresses and strains that don’t matter, life is much calmer, easier, happier. Try it.</p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;">“I ran like a speeding train</span></div><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;"><div style="text-align: center;">Cut my hair and changed my name</div></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;"><div style="text-align: center;">Only had myself to blame</div></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124;"><div style="text-align: center;">For the company I was keeping”</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">I’ve posted a few short video clips of today’s ride in the Blackdowns on my Instagram (guybuckland77), take a look, it was a lovely, pretty carefree day. Send me a follower request if you are interested. In the meantime, here are a few snaps from today at the Wellington Monument.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYo3R0f8znZlZvpkQsv1nnNfr0452Vah7hYQynLkp75fQI_Erh_PkOdffVPEppVjtA_3ljdsJZU4N9j3UFtdlfUk4rPJ9salD_hkWpFKJR0vvAFPLRS5vsWXn3VTyWnHyA3zPfueZfE-fafEvdYXZg5L4nsZmItbCchJyQ1nZ8F1faYWQshfJQThBQOw/s2048/F46C4EC6-9739-42EC-9C7D-447BD3F7A757.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYo3R0f8znZlZvpkQsv1nnNfr0452Vah7hYQynLkp75fQI_Erh_PkOdffVPEppVjtA_3ljdsJZU4N9j3UFtdlfUk4rPJ9salD_hkWpFKJR0vvAFPLRS5vsWXn3VTyWnHyA3zPfueZfE-fafEvdYXZg5L4nsZmItbCchJyQ1nZ8F1faYWQshfJQThBQOw/s320/F46C4EC6-9739-42EC-9C7D-447BD3F7A757.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaVMTlbUIhdQ4lvQs3nCHvV3VuCqUaplDl8RyGK4Xw6LBX9NPHHNweYDpgKRjxVPwvulNu7O06Hya-lhK8ywTVOpVVLPAgqk4Fk5KFIXswfiUR8Lag7IPkLbcn7A7T0yujNRPW8KKtCbpanku0DezNSQUJtq2NGzIoB6IEOs2zvrD4F2re_6JEzK6d0w/s2048/E85A560F-3D8F-43E5-B7FF-7ABD444B0C44.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaVMTlbUIhdQ4lvQs3nCHvV3VuCqUaplDl8RyGK4Xw6LBX9NPHHNweYDpgKRjxVPwvulNu7O06Hya-lhK8ywTVOpVVLPAgqk4Fk5KFIXswfiUR8Lag7IPkLbcn7A7T0yujNRPW8KKtCbpanku0DezNSQUJtq2NGzIoB6IEOs2zvrD4F2re_6JEzK6d0w/s320/E85A560F-3D8F-43E5-B7FF-7ABD444B0C44.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcK4Oxc82AMJZ5h7NUlC_PtkUUTXTPOM4f6Jgv0Z06MMvZdNttqH-DyDN_vzkbKa_L23D60uWLPo64HkX44qVWN3jRNcpjFE0zQn0bHMWJvRFEtjP7U1sa2VrPT0vhJ3PcpkyZeJKEbG5zPo26-YlMb3xmr0mVQmgBrTh_w-VzpCn9u5_uM3hpcoKCQ/s2048/4529C7F0-A78D-4E5D-92E8-8FFF6DA6BEAA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcK4Oxc82AMJZ5h7NUlC_PtkUUTXTPOM4f6Jgv0Z06MMvZdNttqH-DyDN_vzkbKa_L23D60uWLPo64HkX44qVWN3jRNcpjFE0zQn0bHMWJvRFEtjP7U1sa2VrPT0vhJ3PcpkyZeJKEbG5zPo26-YlMb3xmr0mVQmgBrTh_w-VzpCn9u5_uM3hpcoKCQ/s320/4529C7F0-A78D-4E5D-92E8-8FFF6DA6BEAA.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxm56ojoHUJCcojeuNFEMdAmIE7iPCZgQk-rQ0YBXw5WyayXTMcEV1M5lh1a7gbNUaAebuytfuYrw4XGhS028-oyzUcXYdpOlwauTQ33HPgSnbgrMoxf4IlPE2F9_ok5-ABxhdM3XREkt1eihQnVXXSDJyU5aDvBt4Sdth2-MsFViiLC9Z9EzdXP2wbA/s2048/367EC7DD-6875-432B-8478-D4E587FF0FBC.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxm56ojoHUJCcojeuNFEMdAmIE7iPCZgQk-rQ0YBXw5WyayXTMcEV1M5lh1a7gbNUaAebuytfuYrw4XGhS028-oyzUcXYdpOlwauTQ33HPgSnbgrMoxf4IlPE2F9_ok5-ABxhdM3XREkt1eihQnVXXSDJyU5aDvBt4Sdth2-MsFViiLC9Z9EzdXP2wbA/s320/367EC7DD-6875-432B-8478-D4E587FF0FBC.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCxIrSitU4i7OGK3i2YVJ2blprl1Tyz7vy3uY9cKu_-EZ-25_DdB_70ZJy500jaLPqWAZQ5ZHqa5ilcEdXed32k_zD2UJ12sLqtt898zJJ87jG_JZDp8lphrDUqauDtAn8AxHw0zqZx6RZJZ2otyzkTm2s35bm32vEwPNpSanDDoz55wYAoweKZ6638g/s2048/73A1AB3C-F4CA-44D5-9F1B-46ECDBD315BA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCxIrSitU4i7OGK3i2YVJ2blprl1Tyz7vy3uY9cKu_-EZ-25_DdB_70ZJy500jaLPqWAZQ5ZHqa5ilcEdXed32k_zD2UJ12sLqtt898zJJ87jG_JZDp8lphrDUqauDtAn8AxHw0zqZx6RZJZ2otyzkTm2s35bm32vEwPNpSanDDoz55wYAoweKZ6638g/s320/73A1AB3C-F4CA-44D5-9F1B-46ECDBD315BA.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SkjwIhPiGijcCPdM0LRYU_NR0aCrkEQy415AY-5zulYWyhHC5AZc-wbmT4tMt6dgM1xgjOKbjSmaf_rvCMqXMQ_wrdAQYojhkQWItev0mZheEzajmuYD-fhCYH-W6vCoXWrZBBBUE9altOdxJGYyhCQUBi0dKK4-gvVXhpR4aNLDWpZZvu5XTg-CfQ/s3065/68FF6A3A-0B24-427B-B382-820DB37D386B.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3065" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SkjwIhPiGijcCPdM0LRYU_NR0aCrkEQy415AY-5zulYWyhHC5AZc-wbmT4tMt6dgM1xgjOKbjSmaf_rvCMqXMQ_wrdAQYojhkQWItev0mZheEzajmuYD-fhCYH-W6vCoXWrZBBBUE9altOdxJGYyhCQUBi0dKK4-gvVXhpR4aNLDWpZZvu5XTg-CfQ/s320/68FF6A3A-0B24-427B-B382-820DB37D386B.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-40966322908123583382022-12-18T00:00:00.002+00:002022-12-18T00:05:15.257+00:00I’ll admit that I was angry for too long<p> I can’t stand anything that smacks of a review of the year. Really detest them, full of smug, self-aggrandising stuff about how I have or haven’t had a much better year than you.</p><p>But seeing as I did such a good one <a href="http://mendiprouleur.blogspot.com/2021/12/ill-be-summer-sun-for-you-forever.html?m=1">last year,</a> it seems a shame to break a tradition, so I might change my mind. I still hold that the turn of the year is an arbitrary date, person-made and of little significance. Or maybe I can argue with myself on that one too, because the end of the year in the Northern Hemisphere is still round the time of the deepest of mid-Winter. This year more than most, so maybe it is a time for reflection, renewal and all that stuff after all.</p><p>In reality, all that stuff started for me the weekend of the 12th November, when I finally delivered the output of my comedy course at a <a href="https://youtu.be/zwpSi3SLmos">showcase</a> in Bristol. It was without doubt the most difficult thing I have ever done, and I was incredibly nervous before it. But people did laugh, which is the point after all, so that’s something. I found it quite a challenge to do two opposing things at the same time. First, remember all the scripted words, in the right order so that the jokes worked. Second, be engaging and interactive with the audience and prepared to improvise or go off script when the opportunity presented itself. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlP0DjkNjbJZn9dVwKnPKnpwLsiVdw2p3o9NmC9jQ2OOhKuSGta27IPEosmWCRDRhbeZGDevrdEaSd3cUM868JIkTwQQpqLOFJDSrHEntzwRmLvw3LLZJ3q5zgmN3DDQbIfuDErVqQQA5UXj4PRu97El2-lf6ZO5tJ0CLXplfngTGUfRmi_21aPcZ/s2329/9B610501-2714-4772-8AF5-BA407C414B82.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1992" data-original-width="2329" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlP0DjkNjbJZn9dVwKnPKnpwLsiVdw2p3o9NmC9jQ2OOhKuSGta27IPEosmWCRDRhbeZGDevrdEaSd3cUM868JIkTwQQpqLOFJDSrHEntzwRmLvw3LLZJ3q5zgmN3DDQbIfuDErVqQQA5UXj4PRu97El2-lf6ZO5tJ0CLXplfngTGUfRmi_21aPcZ/s320/9B610501-2714-4772-8AF5-BA407C414B82.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>There is also a very obvious derivative quality to it. You can’t watch one comedian exclusively for 10 years on YouTube, night after night, and not be influenced. And as the great man himself says, “sometimes you have to have something that’s just for me”. The other thing about stand-up comedy is that it is a fiction. Whilst some of my material has its roots in the truth, and in things that happened, it’s exaggerated and twisted FOR COMIC EFFECT! As much of my writing on this blog has been, take a kernel and turn into into a general point. </p><p>That’s quite a clever joke in itself.</p><p>What I loved most about the course was the people I did it with. A group that was reasonably diverse, in age terms certainly, but also in occupation, delivery and comic persona definitely. A few of them have already gone on to do some open mic nights, which I really want to do too, really must get round to it!</p><p>Hot on the heels of that night, two days later I started my new job, and have now been there for 5 weeks. It’s great to be working with grown-ups again after a period when I wasn’t. See above for comedic licence reference in case of doubt. Lovely people, interesting work, good locations and nice culture. Money is good too, so couldn’t really wish for more. One thing, the cycling facilities are excellent so definitely a good move.</p><p>I have also entered the Ariegeoise, and the Dartmoor classic in successive weekends next mid-Summer. So somethings to definitely look forward to. June is a nice month to go to France, it’s not too crowded or too hot, but still lovely enough to get some good rides in. </p><p>This year I really found out who my friends are, even the ones I don’t know very well. One of the advantages, of having a very large network of people that I know, is that eventually I find out all of the truth about things that have happened. It doesn’t take much digging. A few people in particular have surprised me by their duplicitous, two-faced scheming, when prima facie they appear nice and supportive. Of course I will not name names, nor will I even let these people know, that I know. It’s not for me to dole out the retribution, as Taylor herself says, in this <a href="https://youtu.be/rg18Kf4en2o">song</a>, “Karma’s gonna track you down, step by step, from town to town”.</p><p>On the cycling front it’s been a good year, without being spectacular. Apart from the Ariege, and my solo mini-Tour, which was great fun, if a tad soggy and windy, the highlight has to have been the hottest 200km Audax I have ever done. Possibly the hottest bike ride I have ever done, with an average temperature well into the high 30s. I was never so relied as when I got to a cafe at 5PM having run out of water and feeling like I was melting onto the road. They had air conditioning!</p><p>If things really do come in threes though, then the last three years have been as tough a triad as I can remember. But as another friend reminded me yesterday, (and hats off to her by the way for the fantastic work she is doing supporting refugees fleeing the war) no one is bombing me like they are in Ukraine, so yet again I acknowledge my relative privilege in the world. And I am still alive, which can not be said for some close relatives again this year, one in particular taken way too soon and in cruel fashion. </p><p>But that doesn’t mean I can not hope for a better few years now for all of us, despite the tough conditions with which we are faced. To cheer you up, here are a few pictures from 2022, let’s hope we’ve turned that corner. When I look at the photos from 2022 I realise how much has happened away from work, comedy and cycling. </p><p>We went to Italy on holiday, I’ve still got a great family and some fantastic friends, football with Junior, Bono with my brother, and meeting my sister and her partner in Winchester. I visited my parents, I sold my Genesis bike (making space for a new arrival in January I hope), lots of fantastic walks with Mrs Rouleur, the Van Gogh exhibition thing, and so much more besides, some bad, but most, very very good.. I’m a fortunate person. My life is good but no better than anyone else’s. I have privilege and opportunity of course, and I end the year in a much better place than I thought possible a few months ago.</p><p>I think what I have just discovered is that it is easy to forget the good things in your life and focus on the ones that raise your stress levels. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieX1Owt8cUovuuSTUKjygqGNjUldS4qGBgRoyweHUXj3l61hnI-R6CEJmK2lq5RF9B0h-tADFdPaECKA9k_KPwGt_Tg-eXI_cSUH0Aoib4UWooe3GDD_Vd4HgMJ5_qbeh6y4KiGe9YfTMWOv-yu_rdryoOClBagtuiP1qX7AFngQDaixm0L6FHjCDA/s4032/F769EBFA-95EA-4FF6-BA40-BE5E0FC6F678.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieX1Owt8cUovuuSTUKjygqGNjUldS4qGBgRoyweHUXj3l61hnI-R6CEJmK2lq5RF9B0h-tADFdPaECKA9k_KPwGt_Tg-eXI_cSUH0Aoib4UWooe3GDD_Vd4HgMJ5_qbeh6y4KiGe9YfTMWOv-yu_rdryoOClBagtuiP1qX7AFngQDaixm0L6FHjCDA/s320/F769EBFA-95EA-4FF6-BA40-BE5E0FC6F678.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8_-Uz5fOq3Jxd3hobsNsexvR6-cg444Ckt778gdvQvCCE-lF6Ka4F8CQ3u5ANncmpRnBWkCxsDK7I0-muRYwbzARqRVYkhyL9JRwjVs4TKdriX9EdyomU4eie6OguEFC6yjfLDaMgDNVn3q8qXliNgFeVlpndl_e71_q8uSrBTq05iwKM27_qhVb/s4032/EE4D56CA-A19B-458F-841B-C82A51D6A1FB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8_-Uz5fOq3Jxd3hobsNsexvR6-cg444Ckt778gdvQvCCE-lF6Ka4F8CQ3u5ANncmpRnBWkCxsDK7I0-muRYwbzARqRVYkhyL9JRwjVs4TKdriX9EdyomU4eie6OguEFC6yjfLDaMgDNVn3q8qXliNgFeVlpndl_e71_q8uSrBTq05iwKM27_qhVb/s320/EE4D56CA-A19B-458F-841B-C82A51D6A1FB.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQ3ctmKW-kZ2LfvRpA7GozJvYNrkdXdGGceQRL4mXYnia-4elTQgVqVefGfLdZqGILrUuvG_rOv4ubplWV57xR3QMik3MpYyZlpzRdGW0RXKGCB9Svj4YlY54zVxmRS4KyBj-g4_7BJksB8sYVedy3dUJlXQs7z9cVKKNjOQ5JbMYyC96qZL72sRe/s960/E3723D48-6FA6-4E12-A0CC-9500911043CF.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQ3ctmKW-kZ2LfvRpA7GozJvYNrkdXdGGceQRL4mXYnia-4elTQgVqVefGfLdZqGILrUuvG_rOv4ubplWV57xR3QMik3MpYyZlpzRdGW0RXKGCB9Svj4YlY54zVxmRS4KyBj-g4_7BJksB8sYVedy3dUJlXQs7z9cVKKNjOQ5JbMYyC96qZL72sRe/s320/E3723D48-6FA6-4E12-A0CC-9500911043CF.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv371owWZjGH88MBMDl6pu1n978QHuA4oCTY6u7CeBnXejba6C1Tf4Gd6h-qJg2BHYdokbnlWGjhqhxWN2Ah2ifgedXAbhiJDfWK8sPvJ6RlKwLPMPfnn_oMeEqSsWvK8kKA3ck8dIYV27yZV_J_-UtoX8SftnKCmURVCHduBhCNxBRGZc961pqL7n/s4032/E0F0C34F-46D5-4BFA-B340-3C5769468256.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv371owWZjGH88MBMDl6pu1n978QHuA4oCTY6u7CeBnXejba6C1Tf4Gd6h-qJg2BHYdokbnlWGjhqhxWN2Ah2ifgedXAbhiJDfWK8sPvJ6RlKwLPMPfnn_oMeEqSsWvK8kKA3ck8dIYV27yZV_J_-UtoX8SftnKCmURVCHduBhCNxBRGZc961pqL7n/s320/E0F0C34F-46D5-4BFA-B340-3C5769468256.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiug_Tt81RqoMgxfoqMs9xQVlvplNvhIKXQh92fZj7NOfkjEyhzKjoC13BMnJc1C6Q_b0gdT-GgE93roMY1Tcah_cMi2CO-pN5yVIwDHATRq8NL07BNGCajKn8dIjezuovpS6XKo7uUQKDaejrm7GcZO2jbNFfDqpxYCJvnBS4yo3_nWuvgWihN0ah/s4032/CCB09602-D0E5-49F3-BCB9-6EB58BF800EF.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiug_Tt81RqoMgxfoqMs9xQVlvplNvhIKXQh92fZj7NOfkjEyhzKjoC13BMnJc1C6Q_b0gdT-GgE93roMY1Tcah_cMi2CO-pN5yVIwDHATRq8NL07BNGCajKn8dIjezuovpS6XKo7uUQKDaejrm7GcZO2jbNFfDqpxYCJvnBS4yo3_nWuvgWihN0ah/s320/CCB09602-D0E5-49F3-BCB9-6EB58BF800EF.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyu3YsPdzHBnnovswxNRcMzrHXmWuU6h4n707noZ90IGyWnl0qK9OEnFbMWC2id96gt_v42XDN8f98zj_UdYSZ0GIzZUUVqflkiMW2r7ng9gQ5NNhKr9nH0X_wd98IBQh-kTCWixOcAP0aE8riC2qBeMgVcK2dtFYKWluDf6KLEzTrLrViIzo_UyLb/s1607/CBBFAD18-F735-4F80-9CD9-5A6840AF810A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1607" data-original-width="1439" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyu3YsPdzHBnnovswxNRcMzrHXmWuU6h4n707noZ90IGyWnl0qK9OEnFbMWC2id96gt_v42XDN8f98zj_UdYSZ0GIzZUUVqflkiMW2r7ng9gQ5NNhKr9nH0X_wd98IBQh-kTCWixOcAP0aE8riC2qBeMgVcK2dtFYKWluDf6KLEzTrLrViIzo_UyLb/s320/CBBFAD18-F735-4F80-9CD9-5A6840AF810A.jpeg" width="287" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUfKRUO3CUn_SeSa6Z4GfC2dHU03-FxQPvDUmbCFidQm0Sj9hCVjB-7-cE0HaoXfGGyU3f9KERZOvuwR_fqMqtkxlk_i1hLevJgPZIcl1uqD2J1pOHAADHlGSDr1HW3i7wESugb6lx8gxPd_vMrpK1vu3_OJM-YZ4lPugieyCg4D3mUKKi52ozUIh/s4032/C6367204-6C9B-414C-84B3-232D974DD5F0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUfKRUO3CUn_SeSa6Z4GfC2dHU03-FxQPvDUmbCFidQm0Sj9hCVjB-7-cE0HaoXfGGyU3f9KERZOvuwR_fqMqtkxlk_i1hLevJgPZIcl1uqD2J1pOHAADHlGSDr1HW3i7wESugb6lx8gxPd_vMrpK1vu3_OJM-YZ4lPugieyCg4D3mUKKi52ozUIh/s320/C6367204-6C9B-414C-84B3-232D974DD5F0.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpT85QiIVUP-6oaDtGx84mM_zBkbpN8Ok3yKnAqo__yKl-eyIniVjGmjfWydrgeqZMaMHo7otqaelJJEKmHZjmvEuZ_I_Trugzafu0h_qlhoIek3a-pYJOb21a9mNIfivQ0Ejw-sROnTTa2KS9fwrfE4ALZZcDSe1-At5EQqZEfKNSdvBKxs7sGD5Y/s2592/AC572036-C3BB-448D-B634-C7E85BC8D9F9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="2592" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpT85QiIVUP-6oaDtGx84mM_zBkbpN8Ok3yKnAqo__yKl-eyIniVjGmjfWydrgeqZMaMHo7otqaelJJEKmHZjmvEuZ_I_Trugzafu0h_qlhoIek3a-pYJOb21a9mNIfivQ0Ejw-sROnTTa2KS9fwrfE4ALZZcDSe1-At5EQqZEfKNSdvBKxs7sGD5Y/s320/AC572036-C3BB-448D-B634-C7E85BC8D9F9.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9SfOBjykzk5i0pxpaU46kwzVWpldBKfhws7KrpXMlUiB9iDUCAmcyMeVsm0GswkgPs3crgmMP6qhFDdcFdCoKcEl4AcXOc9QGDW7oKamLbLvg8906S-ePLvXoaswwCBaI8t4cQOYMYwj6g2K_Kkt1tZMZ5ITFG6Kc01NrvMuWGURMU4JDSUXIgPjg/s2316/A84F9F59-B336-4382-B3E5-EBF9B60D13ED.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1566" data-original-width="2316" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9SfOBjykzk5i0pxpaU46kwzVWpldBKfhws7KrpXMlUiB9iDUCAmcyMeVsm0GswkgPs3crgmMP6qhFDdcFdCoKcEl4AcXOc9QGDW7oKamLbLvg8906S-ePLvXoaswwCBaI8t4cQOYMYwj6g2K_Kkt1tZMZ5ITFG6Kc01NrvMuWGURMU4JDSUXIgPjg/s320/A84F9F59-B336-4382-B3E5-EBF9B60D13ED.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPv5pZP0RrCccdD8fwFa1M_yiOhAx02-QCKyRMaVKEY8_7xdDjI-ykaHPlEnMDJz4nMEIKbaaRy0mUWcrAo-XGMGZ7xiqXvTdmXOHPIxTkbNst0GsegTrJiHov34xetu_o6YLoSr42Jj2hA_6vzed0ziXqRJc_im61nt7jJ3UVcydhuGfd-nm2LmF5/s4032/723367E8-99D5-48B7-9465-09599C5B46A9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPv5pZP0RrCccdD8fwFa1M_yiOhAx02-QCKyRMaVKEY8_7xdDjI-ykaHPlEnMDJz4nMEIKbaaRy0mUWcrAo-XGMGZ7xiqXvTdmXOHPIxTkbNst0GsegTrJiHov34xetu_o6YLoSr42Jj2hA_6vzed0ziXqRJc_im61nt7jJ3UVcydhuGfd-nm2LmF5/s320/723367E8-99D5-48B7-9465-09599C5B46A9.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYdnSDaJQEKZCjuYr13XsNh3oeZ4KcuAgsr_LkFauC8v-cAuw1C-1_UFOxjcFvZWjaA4s-7R8-GKYKb39nkTR9x8xznYerWnmhsmv9BkZ_IO6dIR9PH9Cn4SFTi45TjG4tFy_5Zp00CpHe6s9PX4iiAnbvWkAYKacPLftIhXPW50s4AgEe2RwFhDjW/s1795/7476E06E-A85F-4A31-ADFA-40F3D57AE0BD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1795" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYdnSDaJQEKZCjuYr13XsNh3oeZ4KcuAgsr_LkFauC8v-cAuw1C-1_UFOxjcFvZWjaA4s-7R8-GKYKb39nkTR9x8xznYerWnmhsmv9BkZ_IO6dIR9PH9Cn4SFTi45TjG4tFy_5Zp00CpHe6s9PX4iiAnbvWkAYKacPLftIhXPW50s4AgEe2RwFhDjW/s320/7476E06E-A85F-4A31-ADFA-40F3D57AE0BD.jpeg" width="257" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmi7DmyqT5u5Yf8qPacHINy6KrusGCYcfOT0zjJyx-kV3zi_l6VmqBpM-Vg4HsHfI3S0xyGdpHH-6vURfvbuutp_akMtDJ1ifh9XGcZ_D9xDqET8HPGRX1UciifRGqDYYofUvZ4-TgBJMKB92ZBi6WxGol21c4OgSv3Vi5qYke1OXUvhW_VSCYy2mg/s4032/5060D916-7459-4FB9-86B4-D2E8B5150F1C.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmi7DmyqT5u5Yf8qPacHINy6KrusGCYcfOT0zjJyx-kV3zi_l6VmqBpM-Vg4HsHfI3S0xyGdpHH-6vURfvbuutp_akMtDJ1ifh9XGcZ_D9xDqET8HPGRX1UciifRGqDYYofUvZ4-TgBJMKB92ZBi6WxGol21c4OgSv3Vi5qYke1OXUvhW_VSCYy2mg/s320/5060D916-7459-4FB9-86B4-D2E8B5150F1C.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMjcECoktlpscjm30_y7cCLn8KHG14jCtdpZXYpo-v1W_JFBVjpUGo3jXrTu-sIRsU4MHkQksFYsUlPw9tfKtO_Ll9QfLwRSjajgBj-cKCyzkg81ym6Zg8dh6woFFWaPtIAcdO-hNiPabrTcHMX1lFc09kQfvh_mqXa24qipusT-DsaPHiwhuxoVS/s4032/1922F7A9-C377-421D-B34E-0A63B7EBEDC1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMjcECoktlpscjm30_y7cCLn8KHG14jCtdpZXYpo-v1W_JFBVjpUGo3jXrTu-sIRsU4MHkQksFYsUlPw9tfKtO_Ll9QfLwRSjajgBj-cKCyzkg81ym6Zg8dh6woFFWaPtIAcdO-hNiPabrTcHMX1lFc09kQfvh_mqXa24qipusT-DsaPHiwhuxoVS/s320/1922F7A9-C377-421D-B34E-0A63B7EBEDC1.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgcG9bQxaadyX70DXt2OhkxFrfrq7hqdPmB8gfm-Oz9ht8D4wLVETdrityO1RGafEDP_QUiUjnhEDUxngQ7llO08VZ8JkQIF9zNPmAWe0cEs3Q966xLjcO5GLJorvsbzY0nljfqZmsdbpjr9OBpPQsm5w2r-eTKGZTC26wLwjI06AxdYCu63yMMaW/s4032/879C7EA8-5FD4-4497-A696-A2C3CF027B25.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgcG9bQxaadyX70DXt2OhkxFrfrq7hqdPmB8gfm-Oz9ht8D4wLVETdrityO1RGafEDP_QUiUjnhEDUxngQ7llO08VZ8JkQIF9zNPmAWe0cEs3Q966xLjcO5GLJorvsbzY0nljfqZmsdbpjr9OBpPQsm5w2r-eTKGZTC26wLwjI06AxdYCu63yMMaW/s320/879C7EA8-5FD4-4497-A696-A2C3CF027B25.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWzypR6uZkoz1AjGSZ9agK6dZMPitznqrB4trN0BR152ag5Ypk_04YM1REfU9CBiLAOfEOFdCojU9z9rreACzr7wlpKuh6uGUHqoFO86O45XCjAfSLU-vOKeJ60aFrggsKYWnr2N77Fmv3AKxPwq47Gfp5htWGzNEZ2rDT3tbD91EGHn1bwgKZ-sq/s1440/758CB9D1-6074-4430-A598-D0B34FC96DE0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1440" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWzypR6uZkoz1AjGSZ9agK6dZMPitznqrB4trN0BR152ag5Ypk_04YM1REfU9CBiLAOfEOFdCojU9z9rreACzr7wlpKuh6uGUHqoFO86O45XCjAfSLU-vOKeJ60aFrggsKYWnr2N77Fmv3AKxPwq47Gfp5htWGzNEZ2rDT3tbD91EGHn1bwgKZ-sq/s320/758CB9D1-6074-4430-A598-D0B34FC96DE0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9LKRavqncRk2p04Cll6tuU6L8zwI4ug3iTim-mzMGJ2CN2vmlw7BtnBEnJLrC606EISihMRwlb4IfM5rzOXp7bKVvIgxqb0wua3ue1ocDnZ2F-KHti54cVx8WSgVQK11KvaCFv3tlYYX6XdgKlvYDCTzgYhdCqacNsw6Z5g9n86MKKSgSAu8-VV6/s4032/42A91DAB-E42B-4151-8951-B61809470575.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9LKRavqncRk2p04Cll6tuU6L8zwI4ug3iTim-mzMGJ2CN2vmlw7BtnBEnJLrC606EISihMRwlb4IfM5rzOXp7bKVvIgxqb0wua3ue1ocDnZ2F-KHti54cVx8WSgVQK11KvaCFv3tlYYX6XdgKlvYDCTzgYhdCqacNsw6Z5g9n86MKKSgSAu8-VV6/s320/42A91DAB-E42B-4151-8951-B61809470575.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMl_pg1gXUy636zURDhC-2a2EDfe37gKisSg_it-PkSHTKAKb3fWFyzgFQFzI-rqZiDC04oWniodBH4lh3ST8jDnVIjt5qdB98f8AHKFiUakCW4ocX7wc1TgVPbvDNbpgnMymZ6MWNQset7vBJvVHMjevbkJIYZJdcdOrDeki-zRQS-jV3Q8ROhZMb/s1440/015BB00D-2B9F-4571-928C-3E338B39EF34.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="1440" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMl_pg1gXUy636zURDhC-2a2EDfe37gKisSg_it-PkSHTKAKb3fWFyzgFQFzI-rqZiDC04oWniodBH4lh3ST8jDnVIjt5qdB98f8AHKFiUakCW4ocX7wc1TgVPbvDNbpgnMymZ6MWNQset7vBJvVHMjevbkJIYZJdcdOrDeki-zRQS-jV3Q8ROhZMb/s320/015BB00D-2B9F-4571-928C-3E338B39EF34.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKyA8ObojNNdZ90Ya6wuJyHeqRptPzig3pH3X8nC4l4p7lUkosrmsTx8c-Toxlwa3qaL58LA94CgI19q-SAXi30BC94e0Y7ERzhbMXO8D_uAlLVKNc4Bp5WRBOLRGCa7W7tWexbygx7KK5XizZLGtacDoFeL7_s2pepkjcxdUbH6SRdRfRQtRvLgYP/s4032/9DB7E955-753C-4F89-8923-7DF9F3A68A25.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKyA8ObojNNdZ90Ya6wuJyHeqRptPzig3pH3X8nC4l4p7lUkosrmsTx8c-Toxlwa3qaL58LA94CgI19q-SAXi30BC94e0Y7ERzhbMXO8D_uAlLVKNc4Bp5WRBOLRGCa7W7tWexbygx7KK5XizZLGtacDoFeL7_s2pepkjcxdUbH6SRdRfRQtRvLgYP/s320/9DB7E955-753C-4F89-8923-7DF9F3A68A25.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywVgkraxpzwr7X5ALq4R0LKCafARGzEqwKg7yN8oeS34Gq8jV4RhBwp08D5RUzGtstk5qsKsR_gxkauokxGKBCNm0HRIbxKP41cc6gyUS57pl41X1X0yb90M_DU9CDN69tpEpNW0DCwVnbiw0vXCoyn_zadvC4tptz_zg4tbqVpjNJSkFdMmcctAo/s4032/7B635268-6049-4B42-918A-13EE3478E8AE.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywVgkraxpzwr7X5ALq4R0LKCafARGzEqwKg7yN8oeS34Gq8jV4RhBwp08D5RUzGtstk5qsKsR_gxkauokxGKBCNm0HRIbxKP41cc6gyUS57pl41X1X0yb90M_DU9CDN69tpEpNW0DCwVnbiw0vXCoyn_zadvC4tptz_zg4tbqVpjNJSkFdMmcctAo/s320/7B635268-6049-4B42-918A-13EE3478E8AE.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxnPwJRooRq6nnqrFx-Vl-nY_nXBFhLbVj7VmCPIokhUNyNOpksXf6S5xhTrk6arO8OQWLNW_aYTGHAe8Po1Gd92GzvDXULjBz1JBUtEa5XjUAKPLhVO1A1FAucVyWVuD5EA8wUDgdru7fn0wUPXovyt2_9tJvOBudZH-pd-aOp8Kbp02dLuPrS65/s4032/6D0C3B85-C2E1-4D6A-B30A-5CC272998891.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxnPwJRooRq6nnqrFx-Vl-nY_nXBFhLbVj7VmCPIokhUNyNOpksXf6S5xhTrk6arO8OQWLNW_aYTGHAe8Po1Gd92GzvDXULjBz1JBUtEa5XjUAKPLhVO1A1FAucVyWVuD5EA8wUDgdru7fn0wUPXovyt2_9tJvOBudZH-pd-aOp8Kbp02dLuPrS65/s320/6D0C3B85-C2E1-4D6A-B30A-5CC272998891.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wYCamRby9wKraITHy3WJpJLoESp2QJ3oOYyeOpbjaxxD52942aXYXSI5O2v9_PGQKJmvzQzIqVilqcy_2IhrHB26UzzhON2wwqYY3OttIENE16ql1VjpZWj2Xxi8Jr0F0VT7yRZBZNEioVhI55vCd9Ud-bLJ2g7zqrEKUii_UlEzpTjrtSwLa1sl/s4032/6C5AFF61-17BE-4B37-8BB4-9C9AED708C08.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wYCamRby9wKraITHy3WJpJLoESp2QJ3oOYyeOpbjaxxD52942aXYXSI5O2v9_PGQKJmvzQzIqVilqcy_2IhrHB26UzzhON2wwqYY3OttIENE16ql1VjpZWj2Xxi8Jr0F0VT7yRZBZNEioVhI55vCd9Ud-bLJ2g7zqrEKUii_UlEzpTjrtSwLa1sl/s320/6C5AFF61-17BE-4B37-8BB4-9C9AED708C08.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCqf7eh5Upi62AV_Uo9rhXqKEDWBfo1Vt0UrZTE9dVaG6nEW2szW4f9P8vLW2V2GWEuNu2hkMg0zqjKTpCRDofolK6EXMDKLwehW1RTN8rZ6mm6a60w7MV2I8sgjQaT6UM8NnN9FqgFQQUjQqibIZP3Kr5gV5WkvIHSunyqfoYZLt6Ggr1SCNRwVj/s4032/05CDD986-796B-40CC-9DB5-935D6D16C15A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCqf7eh5Upi62AV_Uo9rhXqKEDWBfo1Vt0UrZTE9dVaG6nEW2szW4f9P8vLW2V2GWEuNu2hkMg0zqjKTpCRDofolK6EXMDKLwehW1RTN8rZ6mm6a60w7MV2I8sgjQaT6UM8NnN9FqgFQQUjQqibIZP3Kr5gV5WkvIHSunyqfoYZLt6Ggr1SCNRwVj/s320/05CDD986-796B-40CC-9DB5-935D6D16C15A.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpFQME-7vnXRj-UZI0OUU5k5ZbhQTvgdcCe_gz4ztzRwFWmunLyneNga_hi175uoOb3oFY2Rk40Yus_BQqMpD8SfZPPkYcOFrIA-riqfApO_whOw5AIjVPNiP8o57nn_l3hoDhVB3h2K0klaz3N-F0HZE4sb1b2TA6C3tXbIMMb7-IFbpdph2lZf4/s4032/4FEBA4CB-E5A5-45FA-9228-FE5E4BF2125F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpFQME-7vnXRj-UZI0OUU5k5ZbhQTvgdcCe_gz4ztzRwFWmunLyneNga_hi175uoOb3oFY2Rk40Yus_BQqMpD8SfZPPkYcOFrIA-riqfApO_whOw5AIjVPNiP8o57nn_l3hoDhVB3h2K0klaz3N-F0HZE4sb1b2TA6C3tXbIMMb7-IFbpdph2lZf4/s320/4FEBA4CB-E5A5-45FA-9228-FE5E4BF2125F.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1B1D3DPi5y37Pl4nbXtN1_DAT3HYjSXT6gZB-qZSYS-Rf85raduQT0m0EuWv1zlnBTw9EjTZwi8Wn67jvDSpo-RGaVpiFMavINpmV5qCyt8rPRwc-tJkk2T49PiC5p4IxvfWNDcaQI_hC6Rh29zpPjtXf9brbpOk16dOjWxLmjmvxDpVzGza3vW5u/s1800/3BECD3F4-5542-42B8-9E50-A1FB58004253.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1B1D3DPi5y37Pl4nbXtN1_DAT3HYjSXT6gZB-qZSYS-Rf85raduQT0m0EuWv1zlnBTw9EjTZwi8Wn67jvDSpo-RGaVpiFMavINpmV5qCyt8rPRwc-tJkk2T49PiC5p4IxvfWNDcaQI_hC6Rh29zpPjtXf9brbpOk16dOjWxLmjmvxDpVzGza3vW5u/s320/3BECD3F4-5542-42B8-9E50-A1FB58004253.jpeg" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQ75cbwUzh7Yf0ENol9pgOVcMdGFehNnWhQAHuoeJBdLYKrF6lm9lembLc7E69mmZZ3QZWkcitEJ11ly5M1QrQYxNt4LEmm0CK4OtgGT5Ur_1K4g8R_GtFj31CeSSpWA4UCNOD9dSiYcG8xUTeqlc1A3WVmmqHwsh4JYiKGaCt0Far-YnmbfG9ft9/s4032/2D37436A-ABC6-4824-83AC-D101BB8A16C3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQ75cbwUzh7Yf0ENol9pgOVcMdGFehNnWhQAHuoeJBdLYKrF6lm9lembLc7E69mmZZ3QZWkcitEJ11ly5M1QrQYxNt4LEmm0CK4OtgGT5Ur_1K4g8R_GtFj31CeSSpWA4UCNOD9dSiYcG8xUTeqlc1A3WVmmqHwsh4JYiKGaCt0Far-YnmbfG9ft9/s320/2D37436A-ABC6-4824-83AC-D101BB8A16C3.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrZaC-ABdyES5eBK8LL0Tm1ieYdrHg5ulS2CfX1nOlrmKQjfwr2LMqjs9v6EAEIf_cZd6fiK6GeV76zj-PU6-NFETY1TQOfnLT0SD7MSCeLuH0HOAurf20DcU1G5ERfNFDmWkLwNIFjQpLTeRcpips-aJ9z9TsvpT4mYTTMJp2UXaBE2x5gqMlp-B/s1440/1F0F2D36-03BF-476D-BE7B-28D2E9458150.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1440" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrZaC-ABdyES5eBK8LL0Tm1ieYdrHg5ulS2CfX1nOlrmKQjfwr2LMqjs9v6EAEIf_cZd6fiK6GeV76zj-PU6-NFETY1TQOfnLT0SD7MSCeLuH0HOAurf20DcU1G5ERfNFDmWkLwNIFjQpLTeRcpips-aJ9z9TsvpT4mYTTMJp2UXaBE2x5gqMlp-B/s320/1F0F2D36-03BF-476D-BE7B-28D2E9458150.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLt5OgdE1ZMDFeV95KV8GPLCqgOvcRkl7w--GbPzcQRhCLxOPyRU525m0ZcjG8iIn9JO-Yk8Ih_YFpVcDCcD6y2espzyWpBNjuAGyymHxrnpJLFURe1kh97Ell86nPtJh3G7V3LV1KSEFc_2-eNmgH8VDBiXri9FVeFuINqlPRLznLDAnNy68GkIU5/s1421/1D82F6A3-682D-4655-A799-556A6B232081.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1421" data-original-width="1062" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLt5OgdE1ZMDFeV95KV8GPLCqgOvcRkl7w--GbPzcQRhCLxOPyRU525m0ZcjG8iIn9JO-Yk8Ih_YFpVcDCcD6y2espzyWpBNjuAGyymHxrnpJLFURe1kh97Ell86nPtJh3G7V3LV1KSEFc_2-eNmgH8VDBiXri9FVeFuINqlPRLznLDAnNy68GkIU5/s320/1D82F6A3-682D-4655-A799-556A6B232081.jpeg" width="239" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJtaVLLy9MqYuewtPRgt9cxYdgGx1aocyq3pxKNSZrMV5XcRnzfisPQNB_piRWW5HPiTo50s0EEcUD2muzYEgmKafozfuCq8m_lw1jpNTuIczmQfKAhOvLiBvWuk5-Cj7pBKCjDZUrIcm97ZDMe7dWtjaOkSBkhZ_BVTXcntYBJtdY5voodec802I/s1074/0E4602DD-3092-4C84-98C0-B1260A2901F3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="861" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJtaVLLy9MqYuewtPRgt9cxYdgGx1aocyq3pxKNSZrMV5XcRnzfisPQNB_piRWW5HPiTo50s0EEcUD2muzYEgmKafozfuCq8m_lw1jpNTuIczmQfKAhOvLiBvWuk5-Cj7pBKCjDZUrIcm97ZDMe7dWtjaOkSBkhZ_BVTXcntYBJtdY5voodec802I/s320/0E4602DD-3092-4C84-98C0-B1260A2901F3.jpeg" width="257" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmu1wyIeoaELuJKYbsLY7vLhcIPLyxMw6ydn4I_gl0qlyv6ISscyL4hdwVqNNImzTvahEF9vWjteHGj054uNNpOIykJlPwA41XMeRAkYBnqM5z4rkdAfutCZuaXF95hLNbCx2xBQVaCmLT05pD2Fik3G83qtCNwSTmQxA19lEF-moUK1nmUczZ7UTv/s4032/0D775AB5-037C-4199-BB4A-5AC1C1F1472F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmu1wyIeoaELuJKYbsLY7vLhcIPLyxMw6ydn4I_gl0qlyv6ISscyL4hdwVqNNImzTvahEF9vWjteHGj054uNNpOIykJlPwA41XMeRAkYBnqM5z4rkdAfutCZuaXF95hLNbCx2xBQVaCmLT05pD2Fik3G83qtCNwSTmQxA19lEF-moUK1nmUczZ7UTv/s320/0D775AB5-037C-4199-BB4A-5AC1C1F1472F.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I’m even prepared to admit <a href="https://youtu.be/mfh7vBzJVHk">Liam</a> is as good as Noel.</div><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-51753816448041299552022-11-02T19:05:00.000+00:002022-11-02T19:05:19.006+00:00Rise up<p>Quite a strange few weeks. Covid. Prime Ministers. Ireland. Sadness. More Prime Ministers, difficult to keep up with it really. I’ve not done much cycling, just content to keep things ticking over as the nights draw in. Despite this I still managed to have a very close encounter with what I assume to be either a very stressed individual driving a white van, or someone so unaware of his surroundings that he could have killed me without even realising it.</p><p>Taylor Swift brings out a new album. It’s best listened to when you are in the woods.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3nH3WPOxG-E_q8Raz6X5za_0ktYi3zwuHQeTWI7DqrUSCmegkjqu9x8lWG6OLqWgtyCrCS0dLhGqW_M371q3GkbR8Rp2ccoWGpgXNgOO91E3hVLtNsDqj1DuTvYY9dRfYccARRANJq-XpizVHqAaNwoiVFPVG8bH-sd3tsLpfEeJfc3wvekD-ZMdE/s2048/19DD424E-BE46-477A-9892-B0C8270207EA.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3nH3WPOxG-E_q8Raz6X5za_0ktYi3zwuHQeTWI7DqrUSCmegkjqu9x8lWG6OLqWgtyCrCS0dLhGqW_M371q3GkbR8Rp2ccoWGpgXNgOO91E3hVLtNsDqj1DuTvYY9dRfYccARRANJq-XpizVHqAaNwoiVFPVG8bH-sd3tsLpfEeJfc3wvekD-ZMdE/s320/19DD424E-BE46-477A-9892-B0C8270207EA.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>I’ve listened to it a few times. Well, about fifteen I guess, and it’s a grower. I’m going to reserve judgement on it, but I think she is on the Mendip Rouleur bus from a musical perspective. I keep finding new parts of me that need a musical hole to fill, and she has certainly made herself comfortable in my psyche over the last couple of years. It’s like a Dweckian equivalent of the musical development. One for the L & D practitioners.</p><p>But other new horizons are revealing themselves.</p><p>I’m doing a stand-up comedy course right now. The big night -the showcase of the participants- is just 12 days away. I’m quite daunted by this, but I will be taking to the stage, hoping to get a few laughs. The older I get, the more I believe that most things are learnable skills. You may not be capable of becoming the best comedian in the world, but if you follow some rules, apply what you are taught, then you too can call yourself a comedian. In a good way. If you want to find out what it looks like <a href="https://www.thecomedyschool.com/showcase-bristol.html">tickets</a> are on sale for the showcase on 12th November in Bristol, very reasonably-priced and the proceeds go to support the charitable activity of the Comedy School foundation. </p><p>Someone asked me just yesterday what made me want to do this course. The truth is I don’t really know, but I saw it advertised and I thought, why not? I think it was in the immediate aftermath of the death of a friend, so that may have had something to do with it. But there has been an ongoing process going on for me in the last 10 years whereby the saying “life is too short” changes from being an abstract and theoretical concept, to a very real and visceral understanding. Death is coming, so I’m aiming to pack in as much as I can before he catches up with me.</p><p>(PC Note: Death has to be a man, only a man would want to take on the role)</p><p>I’ve seen U2 in concert many times over the last 40 years or so, not as many as my adorable brother, but enough to count as a dedicated fan. The two of us (me and my brother, not me and Bono) met up in Cheltenham to hear Bono talk at the literary festival, he’s promoting his new book.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZtjLiZO6TeCelpvj-vw676Xx6WXCTLMiNwyXAygIdhgBlFEdupn79MO1JMeD1J_VfM4CxdAsxBA6NnKT-M4eIJd6K4JZWI-DPO4762qa1xzCA1L7vxRk261-odhBIhBTo1o4jp1xkwpXYjk_CnLbiMscdVmlvSteCg2TDLlSwOfWh_O07Nqbr6WI-/s2316/7A2E013E-A760-46BB-AB92-E37F2A1C3FAC.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1566" data-original-width="2316" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZtjLiZO6TeCelpvj-vw676Xx6WXCTLMiNwyXAygIdhgBlFEdupn79MO1JMeD1J_VfM4CxdAsxBA6NnKT-M4eIJd6K4JZWI-DPO4762qa1xzCA1L7vxRk261-odhBIhBTo1o4jp1xkwpXYjk_CnLbiMscdVmlvSteCg2TDLlSwOfWh_O07Nqbr6WI-/s320/7A2E013E-A760-46BB-AB92-E37F2A1C3FAC.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>But listening to him talk, (Bono not my brother) read, and play a few stripped-down songs, was a new experience. A bit surreal and underwhelming if I’m honest. But then I saw him on the TV last week, sitting next to Taylor Swift, and I thought he looked a bit discombobulated, not quite his usual certain self. Happens to everyone I guess.</p><p>His book arrived yesterday and I’m looking forward to reading it. No matter that it is over 500 pages. I wouldn’t care if it was over a thousand, his music has been the soundtrack to much of my life. And judging by the first page, there are going to be lots of things I learn about him for the first time. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8cl_l5rYo8GKzb7O-N1XJ7izqvdtLfAPa-M8rZAlRk04zbtAczF4VUxk6zCrhVPhrZvoxRglgSLBoozEuXWlyHvJ1OWHXOD8nYm7xYdBeCAxJGAYrYIJ1xE79zoF4ZI7KaCDKDDQqb_xtEHOacYf88InvOOf4Mmo6AcboArCDcwX-oIHt-hkDE1D/s1832/7E64407E-B6A9-47E2-8E90-E747CEDC04C2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1802" data-original-width="1832" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8cl_l5rYo8GKzb7O-N1XJ7izqvdtLfAPa-M8rZAlRk04zbtAczF4VUxk6zCrhVPhrZvoxRglgSLBoozEuXWlyHvJ1OWHXOD8nYm7xYdBeCAxJGAYrYIJ1xE79zoF4ZI7KaCDKDDQqb_xtEHOacYf88InvOOf4Mmo6AcboArCDcwX-oIHt-hkDE1D/s320/7E64407E-B6A9-47E2-8E90-E747CEDC04C2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of which, I will soon be working for a living again. In the end it all turned out very well and I’m going back to what I know well and do well. I’m also looking forward to joining a team again, being on your own in a room scanning job ads and re-hashing your CV over and over again is not my personal idea of fun. The F-word that should never be used in work. Or so they say. Them. Not going to say too much yet as some internal communications need to be done. </div><div><br /></div><div>I’m also looking forward to my other new role as Chair of Trustees of <a href="https://www.wesport.org.uk/">Wesport</a>. Look them up, a fantastic charity that does brilliant work helping people to get moving more and become more active. I’m a bit daunted by that as well tbh but everyone keeps telling me to trust my instincts and I’ll be fine. Fortunately the CEO and his team are all brilliant and really know what they are doing. Fingers crossed anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are living in interesting times, and as any student of Chinese proverbs will tell you, this is not a good thing. Old certainties no longer hold good, or so it would seem. Them again. Yet I’m not so sure. Some people are shits but most people are nice. Do the best you can and good things can happen. Or something like that.</div><div><br /></div><div>But there’s lots of evidence of us getting through far worse than this. You have to grasp whatever life is given to you don’t you? Whilst doing your best to smite bollocks, bullshit and bat-shit crazy people who want to make the world better for themselves even if it means others suffer. I’m running with it. Well, cycling anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>It’s nearly 40 years since “War” was released, quickly followed by the Red Rocks concert and “Under a blood red sky”. Imagine not experiencing that at the time it happened? Imagine being from the latest generation, having loads of new ideas, but not remembering seeing Bono with a white flag? Your life would be a pale initiation of one, wouldn’t it?</div><div><br /></div><div>Time to sing my <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQXkNEOKmB8&feature=share&si=ELPmzJkDCLju2KnD5oyZMQ">song</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div></div>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-69599029401454083842022-09-20T13:36:00.011+00:002022-09-21T15:00:53.555+00:00I’m going to Wichita <p> Wow. A pandemic.</p><p>If any of you have been reading this blog for a while you will know that I caught Covid back in the Spring of 2020. Actually, more like the late Winter. </p><p>I had been the main organiser for a conference for my (now) former employer. It had been a very stressful and difficult event to organise, and culminated in a day that was overshadowed by the emergence of a new virus. Friday 6th March it was, and after two months when we talked about high-performance, and the next phase of growth, all in preparation for the usual break-out sessions and external speakers, all anyone now remembers is that it was the last “in-person” event for a very long time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMYtd-1c1gS2aQCgocyFLr_Nnh_3IlGirklGmFeHfML_24QCHTva2d69sY3X1F2oGzRv_fa3FVrOP16pjLYR5AU0fdi6LUd0AOTVUoyZDgGih237PDGz4Gvetv18r23kN7wU79_71wXcyeSKLwocbDxpznJbdWG531hiWsuaUePAuvBN54NEGk4z2/s4032/B135465C-9EC4-4AFB-BD50-1C88745579C8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMYtd-1c1gS2aQCgocyFLr_Nnh_3IlGirklGmFeHfML_24QCHTva2d69sY3X1F2oGzRv_fa3FVrOP16pjLYR5AU0fdi6LUd0AOTVUoyZDgGih237PDGz4Gvetv18r23kN7wU79_71wXcyeSKLwocbDxpznJbdWG531hiWsuaUePAuvBN54NEGk4z2/s320/B135465C-9EC4-4AFB-BD50-1C88745579C8.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>At the evening dinner I was seated next to a rather truculent individual, and spent the evening trying to be polite and pleasant in the face of his repeated moaning. He even moaned about his latest Italian skiing holiday, from which he’d just returned. Yes, you’ve guessed it.</p><p>The next day, a Saturday, I rode an Audax. I was pretty tired anyway, and I’m not sure if the infection had taken enough hold of me to explain why I only finished within 20 minutes of the cut-off time. It was a very cold and windy late-Winter day, I rode it on my own after Martyn’s car failed to start that morning, and I was conscious of having had a particularly tough few weeks at work. However by the next weekend, riding down to the Blackdowns with Martyn I really found it hard to even pedal. I turned back, leaving him to it, and on the way home, I had to stop a few times for a snooze as I found it hard to stay awake.</p><p>By the beginning of the following week I was actually ill, with all the symptoms of this new emerging Coronavirus, and I spent the following weekend asleep and feverish. There were no tests available by then, but antibody testing in May 2020 confirmed I’d had Covid-19, and since we had been in lockdown since March I knew for certain that my colleague had brought me back a present from Italy. He’d actually infected a whole bunch of people that day, so I guess you could call that Conference a Super-spreader event. I’m glad it disseminated something.</p><p>Much has been written and spoken of since then about vaccines, viruses, parties and politics. Friendships have been lost, I’ve taken redundancy from my job at that organisation, and in many ways the world seems a different place to that in early 2020. Back in the early days of the pandemic most people lived in genuine fear of getting the illness. The news media was full of stories of death and hospitals that could barely cope with the wave of sick people. There was little understanding of transmission and no known prevention or cure. The world was full of rules and angry people, one containing what we could do in the name of the greater good, the other railing about restrictions they felt were unnecessary.</p><p>Beyond Covid, my world has been through so much too. Major illnesses to all of our household, bereavements as we lost Mrs Mendip Rouleur’s Mum, my close friend, and others we knew. So many people suffering so much disruption. Junior off to the turbulent world of Pandemic University and having a really tough time. Turmoil in the job world for us and just about everyone I know. That’s before you take into account the strangeness of lockdown world, conspiracy theories about everything, me even growing a beard. Twice. If the world was turned upside down in 1649, then believe you me, we are living on <a href="https://youtube.com/watch?v=SWRpl2S9iwk&feature=share&si=EMSIkaIECMiOmarE6JChQQ" target="_blank">St Georges Hill</a></p><p>Nowadays there is barely a mention of Covid in the news. Of course, the death of our longest-reigning monarch has taken over the airwaves in the last two weeks, but even before then the pandemic had become just a small piece of occasional stories, perhaps linked to long Covid, or other less immediate crises. The pandemic didn’t create many of the challenges we face now, holistically in the wider world, or more prosaically, for me and my family. But it’s magnified and exacerbated them, and also created a culture where the small-minded and the weak, feel panicked into making short-sighted and stupid decisions. I hope not to be amongst those feeling that fear. Even if I may have felt the effects of the fearful.</p><p>Foreign holidays in all their glory have returned. This seems like a good thing to everyone, but is it? In a world that is being destroyed by rising temperatures and rising CO2, is it right we head out on our tours of materialistic consumption of other cultures, or mindless drinking in hotter climes? Hard to say isn’t it, as with all things? But where does beneficial tourism end and destruction of the planet begin?</p><p>Guess where we went? Yes, that’s right, Italy. A lovely week in Sorrento and the surrounding area. Relaxing, eating, sight-seeing and enjoying a break from the slog of 2022. So it’s with a particularly appropriate circularity that I now have Covid, Omicron variant, whatever number we are on now, probably. Assuredly caught either on a coach trip back to the airport, or the flight home itself. Or the crowded arrivals hall, or frankly who cares where? Fortunately Junior has gone back to University and remains, a week later, symptom-free and Mrs Mendip Rouleur continues to test negative. Probably because at the first sign of a symptom I hot-footed into Junior’s vacated room and stayed there till she left for work this week in London. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIx_IgJsfnaCIuXnjItC_sNnHYUSqjDDUFada99aiTyn9SyRCf1waO-yjxWYy7AxOorpAG-3U7quk0muSPsgUPDk0Y6FCI9ZokW9i-B0OctE5eo0oqwzzkSmxzu11XSJSy59RddcYsRg9IhyrPXIema-uvOM6Ko9aJ0wqu0hxj71TtzBlSG5Jt0Hwu/s2048/D260CAD3-A117-423D-8309-27ADF97DD1E5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIx_IgJsfnaCIuXnjItC_sNnHYUSqjDDUFada99aiTyn9SyRCf1waO-yjxWYy7AxOorpAG-3U7quk0muSPsgUPDk0Y6FCI9ZokW9i-B0OctE5eo0oqwzzkSmxzu11XSJSy59RddcYsRg9IhyrPXIema-uvOM6Ko9aJ0wqu0hxj71TtzBlSG5Jt0Hwu/s320/D260CAD3-A117-423D-8309-27ADF97DD1E5.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Actually, I’ve come to realise what a little paradise Junior’s room is. He has the best TV in the house, with the full range of channels, and the best bed, and access to everything he could need. I think I may need to make it a bit more unpleasant, otherwise he’ll be here when he’s 30! At least West Ham aren’t winning anymore, normal service has resumed. </p><p>So now, as I watch my Strava fitness curve collapse again, and cancel all engagements for the next week, what am I left with? Well, a very irritating illness that is a bit more than a cold, with sniffles, coughing, headache, and nausea. (Note the Oxford comma in the previous sentence). But it’s nothing like the feverish fatigue with flu-like symptoms of March 2020. Not does it have any fear attached to it, and nor is anyone really remotely interested in it. For someone with asthma (like me) it’s enough to render my nights quite uncomfortable, but as long as I keep dosed on paracetamol and hydrated, and avoid eating too much, (and quite frankly I have little appetite anyway), I’m fairly sure I’ll be fine in a few days. Physically anyway.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPEIwjbetdDbixJEsmizZtyh36on5haAAPW7fnlQEcsjvnSPaPG01yxN9lquCTkmSUGRJo6scSGp4ezmrFL-Kbti1NMSdGii2jbt_X66vkQu8cZNozeO3xNFJQYhyWQssy_t7f90j_hPtJejTDWFRb8ZSmvjQgZItdjnABNab6IVMMnPAsYdhFyMA3/s1920/83D8B051-315B-459B-AABC-60D75A384A2D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPEIwjbetdDbixJEsmizZtyh36on5haAAPW7fnlQEcsjvnSPaPG01yxN9lquCTkmSUGRJo6scSGp4ezmrFL-Kbti1NMSdGii2jbt_X66vkQu8cZNozeO3xNFJQYhyWQssy_t7f90j_hPtJejTDWFRb8ZSmvjQgZItdjnABNab6IVMMnPAsYdhFyMA3/s320/83D8B051-315B-459B-AABC-60D75A384A2D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>In a way it’s a good time to get this Omicron out of the way. My cycling season had come to an end, limping to a finish a week after I crashed on a group ride on August Bank Holiday Monday, and I probably needed a bit of a break to let my body recover. Oh, the irony. But I’ve also just had a medical, with generally good results although there are some things to work on. At my age (yes it is next Saturday if you want to send a present) people make all kinds of assumptions about what you are capable of. But in many ways my medical has defied those. My VO2 is that of someone 23 years younger than my real age for example, and that’s despite my asthma. I know I need to, and can, lose some weight and improve my diet, but beyond that I’m in good shape. Physically anyway.</p><p>Once I have recovered from this current minor hiccup I do have a few projects I want to really get my teeth into. More on that in my next post. Unfortunately, all of them are unpaid, and whilst the coffers are not empty, I suspect the plans our new Prime Minister has will not be filling them anytime soon. So if anyone has any work that I can do to a good standard, with financial reward within travelling distance that makes the effort of commuting worthwhile (or a good standard of shower and secure bike storage), do let me know. I’m not fussed about what it is, as long as I can be good at it, and preferably it involves working with nice people, I’m all ears. Message me, I’m hear to listen. Someone else said that recently, but unlike them, I really mean it.</p><p>But I have an unease about both the Pandemic, and about its lingering impact that I can’t quite shake. I’m not talking about Long Covid either, although I feel and fear for the people suffering from that too. With a novel virus its true impact and ways of affecting us won’t be known for some time. This one is shaping up to be nasty, and will, like those in charge of our corrupt government, constantly mutate to try and hide the nastiness.</p><p>So is the pandemic over or not? Does anyone care? Are we now “living with Covid” rather than trying to fight it? What does that even mean? </p><p>Last night I watched a particularly bad post-apocalyptic Zombie film called “World War Z”. Brad Pitt probably did it for the money, but then again, so would I! Aside from the annoying trope of an asthmatic kid (appears in most post-apocalyptic films these days), it did have a ring of a reminder about how fragile our world is, and how easy it would be for it to collapse. Earlier in the week I’d watched Simon Reeve investigate zoonotic illnesses in South America, and how these are becoming more dangerous as we push into previously remote areas. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that the powerful and the scared are allies in these situations, exploiting peoples’ fears and prejudices to feather their own nests. </p><p>But then if you think how quickly our country was gripped again by a strange Royalist-obsessive fever, and how notions of rational discourse and debate are swept aside so easily, well the Zombies are here already aren’t they? Add in unhealthy dollops of fear, an uncertain financial and employment situation, multiply by 100, throw in some unjustified paranoia about strangers, and what have you got? How quickly will people throw up their hands and say, “oh they are all the same, what can you do?” Before you know it, the camps are opening and the excuses are being made. Maybe this sounds like a different type of conspiracy theory to you, it probably even does to me. But I’m worried.</p><p>Someone has got to say enough. Someone has got to stop the slide and say, let’s be the grown-ups. We have to create a better world. Those of us that are Snowflakes, Woke, Progressive, Human, whatever we call ourselves, we have to fight back. We have to choose love.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwZNZwVLU1CZb2xM2pGNsJCeCeMGuj42r-8ybz-g5mhb331BjeinC975XqtOLjeiqoYtaO_nD8KRHwLpPpAPhPin0URbSSTaZLCFiKbLkfL5-BCMYEkKHj-OovsRdLGvJbzQadSbI6UAy8YJmhM_eYGNrd9w6DLnzYm9GO_krq2AJ-RBlCHd1lSQjd/s2048/1B8F070F-053E-47A5-A3BD-88E80222E156.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwZNZwVLU1CZb2xM2pGNsJCeCeMGuj42r-8ybz-g5mhb331BjeinC975XqtOLjeiqoYtaO_nD8KRHwLpPpAPhPin0URbSSTaZLCFiKbLkfL5-BCMYEkKHj-OovsRdLGvJbzQadSbI6UAy8YJmhM_eYGNrd9w6DLnzYm9GO_krq2AJ-RBlCHd1lSQjd/s320/1B8F070F-053E-47A5-A3BD-88E80222E156.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-50667264873791868912022-06-15T15:49:00.001+00:002022-06-15T15:49:21.218+00:00The old Guy can’t come to the phone right now<p> What a difference a week can make to your life. And to your resting heart rate. Whether it makes any difference to my cycling ability, well, let’s wait and see. </p><p>For the first time since 2018 I made it to the Pyrenees. They have changed a lot in that time. The roads are stickier, the gradients are steeper and all the bikes are much heavier. Only joking of course, it was all pretty much as I’d left it at the end of the Cent Cols. It was me that had changed. Oh, and maybe the world too. </p><p>I left Bristol Airport on Thursday 2nd June in scenes of pandemonium. Apparently it had been worse in the days before. If this is what a Jubilee does to the transport infrastructure, it’s yet more evidence of the damage having a royal family does to the country. But I persevered, and eventually found myself in the arrivals’ hall of Toulouse airport, on a calm and serene evening. I decided to drag my bike (in it’s box), my suitcase (suitably overstuffed with cycling kit), to my overnight stop (the Hotel Ibis Styles), which was after all just 1km away. I’d forgotten that even at 8PM it can still be very hot in Occitanie. Won’t make that mistake again.</p><p>I settled in for the evening, watching the sun go down, and feeling the stress seeping out of me. It felt like home, even if it isn’t. Although in a way of course, it is.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFJoZDUB7v963H_XnK_yASXWLhf5hEtBrANc7tmhRC24-kq6nsZ7my0BFQ7N_QJCTlYo8n_XbSow1DqWaKXCXB2qTCGC5fjkgFf_MISF-otMSybadOFbmbmhc1mGCQQhXLfrVsWpIiKMKuhsahDh7r5R2F_o_jII2h_fLfXJ23l2GvvuKEvQCDoKJ/s1421/53BB2040-F18C-4D4F-8068-44869D89857B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1421" data-original-width="1062" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFJoZDUB7v963H_XnK_yASXWLhf5hEtBrANc7tmhRC24-kq6nsZ7my0BFQ7N_QJCTlYo8n_XbSow1DqWaKXCXB2qTCGC5fjkgFf_MISF-otMSybadOFbmbmhc1mGCQQhXLfrVsWpIiKMKuhsahDh7r5R2F_o_jII2h_fLfXJ23l2GvvuKEvQCDoKJ/s320/53BB2040-F18C-4D4F-8068-44869D89857B.jpeg" width="239" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I had intended to potter about the City centre the next morning, but I overslept. I contented myself with a French breakfast of bread, ham, cheese and croissant, with suitable coffee. That blue sky was already in evidence, a deeper blue than you get in England, and I wandered over to Decathlon and bought a new shirt. More of that later. </p><p>Lunchtime arrived and Lee from Cycle Pyrenees arrived to pick me up and take me to Foix. That sounds like it should be a Bing Crosby film. I’m not going to describe every single ride, climb, descent, meal, castle, mountain view, or even any of them. If you want to see any of them, ask to follow me on Strava or Instagram (guybuckland77). If I like you I’ll accept you. </p><p>I’m not even going to tell you about all the things I learned about myself. There wasn’t much to be honest, I was too intent on enjoying myself. If you go to Cycle Pyrenees in Vernajoul (near Foix) I guarantee you will enjoy yourself too. If we meet soon I may give you a standard response about my holiday, but I can honestly say here, in my blog, that it was an outstanding trip and just what I needed.</p><p>The highlight for me was the penultimate day, when we all went out for a ride together, and I got to see a castle I’d long to visit for a long time. By then I was still climbing slowly, but I didn’t feel as if parts of my body were going to disintegrate before I got to the top. Yes, a short climb, but also a bit of fitness, a bit of knowledge (thanks Lee for the HR tip), and a lot of perspective.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlvYRcSVpjGgxnMauJPOm0xQc0Ez9S44DRLDqervSD6GeZyknTXgCbXWuhELR1QqK_mIPD_Qfa1lxRXo6vOdiJJ0T34D1Ik-qpa2JjQKaSLjzHoE3_2Uj-c1wHCXHgPN6lk81wnOioIyXAWe6Q77ni7r1o19D7AUYjnY8NiGLdPsdjpAOC559qmU7/s2048/5D01B5DD-A762-4448-B972-5199CFA30DAB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlvYRcSVpjGgxnMauJPOm0xQc0Ez9S44DRLDqervSD6GeZyknTXgCbXWuhELR1QqK_mIPD_Qfa1lxRXo6vOdiJJ0T34D1Ik-qpa2JjQKaSLjzHoE3_2Uj-c1wHCXHgPN6lk81wnOioIyXAWe6Q77ni7r1o19D7AUYjnY8NiGLdPsdjpAOC559qmU7/s320/5D01B5DD-A762-4448-B972-5199CFA30DAB.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>The company of hosts and fellow guests was excellent. All better cyclists than me, they had inordinate patience to wait when they needed to, or not when I needed them to go up the road and leave me to my work. It may be true that it is harder than it used to be, but I think a lot of that has to do with the unfamiliarity, the absolute shellacking I’ve had in the past few years, and a certain psychological struggle that is receding as fast as my descent of the Col de Port (a PB in case you wondered). </p><p>Which brings me back to the shirt. This picture on the morning I left, with that sky behind me. Or me in front of it. I look pretty good don’t I? I do look my age, but I am also fitter than a week ago. I’m not going to rest easy either. All my numbers are as good as they have been for four years, and I am confident I am going to get better.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCggb2y57Af5bh_dYib0sOTBtNwmfVz9z0kqq8kBsSLH3eoQrdXHQz0XY_C1fH68kLx2EZvFAlB25jbsEeIOKsv_4_T0ETP57mn44KlY7k4aG7vwMUnts3gD5BHZ5qxeJ9-ZHtqcydzoEoWr9DWoH24MT2Np2iX72Jk2qzwRlAX3NpdvrKyxSNbpRW/s3088/A162938C-39F9-45EF-8C92-F504F9B1E8A9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2223" data-original-width="3088" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCggb2y57Af5bh_dYib0sOTBtNwmfVz9z0kqq8kBsSLH3eoQrdXHQz0XY_C1fH68kLx2EZvFAlB25jbsEeIOKsv_4_T0ETP57mn44KlY7k4aG7vwMUnts3gD5BHZ5qxeJ9-ZHtqcydzoEoWr9DWoH24MT2Np2iX72Jk2qzwRlAX3NpdvrKyxSNbpRW/s320/A162938C-39F9-45EF-8C92-F504F9B1E8A9.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I’m not interested in challenges, competitions, status, hierarchy or machismo. I know my place. The question now is, do you know yours? </p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-85984989209662754672022-01-24T17:33:00.002+00:002022-01-24T17:33:21.764+00:00A song from the darkest hour<p> I finally got to ride the Chalke and Cheese Audax last weekend. Well the weekend before, but who’s counting? Martyn and I had first thought about doing it in 2018, but for some reason we couldn’t make it, so the weekend after we set out to ride the route as an informal DIY. But we got a bit lost in the early evening and ended up slogging around near Mere in the gloom. We both did well over distance but it was not the real deal. </p><p>2019 passed us by, I can’t remember why, maybe weather or football-attendance related or maybe it was the beginnings of the bout of whooping cough, but in 2020 we both entered again. Infamously I had two punctures within the first 20km, and given as I’d had 3 the weekend before I rightly bailed suspecting a wheel problem. Which there was. Martyn however gamely pedalled on and completed it on his own. He’s been doing a lot of that recently, I’m not convinced he knows why he keeps going with the 200km rides?</p><p>As for 2021, I think we were all a bit locked down at the time weren’t we?</p><p>So it was a relief, and also a joy, to trundle around the delightful route, puncture at 80km notwithstanding and finally complete the thing. It is a lovely route though, and was very well-attended, despite the first four hours on icy lanes in sub-zero temperatures. As for this year’s puncture, luckily the mud, cold and lack of reading glasses obscured the fully-cracked rim - the whole braking surface interrupted by a twisted crack. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere. A miracle I didn’t get more punctures or worse.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtlbr57ESMfAP_DOnxWnSViwF01kty5pU-p1w8WSz4ddEuWW_xpEZ-8e5RYIJtmvRo3i-J2cBxj70pR94U4YWYz44D2Ao689O0-mzppfEARpcw3duhdYW8b5bBGKrA2PrgtOMBGanWlwilRY-jOTQqxF3v45j_S8HLy_jz6Vw2wGqSXvOYK-uwxc3u=s1440" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="1440" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtlbr57ESMfAP_DOnxWnSViwF01kty5pU-p1w8WSz4ddEuWW_xpEZ-8e5RYIJtmvRo3i-J2cBxj70pR94U4YWYz44D2Ao689O0-mzppfEARpcw3duhdYW8b5bBGKrA2PrgtOMBGanWlwilRY-jOTQqxF3v45j_S8HLy_jz6Vw2wGqSXvOYK-uwxc3u=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I’ve just been to the physiotherapist this morning, checking in to see how much recovery still continues on the brachial neuritis. Good news, my grip strength is now “normal”, which as everyone knows is a statistical average, and given it was around 50% of normal nine months ago is great to hear. Recovery is continuing in almost all my muscles, even down to the lower forearms. Still not fully there, but it’s still progressing.</p><p>There is however, bad news, the recovery around one muscle, the left infraspinatus, has stalled, with no progress in the last three months. This muscle is a key one in rotating the shoulder and giving it stability. It has also caused impingement in the joint, meaning as other muscles continue to grow stronger, the imbalance will potentially get worse. I’m going for some repeat nerve conduction studies to see if this is nerve damage, and if so how bad, or if it’s something else.</p><p>But. It’s a big but, because it’s almost exactly a year since this illness, condition, whatever, struck. It was a strike too, a sudden, nasty, vicious and painful whack to my system. I recently looked back at a WhatsApp thread, I was trying to find an address. But I came across the exchange of messages I’d had during the first week, and on my part they had become the virtual equivalent of monosyllabic. I was clearly less than my normal garrulous state. I remembered how frightening it had been to suddenly lose function, to be overwhelmed by unusual and unexpectedly severe pain, not knowing what it was or where it was going. Or going to end.</p><p>I hope it never comes back. I hope none of you ever get this. But, and this is the but, I consider myself very fortunate to have made as much of a recovery as I have. Even if I made no more progress at all, I could live with it. Barring putting on pullover fleeces, and reaching for things on high shelves, (no jokes about short people please) I can do just about everything I need to, and the cycling seems to be OK. I mean, 200km, done very slowly I’ll grant you, but I never thought I’d get back to that, puncture or no puncture.</p><p>This year I have three simple aims. First, stay alive. Second, stay healthy. Third, enjoy myself as much as possible. That’s it. </p><p>I do have other plans, some of which involve bikes, bikes with friends in France, bikes in Devon, other places. Also, learning how to have a real laugh, telling a story, or at least the research for one. And learning to listen better, no not the empathic caring about others stuff, actually getting hearing aids that don’t give me an allergic reaction. </p><p>One of the sayings I like to trot out on a regular basis is this. Most of the things we ever worry about don’t turn out to be as bad as we first fear. So why focus on the worry, when you could focus on better things?</p><p>I don’t really know how this shoulder thing is going to end, but I do know this. There have been a lot of people rooting for me in the last twelve months, and a lot of people who have supported me in ways big and small, and in ways they didn’t have to. I’m very grateful and thankful to everyone that has helped speed me on the path to recovery. Even those who let me down have help, in a funny kind of way. That’s my focus, the people who help, not the worry and the people who don’t. Really.</p><p>We can all recover. We may be changed, hurt, impaired, damaged, but, and this is the big but, recovery is always possible.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgS-b6MUuxb77I-80wNkUq2BU8Zx9F5qV1faVY2EvtA-vGNvAye4cIyWsMYO6NmVqjzk1KPw1FYmgypu9xi_k1cSYlFEzLLQ3b2C0mgqh0rxUqlJXedIxMD6Tli09l_m34P3gXEJAZ2Y3y93OH3LbwauQO9c0bQyLHDIj1tvJC2g51LtfwG1dOeB4Rz=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgS-b6MUuxb77I-80wNkUq2BU8Zx9F5qV1faVY2EvtA-vGNvAye4cIyWsMYO6NmVqjzk1KPw1FYmgypu9xi_k1cSYlFEzLLQ3b2C0mgqh0rxUqlJXedIxMD6Tli09l_m34P3gXEJAZ2Y3y93OH3LbwauQO9c0bQyLHDIj1tvJC2g51LtfwG1dOeB4Rz=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-77451592099924357752021-12-16T13:01:00.001+00:002021-12-16T13:01:15.006+00:00I’ll be Summer sun for you forever<p> I am pretty sure that I have become Winscombe’s biggest Taylor Swift fan. I was in her top 0.5% of listeners worldwide this year. Judging by my annual review from Spotify anyway. Could anyone have spent more time listening to Pensylvania’s finest in this locality in 2021? I doubt it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJz058_QqLx_hyRWagLqQA6T0WR414H6-oYLmypmtkOZf89-KUP_Hxwso1VcxhsIxbdH18ggYOZ8L8KXGy5VC06xu6meYdSVONClxDTqpuONP_SIGrM8dF3OwvwwteMiE8-c0h6jXyN0H2SvhLnzhpn5eFv8fwriAyyU74lweLlnA0gPxyRKWwTTQv=s1792" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJz058_QqLx_hyRWagLqQA6T0WR414H6-oYLmypmtkOZf89-KUP_Hxwso1VcxhsIxbdH18ggYOZ8L8KXGy5VC06xu6meYdSVONClxDTqpuONP_SIGrM8dF3OwvwwteMiE8-c0h6jXyN0H2SvhLnzhpn5eFv8fwriAyyU74lweLlnA0gPxyRKWwTTQv=s320" width="148" /></a></div><p>It’s all the rage. Annual reviews from your apps. Strava of course. Garmin, well yes naturally. Then there’s the annual Nectar summary, and all the commercial sites flooding my inbox with reminders, Christmas offers and such. It’s funny because I’m always pretty scathing about annual reviews, round-robin circulars, essentially saying “my life is “better than yours” or “my humblebrag is more downbeat than anything you could construct”. Which of course are the same thing.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCyMfNX88i8WUE_jaYGMFkiMIhofcBTPS6nCSjfgcPyxkV13-yHPVLHrdQAGoUxiz6T_cMyf1eCelu5swK3duSyDd0DH0ILFGf3Ym3CJKUFlnEOnECtK-axqDp1pjc8LFjsYLcd9YOwc5nITggIXhShg3ZiyB2LbOak9ZEQescpvh9zsZgmbuytKhx=s1792" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCyMfNX88i8WUE_jaYGMFkiMIhofcBTPS6nCSjfgcPyxkV13-yHPVLHrdQAGoUxiz6T_cMyf1eCelu5swK3duSyDd0DH0ILFGf3Ym3CJKUFlnEOnECtK-axqDp1pjc8LFjsYLcd9YOwc5nITggIXhShg3ZiyB2LbOak9ZEQescpvh9zsZgmbuytKhx=s320" width="148" /></a></div><p>I’m also all about how arbitrary all these artificial gateways are. Birthdays, New Year, football seasons. Just markers on the journey from B to D. True progress and change comes from constant review, reflection and action. Jeez, sounds like a Training course.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLO7C4By2yova7i5U-GiQ4cvjZza1YmCcyGAhi5UwgnRfdSTapxrR-juzWz6QH_o6n1QEyzBPi1XJVo-t9ybHQvK4gJSV6wWOkW96mnH7FcTHWvCGm-wTYE6OvIJFWB_qz6Rk-a09Q_TSo6kSANlTUlsU47nw8j5gTylC4DX1fpzK4FxeMqdr8bOr-=s1792" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLO7C4By2yova7i5U-GiQ4cvjZza1YmCcyGAhi5UwgnRfdSTapxrR-juzWz6QH_o6n1QEyzBPi1XJVo-t9ybHQvK4gJSV6wWOkW96mnH7FcTHWvCGm-wTYE6OvIJFWB_qz6Rk-a09Q_TSo6kSANlTUlsU47nw8j5gTylC4DX1fpzK4FxeMqdr8bOr-=s320" width="148" /></a></div><p>But 2021. Wow. Just glad my resilience was at an all-time high last January, that’s all I can say. Even the boys in claret blue seem to have got to the end of their resources. Stumbling towards the transfer window, hoping it doesn’t end up like the defenestration of Prague, where they landed in a heap of trouble. So to speak.</p><p>All the individual members of the Mendip Rouleur household have had significant health issues, thankfully going in the right direction, albeit slowly in fits and starts. Friends have had tough times too, all of the cycling group in this part of Somerset deeply miss our friend and colossus of the peloton, who unexpectedly died at the beginning of November. Other friends continue to struggle and I feel powerless to help, beyond kind wishes and occasional coffees. It just doesn’t seem enough.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXdaOpnedhBoCoU0_2S6xigYyH0rlXzPvaiWKU3Yw0cU4LuaQqYKFPZFcOSlXmn4RY8q81NRjLdEVg9UNTRiQKnTfa5Fxf7fON73GTSbwGTYaUe2vrHr1QI46WOp_AwFfjl25PUbW1A3z7ZYiAKWErJsGPcgof-8bWOn9XWWr77jgtcm1rDUg1RT-6=s4000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXdaOpnedhBoCoU0_2S6xigYyH0rlXzPvaiWKU3Yw0cU4LuaQqYKFPZFcOSlXmn4RY8q81NRjLdEVg9UNTRiQKnTfa5Fxf7fON73GTSbwGTYaUe2vrHr1QI46WOp_AwFfjl25PUbW1A3z7ZYiAKWErJsGPcgof-8bWOn9XWWr77jgtcm1rDUg1RT-6=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>As for the wider world, I have never seen anything quite like it. Quite how the reason and pragmatism has disappeared from the thinking of so many supposedly intelligent people, I will never know. When I was a child I imagined that the world would become more liberal, less idiotic and kinder as time passed. It’s almost as if the Internet and continuing culture wars seem to be feeding narcissism and conspiracy, rather than exposing them for the fools they are.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0aReB-qvzv0E07wxYpCg_Lbr3ltdbudhYgSeYnzUh9PM60UFVlSOZSTrcC6g0SnwW0BsCr3SUSHk9bu5aSrz0lpf1pbaNYDfbSbxs8bUyvo1-WaNpSpsPXENZFdtfgWt0q4U-2PMHCX4jxnTp78mH4qJxPFFQaZhZBEMgxWqGMc9q6if8_iBxUyIl=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0aReB-qvzv0E07wxYpCg_Lbr3ltdbudhYgSeYnzUh9PM60UFVlSOZSTrcC6g0SnwW0BsCr3SUSHk9bu5aSrz0lpf1pbaNYDfbSbxs8bUyvo1-WaNpSpsPXENZFdtfgWt0q4U-2PMHCX4jxnTp78mH4qJxPFFQaZhZBEMgxWqGMc9q6if8_iBxUyIl=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>The age-old cry - what’s to be done? Right now, for me, it’s to find an echo chamber where people agree with me, do their shouting in unison, and celebrate what is still joyful in the world. It’s just easier. This Sunday we get a chance to ride out in the cool of a December day, Solstice-style. A chance for us to come together and forget about the rubbish that’s been going on and just ride, laugh and enjoy ourselves. Let’s hope for more of that in 2022. Because as I keep saying, it’s people that keep us all going, and to those who’ve supported me and my family for the past year, this is for you.</p><p>Which brings us back to <a href="https://youtu.be/TkAomsYFsJw">Taylor</a> again.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-27921290388315391362021-11-17T19:37:00.000+00:002021-11-17T19:37:32.786+00:00This is not a rehearsal<p> The greatest cultural event in the history of humanity happened on 18th November 1991. I remember the day as if it were yesterday. I was working as an Assistant Manager at Lloyds Bank in Catford at the time. The branch is not there anymore, and I played a big part in that as I was running the project to close it down. The early 90s, on the back of the Lawson bubble, was not kind to the fortunes of financial institutions, and we were busy closing branches all over the country.</p><p>In a way it was a bit of a metaphor for my life at the time. After the heady days of my Graduate training scheme in the West End of a London buoyant with credit, I’d headed over to the fringes of the City of London and my first proper job selling Asset Finance to big organisations. My personal life was going well too and I’d bought my first flat, and thought I had life sussed. </p><p>Then the economy went pop, and I was lucky to survive a raft of redundancies, and found myself running this project in Catford. My flat, down in the South London suburbs, was now the proud owner of lots of negative equity, and meanwhile my girlfriend decided I was not the one for her after all. In the space of a few short months, the heady optimism of excess of the 80s had turned into the cold, hard reality of 1990s Britain. Think of it as a warm-up act for the 2020s.</p><p>Just in case you are wondering, I have nothing against Catford specifically. A combination of circumstances had placed it slap-bang on the route of the South Circular road, which was always congested, and meant it was hard for a real vibrant community to form. It tended to be overshadowed by Lewisham to the North, and Bromley to the South, and the wealth of Dulwich to the West. It was in decline already and judging by the news reports I’ve just looked at, not a lot has improved in the last 30 years. But the people I worked with were great, hard-working, sparky, and I kept in contact with many of them for a long time after I left London.</p><p>November 18th was a very drizzly, nondescript kind of a day. Damp, a bit cold, with nothing special about it. Like Catford, like my life, and especially like the way that Britain was shaping up in the early 90s. At lunchtime I plodded over the road to the Catford Shopping centre, which imaginatively had a huge statue of a cat perching over its entrance.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN-FCANFkpVcLnDcAQrx3rhZtUI1A1rwfh2sMF2s4xv-1r7p3XISpXztNL4wrpX7f7DqFA-OSqjAIAg8qLhiQK6_IDJ4GDBNCLk8AB-Ao5-LEr5z_ZoSjWaXM00FkbRPwv_35rU66Ir8/s800/1A09A992-9A9F-4887-AF5D-5508934071AD.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN-FCANFkpVcLnDcAQrx3rhZtUI1A1rwfh2sMF2s4xv-1r7p3XISpXztNL4wrpX7f7DqFA-OSqjAIAg8qLhiQK6_IDJ4GDBNCLk8AB-Ao5-LEr5z_ZoSjWaXM00FkbRPwv_35rU66Ir8/s320/1A09A992-9A9F-4887-AF5D-5508934071AD.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>There being no record shops in the centre I wandered into WH Smith’s and bought it. It was one of the very first CDs that I ever owned, as being a late-adopter (generally) I had only recently acquired my first CD player. I had been worried about artwork, sleeve notes and the like, but I needn’t have been, for it was replete with a 32-page booklet. Images galore, lyrics, and all the amazing, confusing and diametrically-opposed direction of something quite revolutionary.</p><p>Of course, my Fiat Uno 1.3 only had the ability to play tapes, so I had to wait till the evening when I got back to my flat to listen to it. What came out of the speakers figuratively blew me away. What was that sound? It sounded like a cross between someone tapping on a metal pipe and an industrial drill rhythmically blasting out a melody. Then came the distorted guitars, the pounding bass, and finally the voice. </p><p>“Time is a train, Makes the future the past, Leaves you standing in the station, Your face pressed up against the glass”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGQb7Rqf7Dp7wz3swAfwegvIVBBBMNhu5bewF2Leclek1EmRwI2ybfAA7Ht9kSVFpZ4G5btVx9lZeN-5087qgWaLpdTjlQ8ZQD3C8Q2TW3rAc8OwsctzjQosGwZI6RLV2DRXiTUqZ0h_4/s2048/6FA23A2C-B7EF-4487-9BBD-372C4F0E0100.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGQb7Rqf7Dp7wz3swAfwegvIVBBBMNhu5bewF2Leclek1EmRwI2ybfAA7Ht9kSVFpZ4G5btVx9lZeN-5087qgWaLpdTjlQ8ZQD3C8Q2TW3rAc8OwsctzjQosGwZI6RLV2DRXiTUqZ0h_4/s320/6FA23A2C-B7EF-4487-9BBD-372C4F0E0100.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Out in the wider world of course, beyond Catford, beyond Britain and beyond me, seismic shifts were happening. Two years before the Berlin Wall had finally tumbled. It seems strange to think of, but back then I thought it would never happen. I thought Apartheid would never end, and I thought the “Troubles” would go on for ever. That aside, this opening salvo of a track was the harbinger of a new sound, as well as of a new age. Unification was in the air, not just Germany, but the whole of Europe seemed to be optimistically heading for fresh horizons.</p><p>“Well my heart is where it’s always been, My head is somewhere in between”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlmOcGMqDKgsKJXaSN5nclN4K9kVoLeOKJSyqHB1X55OPALRZJcZxpvrfZT_eiPjvo-RkTRNPX4dlyVXrc0x0qxOdEraHpjTyxetsj-SpwaO3IqPhweCT75CD65P3pa9KheHO0zRsbmA/s900/8BF212AF-9EBB-4E7A-9B37-78B1FB2E81E8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlmOcGMqDKgsKJXaSN5nclN4K9kVoLeOKJSyqHB1X55OPALRZJcZxpvrfZT_eiPjvo-RkTRNPX4dlyVXrc0x0qxOdEraHpjTyxetsj-SpwaO3IqPhweCT75CD65P3pa9KheHO0zRsbmA/s320/8BF212AF-9EBB-4E7A-9B37-78B1FB2E81E8.jpeg" width="192" /></a></div><p>Not content with blowing away the sound, now all that earnestness of celebrity was being mocked too, the very essence of consumerism - “the real thing” - placed at the heart of the song, celebrity is a job. With slide guitars and slide-on-downs, they were making a statement. The Joshua tree was being chopped down.</p><p>“Did I ask too much? More than a lot, You gave me nothing now it’s all I got, We’re one, but we’re not the same, Well we hurt each other then we do it again”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYZQyhjShRU_d2zTGoFhsZ3nIN5ByG-r_vyAKZwSDPYf1WyXc-6dPU4Zj_rARq_5lmIycrkfUHaWijBbsuueYCDOK2z10Qe4gHH7GdnFtQrrWt-j2RstLF6nDzEYgsAOK9dqqaVrn1Ag/s599/702C9C0B-F0A8-4056-817B-079ADFC2B1F1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="599" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYZQyhjShRU_d2zTGoFhsZ3nIN5ByG-r_vyAKZwSDPYf1WyXc-6dPU4Zj_rARq_5lmIycrkfUHaWijBbsuueYCDOK2z10Qe4gHH7GdnFtQrrWt-j2RstLF6nDzEYgsAOK9dqqaVrn1Ag/s320/702C9C0B-F0A8-4056-817B-079ADFC2B1F1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>The thing I actually like best about this song is that it is actually about breaking up, or conflict, or grudging acceptance. It is not about being in doe-eyed love, or pulling together for some corporate purpose, and no amount of playing it at your conference will make it so. A song that kindled their re-birth none the same, but with warts and all, it will be played at my funeral, mixing as it does equal amounts of misery and joy, struggle and success. But don’t feel guilty.</p><p>“In my dream I was drowning my sorrows, But my sorrows they learned to swim”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBB1pqVKPCikp9-TP8KbEEoMJ7LWPooEo0kc8WTI14jm9czcSap9J6nssJqAqFGaHPiEIa776psPyhyuh19wtXDZ5HqZkQ_k_-W41I2vyhoyGqKdK8UyZys7zODKHr_zG0bS8_LdK8cI/s1304/278DCB4D-EC01-4768-8DA6-77B20D4ABFBE.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1304" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBB1pqVKPCikp9-TP8KbEEoMJ7LWPooEo0kc8WTI14jm9czcSap9J6nssJqAqFGaHPiEIa776psPyhyuh19wtXDZ5HqZkQ_k_-W41I2vyhoyGqKdK8UyZys7zODKHr_zG0bS8_LdK8cI/s320/278DCB4D-EC01-4768-8DA6-77B20D4ABFBE.jpeg" width="251" /></a></div><p>The tour that followed the album, was all glitz and pastiche, irony and glitter. The earnestness of yesteryear, and the seriousness of their cause had been abandoned hadn’t it? Look carefully under the surface and you’ll see the faith, coated in a layer of coruscating guitar and clothed in shiny leather, the ego may be at the wheel but his God is always around. But of course the story of betrayal and redemption is broader than one narrow religion isn’t it?</p><p>“Took a drive in the dirty rain, To palace where the wind knows your name, Under the trees, the river laughing at you and me.”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-IYQk9FPodF16EAvTXwPi57bK3YMxB9S89Rk44wGIU5HMMhF0VOBOkWAp63eZVF87RpHd_se4DCTCzSb7UT0hipgUHhmGukjoKPxs1Ib7b_zVN09exHFU1louVBT24cNPfa3YaCE1PXs/s454/B610A28A-DC37-4B75-AFA4-2840DDB4AAFD.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="454" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-IYQk9FPodF16EAvTXwPi57bK3YMxB9S89Rk44wGIU5HMMhF0VOBOkWAp63eZVF87RpHd_se4DCTCzSb7UT0hipgUHhmGukjoKPxs1Ib7b_zVN09exHFU1louVBT24cNPfa3YaCE1PXs/s320/B610A28A-DC37-4B75-AFA4-2840DDB4AAFD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Another break-up song? Perhaps. For a few years I had this on wrap-around, misery on misery, all spun out in an operatic yet incisive melody. A tale of regret, bitterness, and longing. A bit like “The winner takes it all” only with real anguish and guitars.</p><p>What was next? In the old days it would have been “Side two”, and on my 30th commemorative vinyl it will be. Is it better? Who cares. This track, the opening single, announced the revolution in advance of the album, so I’d heard it before. I’m listening to it as I type, and it stills feels new. Lyrically outstanding, visually, when performed live, it has no peer in the history or future of music. The solo is the best minute of guitar work ever. Fact. </p><p>It’s no secret.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQfTXYwOUY44cU1xvuhWOgv6Tiaas5ioIiIBc0ISADDE4wM003FcOjJcx8PKT3I7_mKUTxlD17E1iUs_ZzOzy2LIliuNQeO4FAY0Y2jpi7Yj60S0JT2Ht4GzapAm4bJGPb8i7IRkT6RA/s2048/E9860D44-293A-4808-BBB3-CA206B1FAD5B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQfTXYwOUY44cU1xvuhWOgv6Tiaas5ioIiIBc0ISADDE4wM003FcOjJcx8PKT3I7_mKUTxlD17E1iUs_ZzOzy2LIliuNQeO4FAY0Y2jpi7Yj60S0JT2Ht4GzapAm4bJGPb8i7IRkT6RA/s320/E9860D44-293A-4808-BBB3-CA206B1FAD5B.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Into the dancing one, the one that brought joy to the man whose break-up inspired so much of this album. Of course it’s great, but less of a favourite, there’s too much optimism in it for me. It’s great live though, for obvious and spiritual reasons.</p><p>To touch is to heal, to hurt is to steal, If you want to kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCLt5TuIFvgD0pHQrSCckg-60EI1AH29jtvXfaYDfphljdQS9b9tEoHb4UfpCR-Rl4zuQ1_rDmuW9433g4eM5dR1bNFvgyQkGOMVo1OQbPM27vPr1_KUS91gVvs9dOpNj-r14lLuOkCc/s828/173080FB-D869-4AAE-BB58-9A7F753EF194.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="828" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCLt5TuIFvgD0pHQrSCckg-60EI1AH29jtvXfaYDfphljdQS9b9tEoHb4UfpCR-Rl4zuQ1_rDmuW9433g4eM5dR1bNFvgyQkGOMVo1OQbPM27vPr1_KUS91gVvs9dOpNj-r14lLuOkCc/s320/173080FB-D869-4AAE-BB58-9A7F753EF194.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Probably the weakest track, and it is all relative, deals with all the big issues. I even named my first blog after one of the key, plagiarised lines. To my knowledge it has rarely been reprised live after the 90s.<div><br /></div><div><div>Sunrise like a nose-bleed, Your head hurts and you can't breathe.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZo3cqd1cEX7z6R1MgdvjNnZ1Gqo_mGQotwqxw7FhcAEDORPCAh8RVc_OjZXSRiYeg9Qugj9nvYCBeBuwQ_GDvYu5txH_aORc9ENXuR8YVfCvDgjx4NkDx65MzMmH7MzxO9Olh5huzxEA/s328/2903C7BD-25F0-48FF-917C-BE1FEA69AC10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="246" data-original-width="328" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZo3cqd1cEX7z6R1MgdvjNnZ1Gqo_mGQotwqxw7FhcAEDORPCAh8RVc_OjZXSRiYeg9Qugj9nvYCBeBuwQ_GDvYu5txH_aORc9ENXuR8YVfCvDgjx4NkDx65MzMmH7MzxO9Olh5huzxEA/s320/2903C7BD-25F0-48FF-917C-BE1FEA69AC10.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </div>Wonderfully the album takes a much-welcomed darker turn for the last three tracks. First up of the bleak trinity is one of my very favourites, illuminated by lasers in 2009, conflating the suit of lights with the sombre nature of the story held by the lyrics. There is a story that before this album, the band forbid the use of the word “Baby” in their lyrics. To underline the different direction, there are dozens of them in the album, not least the title of course. But this song had about half of them.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>There is a silence that comes to a house</div><div>Where no one can sleep</div><div>I guess it's the price of love</div><div>I know it's not cheap</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGdEjSWPYzXhzYx-8BkVUqAxfPmi2XA2DWhyFJOPnZU4zmPlnn2w1f5ahxdZagcEW-TOiHIJphiC-HZx3mF1TtNnPrquqIuUVwNYyQlY_8BB8UI3mc7ef0nECRNxxX3dqMphw8rYtgH4/s450/7E302CB1-857E-4A58-8814-3A873CF672F0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGdEjSWPYzXhzYx-8BkVUqAxfPmi2XA2DWhyFJOPnZU4zmPlnn2w1f5ahxdZagcEW-TOiHIJphiC-HZx3mF1TtNnPrquqIuUVwNYyQlY_8BB8UI3mc7ef0nECRNxxX3dqMphw8rYtgH4/s320/7E302CB1-857E-4A58-8814-3A873CF672F0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> Until the 2018 tour, the second of the three of these last group had never been performed live. For years fans and disciples clamoured for its inclusion, even recording snippets of the acoustic version used at a sound check, deposited on YouTube, but not doing the song justice. In 2018 it was finally let out into the world, all the swirling, self-obsessive, introspective mess of it, the one we all carry around in our tortured souls. You don’t? Maybe just me then. Rumours were that the song had been just too personal up till that point, for the now soft, flabby and bloated singer to let rip. He needn’t have worried, the guitar solo was aptly described by my wonderful brother as the noise of the inside of his head.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>No, nothing makes sense</div><div>Nothing seems to fit</div><div>I know you'd hit out</div><div>If you only knew who to hit</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-CRnrvx9540MOFF2g3QGej63n1hfoK4Kw79xx0Zr19Ct3INcgFjQ0nLtEXiVscy-JBFfRy3EFXNAI9GTztnX59W-TscyMKRDjv0VMCD2WiyhNaNVBGXnv3RLMmyA1fexQVVBNwPICETY/s2048/440F7829-19DB-4337-93F0-1638BF8A97C9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-CRnrvx9540MOFF2g3QGej63n1hfoK4Kw79xx0Zr19Ct3INcgFjQ0nLtEXiVscy-JBFfRy3EFXNAI9GTztnX59W-TscyMKRDjv0VMCD2WiyhNaNVBGXnv3RLMmyA1fexQVVBNwPICETY/s320/440F7829-19DB-4337-93F0-1638BF8A97C9.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div>The story concludes with the darkest of them all. Unlike many bands they tend to conclude live performances with slower more introspective songs. This effectively brought the house down on the 1992-93 Tour, immortalised of course on video, now DVD sadly. The misery of love, the inevitability of break-ups, and the only option of the way-out. Or the compromise, the accommodation and disillusion. The perfect antidote to all the sickly, soppy love songs you’ve ever vomited to.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>Love is drowning</div><div>In a deep well</div><div>All the secrets</div><div>And no one to tell</div><div>Take the money</div><div>Honey</div><div>Blindness</div></div></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxBuUOksZcSTeKEDL1IGFveLfvL3AcQFCa5VH73zWjznmrWE3sXn15uoy0FJ_Rmf_ixhkMyRv7ZLQFcsC21rGb5cpGZYnqUw6OfJg4cidhT3O2jaDmC6NdmZhX22w92b4uAQhQXKt4v6s/s150/559955AA-8B26-4ACD-BF2A-3F16AD9C5A4E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxBuUOksZcSTeKEDL1IGFveLfvL3AcQFCa5VH73zWjznmrWE3sXn15uoy0FJ_Rmf_ixhkMyRv7ZLQFcsC21rGb5cpGZYnqUw6OfJg4cidhT3O2jaDmC6NdmZhX22w92b4uAQhQXKt4v6s/s0/559955AA-8B26-4ACD-BF2A-3F16AD9C5A4E.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div></div></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><div><br /><div>Imagine being only 31 and knowing your best work was behind you. For that is the truth, they had produced a work of art that could never, ever be bettered. Whereas you and I know our greatest achievements are still to come, and we get better and better with every passing working day, with our bright futures ahead of us, they were effectively finished as a creative force. Not that it matters, they leave the world richer, and the creators of the GOAT. But there must be a little bit of sadness there.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not for me though. I was inspired, especially after I went to the live concert at Wembley. The old Wembley. Inspired by all this angst I started to turn my life around to become the person I am. It only took 30 years, but it started in 1991. It also started the country’s shift away from the Tories, Blair’s 1997 victory can be directly attributed to the rise in consciousness brought by this album. As can every good thing that ever happened to anyone. Jeez, if I was religious I might even say it was divine intervention.</div><div><br /></div><div>So tomorrow, on Achtung Baby Day, cast your mind back to those times, when music really did change the world, challenge our thinking, and enable me to end up with a wonderful family, a successful career and a marvellous circle of friends. Celebrate the fact you have the opportunity to listen to this fantastic music. Immerse yourself in Zoo TV, the whole delicious and caustic irony of it. And don’t worry about that sad Bank Manager in Catford. He’ll be fine.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59o0HpNFajtgh2-14s5ZDAEgaw0f5PFnIcOp4SY_iAR1FtmFUpnTvTjdelUpIFF-U-E6FCxn__MZnSrE4whEHhts_9UnKwkxxw0efM1IfKyZHcXFkF63NfHbmTfIg0ZwH29Fu7KIyQVI/s2048/0E3DCFAD-B83E-40BE-9F90-8B3AC0214C62.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59o0HpNFajtgh2-14s5ZDAEgaw0f5PFnIcOp4SY_iAR1FtmFUpnTvTjdelUpIFF-U-E6FCxn__MZnSrE4whEHhts_9UnKwkxxw0efM1IfKyZHcXFkF63NfHbmTfIg0ZwH29Fu7KIyQVI/s320/0E3DCFAD-B83E-40BE-9F90-8B3AC0214C62.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-9364197999846240852021-10-31T18:01:00.000+00:002021-10-31T18:01:01.129+00:00Decisions, decisions<p> Recently I’ve been talking a lot about how people make decisions. Partly because I’ve been wrestling with one or two of my own. But mainly because I have spent much of the last month conducting psychometric debriefs with some of my colleagues. It’s an interesting exercise in and of itself, most people like talking about themselves, and when combined with a contextual knowledge and the wisdom that comes from staying alive for 57 years, it can be quite useful.</p><p>Immediately before both my latest bike rides I had to decide if I even wanted to go out on two wheels at all. On Friday it was hammering with rain, I was a bit down in the dumps and I did consider calling my friend and calling it off. But I was on annual leave from work, hadn’t been particularly active of late, and knew I needed to get used to riding the steel bike in preparation for the Winter. My heart said “no” but my head told me to shift my butt and get outside into the deluge. I was so glad I did of course, for the rain soon abated, my friend and I toddled over to a great cafe in Baltonsborough, and I felt suitably virtuous as I lolled on the sofa that evening.</p><p>This morning it was a similar story, although this time it was the prospect of the wind blowing me to kingdom come. The overnight gales had blown though at pace, leaving gallons of water in voluminous puddles on most of the roads, so whilst there was the prospect of a soaking, it was more the wall of wind resistance that was putting me off. But my friend today was keen to get out and faced with his determination I too battened down the hatches and sailed into the Autumn gales. </p><p>Yet again I was rewarded with a thoroughly enjoyable morning, interesting navigation of the roads, or rivers as they seemed today, along with insightful conversation and an educational stop at the cafe at the Avalon Marshes Centre. A good decision, made on the basis of logic not emotion, which leaves me with positive feelings none the less.</p><p>I’ve also had a few interesting encounters with cars lately, necessitating more video uploads to Avon and Somerset Police. After my court appearance last December I thought I’d be unlikely to do much reporting in the future for two reasons. Partly because it’s one extra thing to do at the end of a ride, but also because I was becoming a bit immune to the feelings of danger all around me. I felt that if I was not actually scared, or in fear for my safety, then it was wrong to report it. But after attending a Bristol cycling campaign Zoom meeting, talking to a local Twitter contact who uploads, as well as hearing from the Police themselves, I started to examine my values and logic around the whole issue.</p><p>Occasionally I do encounter an overtly aggressive and malicious piece of driving, but in truth it’s very rare. Even the Court case could be argued to be born of frustration rather than psychosis. The real danger out there on the roads comes from everyday carelessness and judgement, coupled with a complete lack of understanding of the potential harm that poor driving can cause. The truth is that people make decisions about their driving all the time, and because most people never experience catastrophic consequences, and don’t empathise with vulnerable road users they just don’t appreciate the constant danger their decisions deliver to others.</p><p>So I’m now reporting examples of dangerous and careless driving to the Police on a regular basis, and so far they have taken action against almost all of the drivers where I’ve submitted video evidence. Even where they haven’t they check for evidence of VED, insurance and MOT, so that too has an impact.</p><p>It’s interesting to see reactions to this on social media, words like “snitch”, “grass” and “vigilante” being thrown around by people clearly unhappy with increased accountability on their driving. My hope is that this will change and that effort and energy will instead be focussed on taking more care on the roads. As many are fond of pointing out, the great Peelian principle that established the Metropolitan Police in 1829:</p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 34); color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">“The police are the public and the public are the police."</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XOL9yWOS2VctDimke6iFfWJg-C9a43j3blxtQKnfzmnnVIuwAZ-yDh3g7D1yt6Q9LQhnh-OObV_ruF58IqfK9-uXMXTrruegYsVXgXAuog2LXWna9ip7u6dw0iSR0ydciFQf2kmSl9o/s451/78E8E829-563B-4705-A585-387A6954851C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="350" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XOL9yWOS2VctDimke6iFfWJg-C9a43j3blxtQKnfzmnnVIuwAZ-yDh3g7D1yt6Q9LQhnh-OObV_ruF58IqfK9-uXMXTrruegYsVXgXAuog2LXWna9ip7u6dw0iSR0ydciFQf2kmSl9o/s320/78E8E829-563B-4705-A585-387A6954851C.jpeg" width="248" /></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 34); color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span><p></p><p>Which brings me to my big decision. My Great-great-great Grandfather, Thomas Andrew Camroux was one of the very first Police officers to be appointed under that principle, and he made a very emotional decision to help a woman he found in the street, sick with cholera in 1832. It was a decision that cost him his life, and left my Great-great Grandfather an orphan. Thomas was descended from Daniel and Simon Camroux who I’ve mentioned before, and who decided to flee the Cevennes in the 1680s in the face of religious persecution. </p><p>I want to tell the story of my family and that will probably take the form of a book. I don’t have high expectations that anyone else will read it, although of course I hope to make it an entertaining and informative read. I just think it will be a fun thing to do, and I’ll enjoy the process of creating the book and telling the tales.</p><p>It’s going to take a while to get everything set up to get the project moving. But I have a lot of information and knowledge already, and the internet keeps throwing more at me. Critically, the decision I’ve finally made, and it was a very close-run and balanced one to make, will make it more likely that I finally get it off the ground. Sadly, I am not at liberty to tell you the circumstances of that decision. All I can say is that after examining and understanding my values and emotions, an objective and logical approach prevailed.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsq5iHjK8uEc5MnWgg1yxoKXYU-C4h3IBKEvJDXj2fH3NxnV0GOziMeIe0Tjf9Zzl3wObttfB0RBubSeRByo_8Fmuej5-jf6ysdcpH3ckWb7YuBVRMFPIHTsRQEJA17EE-Fd7p0Vr5Jo/s2048/9F7F00BF-967B-427B-A7F2-AF9258354BD5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="2048" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsq5iHjK8uEc5MnWgg1yxoKXYU-C4h3IBKEvJDXj2fH3NxnV0GOziMeIe0Tjf9Zzl3wObttfB0RBubSeRByo_8Fmuej5-jf6ysdcpH3ckWb7YuBVRMFPIHTsRQEJA17EE-Fd7p0Vr5Jo/s320/9F7F00BF-967B-427B-A7F2-AF9258354BD5.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-71305665018798665972021-10-15T23:34:00.003+00:002021-10-15T23:41:07.995+00:00A dangerous idea that almost makes sense<p> I love music streaming, it has enabled me to visit so much more available, without the hassle of trailing round record shops, or buying albums on spec, like in the old days. I was recently trying to explain to my son how the small town I grew up in had 3-4 shops designated to selling only records. Well, first, he has little conception of what a record is, but the idea that everything ever recorded wasn’t instantly accessible was incomprehensible to him.</p><p>So tonight, I open up Spotify, find an algorithm-generated playlist, and the first two songs on it are the two that had bookended my first post about my illness, back in early February. It’s strange how these things happen, or maybe not.</p><p>“<i>Grey November, I’ve been down since July”</i></p><p>How someone raised in a small town in Pennsylvania can write something so perfectly tailored for me is beyond me, but that’s music and art isn’t it? Regular readers (both of you, I’m grateful, really!) will be bored to tears of my lifelong obsession with U2, so we will have to see how things go with Taylor, but the early signs are good, and once she hits 40 I’m sure things will pick up even more. Her last two albums have been masterpieces in my view, some real melancholically-infused art, with just that small amount of optimism and hope to keep me clinging on.</p><p>I’ve had a small setback on the road to recovery, or rather the road to recovery is taking a slight detour into the marshes. Differential recovery has caused a problem with my right shoulder to add to the ongoing problems with the left. I could tell you all about it, but it’s tedious, a small setback, and we have a plan to get through the swamp and onto firmer ground. It’s just taking longer and the pace of recuperation has stalled. But I’ll get there.</p><p>In the meantime, we have October, and thanks to climate change, the trees are no longer stripped bare. But there is less light, Summer has gone, and the Spring seems a long way away. I never do well at this time of year, Lockdown 2 was horrible for me, far worse that 1 or 3, although as ever I caveat that with the usual comments about my relative good fortune. </p><p>I’ve done my best to stop watching the news, it’s too depressing, and I’ve stopped posting on Facebook, mostly. Ironically I got 7/7 on the quiz on the BBC News website today for the first time ever, and I’ve been doing it for years. So it would seem there is no escape even if you try. Only one thing for it, I’ll have to run away.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig576dx03zZZyDMqHzV-GSLxRNLTDNl2-WLB6LrL1sH2Wt9aTRFh2kE-OHelk9_wltqul7Gey_TKr5hnqpgG5iPTdUX2d2nmOPS6IpwGGx_7xmfTqSSpJswPjCeGcQaN_RKajNgRSzcqw/s2048/520AA94E-A3D7-4116-B28F-8DD86B30D861.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig576dx03zZZyDMqHzV-GSLxRNLTDNl2-WLB6LrL1sH2Wt9aTRFh2kE-OHelk9_wltqul7Gey_TKr5hnqpgG5iPTdUX2d2nmOPS6IpwGGx_7xmfTqSSpJswPjCeGcQaN_RKajNgRSzcqw/s320/520AA94E-A3D7-4116-B28F-8DD86B30D861.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>On Sunday I’m going to attempt my first 200km ride since January, I’m counting no chickens so we will see how it goes. It’s a mark of real progress to even contemplate it, even if I can’t reach the top of the fridge or carry a suitcase to the car. But where there’s a dynamo and a power meter there’s a way. In any case, it’s the only antidote right now, that green hill not so far away. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDi1NTUrUo4y22E37K8VcNfTXgnhF6DXeB9pdgODreTTZwGJHnDOOWaMMdB1vjc-nixyrvQeNfY55tHeeS6-M0sOj7Na_8QXCq2wNRmp4F1IDQBpbvmfc4EgDP4_Q89aPh0pwWoC5PBA/s2048/F45418C7-3120-4DA1-8545-4D59B857A097.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDi1NTUrUo4y22E37K8VcNfTXgnhF6DXeB9pdgODreTTZwGJHnDOOWaMMdB1vjc-nixyrvQeNfY55tHeeS6-M0sOj7Na_8QXCq2wNRmp4F1IDQBpbvmfc4EgDP4_Q89aPh0pwWoC5PBA/s320/F45418C7-3120-4DA1-8545-4D59B857A097.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-71690990503890583292021-07-28T16:09:00.002+00:002021-10-15T14:48:34.293+00:00How it started, how it’s going<p style="text-align: justify;">It’s almost exactly 26 weeks, to the hour, that my right triceps muscle was gripped by a sudden and very painful clenching pain. That was the start of my attack of brachial neuritis, which has dominated a lot of my thoughts, emotions and actions this year. Since getting back on the bike at the start of June my mood has naturally lifted tremendously in some respects, no doubt boosted by my best friends serotonin, dopamine and various endorphins. I’ve come a very long way since January.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnzVIMW0sKKS2WJo3Iij7dnEH5ke62pi33pgjhz8OvvTyAr1V3jfD7D_HAxbQSK158ZaFbl__5XMUoUXvY6Ur4o0UifmODYBy5A0w2gW_aQkdxeYq7W9Jp3d2nHV5T_XhiumcDaLVT90/s2048/A81073FF-8F45-4257-AF4A-C3055C30B41E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnzVIMW0sKKS2WJo3Iij7dnEH5ke62pi33pgjhz8OvvTyAr1V3jfD7D_HAxbQSK158ZaFbl__5XMUoUXvY6Ur4o0UifmODYBy5A0w2gW_aQkdxeYq7W9Jp3d2nHV5T_XhiumcDaLVT90/s320/A81073FF-8F45-4257-AF4A-C3055C30B41E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJUT8_wyy7xmplkM9zDuW3GffZD84yveDw4AhNkfo4OysptrLF6PGCr9azEqj4hEn1G0b9BX5vb_buwy65726yRCAxHaFwLLMrjOlfrkm0qBE1GXkMRTctX_iMcT5T2BFRSozfLyk6K_w/s2048/D22C3BE2-19C0-4B73-A9F0-8B42176E8FFC.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJUT8_wyy7xmplkM9zDuW3GffZD84yveDw4AhNkfo4OysptrLF6PGCr9azEqj4hEn1G0b9BX5vb_buwy65726yRCAxHaFwLLMrjOlfrkm0qBE1GXkMRTctX_iMcT5T2BFRSozfLyk6K_w/s320/D22C3BE2-19C0-4B73-A9F0-8B42176E8FFC.jpeg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Today I went back to my physiotherapist to discover officially that my left <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Supraspinatus_muscle">supraspinatus </a> is firing again. I knew this already as my left arm has become a bit more mobile. My performance figures on my bike are still miles off where they were in December and way off my best, but they have leapt forward since the start of June. So whilst I’ve a long road ahead still, the trajectory is accelerating. Good news.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Sadly I won’t be going on a cycling trip this year, at least I don’t think I will be. With my rate of improvement, I’m pretty confident that I would have been good enough on the bike to ride confidently and enjoyably around the Cevennes and surrounding areas in early September as had been planned. Given my double-vaccinated status it would not have taken much to get into France, and I’m reasonably confident the requirement to quarantine on my return would have been lifted by the time we were due to go.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">But of course pandemics are awfully complicated things to navigate around. Much as I wanted to go, and would have been capable of going, it turned out not to be possible as my existing riding partner decided to drop out. Unfortunately it was a bit too late in the day to find another willing and sane soul to take his place, so it was best all round to cancel and plan for next year. More on that next time I hope as preliminary plans can begin to firm up, once a few other local difficulties are out of the way.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">This time of year is always always a bit tough to get through. The dead zone between the end of the Tour, and the start of the Football season. It was a mark of how far the Manx missile had come in a couple of short weeks that I was disappointed that he didn’t win on the Champs-Elysee. But then again, back in January I said to myself I didn’t care if I never rode a bike again, just make this pain stop. Hindsight and all that. To be fair, Cav surpassed all of our pre-Tour expectations, certainly proved us all wrong, so who would bet against him coming back and winning the Yellow jersey and the record on stage 1 in Denmark next June?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDtAmK_Q8cih50G-xhT9P0DDvCP8uEdPww0pqo7eEUrHydBPbUjHzN1lpMGa3sLZPpqldvTDHLrkwzKQHhhgFlwNZODa5kkoFCmmZTjrcBhvKHy1H2q77upMm-Q0yT4omzDa7q2VcI_0/s2048/52C40744-3E75-468A-AA98-D44D35EE54EF.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDtAmK_Q8cih50G-xhT9P0DDvCP8uEdPww0pqo7eEUrHydBPbUjHzN1lpMGa3sLZPpqldvTDHLrkwzKQHhhgFlwNZODa5kkoFCmmZTjrcBhvKHy1H2q77upMm-Q0yT4omzDa7q2VcI_0/s320/52C40744-3E75-468A-AA98-D44D35EE54EF.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Foresight on the other hand, is much harder to get right. I had both my vaccines in my leg, I took a few soundings about whether it was the right thing to do, would it affect my brachial neuritis or set off other autoimmune conditions? In the end I decided that as well as being the right thing for my health, it was also the right thing in terms of my obligation to society.</span></div><p style="text-align: justify;">The anti-vaxxers spout a load of guff about it affecting your DNA and so on, in the same way that 5G was spreading the virus back in 2020. That’s easily de-bunked with a bit of research and intelligence. But I also had to factor in the risks to my health, and the probability of another attack. But sometimes we all need to take a step back and make a decision that is just the right thing to do in the broadest sense, put aside our self-interest, our stupid principles and our narcissism. I struggle to understand why any sane person would not get vaccinated unless there were genuine medical reasons not to. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Meanwhile the chief concern is trying to stay one step ahead of the Covid virus, whilst managing to get out and improve my fitness. I was unfortunate to be infected with Covid in March 2020, before variants had been invented. It was decidedly unpleasant, and (autoimmune conditions aside) I was then in very good cardiovascular health, was pretty fit at the time and had good defences against it. Although of course I’m not slim. But there is the risk of Long Covid, a real illness one of my wife’s family is unfortunate to now have, and none of know how it can affect us. It most definitely is not the flu, and with a pool of the unvaccinated, there is a strong chance of more vicious variants evolving.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I’m looking at our first game at home at the end of August and wondering if it will be safe to go. Fortunately it looks like only the double-vaccinated will be allowed in. As London Transport has also made the sensible decision to continue to enforce mask-wearing on the tube, travel to the ground can be safer as well. It’s still concerning that some idiots will blithely refuse to wear them on some kind of misguided point of principle, but hopefully a good dose of tutting will do for them. </p><p>Anyway, if we are to believe the Government, all the numbers are trending down, and those sunlit uplands are well within reach. In this crazy world you never know what may happen next.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Of almost equal concern is the return of claret socks to our home kit. Just thinking about it boils my blood, everyone knows they should be white. Quite apart from tradition, we always play better when our kit has white socks. Last year our magical away kit, all stealth black, conferred super powers on the players and propelled us into Europe. So do not downplay how important these things are. Our home strip also has a little less blue in the sleeves than I’d normally consider acceptable, but as this is the year of concentrating on what is important, I’m prepared to do an Elsa.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs5MxZr_ZTIgm-mRDE4sGgOy-wlHJKFSuABUnCxb8hoD7FRHEuAnpCepklMJmXlDJVzX6ytEWQTzthExZwHT6b7aUPDjA0Hh_32BC_-MUCddfAla6kUTTYnFyklk8bEoE_917Z_lAuVDQ/s2048/2B9F77D2-1BC4-475E-A4BB-E5C203943D05.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs5MxZr_ZTIgm-mRDE4sGgOy-wlHJKFSuABUnCxb8hoD7FRHEuAnpCepklMJmXlDJVzX6ytEWQTzthExZwHT6b7aUPDjA0Hh_32BC_-MUCddfAla6kUTTYnFyklk8bEoE_917Z_lAuVDQ/s320/2B9F77D2-1BC4-475E-A4BB-E5C203943D05.jpeg" /></a></div></div><p>Anyway, this shirt is supposed to be an homage to one that the club is calling retro, it’s a sign of how old I am that I consider it the recent past. Still, <a href="https://youtube.com/watch?v=bwL-QDZg2BY&feature=share">Paulo and all that.</a> Just don’t mention the retro socks OK?</p><p>Lots to look back on, and lots to look forward to. It feels like a real turning point.</p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-38215342396070154552021-07-01T18:04:00.004+00:002021-10-15T14:49:46.382+00:00Renaissance man<p> Comebacks, don’t you love them? </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PHmpA-6pDRmn_J7ulqCgx90gXORRjYA5_xOrv5EFua9uo9qfb8GOUIElNss0sll_SVD0aoGrnpP3xEjDOUYRt5qqK3Orq3xg3Pt4WoxVpD4dw2At3hyoTQNJBx1PX4zodmpUmaBRWZk/s1803/89887CA5-CC49-46FD-A4BA-DC73CA65D209.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1803" data-original-width="1744" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PHmpA-6pDRmn_J7ulqCgx90gXORRjYA5_xOrv5EFua9uo9qfb8GOUIElNss0sll_SVD0aoGrnpP3xEjDOUYRt5qqK3Orq3xg3Pt4WoxVpD4dw2At3hyoTQNJBx1PX4zodmpUmaBRWZk/s320/89887CA5-CC49-46FD-A4BA-DC73CA65D209.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As ever Mark Cavendish does it again. Of course this man is my cycling hero, not least for the reverence he treats the Tour de France. I remember standing at the top of the Col de Peyresourde in 2013 and being interviewed by a French journalist about our attitude to Team Sky (as was) and their dominance of the Tour that year. He was almost taken aback by our disdain for their metronomic approach, and surprised that I expressed the more romantic appeal of Cav, with his swashbuckling sprinting, and his struggles over the mountains to make the time cut. Go back to my posts in July 2013 for more.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But it is some comeback, even for him. Although I’d love to be 36 again, it’s not a young age for a professional cyclist. Those of you who have never ridden back-to back 100-mile days will find it hard to appreciate just how difficult that is, physically at least. But then Cavendish has been written off so many times over the years, and has proved his mental resilience is second to none. In the last five years he’s endured a broken scapula, the ravages of the Epstein-Barr virus, as well as missing the time cut of a mountain stage and being excluded from the Tour in 2018. His non-selection for the last two years has been accompanied by mental struggles as he fought his way back from the brink of retirement for another shot at the big time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He was only selected this years because the other two sprinters on his team were injured. But that drive and will to succeed don’t go away do they? He may be more mellow, have a broader life perspective and all that, but the outpouring of emotion we saw as he crossed the finish line on Tuesday was vintage. Authenticity runs deep, and the relief, joy, euphoria and appreciation of what he’d done, came flooding out. He’s generous too, to his team-mates who worked so hard for him, but also to those who believed in him through the dark days. It’s so important that. In life there are people who will jump on your bandwagon when things are good or easy for them, but as soon as other plans take their fancy, well, they drop you like a stone don’t they? Often more than once if you let them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not content with winning a 31st stage, Mark Cavendish surprised no one by going and doing it again today in Chateauroux, a place he’s won twice before. I snapped this image from the TV footage, more measured celebrations amongst the team than on Tuesday, (they could hardly have been less!) but no less joyful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6XtW3FSA-SBkZFSDyWZrAIVnM0qqJlmmYU4u8fr19OgUhfTjykiJUb3yrhyayuUrORWYiYJYmgrwIdK9VtAKPuXgTq_VGwgcrnQ6rtQO6oXtPafrlc7pT5bI5AH-wSYrreotdDbf8RQ/s2048/130234FA-96B4-49D4-A47D-415E888EFC29.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1285" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr6XtW3FSA-SBkZFSDyWZrAIVnM0qqJlmmYU4u8fr19OgUhfTjykiJUb3yrhyayuUrORWYiYJYmgrwIdK9VtAKPuXgTq_VGwgcrnQ6rtQO6oXtPafrlc7pT5bI5AH-wSYrreotdDbf8RQ/s320/130234FA-96B4-49D4-A47D-415E888EFC29.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My son gave me a wonderfully thoughtful present for Father’s Day, a quality silver pendant of a <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_Man">Green Man</a>.</b> It’s an ancient symbol whose origins date from before there was even any stupid notion of England, never mind a semi-constituted country intent on patting itself on the back every time it won an easy football match. I love football, or more specifically, I love West Ham, but winning a last-16 match is not yet an achievement.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, the symbol, if you haven’t already guessed, is about re-birth. I’ve always loved it and we have one on the gable end of our house, but now I have one around my neck too. Even the chain is hypo-allergenic. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANgPkkeopGefLcl9b8Gc39Tdc4h-WIS2LTgL1VatrJkF5TeZJddRg8pyD3-4YXiGfLRtonXhuX_5IAPukN9E_84fOP6E4rEJbUa6kYEeWKbHtFr4Ome_CSVdfFcL32vGhCK0qBae2D08/s1845/220D6A94-1F76-47C0-AC86-D540437C1147.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1231" data-original-width="1845" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANgPkkeopGefLcl9b8Gc39Tdc4h-WIS2LTgL1VatrJkF5TeZJddRg8pyD3-4YXiGfLRtonXhuX_5IAPukN9E_84fOP6E4rEJbUa6kYEeWKbHtFr4Ome_CSVdfFcL32vGhCK0qBae2D08/s320/220D6A94-1F76-47C0-AC86-D540437C1147.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">If you read the link above you can find examples all over the World, illustrating yet again the commonality of our experience and how universal these things are. Again. I bet even Daniel Camroux knew what it meant, in 17th century Occitan (now referred to as France). See how meaningless your labels are?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> I’m over the worst on my brachial neuritis as I said in my last post. But my arms are still only about 50% of what they were before it struck. But, I am re-born, a concept the Christians stole from the pagans, and they probably stole it from someone else. It all got co-opted into churches and now small silver pendants, bursting with with meaning. Because meaning, purpose and love are far more enduring than nations, tribes and petty tyrants. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Truth is, none of us are outsiders. None of us are elites, or the downtrodden. We can trust, believe, follow the science or not, it’s a matter of choice in the end. We are not Boomers, or Generation X or Millennials or whatever other labels we allow clever marketing folk to pin on us. We are born, grow old, then die. We can do this together, or alone, another matter of choice. But sometimes, on the road to the Arrivee, we are given opportunities to be joyful, loving and even to be re-born. What’s your choice?</div> </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /> </div><br /><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-12969923098408514282021-06-06T11:36:00.002+00:002021-06-06T11:36:56.736+00:00The last refuge<p> I don’t think we are very good at supporting refugees in this country. Only last week there was a story in the news about how we had crowded lots of asylum seekers into an old military barracks, with the inevitable result that hundreds of them caught Covid. You only have to look at the tenor of debate, with discussions about who is “deserving” and who is a “migrant” to get the sense that the whole emphasis is on refugees proving they are genuine. This isn’t a new thing either. I listened to a podcast just last week where a woman told the story of how her Jewish parents were “lucky” to have had high-ranking connections within the British scientific establishment, allowing them to be granted safe haven in Britain and escape persecution from Nazi Germany.</p><p>Before you go all Daily Mail on me, and start thinking how generous we are, just consider how long it is since we have had a genuine crisis on our own little island, that necessitated large numbers of people fleeing from harm in genuine fear for their lives. I’ll wait.</p><p>The last genuine battle on our shores, if you discount the conflict in Ireland (which I have written about before), and being bombed from the air, or terrorist atrocities, or civil riots, was in 1746, the Battle of Culloden in the north of Scotland. The last rites of the Jacobite cause was played out on a heathland near Inverness, and was followed by a crackdown on the supporters of the exiled Stuart pretenders. Some of them left for America, or France, and there was undoubtedly a cultural genocide of sorts, but it would barely have touched the cultural memory of the English.</p><p>If you discount the two-day invasion by the French in Fishguard (really an extension of Wolfe Tone and the United Irishmen’s rebellion) in 1797, you have to go back to 1216 since there has been a genuine invasion of England. That was really a war of ruling elites, each set with landed interests all over Europe, and though their would have been collateral damage, it would not have touched the populace in the way modern wars do.</p><p>Oh, 1066 you say? The Norman yoke? Umm, that is nearly a thousand years ago, and of course the native nobility were dispossessed at the time, and the nature of our laws and culture were altered, but again it’s not in our cultural DNA anymore, too much has happened to dilute and wash away its societal impact.</p><p>In my opinion I think part of the reasons for our lack of compassion and empathy towards refugees is that we just don’t know what it is like or how it could possibly feel. Without experiencing something it’s very hard to know what it really is like, no matter how empathic you are. Readers and friends will be familiar with me making comments about my French ancestry and the fact that I have a remote link to Huguenots who fled the south of France in the 17th century.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwQvJVbzjOFfAWEnPSM9JSwtTmoRw9rYSm-gVZhkpO0lamop3ZK2nvm6bBKtiUgOp1DcPYlU4i3BPiVCUFpji94ZYjenTAkQOp-AAMkF-GEdZLX0bKi28QfoaUy4wK6OBEs2wjOxxwzE/s2048/1097C112-D1AB-4A8D-9319-F96886BBD7E2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwQvJVbzjOFfAWEnPSM9JSwtTmoRw9rYSm-gVZhkpO0lamop3ZK2nvm6bBKtiUgOp1DcPYlU4i3BPiVCUFpji94ZYjenTAkQOp-AAMkF-GEdZLX0bKi28QfoaUy4wK6OBEs2wjOxxwzE/s320/1097C112-D1AB-4A8D-9319-F96886BBD7E2.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>My recent absence from riding has enabled me to delve into their history a bit more, and as well as drawing up that branch of my family tree, I have also read some academic histories of the period and the location. I had long-known that my ancestor, and 8x Great grandfather, Daniel Camroux left Nimes in 1685 after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and settled in Berlin. His grandson Jean Simon Camroux and his wife, Susanne Devaux, subsequently came to London in the late 1740s. Two generations later the family was giving its children English first names, and by the early 1800s were marrying outside the historic French community. My 3x Great Grandfather Thomas Andrew Camroux was one of the first official Police force established by Robert Peel, and you don’t get more English than that.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWzp36Gn-vfiM7cG8JnF4qDcANFPqs06C-0Cb39WlnMgHTnnvjNjsGkvDbUoc7AjVYRpVxJAMxcQKik5GUgoV_x-tr_w7RtkLaxgjvYitmwYC41dsCHrxsRm8X1W4PZ7XD8mAjNw3lY7I/s1781/79429D74-BE08-4230-BC41-726A200EC9A5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1781" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWzp36Gn-vfiM7cG8JnF4qDcANFPqs06C-0Cb39WlnMgHTnnvjNjsGkvDbUoc7AjVYRpVxJAMxcQKik5GUgoV_x-tr_w7RtkLaxgjvYitmwYC41dsCHrxsRm8X1W4PZ7XD8mAjNw3lY7I/s320/79429D74-BE08-4230-BC41-726A200EC9A5.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I had always imagined Daniel had left Nimes in search of religious liberty and tolerance, but I now suspect that is only part of the story. That intolerance had been building for decades in a time when religion was much more important in shaping your life than it is now in our secular culture in Britain. But with the official law changed, making it illegal to be a Protestant in France, open season was declared. Many villages in the area were eradicated, their inhabitants massacred, men, women and children all. Even those forced to convert at the end of the barrel of a gun were still denied jobs or suffered ongoing persecution. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh00CWz9M52RWiDavOOH-NafE3LN0tIvdt8KJwqxP8trl6ZVtKhGGGJqbqZO130B7JYsGc7WgKza4-kAysPkOuQe76vmtFqlnKHvAfj1ZGp55CI3XsbERE8O8wwAKBLoEXxmMD-2IRWcWs/s656/3C662497-C25A-4199-93FE-CFBF32AD6CE4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="656" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh00CWz9M52RWiDavOOH-NafE3LN0tIvdt8KJwqxP8trl6ZVtKhGGGJqbqZO130B7JYsGc7WgKza4-kAysPkOuQe76vmtFqlnKHvAfj1ZGp55CI3XsbERE8O8wwAKBLoEXxmMD-2IRWcWs/s320/3C662497-C25A-4199-93FE-CFBF32AD6CE4.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Twenty years later there was an uprising of local Protestants that had stayed, the Camisard revolt, desperate to assert their liberty and practice their religion without being murdered. As is the way of things there were atrocities committed by both sides, until a pragmatic peace was agreed. My relatives were long-gone from the area, but obviously I like to think there’s a bit of that resistance to authority in my DNA.</p><p>That inter-communal violence, murder and mayhem seems like it belongs to another world. But it’s the kind of thing that still happens the world over today, indeed it happened in the Balkans barely 30 years ago. It’s the fear of persecution, torture and death that forces people to make those desperate journeys in search of a better life. Trekking over the Alps to Switzerland and Germany in the 17th century is the equivalent of precarious boat trips across the channel today.</p><p>Given the speed with which I now know Daniel left I now feel it’s likely he was in fear for his life. Maybe his grandson was an economic migrant, but I’m sure London welcomed him into the community in Shoreditch, thankful for his skills and industry in what had become a thriving French community by 1750.</p><p>Lockdowns and pandemics permitting, one day I will visit Nimes from whence Daniel fled, as well as the hamlet of Goussargues where other Camroux came from in the 17th century. I also hope to go to the nearby village of Lussan, from where the family originated in the Middle Ages. I know I have up to 30% of my DNA from France, so I suspect there are other migrants or refugees lurking in the ancestry. There’s even some Spanish and Nordic in there too. Who knows what made them all travel from their place of origin.</p><p>I like living in Somerset, it’s quiet, peaceful, beautiful. But if one day some band of thugs, or heaven forbid, government soldiers, descended on Winscombe and started killing everyone, I’d like to think that some fellow humans, maybe from as far away as Minehead would take us in. Or maybe we’d have to flee to France or Ireland. You can’t imagine it can you, it couldn’t happen here, could it? </p><p>You can of course retreat to your certainties and search for your quiet life. I’d always balked against that because I had a principled objection to it. But now, well it seems all very personal.</p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-37364353584991505562021-05-27T09:46:00.003+00:002021-05-27T09:53:26.621+00:00Just like my dreams<p> I’m a little bit tired this week. Partly this is because I have been working without any meaningful break since Christmas. Partly it’s the ennui of continuing to plough through a global pandemic and all the guano that brings. It’s also the ongoing saga of my brachial neuritis (17 weeks yesterday and counting) and its concomitant prevention of bike-riding, which is now invading my nightly dreams, with all kinds of strange scenarios where I get back on my pride and joys.</p><p>You’re bored of all that though aren’t you? I know I certainly am. You want to hear something different. Maybe a little bit uplifting?</p><p>But whilst all those circumstances have contributed, the main cause of my mental fatigue this week is a massive come-down I’m experiencing. Back in 2018, hard to believe it was three years ago, I came back from the Cent Cols bike extravaganza in the Pyrenees and experienced the mother of all metaphysical crashes. One that plunged me into depths I’d not experienced for years, and it took me almost a year to recover. This one isn’t like that, but it is a comedown from euphoria, but I’m going to draw on the lessons of 2018-19 to make sure I look at things very differently. In fact, this time, it’s going to be a celebration. </p><p>September 25th will mark my 50th anniversary as a West Ham fan (we beat Stoke at home 2-1, I remember flashes of the game, but most of all I remember the noise!). I hope that we have a European fixture close to that date, and that if we do, I’ll get tickets to go somewhere exotic, like Bucharest or Baku. It would be a fitting way to mark the longest relationship of my life. Like any couple, we have had our ups and downs (once per decade currently, 1978, 1989, 1992, 2003 and 2011), and times when we didn’t get on very well (my late teens to mid-twenties, when politics, music and other things became more important), but through it all we’ve stuck together.</p><p>I hope (and it is always that hope that kills you) that the bad times may finally be behind us, and as I approach old age a deeper more contented relationship will supersede some of the more tempestuous phases we’ve had. I mean, if you truly love someone, you can forgive them can’t you? The 2006 Cup Final is not forgotten, but I can look back on it now and see I learned so much from it, just as I did from all those rainy and dull nights together, when I wondered if the relationship was going anywhere.</p><p>But now we have someone at the helm who may just know what he is doing. If we can keep the good things on board (Rice, Soucek, Lingard, Coufal) and maintain the wonderful togetherness and joie de vivre that has existed for many of our games this season, who knows where our love could take us. Anyway, they know I’ll never leave them, and so what would be the point about grumbling about that when it’s a choice I freely made many decades ago.</p><p>So I’m not going to be down-hearted for once, or cynical, or even pessimistic. I’m going to draw some comfort from the great times we’ve had over the last 12 months, and look forward to more of them in the years to come. I adore Somerset, and Mrs Mendip Rouleur and Junior will always get first dibs on my affection. But these boys? The ones that came before and the ones that will come after? Well, I don’t profess to understand this relationship, it’s complicated, and it’s probably inexplicable to most of you as well. But on Sunday, when I saw that green pitch again, and those colours, that song with the rest of the crowd singing it, people I don’t even know, well it finds places in my heart that no other thing or person can.</p><p>Come on you Irons!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXTMlAV44LJRpTQnQk5ECTW1mTRlfJByKsQnplSLj2Rc6dqRyC8fzDj2BNYD5Pcn1zyOHXLJjHaeJHDe9_eBZQezj-8_fNql2dEelsQj7sv0bx5TSsPDJ4ZCMfDOkIUz1xxoBzkO5hBlU/s2048/97D590B7-3674-4A52-AE89-74D797669FF6.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXTMlAV44LJRpTQnQk5ECTW1mTRlfJByKsQnplSLj2Rc6dqRyC8fzDj2BNYD5Pcn1zyOHXLJjHaeJHDe9_eBZQezj-8_fNql2dEelsQj7sv0bx5TSsPDJ4ZCMfDOkIUz1xxoBzkO5hBlU/s320/97D590B7-3674-4A52-AE89-74D797669FF6.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-68241927625769309242021-05-14T23:39:00.005+00:002021-05-16T09:36:38.383+00:00“Yes I’m plodding on, thanks”<p> I’ve put on 3kg in the last three months, I’m amazed it’s as few as that to be honest, as I’m back up to ridiculous levels of chocolate consumption But I have to face it, it’s added some timber, and although my fitness hasn’t fallen off a cliff, the constant tramping of the ways paths and lanes of the Winscombe Valley have only managed to slow the decline.</p><p>But it could have been a lot worse, and I’m hopeful that there’s a corner I can turn round very soon. I can feel strength returning to my arms. I do not know if it’s adaptation, I suspect it is, as most experts (remember them?) say nerve re-growth takes a minimum of 9 months. Which would be October. But I’m able to type once more, I have learned to write using a different action, and certain movements which were very awkward just a month ago, are becoming less so. That said, I know the critical phase is when nerves are reattaching themselves to the motor nerve-muscle endplate, where too vigorous action can re-sever the connections. I’ve been to square one and I’m not keen to go back there, so I am still taking no chances. </p><p>My physio, who is great, has promised to assess the strength of my arms on June 4th, to see if I’m strong enough to do it again. You know, ride a bike on the road safely. Unless I can, and it doesn’t risk my recovery in the long-term, I won’t go there.</p><p>The gym being open helps, as I can do some weights on my legs and a few core exercises (I could do those at home but it feels very, very wrong to do ab crunches in the living room), as well as getting to grips with the Watt bike again. My FTP has been destroyed, and it wasn’t the biggest to start with. I shall enjoy watching the curve ascend again when the time comes. Hopefully accompanied by a descending weight curve.</p><p>For now, I’ll keep plodding along. There have been compensations and consolations. Namely I’ve got to see my local area like never before, had time to think, had space to listen to all kinds of podcasts, and found out where all the best trees are. Meanwhile, keeping me going in the real world, are my family, friends (particular shouts to Lord Down of Rodney Stoke - I still think we should make that podcast) and colleagues, who have been such a tremendous source of support and wonderment, alongside Taylor, Miley and the massive West Ham United (including West Ham clips on Twitter -although NSFW!) who unknowingly kept me going too. Excitingly I won seats in the ballot of season ticket holders to see a match in real life the Sunday after next. Just think - I get to moan at them in an actual stadium instead of in front of the TV!</p><p>I’ve also found some time to restart some of my Family tree research. Speaking of excitement, I have finally located the exact hamlet in the South of France that my French ancestors came from, alongside the nearby village where the valley was based in the 14th and 15th centuries. Hopefully it will not be long before I can actually go there.</p><p>I’ve also become incredibly, and probably unhealthily, interested in blue geraniums, bird feeders and collecting random U2 albums on the Internet. On this last, my brother is a very bad influence. What exactly am I supposed to do with my 10-year anniversary gatefold vinyl album of “No Line on the Horizon”. Sure, it’s a thing of beauty, but my house is already too full of stuff. How can I moan at the others when I too contribute to this pointless accumulation of the collectible creativity?</p><p>So here are my favourite pictures from the last couple of months, Spring, my favourite time of year. The time of rebirth and renewal. It has been for me. Whilst I’m not glad it’s all happened, I know it’s given me opportunities that I have enjoyed and would not swap for three months of grinding it out on a road bike. But I am a bit bored now, and whilst I love these opportunities, and I’ll not do anything stupid, I’d like to get back on the bike soon please, if you can arrange that for me.</p><p>Many thanks.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMWxhI92kkaZqkDCt0-n691QgX5jltDEMnjmH1-G_STzyFYxyLmV-fZI-fwEslWzcVEHvGhoPyzbSmRRIsdZLY-AXAXU1p8IAXrwSAxJt8dUm18ddydmV9MBhIDATBlxaGxf1_WnsMBo/s2048/DEE338F3-C72F-467B-81F7-989C7ADBE5E8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMWxhI92kkaZqkDCt0-n691QgX5jltDEMnjmH1-G_STzyFYxyLmV-fZI-fwEslWzcVEHvGhoPyzbSmRRIsdZLY-AXAXU1p8IAXrwSAxJt8dUm18ddydmV9MBhIDATBlxaGxf1_WnsMBo/s320/DEE338F3-C72F-467B-81F7-989C7ADBE5E8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgU8FByGm5aYRrWy-twCCLaP9u-Wiarby_1K4ADUEmlciznDbmxOBh7kVbVAjHOV8lt_ze3fQC65Q_mVLjaNYaQFh3g3AtA7h0MhfGTMz4S-w973YrJqrwmuhq3HPtGzmpCh_kzIE3Bo/s2048/D3C30055-37B1-4BB7-AC57-FFCE11AF1F55.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgU8FByGm5aYRrWy-twCCLaP9u-Wiarby_1K4ADUEmlciznDbmxOBh7kVbVAjHOV8lt_ze3fQC65Q_mVLjaNYaQFh3g3AtA7h0MhfGTMz4S-w973YrJqrwmuhq3HPtGzmpCh_kzIE3Bo/s320/D3C30055-37B1-4BB7-AC57-FFCE11AF1F55.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUU4cdmkqe8rMoyo43NBfSlBaJdE5LPZR4s4Jf6FG6NlSSqtYJzxzVS9KX8W5ZtEZRnqcqEqNVXjuVK4uYRNqXyFN4aO3Els8WGBd3qPGdaGXi3QJ-0eDpaSxS92FNEjU-HzsfwREeDs/s2048/C0421A25-4A60-4BBA-BCD2-F90F51764408.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUU4cdmkqe8rMoyo43NBfSlBaJdE5LPZR4s4Jf6FG6NlSSqtYJzxzVS9KX8W5ZtEZRnqcqEqNVXjuVK4uYRNqXyFN4aO3Els8WGBd3qPGdaGXi3QJ-0eDpaSxS92FNEjU-HzsfwREeDs/s320/C0421A25-4A60-4BBA-BCD2-F90F51764408.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRluq4E1x3hXdEKwX4MuwB9Qg2qs54PUhTfLWvjWGi7RdYs5A3wwnBYwJ-LkD-u8NWthWqU9XmtshTfjqCsSc5WOmV-3Tl9ohYA_HgzK0D3Y2Lr9Avif1FT6OTIvsTcWTA6_2aDhNyqqk/s960/708AFADB-3C2B-4701-8A18-1AD740F880CB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="711" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRluq4E1x3hXdEKwX4MuwB9Qg2qs54PUhTfLWvjWGi7RdYs5A3wwnBYwJ-LkD-u8NWthWqU9XmtshTfjqCsSc5WOmV-3Tl9ohYA_HgzK0D3Y2Lr9Avif1FT6OTIvsTcWTA6_2aDhNyqqk/s320/708AFADB-3C2B-4701-8A18-1AD740F880CB.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX14y1nCYI9UROGnFp27tbzfw2vY4ZOL9KZ7uaK6WHcj1MelpnfrxY5QPU7FXtPcB8ujNNcbW3v6uvBzwSjAxco2HJOoU8V55HjScoPoFeqaOAWVVWVqFeXOOUWkALn8Kgi3CVRJeliO0/s624/707F2343-8034-48CE-8D9F-FA5B68913632.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX14y1nCYI9UROGnFp27tbzfw2vY4ZOL9KZ7uaK6WHcj1MelpnfrxY5QPU7FXtPcB8ujNNcbW3v6uvBzwSjAxco2HJOoU8V55HjScoPoFeqaOAWVVWVqFeXOOUWkALn8Kgi3CVRJeliO0/s320/707F2343-8034-48CE-8D9F-FA5B68913632.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHIOLzFmDaHZ7CWeOU9WpLDjq_02o5Ee9reUOlJ0u-s4TN0PjNPfkuyuxMHcIpHgbmzkqshxJdq94ErFdqZX8g0iUaRTY8wzlTPSg6njeRH_wdaxMdjxDfbJApymyjyndsCom2rJOcJmU/s2048/90C32329-7D02-4702-86D5-9D5E60B4AD77.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHIOLzFmDaHZ7CWeOU9WpLDjq_02o5Ee9reUOlJ0u-s4TN0PjNPfkuyuxMHcIpHgbmzkqshxJdq94ErFdqZX8g0iUaRTY8wzlTPSg6njeRH_wdaxMdjxDfbJApymyjyndsCom2rJOcJmU/s320/90C32329-7D02-4702-86D5-9D5E60B4AD77.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA03jowSk7DEbd45wUzET7hF1f5eKgd3utzuIy_N-tjPN93tOhYwcLB2N6yEB4clokQpfxY-lN_-MtY4FsA6fibD02ApnVOSkgVzoOXMrTi1YZUtJM1e6fKFJy1V0k0QRa1UnEaXCG2Po/s2048/A3DD0CC5-B335-4033-B52D-360905628ACD.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA03jowSk7DEbd45wUzET7hF1f5eKgd3utzuIy_N-tjPN93tOhYwcLB2N6yEB4clokQpfxY-lN_-MtY4FsA6fibD02ApnVOSkgVzoOXMrTi1YZUtJM1e6fKFJy1V0k0QRa1UnEaXCG2Po/s320/A3DD0CC5-B335-4033-B52D-360905628ACD.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-58599128577677648192021-04-11T16:02:00.002+00:002021-04-11T16:02:37.856+00:00The end of the beginning or the beginning of the end?<p> Back in 1922 when the great and the leaders of Ireland were debating whether to accept the terms of the Treaty their representatives had negotiated with the British Government, Michael Collins, hero of the independence movement, persuaded a majority of his colleagues that the treaty on offer gave the country “Freedom to achieve freedom”. Of course diehards in the Republican movement of the time, cried “sell-out” and refused to “collaborate” with the new Irish Free State. Gradually though the lure of power, and the bitterness of the Irish civil war faded, and one by one the dissenters entered mainstream Irish politics.</p><p>There was still a hardcore of dissidents though, keepers of the flame, and from time to time their efforts would flare into conflicts such as the during the Second World War, and the ineffective “border campaign” of the the late fifties and early sixties. To all intents and purposes, to the outside world at least, it seemed that the Irish question had been answered and violent conflict was at an end.</p><p>But of course the conditions for conflict, the culture of Ireland, in particular amongst the poor and downtrodden of the North, had never been more ripe for a flare up, and so it proved. From the late sixties to the mid-nineties over 3000 people were killed, as paramilitaries, the British Army and others descended into an internecine conflict of great brutality and savagery. I first met my wife in 1994, about six weeks before the first ceasefire in the so-called “Troubles”. I remember one of the first conversations I had with her was about her accent, I couldn’t place it, and it turned out she hailed from the north-western city whose very name symbolises the conflict that had raged for nearly 30 years.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXYH8Q0Qp2yo90z6dLfyhHYT6uyrqJ4J5m_16O4848UU2_Y1WQ1tTzJoopwEZOvdhZbBvZuT1hc1bbfMIJcnly1dxaH_FV8aQe_6UGFbt-RFaTCUs3g43Ynq7iGvhbkP6n9EiQY9eBfg/s500/74DBE0F4-8739-4BD0-85A3-9C2D419A8A18.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXYH8Q0Qp2yo90z6dLfyhHYT6uyrqJ4J5m_16O4848UU2_Y1WQ1tTzJoopwEZOvdhZbBvZuT1hc1bbfMIJcnly1dxaH_FV8aQe_6UGFbt-RFaTCUs3g43Ynq7iGvhbkP6n9EiQY9eBfg/s320/74DBE0F4-8739-4BD0-85A3-9C2D419A8A18.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4SO7QPMhocfkrk1-4ZdNC8C_2A70U1ljj1PIMXbDC6Ee575GOLGv2To8Y4Ka4Q6bDbw7uvZQuqprRDgsuwGYXJdME888iIOUkbs86oxWMo6rgsoVnZKm6VGHxPigF9hqFFew62BfqDTY/s259/21ABFD96-5610-41C8-A29F-7D5F913F8419.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4SO7QPMhocfkrk1-4ZdNC8C_2A70U1ljj1PIMXbDC6Ee575GOLGv2To8Y4Ka4Q6bDbw7uvZQuqprRDgsuwGYXJdME888iIOUkbs86oxWMo6rgsoVnZKm6VGHxPigF9hqFFew62BfqDTY/s0/21ABFD96-5610-41C8-A29F-7D5F913F8419.jpeg" /></a></div><p>My first trip over to meet her family was just after Christmas 1995, shortly after which that ceasefire collapsed into a further 18 months of killing and mayhem. I was told not to open my mouth in public, so as not to give my English accent away, believe me it was still a scary place to be. But over the years following the signing of the Good Friday Agreement, things changed. Just as the leaders back in the twenties had entered politics, so the Irish Republicans viewed the GFA as an opportunity to work towards reunification over the long-term.</p><p>Of course there were more dissidents that promised to keep the literal battle alive, there were very few of them, they lacked community support and critically they lacked support of the moneyed Americans that had funded so much of the previous campaign. </p><p>It appeared to outsiders that the peace was permanent. The outward signs were positive. I kept one of my older bikes over in Ireland for 7 or 8 years from 2010, and in that time as I rode around the roads I noticed how the once brightly-painted kerbstones had faded, and flags (always emblematic of the assertion of territory) became less common and more tatty.</p><p>My father-in-law took me to a game at Derry City one Friday night, and happily introduced me to all and sundry. He was a stalwart of the club, its unofficial historian, and knew just about everyone. Never had I felt more welcome at a football match at another ground other than my own.</p><p> Friends often engaged in conversation with me, what was it all about, or what was the correct thing to say? But I couldn’t explain it. Partly because whilst I have as very good historical and contemporary knowledge of what is going on, and I’ve seen the impact of change over the years in changing some of the superficial attitudes, I knew that deep under the surface there were cultural currents running that had been in existence since the 16th century, if not before. It’s hard to explain that, it’s visceral.</p><p>But it didn’t seem matter, an accommodation and shared institutions had seemed to not make the divide and the history as important anymore. Initially war-weariness had driven the process of peace, but then a new generation, supposedly free of the old enmities had come to the fore, and it seemed we were into a new era. </p><p>The Brexit happened. </p><p>In 2019, after visiting for a family wedding, I blogged about how all those kerbstones had been painted again, and fresh new flags were flying in the hardline areas. Both sides were gearing up for something, even if they didn’t know what. There’s an old piece of management bollocks that “culture eats strategy for breakfast”, and it’s as true for communal conflict as it is for business performance.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9CUC8wuV37_WqItEpukAJ8BGi2b5Y9DbCnlk-pBCd1tcwNDqrQX5EovT2hI3eGT3phDJ3ZwBTA6LDO78lV6e8odX5EhBpcuhAXumnvc5KxA0BLw7Px8NBXezIdMx_AHbZ0afs24Uad8/s792/C2D74B25-8678-4AA5-8062-A22D5B946A63.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="474" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9CUC8wuV37_WqItEpukAJ8BGi2b5Y9DbCnlk-pBCd1tcwNDqrQX5EovT2hI3eGT3phDJ3ZwBTA6LDO78lV6e8odX5EhBpcuhAXumnvc5KxA0BLw7Px8NBXezIdMx_AHbZ0afs24Uad8/s320/C2D74B25-8678-4AA5-8062-A22D5B946A63.jpeg" /></a></div><p>What English people have consistently failed to realise is that the GFA, the peace process didn’t answer the Irish question or solve the conflict. Because there is no solving it. The relative sizes of Nationalist and Loyalist communities in the north (please note small “n”) are too similar for there ever to be a time when both sides would be happy. All you can hope for is to find a way to make the divide not matter.</p><p>The second thing English people do not understand is that Irish culture in general, and the culture of the north in particular, is a world away from British, and specifically English culture. Nor do most English know anything about the history of the last 100 years in the northern state, let alone the last 400 or 800 years of Anglo-Irish experience. Common membership of the EU, in particular the Customs Union and Single Market, were the structural framework that allowed the GFA to work. Without it, it will never work as intended, despite all the excuses of British politicians.</p><p>Nobody should be surprised at the upsurge of violence in Belfast, Derry and elsewhere. Nor is it enough to blame “criminal elements encouraging the youngsters”. On Friday I listened to two community workers from the loyalist community, erudite and educated people, explain that loyalist rioting was justified because Nationalist areas had all the new housing and jobs. It reminded me of a conversation I had way back with my Father in Law, also an erudite and educated man, about integrated education being the answer to long-term peace. “You see Guy”, he explained, “the Protestants would never agree to it”.</p><p>I bet hardly anyone in Britain who voted for Brexit thought about its impact on Ireland and the peace process. Even if they did, I suspect generally they wouldn’t have thought it important. Another “Project Fear” most likely. In any case that ship has sailed now so there’s no point banging on about it. But as I see those petrol bombs flying through the air, and see the water cannons being deployed, I know if won’t be long until the Army is being brought in to keep the peace. It’s all so depressingly familiar.</p><p>It’s not the end, by any means, of peace. But we are going to need a lot of fresh thinking, brave people and bold decisions. I hope our politicians can do what they have consistently failed to do for the last five years, and actually show some leadership.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi24LLxyyVPiSlf3pf0RFGHf6XCk0IDfKrsjKMJAZiCXuEVz30j66_WBtycwphc9CDq8eeJIVcNhvwVg6jyYkJbrzHG_jTeKc4SFo8RHMEUY47EaCMGxmWAclaZMk7PeXEinDUkuQuHH3A/s1240/D27F0159-FEF1-47D3-840D-90A9959B38D6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="1240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi24LLxyyVPiSlf3pf0RFGHf6XCk0IDfKrsjKMJAZiCXuEVz30j66_WBtycwphc9CDq8eeJIVcNhvwVg6jyYkJbrzHG_jTeKc4SFo8RHMEUY47EaCMGxmWAclaZMk7PeXEinDUkuQuHH3A/s320/D27F0159-FEF1-47D3-840D-90A9959B38D6.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-5603921958574962212021-03-05T17:07:00.002+00:002021-03-05T17:07:51.628+00:00My best days are ahead<p> It’s five weeks to the hour since I was sat in the ED of our local hospital. Much has changed. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIpKhlsYCsajzwTR60GwXAe-_C7QERn4EOUojnULsW3_pi5Xdwx6F476l487FrMhEGl8hONdXZOwQeem22ZezF5RqUQaW0y73oFoNebKeg4zGq0LYVx6_aAfBMPL9cnw6TreHqCWvO54/s2048/4A11AC3C-29CD-45AE-823E-3757DBA0B5BB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIpKhlsYCsajzwTR60GwXAe-_C7QERn4EOUojnULsW3_pi5Xdwx6F476l487FrMhEGl8hONdXZOwQeem22ZezF5RqUQaW0y73oFoNebKeg4zGq0LYVx6_aAfBMPL9cnw6TreHqCWvO54/s320/4A11AC3C-29CD-45AE-823E-3757DBA0B5BB.jpeg" /></a></div><p>My diagnosis is now definitive, and all experts (including me!) are in agreement about its cause, if not about the precise mechanism that it worked through. I have bilateral Brachial neuritis, caused by an autoimmune response to a Hepatitis E infection. Whilst this response has pretty much done its job, and I have comparatively little pain now, I am left with damage to the nerves between the brachial plexus in both arms to parts of each shoulder, arm and hand. I won’t go into details, of which muscles are affected, ask me if you’re that interested. What I will say is that it could have been a lot worse. I briefly joined a Facebook group of people also with the condition. Whilst I really sympathise with the posters, many of whom had been significantly affected far more severely than me, I had to leave the group. I didn’t feel it was conducive to the mindset I need to adopt.</p><p>I have a reasonable chance of a long-term full recovery, an excellent chance of a partial recovery, and a possibility that parts of the function may be impaired forever. This latter point is mainly in connection to my right thumb and forefinger, but I’m not worried, I’ll still be able to brake and change gear, even if I can’t write with a pen or do up buttons. Different bits will recover at different times, the speed of this is determined by three things. First, the distance any muscle is from the brachial plexus, the further away, the longer the recovery. Second, the extent and type of damage to any given nerve, (ie is any given nerve simply demyelinated and to what degree, or are the axons destroyed - the former takes a few months to be repaired, the latter could take a couple of years to re-grow). The third will be all about the quality of the conditions that I can create to effect the best possible recovery.</p><p>This last part is largely down to me, and although it is not an exact science, there are lots of things I can do to optimise my convalescence. Fortunately I was only mildly impacted systemically by the Hepatitis. I actually saw a Consultant Hepatologist this week who told me that I’d been very lucky to have had virtually no other symptoms of the infection, besides the autoimmune response and raised resting heart rate, blood pressure and liver enzyme function. These are all either back to normal now or very close to it. No fever, no jaundice, little fatigue. His view was that my pre-existing health and fitness had protected me from anything more serious. I’m counting my blessings.</p><p>Cook your sausages properly everyone.</p><p>But my recovery will fall into three broad phases, the first of which is optimising the conditions for nerve re-growth and repair. This process, apparently, is like growing very delicate flowers in a greenhouse in Winter. So I have to do some moderate aerobic exercise, but NOT to the point of fatigue, eat plenty of fruit and veg, as well as other unprocessed foods that contain Vitamin B12 (I’m allowed a steak a week!), but limit processed and refined foods, particularly chocolate. I also need to get plenty of sleep, eradicate stress, and do what I can to maintain joint mobility.</p><p>The second phase will be to re-build the muscle function as the nerve connectivity is established, and it’s important not to do this too soon, otherwise there is a risk of damaging the motor neurone again before they are fully established. So it will be the lightest of exercises on my arms to begin with. Once I have a bit of muscle strength I’ll be able to do indoor cycling, but not too much to cause fatigue.</p><p>Finally once the recovery looks well underway, I will be free to resume more challenging training, but again, being careful to build it up slowly, so thoughts of audaxes and multi-day rides are firmly on the back burner for now. I haven’t set myself much in the way of timescales, just doing the traditional “take it one game at a time” approach. I am positive I will get back on my bike and ride it as well if not better than I used to, and I hope that comes soon. But my priority is restoring my health, so I’m not going to risk that by being impatient. No, really.</p><p>Thank you to everyone that has been kind enough to send support and love in what is a difficult enough year already, I do really appreciate it more than these words can convey. </p><p>And I learned new things such as how to get dressed using contortions I would never have thought possible, as well as learning to tie my shoelaces without the use of a functioning thumb. Every day is a school day. To top off this very unusual year my beloved Irons are in contention to actually qualify for Europe, on merit. I’m not getting excited, but it does cheer my spirits to see us playing with skill and heart.</p><p>My main activity for the next few weeks is going to be walking in the countryside as much as I’m able to. So the end of lockdown is a welcome sight on the horizon, I need to find new vistas to see and paths to tread. Not that I don’t really value the beauty all around my home and thank my lucky stars for it every day. I think we are all ready for a change, and I for one see the lights <a href="https://youtube.com/watch?v=naNXl8vEQbA&feature=share">In front of me</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7Y3Mwhpvy1jPnOrH6qdMO4nXlyuyt7PDTxuByXfEeVfO6ZtLOk3BK5JiqCxZrbdsUrpT1kNEDKBnpfdJC-SNnAZ0BougN1V82sgxZmT2jRNaQQTXm4LA5USLLcFZtkjxR9LaK2MXlhQ/s2048/35A8DE03-1F83-4CB9-B4A9-A821BB92A571.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7Y3Mwhpvy1jPnOrH6qdMO4nXlyuyt7PDTxuByXfEeVfO6ZtLOk3BK5JiqCxZrbdsUrpT1kNEDKBnpfdJC-SNnAZ0BougN1V82sgxZmT2jRNaQQTXm4LA5USLLcFZtkjxR9LaK2MXlhQ/s320/35A8DE03-1F83-4CB9-B4A9-A821BB92A571.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-61516037426133545662021-02-15T00:20:00.000+00:002021-02-15T00:20:01.401+00:00A little divided<p> So eleven days after my last post things have moved on. Albeit glacially, but given I now have use of a few more fingers, I know there has been progress. </p><p>For a start it looks like a diagnosis. I definitely have a virus, and not in the vague, generalised way that doctors often insinuate you have one for unknown or unclassifiable conditions. No, I have Hepatitis E no less. Usually quite a mild illness, although I have hardly any of the symptoms that usually present. Maybe a bit of fatigue, but given the state of arms and concomitant analgesic consumption, it’s hard to tell the source of that. But the latest (of numerous) blood tests threw it up on Thursday, it also explains the raised liver inflammatory markers when there are no other signs of liver inflammation. It must have happened deep within said organ.</p><p>It may also offer an explanation for the rapid onset of excruciating pain throughout my shoulders and arms in the last few days of January. The key symptoms of rapid onset, that is, within 12 to 24 hours and no prior warning, coupled with the severity, and location, all point to Brachial Neuritis, an autoimmune response that, guess what, is often triggered by a virus. I’ll have a clearer idea on Thursday when I have my arm nerve conductivity tests (I hope), together with shoulder x-ray and further blood tests. Even if it isn’t that, my arms are not snapping back to life, so I suspect we still need to do what we can to find a cause.</p><p>The acute pain is gone, and I’ve cut back on the smarties, as my arms and shoulders are still inflamed, stiff and sore. Sleep has been a big problem, but even that is improving, aided by hot bath, hot chocolate and pillows placed at strategic points in the bed.</p><p>I realise I’m probably getting close to some unpleasant physio, but I’m hopeful that the damage to the nerves is not as bad as I first feared. I still have lots of paranoid thoughts about nasty conditions I may have, as well as bouts of pessimism that this will be a permanent thing. But given I have managed two short walks in the last four days, lends optimism that there is a way back.</p><p>My family have been amazing, friends near and far have sent wonderfully supportive messages and encouragement, and my boss and colleagues have been quite simply outstanding. Better than any employer I’ve ever had, and that is high praise indeed. My boss even phoned me one late afternoon to tell me I was doing too much. You can’t buy that.</p><p>If you were one of those people who has listened, sent encouragement, good wishes or anything, then thank you, it has been an amazingly powerful in keeping my spirits up like you will never understand. In a cold, dark tunnel, with an icicle hanging over me, you were the light I moved towards. Like this metaphor.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_IFPsIMv3JdKJ3HQHo_POCvrnl7FMDkD1PmP8S3mXDA14T2kwwbLzE5dgY-TguHFb_JeCFBhrorAeZtlRs0Ei2kVMvr8GM2LU7jAkQHUe9OWQX-Bv45VoYwBP6FfVjw0xDsT3OeZMPA/s2048/9CBECBD1-09AA-43B5-A7C3-41CE77941592.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_IFPsIMv3JdKJ3HQHo_POCvrnl7FMDkD1PmP8S3mXDA14T2kwwbLzE5dgY-TguHFb_JeCFBhrorAeZtlRs0Ei2kVMvr8GM2LU7jAkQHUe9OWQX-Bv45VoYwBP6FfVjw0xDsT3OeZMPA/s320/9CBECBD1-09AA-43B5-A7C3-41CE77941592.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Despite all of this, I’m still in the tunnel, and it’s still a horrible place to be in. I may not have the apocalyptic fear I had 24 hours into this episode. I also know my disablement is mild compared to those of others, and that I am fortunate to have money and resources to be able to tackle it. But the transformation that means I can not turn a key in a lock, or get a tin of soup from the middle shelf, is a stark contrast to the very fit state I had got myself into by the 3rd week of January. But I am grateful I can do things I could not do two weeks ago, velcro shoes are wonderful things.</p><p>Since I had my diagnosis of prediabetes at the beginning of December I had lost 4 kg, migrated to a very healthy diet, really upped the level and type of exercise, as well as curbed my enthusiasm for chocolate. Who knows, maybe that level of fitness has afforded a measure of protection. But it feels like a major setback from what I could do before. Knowing what I have and how to tackle it helps, sure, but it is not easy. One very major positive is that all that work has paid off in getting my blood sugar down to normal levels, albeit towards the top of the normal range. It shows I can reverse that.</p><p>So yes, it’s got better. I hope it continues as my fragile confidence can not take much in the way of physical setbacks. But I suspect it’s not going to be an easy <a href="https://youtu.be/dVimPCaV9Rw">Few months.</a> That said, I’m determined in my usual way to face it and KBO as one of my friends would say. It’s what I do.</p><p> So please continue to send messages like this.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJW_1XC7KpWiMFToLBTBwuaHqlBHTaSbzWHEJmNTdy8Q-E5mvcDtlqSQvT1uT9OL1bx-UzwXb-buUOEZa0O_R9FeNOWMsinVp6kmZ-2MoijlLdUP8hIH8Ar8_FnSCt7d5-RaZ0kZh4sKE/s2048/15813349-80E9-49EE-AA7D-083DB48125CB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJW_1XC7KpWiMFToLBTBwuaHqlBHTaSbzWHEJmNTdy8Q-E5mvcDtlqSQvT1uT9OL1bx-UzwXb-buUOEZa0O_R9FeNOWMsinVp6kmZ-2MoijlLdUP8hIH8Ar8_FnSCt7d5-RaZ0kZh4sKE/s320/15813349-80E9-49EE-AA7D-083DB48125CB.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-47909854281334651492021-02-03T06:01:00.001+00:002021-02-03T06:01:28.696+00:00I was catching my breath<p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><b>“Sometimes, I wake at 4 in the morning, Where all the darkness is swarming, And it covers me in fear”</b></i></span></span></p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;">Well, here we are, 4AM in the UK and I can’t sleep. Not because anything is occupying my mind but because the pain in my shoulder joint just won’t let me. This is despite the painkillers and anti-inflammatories. Guess I got that dose wrong.</span></span><div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;">Fortunately I can tell most of this story with a simple cut, paste and edit from an earlier message to a friend. Modern life may not be solving one problem, but it certainly makes this public broadcast easier.<br /></span></span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">I have become a medical mystery over the last few days. I’m ok in myself (as we say - but what does that mean?) but have been through the mill a bit since last week. I spent most of Friday at ED because of unbelievably agonising and continual sudden pain in the joints & muscles of my arms and shoulders which started out of the blue last Wednesday afternoon.</span></div><div><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">They’ve got the pain stabilised now with some strong painkillers and anti inflammatory stuff (although there is still a fair amount of pain) and I’m undergoing all kinds of blood tests to see what it is- they don’t really know. Lots of theories ranging from Lyme disease to an autoimmune condition called Parsonage-Turner syndrome. My money is on the latter, as it fits with our family history. But to be honest, I’m past caring what, I just want it to stop.</span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">I’m off sick from work, unable to do much and pretty tired- I can barely move my arms. I can type with a couple of fingers, a lot of the others have a numbness and pins and needles. The internet is, of course, a curse. I imagine it spreading to other parts of my body, or to my breathing muscles or heart. Or I find conditions which will have me dead in a week.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">It’s also horrible seeing people around you powerless to help, and yet at the same time they do help. Mrs Mendip Rouleur - wow, what would I have done without her. Practically of course, but emotionally she has been amazing. I’m so glad she picked, and stood by, me. My family have all rallied round too, my son, brothers and particularly my amazing sister, probably the best Nurse in the world, and undoubtedly the best Sister. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;">Beyond that my friends, colleagues and boss have all been brilliant too. Understanding, supportive, and keeping my spirits up despite the limitations caused by this pandemic.</span></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">Obviously I can’t ride a bike, or drive or even walk far. I can type with one finger of each hand but can’t write or put on clothes without pain. I don’t care about not riding, to be honest I don’t care if I never ride again, I’ll trade anything to have this sorted. Yes, we are even into “deals with God” territory. And I’m a staunch atheist.</span></div><div><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">Needless to say the British health response has been patchy. The Hospital was generally perfunctory. I’m not talking medically, because there is little more they could have done. It’s more the complete lack empathy and understanding of what I am experiencing. I do realise they are under a lot of strain too, and some were lovely, it’s just they are not set up to deal with this right now. Maybe I have unrealistic expectations.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">Of course, you may be thinking, it’s only a week, and it’s only some pain in your arms. I do appreciate others have things far worse and for much longer. And Thursday may bring some answers when the latest set of blood tests return, or we try other avenues. Things are looking up as at least now I feel I’ve got a good Local doctor on the case, so we’ll see.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"> </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">I’m not asking for anything from anyone, just a bit of understanding. I have lots of dark thoughts in the last week, and I’m very frightened. Typing this has helped that too, for I don’t know what the short or long-term outcome of this will be. But I have retreated to Dr Lucy Hone’s excellent TED talk on resilience. Everyone can find it at this .<a href="https://youtu.be/NWH8N-BvhAw">Link</a>. </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">She talks about how resilient people have three key attributes, and they help too:</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">1. The awareness to realise that bad things happen to almost everyone, this is a normal and natural part of the human experience</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">2. Focus on what you can change, and ignore what you can not.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">3. Ask yourself, is what I am doing helping or is it hurting?</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">You might be thinking why am I even writing this? The answer is really very simple. I can’t sleep and this passes the time and takes my mind of my shoulder. You realise a lot of things about how you use different muscles, and for what tasks and activities, when you can’t use them. It turns out that shoulders are really important in the sleeping process. The good news is that my next meds are due soon, it’s taken that long to type this. So just doing this post has been really helpful in getting me through the night.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;">Football is playing it’s part for me too, as ever. Despite the Irons capitulation on Sunday, the compression of the football season means there’s another game here already this evening. Of course we may lose, but it’s the best season for a long time.</span></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;">Hopefully the painkillers on an empty stomach will induce some sleep, and if they don’t, there’s Netflix, or BBC Sounds or any one of hundreds of other options. Or just the music to send me somewhere else. I am, after all, Winscombe’s biggest Taylor Swift <a href="https://youtu.be/EXLgZZE072g">Fan</a> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;">Take care of yourselves.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5RNXvx96oSkS1v8rXvLAZAsHPsrL72TMD_sSZ8-gv9vSNtL5MQBGkfRqtdwZF9le4HPqtYND6QCHtDEE6MYT_hkwQWUDrGLP6syraiEvwKlF1PGc2JULnTNeErqzb6Dx17AOtLi-ZyE/s2048/BC73C695-04DE-4E2B-9B46-CFD7DF2EDC8E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5RNXvx96oSkS1v8rXvLAZAsHPsrL72TMD_sSZ8-gv9vSNtL5MQBGkfRqtdwZF9le4HPqtYND6QCHtDEE6MYT_hkwQWUDrGLP6syraiEvwKlF1PGc2JULnTNeErqzb6Dx17AOtLi-ZyE/s320/BC73C695-04DE-4E2B-9B46-CFD7DF2EDC8E.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-35416163071413410432020-12-09T19:03:00.003+00:002020-12-09T19:07:43.829+00:00Leave it behind<p> I once went on an extended pub crawl dressed as Yoda from Star Wars. It was a very long evening as I recall, and sadly before the days of ubiquitous camera phones. So no digital pictures exist that I can share with you, although I’m sure some of my fellow participants, some of which I am still in contact with, may have some paper ones somewhere. </p><p>In my professional career there are a few film analogies and stories that I have milked to death, and <a href="https://youtube.com/watch?v=BQ4yd2W50No&feature=share" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">this</a> is one of them.</p><p>It was actually an organised work event, early 2000s as I recall. Nowadays the idea that a major employer would encourage that kind of thing - allowing, no promoting, the idea that hundreds of its People go round the pubs of Bristol and get paralytically drunk, (for charity) probably cuts across good Wellbeing practice. Who knows, maybe the event persists, I know it’s recalled fondly as evidenced by frequent Memories on Facebook.</p><p>In the light of 2020, the whole idea of Wellbeing has assumed massive proportions. I’m sure our ancestors, cave-dwellers, peat-walkers, and subsistence farmers etc would laugh at how we have moaned and griped our way through what is a fairly minor bit of pestilence, historically-speaking anyway. But then again, they probably had more resilience than we now have, and hadn’t yet figured a way to contrive their world into such an inter-dependent, convoluted techno-bubble. </p><p>Bubble, a word only previously associated with “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kn7NGJezKSQ&feature=share">I’m Forever blowing</a>” etc. Yes, I was in that crowd singing, a great day out it was too. Although watching football from the warmth and comfort of your living room has many advantages, it’s nothing like the real thing, particularly in the cold and damp of December. But yes, I have missed it. As for these other Jonny-come-lately “bubbles”, what’s wrong with just using the word “Group”? </p><p>And DGMS on “self-isolation”. We used to call it quarantine which I’m almost pleased to see named as Word of the Year by the Cambridge Dictionary. What an honour. Back when a name was first given to it, it meant 40 days away from people, Italian and ships I think. Nowadays it means whatever the latest set of complicated local restrictions says it means. In whichever tier you are in.</p><p>There was also a time when the word “mute” wasn’t offensive, whereas now it’s just become one of those hilarious things to say to the person who can’t figure out the controls of whichever video platform they happen to be using that day. Or who has become so engrossed in reading emails that they’ve lost sight of the fact there was a conversation going on.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But behind all of my tongue in cheek cynicism, there are some serious points of course. We have all had to deal with a lot. My public face might look all cheerful, plain and professional, but outside of the sight lines of the camera it’s a mess. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0OfX2IgBWbQQwWZodi41mIIV-y67y3LUvBT0KVtgmWSeAzkKsvn9WhnpChu5aiGiR_qQ5ZAobqETnbMJzv4PMKkWOwT2kmGL141IZxo0Z7HP3sd7bzL5ovuF6Le3zWDXXgNgDRoRzgw/s2048/56E694DF-43C8-45F4-9775-CB52960F4DB4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0OfX2IgBWbQQwWZodi41mIIV-y67y3LUvBT0KVtgmWSeAzkKsvn9WhnpChu5aiGiR_qQ5ZAobqETnbMJzv4PMKkWOwT2kmGL141IZxo0Z7HP3sd7bzL5ovuF6Le3zWDXXgNgDRoRzgw/s320/56E694DF-43C8-45F4-9775-CB52960F4DB4.jpeg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1Ycu54D3RY04RssK7oHRBCMyhjOzffyvJRFNWjX0-Kqt9JDsT2A5dP5hvatZgkyJElA1I9BxwKeYJuDuUruFjaovJ-6G6UuNn77Pn2Z9rCvL6byonSANSEihnuA30tpiXHBp7kFBRCM/s2048/7DBF2358-5521-4B36-ACB4-A71901E231A8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1Ycu54D3RY04RssK7oHRBCMyhjOzffyvJRFNWjX0-Kqt9JDsT2A5dP5hvatZgkyJElA1I9BxwKeYJuDuUruFjaovJ-6G6UuNn77Pn2Z9rCvL6byonSANSEihnuA30tpiXHBp7kFBRCM/s320/7DBF2358-5521-4B36-ACB4-A71901E231A8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p>Cables and junk absolutely everywhere, tasks half-started and never finished, whilst lurking in the background is a bit of Christmas promise, to be quickly followed by the gloom of the New Year. </p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEiIN3e_QW0&feature=share">Yes, it’s been tough</a>. Yes that’s a metaphor.</p><p>I’m sure many of you have also struggled, and I’m no exception, but, in time-honoured fashion, I don’t want to make a fuss. Nor am I comparing my challenges with yours, or saying I know how you feel. Our normal, bearable day-to-day struggles have been tipped over the edge by isolation, illness or the threat of it, but above all, by uncertainty and novelty. Not in a good way.</p><p>But just for once I’m going to break Shirley’s rule and make a bit of a fuss. Because finally my own poor choices have caught up with me, not in a big way, more in an early-warning way, face this or die horribly in the future way. Much as I’d like to bury my head in the sand, my heart won’t allow it.</p><p>I have been diagnosed with something called pre-diabetes. I’m 77kg, 171cm and have slightly elevated blood sugar than is good for me. I won’t give you all the detail about glycated haemoglobin, suffice to say that I’ve just slipped over the border into bandit country. </p><p>Despite a fairly active life, and reasonably good diet, it has not come as the shock you might expect. For one, experts (them again) reckon about a third of the UK adult population is walking around with this condition, undiagnosed. That’s on top of about 10% who knowingly or unknowingly have full-blow Type 2 Diabetes. A figure that is expected to rise quickly over the next few years.</p><p>My condition is far away from serious, it’s the beginnings of an early-warning sign. It was only picked up in me by a serendipitous blood test. And whilst I have only just snuck over the line in terms of the figures, I have been fairly sedentary for the last three months, and been absolutely caning the chocolate. So in truth, I was not surprised that the last few months of 2020, on have this on.</p><p>My weight has been creeping up for years, gradually, stealthily, and I lazily ignored it. After all, I can still cycle 100km without really breaking a sweat, 200km in a day fairly easily, and my VO2 and FTP are superb for my age. But it’s not enough. Unfortunately, despite what the Daily Mail will have you believe, our behaviour isn’t the only factor at play here. Stress, genetics and lack of sleep can all play their part in influencing our blood sugar, so it’s not all down to lifestyle. Whatever the cause, I am going to have to deal with it, and look at eating more healthily, getting more sleep, reducing my stress and being more active. Easy eh?</p><p>Now is the time for me to follow Yoda’s advice. With any luck I can mobilise my compulsive gene to become a full-on healthy-eating and focussed exerciser. But in my heart of hearts I know that’s not me, I will just have to find my own way and do the best I can to reclaim my health, and push the numbers in the right direction. </p><p>Right now I feel exhausted just thinking about it, and I am longing for the next week to pass so I can have some time off at Christmas. Much as the Rapha 500 appeals, I probably should have a break from setting myself tough challenges and concentrate on eating dust and grass. But then again, if this year is to have anything good come out of it, I should look on the bright side. I have the opportunity and the resources to do something about it, and the brains to make the right choices. </p><p>As it goes I have been wrestling with a few other consequences of choices I made in other areas too. It’s time to let those anxieties go as well. I just don’t want to carry that baggage around with me any longer, so along with the chocolate, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyC3E8mt3JQ&feature=share">they will just have to go</a>. </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqzUVkBjEhzLzUe-OAfXScrrmjQctHyPyLfHytL91VcDWhy54zHKJh1AZgVC6XVdw7i2vGoHVB6-CFPZDzh0l7ut-CMeUsrb08wRunhcTU2ECBRD3mstGdFwuYt2dFeteXjHXjE31sdA/s2048/F845EBD6-0613-4B5B-8EFF-F6435DB8E91F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqzUVkBjEhzLzUe-OAfXScrrmjQctHyPyLfHytL91VcDWhy54zHKJh1AZgVC6XVdw7i2vGoHVB6-CFPZDzh0l7ut-CMeUsrb08wRunhcTU2ECBRD3mstGdFwuYt2dFeteXjHXjE31sdA/s320/F845EBD6-0613-4B5B-8EFF-F6435DB8E91F.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p></blockquote><p><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Merry Christmas.</p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7688975014905525871.post-78624142695881043012020-12-03T01:13:00.005+00:002020-12-03T07:37:53.548+00:00Courting opinions<p> Today has been a very odd day. Surreal in places, but ultimately immensely satisfying. It is all about cycling and not about cycling at all. Let me explain.</p><p>Back in July I put a Go Pro on my handlebars so that I could edit together a short “film” about one of the 200km rides that Martyn and I did around Somerset. The film was OK, the ride was better, but it was vaguely interesting as my first foray into making YouTube clips. As is the way of these rides, I got home pretty tired, it was the first 200 I’d done since before the first lockdown. So the bike went away for the night, unwashed and the camera mounting still under the Garmin.</p><p>Because that weekend had what I can only describe as “perfect cycling weather” (warm, but not too hot, light breeze, sunny skies etc etc) I decided to make the most of it on the Sunday and ride over to Rodney Stoke to see, and then ride with, Steve on a gentle leg loosener. All compliant with social distancing of course.</p><p>On the way there I was involved in “The Incident”. I briefly mentioned it in a blog post, which for obvious reasons I had to subsequently take down from this site. The Incident was of course a close pass. I thought it the most dangerous one I’d ever experienced, and one of the worst pieces of driving I’d seen for a long time. I had to take avoiding action to avoid being hit.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUNz0_Au57StHJgFiZzeZl0dsFh8PkGTMj6aGxXZCTPDLklEx68OX-RPolsxhYth5Ze8TmOl-x9fo_7_FedlQIPpqgYWCtr0TsPGx9YrNvqxeIep-vbaN6hHFkbgyY8nyJL0NRUw1uX7g/s828/65B17317-2DDA-43B4-AD8F-EDCFCDEDE856.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="459" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUNz0_Au57StHJgFiZzeZl0dsFh8PkGTMj6aGxXZCTPDLklEx68OX-RPolsxhYth5Ze8TmOl-x9fo_7_FedlQIPpqgYWCtr0TsPGx9YrNvqxeIep-vbaN6hHFkbgyY8nyJL0NRUw1uX7g/s320/65B17317-2DDA-43B4-AD8F-EDCFCDEDE856.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Because of the camera being on the bike, the whole incident was captured in HD footage and was soon winging its way to Avon and Somerset Police. Two days later I found out that they’d issued a Notice of Intended Prosecution. In early October I was called as a witness in the driver’s prosecution for Driving without due care, and today that case came to trial. The driver was convicted, given 4 points on his licence and fined £482 inclusive of costs.</p><p>I don’t want to say too much about the actual trial, and all the details that go with it, you can ask me if you see me and are that interested. But what did strike me about the whole thing, was how utterly unnecessary it all was. The driver did not have to behave as he did back in July. He could have used some logic and entered a guilty plea, or taken some advice from a wiser friend. He is not a man of means, and is now in the invidious position of having to repay that fine over the next year. His licence will carry those points for a few years, and affect his insurance premiums.</p><p>But will it change his behaviour? Well, maybe he might think twice for fear of future retribution and punishment. But I’m not convinced he really, truly understands how dangerous his driving was. It may be this is one small victory in the battle against our terrible “car-obsessed, got-to-get-in-front-at-al-costs” driving culture. A few recent events have brought out the best and the worst in people, and I think so much of our society has become too polarised, too quick to argue and too slow to listen.</p><p>Maybe court cases and “calling people out” are the way to tackle the ills of our world. But as 2020 draws to a close perhaps we can take some time to think of ways in which we could all get along with each other, and ideally, not come close to killing anyone whilst driving a car. By the way, 2020 has been bad, but ask Cambodians, Southern Slavs, Rwandans, and many, many more people all over the world, if there have been worst years since 1945 and I’m sure they will say yes. My 22, 916 minutes of engagement with Spotify do not signal a bad year either. </p><p>I was shaken by the Incident, so much so that I acquired two new cameras (the original GoPro fell off on a descent on the Mendips, into a long-grass verge, never to be found), but I have yet to fit them to my bikes. Partly because I want to feel that bike riding is about fun, friends and fantastic views. Partly because I don’t need any more extra weight than the second lockdown has given me. It’s amazing how much chocolate you can eat in a month. </p><p>Cycling largely is so joyful for me, and right now we all need more joy. I do for sure. But engaging with all that bad driving just doesn’t feel like any form of joy, and I can’t help but think there must be better ways to change things.<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IRfluaMKoOY&feature=share"> Too much fighting</a>. </p><p>For once I am at a loss to know what the right thing to do is. In the meantime, here’s Bristol, in the dark of lockdown, from the bike ride I did last week.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7hx1O3g6Cljamfh4Muzn09Vdr3uSUt-Ps_KT79PTkFU4DLly3XUcIFaLJYpJzqPWWiILAsnXcwpwXfRX4irwfRLNy2TW2toU31LyNHMrfU0r8QabaINDpKPSOsPCFzYkt34xU_XI1kqw/s2048/7CC0C889-46D6-49B7-9924-AC11C0648396.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7hx1O3g6Cljamfh4Muzn09Vdr3uSUt-Ps_KT79PTkFU4DLly3XUcIFaLJYpJzqPWWiILAsnXcwpwXfRX4irwfRLNy2TW2toU31LyNHMrfU0r8QabaINDpKPSOsPCFzYkt34xU_XI1kqw/s320/7CC0C889-46D6-49B7-9924-AC11C0648396.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6WE4lHpetiItC-Ao7NUTveW08D9gZRHIy4hxSTI_Y8G_EJwSfQD9C24PZ_XOAR_Pxa8L8OGUYDnDSd_xzgH3gC95IG7MzUT_6Mi7KQtHIzT7ezwijQlO03V0L_MjqSD8UY5dtx1yVyjs/s2048/8A898B02-8555-4647-BED0-5B5414137FF1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6WE4lHpetiItC-Ao7NUTveW08D9gZRHIy4hxSTI_Y8G_EJwSfQD9C24PZ_XOAR_Pxa8L8OGUYDnDSd_xzgH3gC95IG7MzUT_6Mi7KQtHIzT7ezwijQlO03V0L_MjqSD8UY5dtx1yVyjs/s320/8A898B02-8555-4647-BED0-5B5414137FF1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWEersc0P8eJN3B_C0QhOMMPMn_GHG8F6CKqf7uTwXcoAKdFusBVl-ehtCjlGJH_o290oNZmKaU9_uodvwYmClyzfvg54KA7oy3tl9DRbRDvTEUiwbaT_Q6WeGSx-JSNWOaEg1P_eMlM/s2048/1327EB0E-6AFF-46F2-B944-00E0503AE9AE.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWEersc0P8eJN3B_C0QhOMMPMn_GHG8F6CKqf7uTwXcoAKdFusBVl-ehtCjlGJH_o290oNZmKaU9_uodvwYmClyzfvg54KA7oy3tl9DRbRDvTEUiwbaT_Q6WeGSx-JSNWOaEg1P_eMlM/s320/1327EB0E-6AFF-46F2-B944-00E0503AE9AE.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmcyXMDOPYptsLwNBwiq9dqp7E6wm1HbR9sgbCeLOIfQqcT582aQrjUNiCCQhVh7M0SXhCjw8UJDo9aVCM0844NobaQ2fHbEhF6X234JLW30iQ6nE3ICjIi6CzHYFJzIqGNIuwg4YiH8/s2048/A86CD4B8-7B87-4D44-888E-0C9E510099CC.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmcyXMDOPYptsLwNBwiq9dqp7E6wm1HbR9sgbCeLOIfQqcT582aQrjUNiCCQhVh7M0SXhCjw8UJDo9aVCM0844NobaQ2fHbEhF6X234JLW30iQ6nE3ICjIi6CzHYFJzIqGNIuwg4YiH8/s320/A86CD4B8-7B87-4D44-888E-0C9E510099CC.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi59hVgdI2Hi9gLvHin0oymQYerkM0gXMpcN5_USAJ0wxq0P2S9j2LuLA_k1DU5zuCVvOKZun_m9jqp5wC4vFvdARuBti0XmYtf_8_q1ooV17TdZJ6go63xVBTDo9QQTy_Fw-nIAhs9us/s2048/FF45E087-DF3A-4ADC-829D-45E71EEB4FA0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi59hVgdI2Hi9gLvHin0oymQYerkM0gXMpcN5_USAJ0wxq0P2S9j2LuLA_k1DU5zuCVvOKZun_m9jqp5wC4vFvdARuBti0XmYtf_8_q1ooV17TdZJ6go63xVBTDo9QQTy_Fw-nIAhs9us/s320/FF45E087-DF3A-4ADC-829D-45E71EEB4FA0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Mendip Rouleurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04017439877180171322noreply@blogger.com0