1 I could have told you. I could. I knew that you should have gone to Bournemouth. I knew. Of course, no-one asked me. No, no-one. Still, I knew. I knew. Or Eastbourne. You could have had some nice walks on the cliffs.

2 Of course, that's not to say that we have had it all our way here. Oh no. You know about the snow last Monday. But I bet you didn't know that three of the bikers, who have more enthusiasm than sense, assembled in the Square. Well, John Aitken didn't say 'assembled' in his report. He said he found Andrew and Hilary - yes, Hilary - huddled in the doorway of Future Cycles. He joined the huddle. And they all reviewed the situation. A ride to Tunbridge Wells was the common view. It seems that they reached Hartfield before sense prevailed over courage, stout hearts, indomitable will, a willingness to go on against all the odds. They turned back, cycled back to Forest Row, and they then spent their time in Java and Jazz.

3 I joined the ride earlier today. Five of us set off towards Isfield. We were about three miles from the village and on an incline when strange sounds from the back wheel were the first indication that something was amiss. The next indication was conclusive: the bike stopped, I leaned towards the left, and, with my left foot still locked on to the pedal, I fell onto the bank. The simple device which holds the mech (the two little wheels which absorb the chain) had broken. A spoke was also broken. Road-side repairs, with Ron as the repairman. I was able to cycle, without a gear, to Uckfield. After a look at a £5k bicycle in In Gear, a pot of tea and a scone, I bought a newspaper and a railway ticket and took the train from Uckfield to Hurst Green to East Grinstead. From there I was able to cycle the bike to Future Cycles.

4 There was time for time in the conservatory in the sun. A SSAFA visit. A postponed visit to Abdul.

5 Of course, I do hope that things have brightened. It's time to come down from the misty, mysterious mountain.

Stayathome