Bananaworld

Emily & I went cycling around the wilds of Bramley & Silchester to see the Roman town of Calleva.

There were sheep: initially very intimidating but basically extremely scared of everything. We got off-road! Emily rocked on the Brompton. :-)

I unexpectedly had Easter Sunday off (the generosity is boundless!) so decided to go home to see family. I was feeling tight/poor so scrimped on the train fare and did a mighty Brompton mission. I'm not a trainspotter but... resolved to follow the train line as closely as possible and pass through all the towns & villages on the line between Reading & Ealing Broadway. It was a great day for a ride and a great ride. The Brompton ruled!

Emily & I got off-road again on Saturday when we went for a ride out past Caversham towards Mapledurham to see the bluebells. They were barely poking their...

... little heads out but it was a great ride and we had fun riding in the woods:

Blimey I really REALLY need to get out on my bike more and do some stupid stuff off-road. I haven't scared myself for a very long time in a way that isn't dickhead-car-driver-getting-in-my-pissing-way-and-nearly-flattening-me-related. Must. Go. Moutain. biking. MUST.

Oh, and on a very cool note, I have until now completely forgotten to mention one of the superb presents Emily got me for my birthday:

Yes, that's right, she had a puzzle of my Brompton made for me! Rock 'n' roll!

Lately I have been to work a lot. Work takes up a lot of my time and means I can't do cool stuff with other people who have lives and can do cool stuff.

I have done a little cool stuff lately, as detailed in the cycling bit.

Other than that it's been bank holiday hell and will be again several more times this year. It is the ultimate torture to be in work serving morons when you know that everyone else you know is out having fun.

Through & around this my hair has changed considerably; from how it was a year ago through to becoming long again and being straightened and then finally cut by Emily:

(What a relief!)

Need more time & sleep!

It's been all fun & games! (This smile isn't forced, honest! Well, maybe a bit...)

Anyway, there have been some very good times. like...

Emily & I went to Hastings!

We went for a weekend away by the sea and we walked down the beachs, over hills and cliffs and along the pier -where we had a waltz!- :-)

A very nice weekend. Emily's funky & great.

Voodoo Alien played a gig! We returned to The 3B's to be greeted by the same weird MC as before. (I'm sure people just humour him.) We had a fun time despite me completely müllering-up a few times. I'm not so proffessional (duh!) so take quite a lot of cues for banging from the wailing and twanging. I'll learn to keep the pace one day...

Rock & roll, dude, rock & roll.

In other news, I'm not entirely certiain that I'm cut out for life. There's an incredible strive for material gain going on in this world and it is all too often used as a measure of success. I was in a bar in London the other night (a loud, expensive & rather surreal place to be) and surrounded by supposedly 'successful' people, but the chap I was talking to could only talk about his work. It was his purpose, goal & life. He was obviously well-paid & well-off so a success.

I often wonder about being successful, but I can't really see it happening to me. I don't think I have that drive to go after the well-paid job and make a career for myself. Ever since studying for A-levels (or even before, but sixth-form was where it counted) I've been content to just drift along and take whatever results and opportunities come my way but without actively and effortfully seeking them out. I'm not really sure if I was lazy (shut it, you) or just couldn't really see the point. The lyric "money can't buy me love" struck me early on.

It's easy to claim I'm living for some higher purpose, but I'm not really, just a different purpose. A spirtiual one? Not really sure about that, plenty of debate has gone on in my head on that subject and I have irreconcilable problems with it.

I can, of course, see the sense in getting a decent job to fund housecarholidayskidspensionetc but I just don't see the point: is that all there really is to life? It's what millions of people strive for so there must be some sense in it, but I'm not striving for it so can I ever be successful?

Emily, very kindly, pointed out that success has other measures and Rich told me the other day that even if I haven't got a defined career I still have plenty to be thankful for, especially the most wonderful girlfriend in the whole world ever (and an extraordinarily shiny collection of bikes...). Once again other people come to rescue me from my paranoias, bless them. Where would I be without them?

I'm sure a lot of my problematic depression lately has come from the feelings of guilt, jealousy & inadequacy associated with not conforming to a career-path: basically my capitalist superego on overdrive, quashing that within me that ponders what I really stand for. And what is that? Peace & love, man. (But not in a cannabis-induced, tie-die hippy kinda way.)

So what is to be done? Am I not cut out for life? I have to do something with my life, and I shall. As touched upon, I can't really see myself working to inflate the bank account of Mr. Inc. PLC Co. so I guess I'll try a few jobs until I find one I'm content in and move on if it stops suiting me or I it. I'll get by and live my life in pursuit of bettering myself and the world around me. I'll consider myself successful in life if I can cause as little harm as possible to Earth (or even improve its state: go go go cycling and not eating meat!), be thoughtful to other people and generally be a nice person to all those around me, especially the wonderful Emily.

Key point to self: stop worrying about it all, it'll be fine.

Gavin & I went to Bracknell Forest & played in the woods:

I scared the poo out of me by doing a drop that was right at the limit of what both me & the bike are capable of.

I had a brilliant blast one Sunday afternoon to Goring & back. It was solo but it was really nice to get out:

Discovered some spooky woods on the way that will be absolutely chock with bluebells in a few weeks.

Gavin & I went to Ruislip Woods for the first time in a year. The Woods never dry out there, just get a bit less wet. It has been raining for a few days so it was sloppy as hell. I was on the mighty Orange P7 decked out with superb mud tyres from tyre-meisters Schwoblee. The bike was a dream! We rode in pooey mud:

Ride more I shall, mmm.

Around April 2002 I was working for Hillier Nurseries in their propagation department. It was a little dull but the people made the day go quickly and we had a laugh that summer. Anyway, that April Hillier's launched a foxglove called Digitalis 'Saltwood Summer' that was marketed to be "the next big thing". In preparation for this promotion there was quite a lot of sodding foxgloves in pots knocking around - 12,000 or so...

For two days, everyone that worked for Hillier's in Ampfield was employed with going through these plants to tidy off dead leaves and stick labels in the pots. It wasn't much fun, couldn't even dick around as much.

Guess what turned up on last week's Hillier delivery to Grovelands together with a promo board? Yup:

Mixed emotions, to say the least.

My quarter century on Earth is complete, hoorah! (Though you'd think I'd have gone to the trouble of achieving something by now...!)

Emily treated me to a funky day in London involving going to high places:

The Eye!

(Oops, caught Em blinking)

...and The Monument!

The Eye was particularly cool (not just because I could see good ol' Evans from up there!) as I hadn't been before and, though it was cloudy & piddlin' with rain, the view was amazing. It's a lot higher up there than it looks from the ground!

In other news, we had a lot of fun putting together our first piece of afforable Swedish crap:

A Malm chest of drawers: much fun & bodging was had!

To do list:

1. Go to sleep.
   
   
2. Find a job which:
   
   
   
   • Involves no Danish Trolleys, pallet trucks or twatty "lifestyle" crap.
     
   • Isn't located next to farmland which is regularly sprayed with decomposing pig shit.
     
   • Requires more than standing around in the freezing cold whilst boredom swiss-cheeses my brain to a pulp.
   
   
   
3. [Further to the above] Somehow hasten the end of winter or, failing that, get myself into a situation where every moment from waking to unconciousness is not experienced at below-freezing temperatures. (Damn uninsulated flat!)
   
   
4. REALLY go to sleep...

A couple of Sundays ago took Team Bananaworld to its regular spinning ground of the Surrey Hills but this time not for maltloaf-munching atop the highest point of the North Downs. No, I went along for a Gorrick TrailTrax orienteering event. What a day was had...!

Team Bananaworld (well, me...) tried to press-gang various people into joining in, but success was not had so it was another solo mission. I did have the advantage of having accomodation (crucially: Weetabix) just a couple of stations away from Dorking at Sutton (thanks Em!).

So I journeyed to Sutton the day before and woke up on the Sunday to pouring rain and a complete lack of waterproofs other than a wind-jacket. Woo hoo! I had a wet arse by the time I'd reached Sutton station, nevermind the 12km ride from Dorking station to get to the start of the event...

Well, it should have been twelve but ended up being sixteen or so as I may have taken a bit of a major wrong turn. In my defence I would like to point out that whilst a GPS is an extremely useful tool it is 'dumb' and can't account for every turn in the road. Definitely not user-error, oh no.

The rain continued to fall all the way to the pub at the start of the orienteer (is there a noun for it?) and I got jolly wet. The roads were covered in water and the little-used hilly country lanes were layered with sand & leaf-mould that made for interesting handling conditions.

I almost gave up at the point of getting lost before I'd even started, particularly with the fog getting worse & worse:

Steps to the summit of Leith Hill for those lazy enough to drive up there

Anyway I got there, registered, marked up my map and (single)sped away.

Along the way there featured: rain, hills, fog, mud, sandy mud, fog, sand, mud, wet sand, dense fog, sticky mud, muddy sticks, puddles, hills and absolutely no views of anything that was further away than twenty metres. I struggled up a few of the hills and got lost (despite having a GPS and a map) several times and arrived back 21 minutes late, which affected the results somewhat. The organisers had a good laugh at me through the window of the pub as a wrang out my gloves ready for the ride back to Dorking. (Chuckle, chuckle!) One hill that I'd come down twice that day but managed to avoid going up was saved for this final ride back to the station. It was sillyly steep and had little streams running down it amongst the muddy sand. I was determined not to push up it and reduced myself to a grunting, screaming gibbon as I swung the handlebars and hauled on the cranks. I must have looked a bit of a muppet, though I had checked noone was around before attempting to keep pedalling (I can occasionally maintain some pride). Hellish experience.

Had a laugh that day though, particularly at fellow contestants taking it a little too seriously and people roaring around peaceful roads in their 4x4s, completely disconnected from the country around them.

I met Gavin, Jackie & Stephan (from Evans) at Dorking station. They hadn't got there early enough to go orienteering but had had a good ride and were also comically covered in wet sand and flopping around in soggy shoes. Much comparing of notes was done, but the conclusions were all the same: soggyness, heh heh heh.

But anyway, the overall verdict...

What a great ride! Despite having no feeling in my feet (oh for a pair of Sealskinz!) and my saddle containing more water than my CamelBak it was truly a worthwhile experience. Without getting too philosophical & twattish, it was one of those days that you really feel you accomplished a feat of physical & mental endurance. Ok, I may not have been in any danger of dying but fun was had and sometimes you can't ask for much more than that.

"Can I have hundreds 'n' thousands please?"

Shhh.

Well, it would have been a good day if it had ended there, but what made it a truly great day was going back to Emily's flat. I'd left her in the morning looking like a fairly respectable chap and returned a few hours later for her to greet me with the greatest double-take and exclamation of "Oh my god!" I've ever witnessed. I hadn't seen myself in a mirror yet and didn't realise (though could have guessed if I'd thought about it) that my face was a different colour, being more a muddy sand shade. Emily, bless her, still let me in and allowed me to cover her hallway and bathroom in sandy mud. We had a 'Malm' to build (more word on this soon!) so I was warm for the duration of construction but all too soon had to leave. I'd thought that cycling for four hours with grit in my lycra was an unpleasant experience but replacing damp knee-warmers proved to be the most toe-cringingly grim act of the day.

I'm ashamed to say that it took me more than a week to get around to cleaning my bike, though I am a little bit proud of the fact that Cindy The Singlespeed Cinder Cone stood in the kitchen for the duration, slowly shedding sand. I guess there is something to be said for living alone... ;-)

Mmmmm, mud and cinder...

A couple of weeks ago I had an experience that scared me. I might go so far as to say it was the most scary thing to ever happen to me. It wasn't spooky or mysterious and was over in a fraction of a second but I will never forget the feeling of fear-induced adreneline telling me that that was a close one. Quite simply I was pootling across Hyde Park Corner when a mahoossive coach bound for Oxford overtook me at great speed literally inches from the right hand end of my handlebars. I get overtaken by motor veehickles on a pretty much constant basis but this was different. The suddenness of its approach & pass made me jump though it was the feeling of what-might-have-happened immediately following within a second that really got my heart fluttering and made my arms weak and my stomach sick.

I thought I'd recount a couple of the other fearful monents of my life. The interesting thing is that I found them scary for very different reasons...

When I was about fourteen I went potholing down an ancient iron ore mine in the Forest Of Dean.  It was amazing to be in a perfectly dark place with just our helmet lights for illumination. We scrambled up, over, around and through; completely unlike any other cave experience I'd had; some of the tunnels had to be crawled through on our bellies with the ceiling grazing our helmets. One such passage required a turn from feet to head-first and then a left-hand/vertical wriggle up a tiny vein in the rock. The adults in the party with us were advised to take an alternatice route...! I was crawling up when I became wedged. My shoulders, hips & battery-pack were all stuck fast. At first it wasn't a concern as instinct took over: when confined in such a way, such as in a bear-hug, our instinctive reaction is to expand and force out our shoulders & arms. That was when the fear hit. My shoulders & arms encountered no give at all. Well, how could they? The realisation hit that I was surrounded by the Earth, by completely unmoveable rock and that no amount of struggling would be able to loosen the grip it had on me.

A year-and-a-bit ago I entered the first of my two downhill races. It wasn't down the side of a massive mountain or anything, just a vaguely descending bit of Kent with a run that would be finished in a little over a minute. Penshurst features a bigish & slightly rickety start ramp to get the downhill going with riders starting their descents as soon as the previous rider has crossed the finish line. It was at the top of this ramp that I had my biggest ever attack of the butterflies. I've had butterflies a few times, usually down to there being people around watching me 'perform' at something. The difference was that where bashing my bongoes with Voodoo Alien carries with it the penalty of ridicule should I mess up, getting it wrong whilst racing involves not only the risk of peoples' disdain but the very real danger of using my face as a brake. I think it was the waiting that really did it: waiting there at the top of the ramp knowing that the "go" is coming at any second shortly followed by a minute of my life where getting it tits-up is not an option.

On the subject of anticipatory fear, this was one of the worst cases I've ever had! How hard can a phone call be to make?? ;-)