I'm hooked!

Quick aside...If you've been looking for yesterday's blog and couldn't find it, apologies. I wrote it, posted it then got it deleted by the Blogspot King and His Minions. No. No. No! There wasn't any offensive material in it. Apparently they did it to everyone as a result of 'human error' Well, that's the story...

Ok, for the uninitiated out there I'm going to let you into a little secret:

Cycling is addictive!

That is absolutely, bizarrely and unconditionally true.

Each morning (today being no exception) I've been jumping out of bed with a big smile on my face, wolfing my breakfast down and cladding myself in padding a la Monsieur Michelin before getting on my bike.

Each evening (today being no exception) I've been tenderly removing myself from my trusty steed, a pained expression on my sun kissed (read red) face and making my John Wayne style approach towards my accommodation.

An analogy: its like...its like...you know when you have a great night out and you wake up with the hangover from hell (admit it, you 'didn't even realise I was that drunk') and as you feel the Fur Goblin has been in, painting your tongue and you say to yourself, 'I am never drinking (like that) again'.

Yeah, you're nodding.

Anyway, you make that trying-to-scrape-my-tongue-with-my-teeth face, sip your tea/drink some water and vow. You VOW numerous times that you won't. What happens? Few days/weeks/months/years later and you're there again, mixing your JD and beer, your gin and wine and having a really great time. Until...

Well, cycling is a bit like that. It's amazingly elating, free, fun, interesting and I'm hooked.

Today was more canals, boats, small furry/feathered creatures, large furry/feathered creatures and a team of male cyclists who all wore the same bright red and black jackets and looked like the synchronised cycling beefeaters, fresh from the palace.

Tonight I am in Kintbury. That's about as exciting as it gets. Just off to the pub for some vino collapso.

Here's yesterday's offering:

Appropriately Farcical...

...is how some (well two, at least) would describe my blog and I thank them for it.

Today has been the loveliest day, depite the fact that I considered calling this post 'Death On The Nile' but then Agatha's no longer with us and 'Death On The Kennet And Avon Canal' doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

Started the day in a faceless pub/hotel east of Reading. Stopped there yesterday because my knee was sore and I was tired, otherwise I would have kept pedalling. Room was fine but breakfast was 'extra'. Pasty face croissant and a limp pain au chocolate were on offer for £4 or 'full English' for £6.95 with nothing in between.
'Why,' I asked, 'do you serve all day breakfast in your restaurant for £5.95 but guests who sleep over have to pay a pound more?'
'Coffee' came the curt reply. 'You get coffee.'
'Can't I just have egg on toast and make my own coffee in my room?' (I mean, it wasn't even real coffee. In fact, it wasn't even fresh coffee. It was instant coffee, stewed to perfection.)
Answer was 'No' so I had a breakfast strop and flounced off to the nearest cafe for eggs on toast and real coffee which came in less than the price of the sadly deceased pastries.

Feeling the smug sense of having saved a quid AND had a better breakfast I set off. Today Reading. Ever been to Reading?

The local population had suitably prepared for my arrival, lining the route into town they amassed 'neath motoways and bridges to ease my sore knees by dint of blowing cannabis smoke in my face as I strove to whizz past. In a gesture designed to celebrate the local hospitality culture they waved half-full beer cans at me and, in a touching salute to Reading's gunpowder making history, they liberally splattered the street corners with ammonia.

Not content with that they had the Police Search And Rescue Van park strategically across my route so that I was able to have a view of the keen officers in diving gear whilst they dredged the canal for a body.

As I hurtled along I regretted that I was unable to stop and thank them for their kindness, but breakfast strop had knocked precious minutes off my cycling time and I was forced to press on. Only one thing stood in my path....the fact that at each junction of the cycle path there was a metal bar, pole or kissing gate which effectively prevented me from getting my panniered bike through. As I de-panniered my bike, shifting, carrying and manouvering it for the third time I wondered (out loud) if these bars were designed to prevent the good people of Reading from moving (by trolley or wheelbarrow) any spare bodies they may have lying around towards the canal so that they could jettison them in. In tribute to the good people of this fair town I peppered my rhetorical question with some of the colourful language which I had heard earlier in the day.

Whilst passing under the final motorway bridge of the day I saw a Welsh rugby shirt. It caught my attention and I smiled at it until I noted its purpose: Rememberance of a much beloved son.

I moved swiftly on.

Today I was once again alongside the water, the best place to be; wild life and canal boats featured strongly. Not sure why, but people who own narrow boats seem much more friendly than those in the speed and sailing boats I saw on the Thames. They'll always give you a nod, grin, wave or even an 'alright'. They pootle along, passing through locks and seeing the world in a timely fashion. Following the trend, I did the same. I stopped at a lovely pub on the river for lunch. It was called The Cunning....dog, duck, donkey, I forget but lunch was lovely. Then later I stopped at another place for half a cider and a sit down. 'This is the life' I thought to myself as it slowly passed.

Finally, the end of my cycling day, I stopped at this wonderful B&B. Called Field Farm Cottage, I find myself in a lovely room in a lovely house run by a lovely woman who has two lovely dogs. I couldn't be more contented :-)

Lovely woman (Anne) even admired my bicycle. She wants to get one herself so I let her have a go, while I did my washing, she was suitably impressed. She was so impressed she even re-named me 'Jenny', a name which has stuck as she has introduced the other guests and her husband to me as Jenny.

What a funny, fun, lovely day. Took my mind right off any sore bits. I didn't even need to follow Mrs Brown's advice in uttering her preferred post-cycling phrase (as recommended in yesterday's text) 'Ow, my b**f curtains'.

Miles travelled - 18.45
Tennis balls thrown for dogs - 18
Small children spoken to - 1
Smiles - lots.

Aren't I full of cheese today?

Love, Jenny