Hello again

I wish I had an exciting reason for not blogging for the past couple of weeks.

I'd thought about making things up* but I did make a promise to myself that everything I blogged would be honest. So here goes.

I had a day off and all was going swimmingly until I tried to spend some time on Monty. Looking back on it, the balancing went well-ish.

In my head, and in the heat of the moment, it was a disaster.

I swore. I shouted. I actually threw a bike lock on the floor.

It was a full on toddler-style tantrum.

Now, I'm not proud of it but, for anyone watching, it would have been a hoot. A fully grown man going mad at an inanimate object (sorry Monty).

It was after that I decided I needed a wee bit of a break from things and the blog needed to take a bit of a break.

I'm feeling better now, thanks for asking.

Since my last blog, I've really been doing much of the same. OK, it doesn't make great reading but I'm persevering with the stairs, plodding on with the wedding plans, celebrating the WTB's birthday and thinking about cycling quite a lot.

Over thinking has often been a problem for me. It could be the thing here too. I understand the balancing aspect and how the pedals propel you forward, it's just the getting started bit.

Anyway, that's me for now. Normal service will be resumed soon.





* Ideas for lack of blog:

• Kidnapped by damned dirty apes
• Taking part in a coup in Cornwall
• Forming a superhero team to fight a giant robot dragon
• Interviewing for the England rugby post
• Running a cable TV channel dedicated to proper crimping
• Working on my rap album

They're sneakers... for sneaking

The weird thing about getting as organised as we are is that you're always wary about what you've forgotten.
I've developed wedding paranoia. I'm always thinking I've missed something at the moment.
Have the doves got matching outfits?
Did we buy enough shacklegribblers?
Are there enough 'lasers' for the wedding party?

It's the feeling something is sneaking up behind you. You're not sure what it is but you know something's there.

The paranoia is, of course, much better than a last minute panic. Where you find the trained racing pigeons, that we had to get instead of the doves, have all gone on strike.

Around that we're fitting in the bits of everyday life we all have, some Lent bits and the bike. It can lead to moments where you're discussing swatches for the big day and then wondering who is taking out the recycling (it's usually me), all the while trying to get out and balance.

I didn't have any stair music today but had some company up the stairs. It was fun, it's nice to have someone to walk beside. You don't feel so foolish.
Well, you feel silly when you see people coming out of the lifts, but at least you're not feeling silly on your own.

Yesterday, however, I managed, finally, to get some music by Rufus Wainwright for my journey. For those who don't know him, you're missing out.

Prep

Two cool things happened today. One for the wedding and one for Monty.

Our invites took a huge step forward with the arrival of two important parts. Again, I'm writing this under embargo so this is probably as far as I can go with the topic.

I promise you, I'll be able to tell more soon. It's just all under wraps at the mo and I'm quite pleased. It's nice to have a surprise or two.

Secondly, as part of Lent work (need a new term for that - bit clunky) I finally sorted out Monty's lights. She's now looking spiffing with a spotlight at the front. I was quite proud of myself when it was finally done, although we did go though some teething troubles.

To start with, Monty's spotlight was pointing to the sky. It would have a Bat-signal for Cheltenham, which would have been quite cool.

She also has a tiny rear light which flashes. At one point my fingers got trapped and the lights couldn't be turned off. The bike store suddenly looked like a budget 90s rave as featured on 'edgy' episodes of Grange Hill or Biker Grove. The music was in those episodes, no doubt, 'banging'. Here, the only noises that could be heard was the occasional swearword. 

Granted, in the right hands swearing can have a certain melody but with mine it was a bit more 'staccato'.

As I've mentioned before, I'm not the most practical of blokes. I do look on in awe at any with that string to their bow. 

My brothers are both fantastic at this sort of thing. 

All of the WTB's family, especially the WTB, are also great at this. 

Me? 

Um. Yeah, let's just say I'm not gifted at it. I even have a bad influence on those who are usually experts. When my middle brother Ed and I put together a barbecue we attached the wheels to the wrong part. The once advertised 'portable' outdoor cooking tool became somewhat stuck. I'm blaming me for that*.

Before I left the store I tried all the bike bells I could see. The best? A Minnie the Minx bell on a Raleigh Caprice. Who'd have thought? I wonder if they do a Biffo the Bear one.

The stair challenge went well. The music was somewhat highbrow today:

I stomped up the stairs, leaping in the air when I reached the top. OK, I sort of did that after cooling down. 

It was still pretty neat though.

*Although, to be fair, it was a particularly hot Cornish day and only cider could quench our thirst. Thinking about it, that could have also played a part. Quite a large part.

Tricky

It has been 'one of those days.'

You know the ones. Nothing has been straightforward but I feel these are the days you can learn from. I've actually quite enjoyed it. It's good to have a tricky day to negotiate.

As long as you don't spend hours looking back, picking out the smallest detail of things, you can learn a lot.

Except... well I tend to linger on days like today. As a colleague of mine says, I 'torture' myself.

Ahem.

Crashing on.

Things are increasing on the wedding front. I'm not sure what bike/wedding things will start my lent run but I've had a couple of things to enjoy today.

Firstly, we've had something arrive for the invitations which is rather groovy. The things, and I can't wait to tell you what they are but I assume everything I know about the wedding is under embargo (it just helps things with the WTB), have come out much better than I imagined. They're very, um, us.  Especially the colour.

Secondly, stag business is picking up The best man and the best woman have been busy bees. Lovely stuff.

I'm ready for lent I think. I hope my body's ready for it too.

Fresh goals

Every year I give up something for lent.

For those who don't know here's a link but the crux of it is you give something up for 40 days.

In the past I've given up chocolate (quite easy), crisps (tough) and caffeine (perhaps the silliest thing I've ever done).

This year I've decided up to up the ante somewhat. I'm taking on three things.

I did look at giving things up but, let's face it, we haven't got much to give up. We've cut out sweet stuff, I haven't bought a packet of crisps since the new year and that would just leave booze.

Er...

We have the WTB's 30th coming up and, let's be honest, it probably won't be without a drink or two.

So, the plan is this. Every day I will spurn the lift and I'm using the stairs to the third floor.

Then I will also do one thing for the wedding and one thing for the bike per day.

My aim? To be riding properly before the end of lent.

I may not make it but man, I love a deadline.

Cool and the gang

According to the BBC I'm about to become cool.

I say about to become cool. I know it'll take a while to get in with the in-crowd, but cycling does seem to be hitting the headlines. It could be that I'm more aware of cycling stories but, dammit, this is my blog and I'm sticking by it.

I've never been cool. I've had some cool hobbies like lomography and liked some cool music but when you love choral music and drink whisk(e)y, cool isn't the word that springs to mind.

Middle class? Maybe.

Middle aged? Before my time but oh yes.

Cool? Nah.

I feel safe in the knowledge that I'll be among that group of cyclists that just kind of plods along and does his thing.

Hopefully it'll give me a bit of longevity. It dawned on me today I never wanted to learn this skill more than I do at the moment. I just want to get the learning over and get out there.

I know it's little and often but I think frustration is hitting again.

Block

I've started this blog three times tonight and, so far, I've not found a satisfying beginning.

In fact, I've not yet decided on a good subject.

Usually, before I sit down with Annie, the WTB's Mac (chalk up another name for the list), I've got something in my mind that I will write about.

Whether it's Monty, a wedding doodah or something particularly odd that's happened, I usually can muster something for my fingers to dance over.

I sit and type, never really knowing how it's going to go or where I'll end up.

But today? Nada. It's a slow news day in my brain.

I assume this is a kind of 'writer's block' but, as I'm still writing I assume I have something to write about.

Tomorrow, I hope this will be better. It's Valentine's, as you probably know, and I've got a day off, which you probably didn't know. The WTB and I have something planned. We're off to the theatre. It's not a taxing piece we're seeing so my mind can relax, unwind and have a giggle. 

I think the last few weeks have caught up with my noggin. It's slacking a bit and I'm in danger of falling back into bad habits. I could kill a beer, an ale, something sweet or all three.

Instead, I'm going to look at this keyboard and hope something better comes out from my fingertips tomorrow.

The hard sell

"So, you'll want stabilisers."

I walked into my local bike shop for the first time and I felt like I'd entered a secret society.

Shacklegriblers hung from walls. Men with focused faces walked about with purpose. Words were whispered in code.

I felt a tad out of my depth.

It's weird. I've spent years hiding the fact that I couldn't ride a bike. Excuses were made with friends and, on press trips, I had to pretend I had a phobia.
But since writing this blog, I've been admitting it to so many people. It's now like a badge of honour. "Yes, I can't ride a bike. But dammit, I'm trying to learn."

And so here I was, in a shop I'd walked past hundreds of times before. By the way, this ranks as the second manliest thing I've done, after buying a hammer.

I'd gone in to pick up a pump. While Monty has a nifty one that I occasionally will use as a stand-in lightsaber (stand-in, that is, until they perfect the science), Diana needed a new one. She's got this weird valve (ahem) which needed an adaptor and a pump.

Anyway, in I went.

I went for the casual browser method of shopping to start off with. Just looking around and blending in with the background. I wouldn't stand out, I'd just seem like a man who'd been in a thousand bike shops before. I was one of them.

When I realised I was the only one in the shop,  I approached the chap behind the counter. He went for the hard sell at first, pointing me in the direction of the second coolest looking pump I'd ever seen. You could stand on it and push a plunger up and down. I guess it's based on one of those vehicles you see on train tracks in films, usually controlled by someone causing mischief or in a mishap.

When I told him about the learning the stabiliser suggestion hit the table. I gave a polite laugh, guessing he was joking.

He wasn't.

He seemed a little upset.

A little embarrassed, I picked up the cheapest pump in the shop, a free cycling map and a leaflet from the groovy people at Sustrans for a bike pack. Lovely.

I'm trying to get into the whole bike culture. I've joined The Times Cycle Safety campaign and now I've been in my first bike shop.

Let's hope the second visit is a little more successful.

Counting down

So we've roared into February and the wedding is another month closer.
Not that I'm panicking. Oh no. I am a perfect example of a relaxed gentleman. My hands are not shaking. My brow is not furrowed.
I've always said that the wedding and what it means does not worry me. It's all the things that come with the day.
We've got a lot to do and, as a scientist will verify, even less time than yesterday.

And yet...

Well if you don't stop and smell the flowers on occasion it will pass you by. Tonight, we're having a night on the sofa. We've had a little bit of chocolate and we're having a night off.

OK, I know, I've avoided the bags of chocolate in work, tortured myself about it, and now I go and break the sweet treat embargo. The difference? Well, not much if I'm truthful.
But, as they say in some dodgy American reality shows (not that I watch them) I've done it on my own terms. The choc has been weighed out and put away. We've rationed it and we're being truthful about what we've had.

The tasty lapse doesn't mean I've forgotten my quest for fitness.

Tomorrow, as mentioned, it's my day off and Monty comes out hiding for a breath of fresh air. They're letting me out unsupervised. Whether that's a wise thing we can only wonder... until tomorrow. Obviously. Then we'll probably realise it wasn't a good move.

In the afternoon, I'm looking at a gym. I say gym, apparently it's a fitness 'studio' which means they want me to do fitness classes.



Stopped laughing?



How about now?


I'm tempted to try a circuits class, depending on how shouty the trainers turn out to be. I'm not good at being yelled at during fitness classes and so I'll only take a session if I can wear earplugs.
Or earmuffs.

I'll pick ear protection depending on the season.

The white stuff

Today I was meant to fit in a session on Monty. By that I mean another go at the scoot-weeee-balance thingy.
But this afternoon it started to snow. And it's still snowing.
While I appreciate and enjoy a challenge, the idea for my second lesson was not: How to cope in the next ice age.

So instead we've hit the wedding prep. WTB has been to two wedding dress shops and, after meeting for lunch (and maybe one nip to a pub, for a wee nip) we popped to the travel agents.
There then seemed to be a whizz of numbers, words and phrases.
The whole thing flashed by me in what seemed a matter of minutes. I remember the hotels we looked at. I remember the destination. But some of the finer details? Please ask me a question on quantum physics instead.

I'm now sat at home, with the WTB on another dress mission with Timi. I've drunk one hot choc instead of having a beer. It was banana flavour.

It really is rock and roll in the Doney house today.

Bring on the Six Nations. It's my favourite sporting tournament in the world. I may celebrate with a white chocolate low-cal hot choc now.

No pain, no gain

There comes a time when you have a dining experience that blows everything else out of the water.

When the finest ingredients work in harmony with each other.

When the chef is at the top of their game.

When the ambiance and experience of your venue blends seamlessly with your state of mind.


Tonight I had baked beans and fish fingers for tea.


While it goes completely against what I should be eating, and while there was nothing fresh in sight, it was bloody good.
The tasty breadcrumbed fish worked beautifully with the tomatoey beans. The chef had cooked the meal perfectly. And, with an old episode of The Simpsons on, it was a nice time to relax.

So, while the WTB was enjoying a double zumba spectacular, I was tucking into the best that Cpt Birdseye and Mr Heinz had to offer. Pure comfort food.

Saturday. That's my next bike lesson. I spoke to my eldest brother Rich and he recommended the gel pad I fitted to the saddle on Sunday. "You'll get callouses in place you didn't know existed," he said, chuckling down the phone.
He's right you know. I'm pretty sure I've got a normal body but once I start riding properly (see, positive thinking) there will be aches and pains in my shacklegribbler.
And, while I'm laughing here at the Carry On-esque sentence I've just written, give me a few weeks and I'll look back at those words and curse that innuendo-laden sentence.

As I'm working Sunday I've got Tuesday off. Yet another day of avoiding the pub and I'm planning to do some riding on my own.

Bravery, don't fail me now.

It's about time

I think it's getting to the stage where I need to make time for exercise.

It's really annoying when people say: "The more time you put in the more time you find you have."
That's wrong for many reasons, the main one being we only have 24 hours in one day. This does not change.

OK, I'm taking things to literally but it's getting to me.


Tonight, I had planned to take Monty out for a quick breather in the cold evening air. I know, bikes can't actually breathe but she's locked up all day. The least I can do is give her a change of scenery. And yes, I know it's freezing outside but after a day at the desk it's nice to have a bit of time outside.
Yet I just can't seem to squeeze it in.
After cooking tea, washing up, taking down the washing, hanging out the washing, prepping and cooking lunch for the week, Monty is still tucked away and it's now gone 10pm.

I know I'm in some strange middle ground at the moment. Once I've learnt to a decent level I can take Monty to work and go on a longer jaunt on the way home. At the moment tho, I need time to get myself to that level.

Call this a mild panic. Label this as a temper tantrum. I'm just a tad frustrated.

Changing man

As you may be able to tell, quite a few things are changing for me at the minute.

The veg bowl is now overflowing in the kitchen. That's not weird granted. The odd thing is that it gets eaten during the week. We no longer stare at the aubergine, it's actually used in meals other than a Thai green curry.  The potato is rarely destined for my chip-esque oven bakes. Mash is now our potatoey treat for the week.

The weight is staying off. I'm lighter than I have been in ages.

I've been on a bike for the first time in a good twenty years. OK I haven't been on a ride (yet) but on the plus side I have avoided being a crumpled, crying mess of a man (so far).

And this blog. It has really been the first diary-style thing that I've maintained. I remember having a copy of the Roald Dahl Diary in one of my last few years of primary school. I always wanted to keep a diary but the young Doney's diary entries were dull. They were not the witty entries that TV showed me children of ten should be writing.

Granted, those TV children can still string a sentence better than I can but, let's face it, they're fictional and I have the upper hand in the realms of reality.

So thanks all. I'm not giving this up I'm just having a short break from my normal ramblings tonight to say thanks for reading this. It's keeping me focused and motivated.

This year is one of change. I'm getting married. I'm turning 30. I'm taming the bike-shaped beast that has haunted me for the majority of my life.

Schmaltz over. Tomorrow, I'm hoping to get back on the bike.

Small expectations

You know the saying "run before you can walk"? I think I'm suffering from the cycling version.

As I mooched my way home this evening, several cyclists shot by me, speeding off to their heated homes.

My head shot off after them. I have a bit of a wild imagination and that kicked in. I imagined myself joining them on their routes, waving my safety fez from my mighty Monty to all those pedalling pals who greeted my on my journey.

And then...

Well then, my sensible brain kicked in. That dream will take a chunk of time. I have to scale down my hopes to begin with. Get the balance first and the rest will hopefully come.
I'm going to take the attitude of little and often. I plan to drive my neighbours mad by using what's known as the scoot-weeeeeeee-balance method around the front of our home. It seems to be recommended by websites and, let's face it, it looks silly. I like silly.

To distract my brain tonight I've done some prep for the wedding. Forms completed, email written and numbers crunched.

I know the WTB has a lot more for me to do and I don't think sheltering in blog land is going to be safe for much longer this evening.

I can feel seating plan questions coming on. This, for me, should take the method as deployed in war films. Have a giant map, little models of each guest and push them around into position.

It would make the situation so much easier... and a lot more fun. You could move it on a bit. Give Aunt Mable a bazooka. Put my dad in charge of the mortar.

On second thoughts, maybe not.

What's in a name?

I name a lot of things I own. The majority are bad puns or linked somehow to a C/D list celeb.

I have a Diana camera I call Vickers.

Our mint plant is called Murray.

Our thyme is called Chico.

I even make the WTB name things. Her Dawes bike we Christened Diana.

So, my bike. What should I call it? 

It's a Mongoose, kindly donated by my eldest brother. It's black with red writing. As it's a Mongoose I was tempted by Riki-Tiki-Tavi but that's a bit long. Instead I've gone for Monty. She is called Monty.

Monty is a python and mongooses fight snakes so there's a link, of sorts.

The countdown has begun until I get back in the saddle. I've spent some time looking at various blogs and accounts of people learning to ride at an advanced age. It's nice to know I'm not alone in this.

It's one of those situations where the more you learn, the more you realise how little you know

I've bought a cycling magazine, which I will be cribbing from so I can actually sound like I know something. Although a singular magazine won't help that much, it is a start.

My dad's motto is: Bullshit Baffles Brains. It's something I try and stick by and I know it'll come in useful when I start talking cycling to people. He uses the term shacklegribbler a lot. I may adopt it.

I've also checked out Bike Hub - it's rather nifty as it can help you plan routes around the area depending on what kind of experience you have or how far you can get there.

As you can tell, I'm taking this seriously. It's something I'd love to get sorted so I can get the miles in before the wedding in September.

I know that, to start, I'm going to fall off. I will fall off a lot. I know I'll probably cut myself. All I can do is keep getting back on until I get that balance.

Sitting comfortably

Big news - I have pants.

Well they're boxers but yesterday, after arriving home from a 96th birthday party (which was pretty top) I found the new arrival on our doorstep.

The padded pants will, as my middle brother put it the other night, make a big difference when I'm doing the hard miles.

Apart from maybe a spike or porcupine, there's surely nothing more uncomfortable than a bike saddle. It's a wonder of perseverance and grit that anyone can stay on one for more than a few minutes at a time. Just how is it done?

While I can't ride a bike at the moment, it doesn't mean I haven't tried in the past. And apart from the memories of tumbling, falling and general pain, the abiding memory is the uncomfortable seat of the orange and white BMX that was my first bike.

So, I pray the pants will solve this problem or, at least, give me a wee bit of comfort.

I'm writing this as the BBC's Call the Midwife is on.

Bear with me.

It seems my lack of skill is shared by Miranda Hart, in this programme at least.

In a case of art imitating life, she's not only playing someone who can't cycle but who is a whisky expert. Apart from being an upper class, 1950s midwife, the story could be mine.

A date has been set for next Sunday to try the cycling thing again. I'm currently searching websites and looking at different methods for the big day.

Coupled with this, I'm having wine. A nice glass of red. We've been well behaved today but we felt like a small tipple.

In diets, as well as cycling, it seems that balance is key.

Bike bits

Despite me not yet mastering the bike, I already seem to be collecting and desiring gadgets and gizmos.

I have started eyeing up things I don't have but have now realised I 'need'.

When I say 'need' I really mean bits I will use once and then put away or stash for a rainy day.

I better go over what I have.

To add to my nifty helmet, I already have some bike lights, which were a gift from my eldest brother Rich, and some gloves to protect my hands. My middle brother would be calling me an idiot for those but Ed, if you're reading this, people will be staring at the ridiculous man on the bike and ignoring he's wearing gloves.
I will be mocked as an ensemble.

I will be adding the aforementioned padded boxers/shorts,  a bike rack - for the car - and , not doubt, some  geeky/quirky cycling top.

The question is, what don't I need?

I'm new at this whole thing and so everything for sale seems cool and essential.

Cycling clogs? I want them for future trips to Holland.
Safety bananas? You can never have enough.
Biking whiskey? Surely, it's an essential.

I've taking photos for years so I know which kit I need. I have a gut instinct about what new pieces I should avoid. But bikes? Whole new playground.

It's quite fun really. It's a world of learning and new skills to acquire.

I've gotta get that balancing, pedalling thing sorted.

Big bonce

I've got a big head.

Scratch that.

I have a huge head.

I have a huge head and that has always been the way.

When I was eight I joined the Cubs. My mum, ever the stickler for being smart and wearing the correct uniform, made me wear the whole get-up.
For those who don't know, this consisted of:
Jumper
Scarf
Woggle
Socks and tabs (I think they're known as garters and I was the only boy in the pack to wear them. They were phased out soon after. Probably banned for just being that bit too cruel).
Cub cap (another item given the axe)


The cap was kinda cool in a geek chic crossed with public school sort of way. I say kinda as mine was special.
I took an XXXL and we had to order the thing in.

Even then, the bloody cap didn't fit. It just sat there, drawing attention to the boy with the head that looked normal but was, in fact, huge.

So yes, I've a bad history with hats.

Into my adult years I thought I was through this phase but, alas, I didn't think of the bike helmet I'd have to buy when I started my grand plan.

To say the range has been limited may be an understatement. Most, like the caps, just sat there on my noggin, echoing the ghosts of flat caps, baseball caps and wooly hats that have gone before.

Luckily, I found one that was subtle, suited me and was as discrete as I could ever need.

The Nutcase 'Union Jack' is my choice. Yes, I could have gone for quieter colours but at least I'll be seen.

I have to ride. It'll help my health and keep me focused on fitness before the wedding.

So, helmet done, bike ready, all I need to do is ride.

Oh and I must buy some comfy, padded pants. Just how can you last more than 30 seconds on a saddle?