There were no tube trains over the weekend from our neck of the woods, so the only real option was to drive, and then park in some of the dodgiest streets of East London.
Obviously another contributing factor was that I'd arrived home at 7.00am after my nightride. Again, I'd probably been a little ambitious - I hadn't been on the bike since my accident and to pile on the misery I'd had a nasty cold and cough that I'd struggled to shake off. So I was really quite unfit. But with another 400 people all dressed in halloween outfits of one sort or another - mine was a glow in the dark skeleton - I was sort of carried along with the enthusiasm of the mob. During the course of the ride I discovered that there is a mountain in North London (well it felt like it) and that even puncture-proof tyres do get punctures. I discovered that curry is brilliant at two in the morning, and that it's easy to get lost when that puncture separates you from the rest of the crowd - if you look at the picture you'll see towards the left a spur where I crossed the Hammersmith Bridge and then had to retrace my steps. But what struck me most was how time stands still at a certain moment...I know pretty much what time it was and where I was until 2.30, but then until six thirty and my return to base I had no feeling for time ticking by at all. I was revived by a pretty excellent bacon and egg sandwich and glass of champagne, and decided to cycle an extra 25km home. (Un)Fortunately the rain came down as I approached Stratford, so I was able to find a kindly taxi driver who took me and my bike the rest of the way home. Phew
I don't think I've ever been so exhausted...but a long snooze until lunchtime revived my spirits....if not my enthusiasm for going out again
Who says advertising doesn't work? Many years ago, I saw this advert:
And then rushed out and bought a Velvet Underground album...and today seems a good day to remind myself of both the ad and the song
