Update

A few random thoughts from recent days.

The warm late summer weather has been switched off sharply, plunging us into autumn. Part of me is looking forward to the snuggliness of autumn: comfort food, crisp days, walks in the forest with the leaves changing colour. But I forget that I don’t live in the fictional world of autumn, I live in the real world of autumn, and that comes with puddles on pavements soaking your shoes after a night of heavy rain, grey mornings where it’s a struggle to get up in the dark, shorter days that prompt a sense of panic. And let’s be real – most of the time I will only be leaving the house to commute to the office, not to walk in the forest.

I bought a bicycle back in June and I still haven’t taken it out for a ride. I know they say “it’s just like riding a bicycle” so the skill of riding a bicycle should always be with me. But it’s been years since I was on a bike. And my last cycle ride reminded me very clearly that I had forgotten what it was like to ride a bicycle. I was able to get the straight up and down the road. I was able to cycle slowly around a corner. I felt pretty good. I tried to turn a tight circle and realised I lost my balance and was going to fall over. It happened so slowly but I didn’t even put a hand out to stop myself. I just toppled sideways onto someone’s driveway. The real embarrassment was there was a woman parking in her driveway and she saw the whole thing.

“I’m not drunk,” was the first thing I said when she ran over to help me. Of course nothing makes you sound drunk like saying you’re not drunk. (FYI, I wasn’t.) But I was aware I must have looked drunk – slow wobbly progress, and then tipping off on a turn without any reaction.

What I need to do is to grab the bicycle by the handlebars, take it out on the road and cycle up and down. Then practice corners, turns, and get my balance back. Learn how to stop and not fall over. How hard can it be?

Gentrification of the neighbourhood continues. We now have CrossFit. I did notice CrossFit was built in the part of the neighbourhood where the young people live. And the clientele does seem to be mostly young people. I see them on my walk to the station. Sometimes there’s a long trail of people running around the block, as some kind of warm up I guess. I don’t think CrossFit is for me.

I always was a bit of a crazy cat lady even before our cat died. Any cat I saw on the street I wanted to talk to. It’s got even worse since then. Now I want to talk to every cat – really talk to them – not just say Hi! and pat them on the head, but give them chin rubs and belly rubs and get head butts in return. Not all cats are friendly though, but there are enough around the neighbourhood that I can get occasional bits of affection.

The cat breakthrough news is that a neighbour’s cat, who used to run off as soon as she saw us, has now become friendly. She doesn’t run away from us anymore and actually comes up to us and lets us give her head rubs and she gives head butts in return. It’s good to know that even if I don’t see her every day we still have a cat who comes to visit us. I know, she won’t replace Manny, but having a friendly cat around helps fill the space he left, even if only a little bit.

I was thinking about the West Highland Way again, that it is something I would like to do again, but could I do it differently? Is there somewhere I could break up day 3 with its 11 to 12 hour walking time that left me shattered? Unless I choose to camp (shudder) there are few natural stopping places on the route so the overnight breaks are more or less fixed.

I think April is a good time to do the hike. I have seen people’s pictures of the summer, and yes, everything looks green and that’s very nice, but it doesn’t look very Scottish. Maybe August when the heather is out would look great, rolling hills of purple, but early summer is just lush and green and somehow that distracts from the amazing vistas.

I’m aware also that summertime is midge season and if you’re hiking in the summer you may need to wear a midge net over your head for part of the walk, so that you’re not inhaling or being bitten by the nasty biting winged creatures. How do you enjoy the view through a fine mesh head covering?

I went to visit a friend in Cambridgeshire recently. He lives in a small village about 20 minutes out from Cambridge. I was thinking at the time, how could you live somewhere like this – so small so quiet, nothing going on. Then when I come back to London and there are people everywhere, there’s noise and there’s mess and litter and the alleyway I take as a shortcut to the station is where people like to dump their household rubbish… That’s when I thought, actually it would be really nice to live in a small and quiet and clean country village with views of fields.

Our local cinema has closed. Not quite sure what’s going to happen to the cinema complex. The cinema never recovered from Covid and I think audiences also never recovered from Covid. People got used to watch things from sitting rooms, bedrooms, sofas; and let’s not underestimate the ease of pausing films if you need a toilet or snack break. Paying a premium to sit in a room with other people who might be making noises, using their phones, talking, eating, coming in and going out during the film – people just don’t know how to behave in public at the cinema anymore.

Did I mention that I joined a choir in January? Choir is on Wednesdays at the awkward time of 7 o’clock until 8:30. This means generally I have to eat a fast early dinner to get out the door on time. Choir is one of those things I don’t want to go to. I’m dreading it all day (“So much easier to just stay home!”), but when I get there, I’ve got a period of time where I have to concentrate on my notes and how my notes sound against other peoples’ notes and remembering the words are. All that concentration does something to my brain and I come home feeling happy.