Whist I have an easy two-wheeled pootle, Tom runs hard and takes shortcuts across the fields.

Give me two wheels, salty air, and this guy to share it with and I’m forever happy.

My sewing machine had to take a trip to the mender’s the very day after I bought loads of delicious-looking new fabrics. Sod’s law. It’s now returned home and is just waiting for some attention. Plans are apace, although I’d forgotten how fiddly the maths gets. Or maybe that’s just me..

In the meantime, I’ve been enjoying helping my mum-in-law venture in to patchwork. She’s a long-time stitcher of all sorts and we’ve had fun talking patterns and plans. We both have a case of the mañanas when it comes to actually cutting in to our stash. But, I’ve handed over the rotary cutter to Suzie, and my machine is back up and running, so we’ve both run out of excuses. Time to get stitching.

There’s a whole lot of bikes out there on the roads. Take a look in your wing mirror, or in front of you at the traffic lights: you’re sure to see a two-wheeler. A ride through the city is a safari of different cycling animals. There’s the guy on his flash racer, trying to beat his Strava PB; the school kid on the pavement with a loose interpretation of riding in a straight line; the unruffled old lady, complete with handbag in basket and steady pace; or the bloke labouring on a fat-tyred mountain bike. And these are just the stereotypes. With such visible differences in bikes and their riders, it’s easy to fall in to a ‘tribe’ mindset. You might ally yourself with one and scorn those with skinnier tyres, or surplus gears, or stuffed panniers. But really we’re all the same. However you categorise us, we are all minority road users and we need to stick together. We’re all trying to navigate busy roads that aren’t designed for us, trying to fit in with vehicles bigger, faster and beefier than ours.

Sadly a cyclist was injured on Sunday’s Randonnee after a collision with a car. I don’t know the circumstances of the incident, but I know from experience that a bike is flimsy protection in any altercation with a car. And our fundamental incompatibility makes us unlikely to see eye to eye. It’s a rare sight to see the roads congested with two wheels, rather than four, and it was clear that for some drivers this was an unconscionable insult. You only had to observe the tight overtaking and hear the rev of engines to know that some drivers weren’t happy. There were a lot of very patient drivers on Sunday, seemingly happy to share the road. But there is some heavy metal opposition out there. So we need to forget which tribe we’re in, and remember we’re all on bikes. Regardless of how fat our tyres, or how tight our shorts, we need to represent and explain our cause, and make sure we give car drivers no reason to resent us. I hope the gentleman who was hit is well, and I hope it doesn’t dissuade anyone else from getting on their bike.

Tom and I had some new additions to Team Prust this year, for our usual spin around the Island (previously, and previously again).  We joined the other 2000 riders for a day of perfect sunshine, dry roads, and spinning spokes.  Riders arrive in their droves from the mainland to join in this relaxed cycling allsorts ride, and it’s always a treat to hear unfamiliar visitors raving about the beautiful and varied Island roads.

Our North coast route took us up and down (and up again) through damp shady woodland, before rounding the corner to a fabulous view of St Helen’s Bay, and a flat spin along Bembridge Harbour.  After topping up on tea and cake we headed through the narrow lanes beyond Brading and out on to the South coast road above Ventnor.  Bicycles littered the road at the Whitwell pit stop, where we grinned at the drivers in their hot tin boxes.  A long steady climb up to St Catherine’s Point, a steep descent down to the breadbasket of Atherfield, and out on to the coast above Compton.  Riders less fearful of a puncture than I took the gravelly trainline path past the estuary to Yarmouth, before the final eastward push back to Cowes, with the wind at their backs.  We didn’t escape the puncture fate, and the four of us spread out at our different paces.  But regardless of how closely your team sticks together, on this ride you’re rarely out of sight of another friendly rider.

With events like this, and next week’s Walk the Wight, we delight in showing off this fabulous dot in the Solent.  I only wish every day the bikes would outnumber the cars so dramatically.

So this was my Sunday. After months of rehearsals, our little chamber choir got to sing big, with two other choruses and a full orchestra, at the Royal Albert Hall. Being directed by a famous composer to a sold-out venue on this scale feels kind of a big deal looking at these pictures. At the time, I was focused on where to stand, watching for the alto entries, and soaking up the sound of so many skilled musicians. But my goodness, that hall looks big doesn’t it? I’ve sung here once before as part of 1300 voices. This time we were a smaller bunch, invited by the composer, and it felt even more of a privilege to be part of. It’s amazing the places music takes you. (Photos thanks to Edward Radcliffe)

The sun has been out all weekend and I’ve been in the saddle making the most of it. I love cycling my local roads; so familiar that the route takes shape by itself, and always includes a decent coffee stop along the way. I’ve finally succumbed to Strava and, with it, my competitive streak. I’ve been pedalling hard, racking up the miles and some speedy stretches. But I’m sure the novelty will soon wear off. I’ll be back to my natural state of pootling and enjoying life in the hedgerow before too long. Regardless whether you’re fast or slow, the main thing is to be out on the open road!

We arrived at our clifftop barn in the late afternoon sunshine, took in the sweeping views, had a cup of tea and raced down to the beach (after all, in Cornwall in Spring, who knows when you’ll next see the sun?!)

We took a deep breath and enjoyed the last light.  Perfectly peaceful, and we’d only been there two hours.  Our open plan barn conversion had all one requires for a proper country retreat, including no phone reception.  We took one look at the TV operating instructions and gladly decided we’d be better off without.  So, without the usual time-traps, our days fell in to an easy pattern of lazy mornings, with coffee in bed looking out across the Atlantic, discussing how we should make the most of the great outdoors.

We had wind and rain, but it only added to the adventure.  I could happily spend much more of my life unplugged from the everyday distractions that stop me doing my favourite thing: playing around in the fresh air.

There is something sweet about returning home from holiday, to familiar clutter, a favourite mug, and even the last petals on an old bouquet. We had the most wonderful Cornwall adventure; the fact that I’m happy to be home makes me feel I’m in the right place. Now, I suspect returning to work tomorrow won’t be quite such a sweet feeling..

My brother came round for tea the other day and shared the ‘shocking’ news that Google Reader is shutting up shop! Shocking for him at least, who has a lifetime of RSS feeds on there. I looked on blankly and topped up his tea. RSS feeds are something I think I should understand better (I have a link over there on the right after all!) But the simplicity of Bloglovin has allowed me to be wilfully remiss and it’s an easy way to keep up with all you lovely bloggy fellows. For once, my digital ignorance has worked in my favour! Thank you google.