Coastal

Leaving home on one bit of coast to holiday on another is a true sign of loving the sea. We travelled from the Isle of Wight to the Isle of Purbeck for a long weekend of sunshine and skimming stones. I love how the sound of rocks changes underfoot close to the waters edge. Sit in one spot for an hour and you’ll find a hundred pebbly variations, just asking to be smoothed beneath thumbs, gathered in linty pockets, or released in to the deep blue beyond. When I was little my dad would point out the feldspar and fossils, while my mum would point out the rings in stones that granted wishes; a perfect childhood mix of fact and fiction. A week later and the salty sea has dried off my feet, but the pebbles are still in my pocket.

Quiet Woods

Tom’s been laid low the last week, and he’s had some quiet days with plenty of honey and lemon and aspirin. A good time for a trip to the woods: a place where talking is positively discouraged. With late afternoon sun calling we took an easy amble around Firestone Copse and said very little.

Layers of sound build the farther you walk without talking: A few birds, then your step scuffing sandy ground, or snapping twigs on untrod paths. Farther on, more birds with different rhythms, persistent or tuneful. Then the almost-groan of trunks or low beams as a gust blows through. Climb one of the gnarled trees by the estuary and listen to how the wind changes in its boughs. Or walk below the pines and listen to the silver-tip icy sound of the wind through their needles.

If you are quiet for long enough, and remember to look up, you might hear leaves in top branches brushing against each other, or a skittering sound against bark. The red squirrels leap so confidently across the canopy, reckless and graceful. happy to stop and stare from a safe height.

Take stock on a sturdy root, and stop for a snack. (I recommend coffee and popcorn cookies) and sit in companionable quiet while the sounds wrap around you. And then go home and read this quote. Heck, read the whole book.

Ride Round The Block

Nothing beats coming home from a hectic day at work and heading straight back out the door for some fresh air time. A single hour outside sorts my head out, especially with all of this just round the corner.

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.

Stitching Plans

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.

Whatever the Wheels

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.