The last two bike trips I’ve taken have been bedevilled by punctures. Heading to Chichester, my back tyre went. I whipped out my spare, fitted it with difficulty, and rode on, only to be brought up short fifty yards later with the same tyre sinking beneath me. Gadzooks, I had forgotten to search for the offending hole maker! I found it easily enough – a twisted safety pin hanging out of the tyre – and whipped the wheel off for a second time. On this occasion, a repair was called for. Searching through my repair baggy I found the contents of three tubes of glue had completely evaporated away. Not a drop was to be squeezed out of them. I thought dismally of the long trudge into town, pushing the bike. Luckily, after a frantic delve, I found another, unopened tube, and was able to effect a prompt mend.

Yesterday, heading over to Patching, having taken a wrong turning and wasted much time slithering around in some muddy bog, I got a front puncture. Again, I replaced the tube. Minutes later, the rear tyre went. Exasperated, I heaved the wheel off, mended both punctures, put the wheel back on again, and was about to ride off when my travelling companion pointed out that I had forgotten to check for whatever had made the hole. She was absolutely right; so off came the wheel again, out came the typre, and I discovered a massive thorn embedded in the tread. Pulling this out was the matter of a moment; putting everything back together took rather longer, considering the appalling design of the gear changing mechanism that everyone knows has been designed by someone who’s never ridden a ride anyway, never mind changed a wheel.

All this time, I was immersed in another tract of boggy terrain that, in addition to getting itself on everything I touched, smelled like the outflow from a large septic tank. Smeared with this ordure, smelling like a goat already from my exertions, we set off for the upteenth time.

It was a glorious day, though, and the bluebell woods had to be seen to be believed. Interestingly, as we approached them I spied a lone walker with a familiar looking hat on his head. As I passed, I turned and said “A Tilly, I presume”, to which he nodded affirmation and added “I have three more of them at home!” I waved mine gaily, said “Snap!”, and rode on.

Later, after eating a meal at Jacques, I spent an hour getting nowhere with his computer. Luckily, Liv and Jul came over to pick us and our bikes up, and within a matter of moments the problem had been sorted by Liv. What’s truly amazing is not that he knew what to do but that he can ever have imagined in his wildest dreams I would.

After the torrid heat of yesterday we sallied forth this afternoon for a jolly country stroll only to have cold rain pouring down the back of our necks to the point where a plaintive phone call was made asking Liv to rescue us in the Daisymobile. Hot bush tea revived us somewhat. At least Jacques’ modem problem was solved …

We had a great afternoon at the beach where we played original crud till our arms were dropping off. The tide clock did its work so we arrived when the sea was way out. I had made two pizzas which went down well. Some people were actually swimming.

Just finished a fairly fractious game of Risk. Mama mumbling in the background about how the game should have been taken to a charity shop years ago, Tan wittering on about how much more fun it was without any of us lot playing, me complaining how nobody was adhering to the rules laid down in the official Rule Book, Liv pontificating on the excessive heat, Jul unhappy with the colour of his plastic armies, Geoff doing a reasonable Rimmer impersonation … all in all, most enjoyable, with everyone stomping off to bed or elsewhere with a song (not) on their lips.

Earlier, four of us went on a killing uphill bike ride, followed by an excellent descent.

It sounds like C’rot took a leap too far. Hopefully, she can still ski the last day. On the home front, my tomato seedlings are through but looking pretty scrawny for the time of year.

Mama and I went for a three hour stroll along the route of the old canal. It was very windy but pleasant enough. Arriving back, expecting to catch the whiff of an evening meal being prepared, we were much surprised to find the cravens more or less where they had been when we started out. Most disconcerting.