A Tale of Two Snacks…..

…….a greasy chip buttie and a chi chi chocolate muffin both consumed with equal relish this week in different circumstances but in  a common state of contentment and friendship. The chip feast came at the end of  super day of shopping and chatting around Manchester with an old friend from university days  when a chip buttie at the end of a night out was a norm not a treat. It was usually purchased from a traditional chip shop staffed by the most miserable couple in East Yorkshire  who  had clearly never read How to Win Friends and Influence People or opened the cover of  even the most basic food hygiene manual.  I like to think they retired to a caravan in Bridlington and spent their twilight years in companionable sullenness reminiscing about the many nights spent snarling at intoxicated students whilst relieving them of the remnants of their meagre grants… Oh yes we  come from the era of grants rather than loans..  happy days  indeed!

Prior to our razzle round the fabulous and crowded Manchester Christmas Markets we enjoyed a rather more sophisticated repast having a long and excellent lunch at the splendid Rosso Restaurant after an hours wandering and lusting in the more exclusive retail outlets of King Street.  Over lunch we discussed our current lives, our children, caught up on news of old friends and made  plans for a university reunion weekend in Manchester next year.

Purchases stowed in the hotel, we attacked the markets and gluhwein with gusto, and experienced Big Society in action as two for one vouchers on hot cocktails were circulated between total strangers in the excellent winter bar marquee.  We left two very happy young women sipping their hot vodka and cranberry with candy  canes courtesy of our recycled voucher as we went in search of  sustenance.  Our quest brought us to the fast food establishment of choice,  a splendid example of  Northern Quarter eclecticism with a menu encompassing a whole array of game curries including venison and duck.  But we are simple souls and opted for a purist approach, other than my friends insistence on garlic sauce, proving that we had come along way in 30 years… or maybe not.

Cycling wasn’t on the menu today, having risk assessed the wind speed coupled with the fact that the temperature was approaching that well-known indicator.. brass monkeys.. by common consent it was sidelined. Though there were several hardy souls pedalling away as we drove on a  rescue mission to retrieve an abandoned vehicle left overnight at a rather overhyped and overpriced Ribble Valley establishment.  Following the successful completion of the task we found ourselves enjoying great coffee alongside  an indulgent chocolate muffin and a rather dry bit of banana bread in a cosy and welcoming  local coffee shop. The food fare on offer was very different from the other evening  but what was the same, was the overwhelming sense of contentment in good conversation  common ground and understanding. My two snacks were with friends from different eras of my life,  the food was a world apart in taste and style but what was common to both  was that the food was secondary to the friendship. We meet new people all the time as we go through life and form new friendships, some last and some don’t, tastes may change, restaurants, chip shops and coffee places may come and go but if you find  good friends along the way then hang on to them because it doesn’t matter where or what you eat but who you do it with.

Not all doom and gloom….

Sunshine and all that goes with it is one of the great joys of life, and as we hurtle towards the winter solstice the lack of rays from our nearest star has a direct effect on my mood and energy levels. It may well be unseasonably warm, but crikey this morning here in East Lancashire it was gloomy.  On waking to the sight of a battleship grey sky, I felt a diaspora of gloom descending, reinforced by a look at the newspapers and television news where there was hardly a spark of brightness and light anywhere.  The bed was warm and snug and the thought of leaving the nest to pedal through the grey and slightly dank conditions was distinctly unwelcome.  Cycling was on the agenda and I wrestled with my conscience – could I claim exhaustion, dengue fever, plague or alien abduction as an excuse to skip, should I just be honest and say I just didn’t fancy it, or just hope my cycling companion would  feel the same and  we could agree to just potter out for coffee and cake? I went for the latter and was just about to breathe a sigh of relief that I was off the hook when the ‘where are we going’ text arrived and subsequent communications made it clear that no matter how doomy and gloomy I, the weather  or indeed the nation were feeling today, baling out was not an option!

The weather never got above gloomy today and it was freezing out in the Ribble Valley and there was some serious log stocking up going on – we noted the  need to stock up on long sleeve tops and neck snoody things but the Charlie Brown like black cloud lifted and there were some valuable lessons learned.

• True friends don’t take no for an answer and understand when to push you for your own good
• If you don’t cycle for 2 weeks your fitness levels drop drastically and the hills become enormous again
• If you grit your teeth and recite poetry/sing songs in your head you can get up the hills
• Toasted tea cakes and coffee are one of the joys of life especially on a grey Sunday afternoon.
• It is really cold as the sun sets in November
• Making the effort to spend time with friends is always worth it, especially when you are tempted to stay sunk in your own increasing gloom.
• No matter how much doom and gloom there is around at the moment we  are responsible for the creation of our own sunshine .

Sunday sunshine and scones…..

…. in the heart of the Ribble Valley, scene of one of my earlier dates with disaster…..an evening  cycle ride with much screaming, stomping and walking up hills…..but yesterday in glorious autumn sunshine  we revisited some of the scenes of torture and found them gentler, more forgiving and ultimately more enjoyable.

It was a last minute spontaneous decision to continue the Sunday cycle, all week the forecast had been such that the building of an ark would have been an appropriate activity,  this coupled with family visits, bonfires and some work related stress  meant that the usual military like planning was out of the window. But sometimes the unexpected gives the most pleasure, and the whole afternoon was one of unexpected treats culminating in  a splendid afternoon tea at the wonderfully extended Bashall Barn.  Here we revisited the traditional war cry of  ‘we’ve earned it’ and tucked in reasoning that we needed fuel for the return hills and there would not be time to eat before setting off for an evening bonfire party.

The Barn is a treasure trove of good food, magnificent ice cream, sensational gifts  and as long as you know the difference between and heifer and a bullock you will find your way to some splendid toilet facilities. Its position also provides a magnificent view of the Ribble Valley, and Pendle Hill which yesterday was basking  serenely in the afternoon sunshine.  Our visit there rounded off a two hour cycle ride taking in some of  England’s most amazing countryside. As we pedaled we  met a variety of characters, cheerful walkers weilding their walking poles like Fred Astaire with a cane , lycra warriors powering past, head down and eyes fixed forward and cycling families  where the children pedalled faster than the adults.  We were accompanied for a long stretch by a spritly pedalling pensioner straight from Last of the Summer Wine who regaled me with his life story until we lost him at a complicated crossroad. Without exception everyone was smiling, reflecting the glories of the autumn day and even the cars seemed less inclined to push us into the ditches or maybe we’re just more confident,  we can now even do our hand signals without wobbling all over the road, though mastering drinking (from a water bottle!) and riding is still an elusive skill.

A speedy turn around at the end of the ride and we were off again to a fellow Cycletta survivor’s  evening bonfire and firework party where the food included our winning John Bury Trust  Beef and Marmite sausages which went down a storm. A  firework display to rival Sydney at New Year provided a fitting end to a Super Sunday incorporating all the elements of our recent cycling and charity fund raising adventures… sunshine, scones, sausages, and above all great friendship and fun now with a new addition….. fireworks.

 

 

 

 

crystals clingfilm and consequences

Its been an interesting week involving Prosecco, sackcloth and ashes and ending with a crystalline crisis. In between there’s been a fair bit  of cycling, with nearly 25 miles under the belt or rather the saddle and a bit more to come tonight. And herein lies the final crisis of the week, there is a rather lovely trip planned for this evening around the Ribble Valley – so whats the problem? Well you may notice that I have had my regular pedicure today – the purple is just because I like the colour and is not a tribute to the Peril which departed with not so much a backward glance at me this week.  My wonderful pedicurist threw a hissy fit and there was a distinct danger of hot wax (and not in  Madonna in a rather bad film type of way) flying round the room when I explained this evenings activity which requires rather more substantial footwear than a pair of Fit Flops. The thought of her handiwork being plunged into a pair of sweaty trainers so soon after completion was clearly a major issue. However we discussed the problem, applied a systems approach, a bit of appreciative enquiry and any other bit of management speak I could think of and discovered the solution to ensure my crystals remain intact and sparkling for my trip to London tomorrow is apparently… clingfilm. If I wrap my toes in cling film and then put my socks on this will do the trick – I am now boggling my mind at how many other cyclists we will pass this evening with cosy toes of clingfilm – needless to say I am rooting out the clingfilm as we speak, but there is a little voice telling me that my previous pedicure complete with crystals  has survived a months worth of trainer abuse and so these may just have to take their chances and I will suffer the consequences at my next appointment.

But consequences have been suffered this week already,  the Prosecco flowed on Saturday evening at a rather gentle and lovely BBQ and had little effect the next morning on a fabulous ride from Wrea Green to Lytham and back.  I was sure that  any excess calories had been burnt from that ride and another trip down the canal.  Alas it was not to be as I stood weeping on the scales at Fat Club and retreated in shame in my sackcloth and ashes  repenting my sins (or rather Syns) vowing to  stay on track this next week. I need to make sure I do not transgress again as our fat club leader is a happy and lovely lady but has a fearsome streak and is not to be messed with.  So bearing  in mind that  every action  has a consequence  I may just go and find that clingfilm..