Bah Humbug - thank God for the bike

 

That’s one of the best parts of the day done with,  an hour’s ride at first light.

Christmas morning is one of the best days of the year for a ride. A stillness in the air, very little sound, just your tyres on the wet road, the gears whirring, your breathing. A few people out, walking the dog, a few other cyclists, runners. Very few motors.

I’m on the winter bike, the steel Condor with mudguards. It gives a more comfortable ride across rough surfaces than my other Condor, all aluminium, a bit lighter, sharper, a delight to ride.

But so is the steel model. It took me to the top of Mount Ventoux once.

I’m on my usual short ride – an hour, sometimes 90 minutes. As a carer I cannot be out for too long.

As for the rest of it, bah humbug to all the ads laying it on thick about happy family gatherings, a real turn off for those lonely people with no one to share.  The commercialism of Christmas now starting four months out has spoilt what should be an occasion to celebrate the end of the dark days of winter and lighter evenings to come.  To renew acquaintances, for those who can. To wish for a good future - which is a bit of laugh, all things considered.

Christmas is  difficult to avoid. Unless you can escape the country, to somewhere not so manic, as many do.

The worst part is losing shopping days over the break and trying to make sure you have enough essential stuff in to cover for the lost days. Staple stuff, like bread, milk, eggs, but also the essential requirements to sustain the vulnerable person in the house.

But we will be looking forward to the roast lamb, roast pots, Brussels sprouts lightly steamed and dipped into a hot pan of butter, chopped garlic and flaked almonds – a quick stir and served.

Cliff Richard is on the tele. We'll avoid that. But we'll watch King Charles, listen to his Christmas message if only to wonder at how this Royal farce continues to hold the nation in thrall.

We'll watch a few comedy progs. But sadly our daughter remains in bed for the umpteenth year, as do millions like her with similar medical complications thanks to a rogue, as yet unidentified gene.

Ehlers Danlos Syndrome; POTS; chronic fatigue; now sensory issues which mean we run a quiet house. No noise, no boisterous visitors. She's very lonely. We'll attend to her throughout the day.

I’ve written about this before, entitled “1000 nights”.

But she will be looking forward to roast potatoes later, with her usual grilled chicken and stir fried veg.

We miss having visitors of course. But not cooking for them. Too confusing, all my timing goes to hell. Serving is a nightmare. Very stressful.

The last time we had people round we bought takeaways.

Only New Year's eve to deal with now!

Cheer up, the days are getting lighter.