But it turns out to be one of those days.....
At breakfast Bev complains that her bath was "a bit cold" We're upgrading the boiler in a few weeks, but meantime the pilot light keeps going out on our existing old fashioned system, sometimes leaving us with a tank of lukewarm water.
So, tool box from the garage and a couple of hours later the pilot light is ignited, (don't know exactly what I do, but I've learned that taking a few things to pieces and putting them back together seems to solve the problem).
By now it's 10.30 and the sky is delectably blue and I can't wait to dig out my cycling shorts - Damn! Still have emails & stuff to sort. 12.30 arrives and I decide to walk into Hillsborough to pay in a customer's cheque. Just about to leave - a knock at the front door - it's our neighbour with a gift of a couple of tomato plants. They're placed in a sunny part of the garden, and then I'm 'persuaded' to check out the new additions to her garden. 20 minutes later I'm hot footing it to the bank.
On the way I start to admire a nice double fronted Victorian property, when suddenly - like in a film, I begin to hear the sound of a raised voice beginning to fade in, and then in front of the house the blurred image of a gesticulating Indian gentleman begins to come into focus. It's James Bond!http://jamesbondpersonaltraining.blogspot.co.uk/ A Personal Trainer and former BNI networking colleague, (he changed his name by deed poll, by the way). We catch up.
10 minutes later I am again striding towards Barclays. What a relief, I've missed the usual lunchtime queue and within seconds I'm on my way home, the promise of home made cake at the post office cafe in Lower Bradfield quickens my steps. Now, only the main road to cross - it's all clear - Hmm that ageing Corsa is a bit quick, but I'll make it OK. As I reach the curb on the other side the driver of the garishly jazzed up Vauxhall decides to make a comment by using an elongated blast of the horn. I vigorously respond with a gentle two fingered gesture. As the driver's arm shoots up through the sun roof to return a quaint single fingered gesture, I turn to continue the quest for the cake ride, only to bump into the mother of one of my daughter's classmates who looks on with a puzzled sympathy. "Another b****y boy racer who thinks he understands the highway code!" I bellowed.
Within 5 minutes I am wheeling my bicycle out of the garage, and 10 minutes later I am sliding my prescription sunglasses in place beneath the riding helmet. All set! It's now 1.45pm.
It's been a while since my last bike ride, yet I manage well in the 22 degree heat - my new breathable riding shirt is doing exactly what it says on the tin.
It's a long hard climb from Damflask to High Bradfield so I stand up on the pedals and get my head down, making wobbly but steady progress. Two thirds of the way up I suddenly realise that I am not alone - strange snorting noises, accompanied by a rich aroma in the air. I look up and I am amongst a group of escaped cattle heading downhill being chased by a farmer slapping their sides through the open window of his Land Rover. He uses encouraging grunts to persuade them back into the field. Will I ever make my long awaited (and much deserved) refreshment stop?
The steep downhill section from Higher to Lower Bradfield is wonderful - twisty and bumpy, the sunlight flickers between the trees as I descend at speed. At last the post office café is mine! I lean the bike next to the old telephone box, hang my helmet on the handlebars and excitedly stride toward the open door, breathing in the mingling aromas of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon. I didn't notice the darkly clad man hovering outside and I neither did I pay particular attention to the walkie talkie he was pressing to his ear - I was thinking CAKE.
But what's this? The café is bursting with people who seem to be focusing their attention on an attractive woman wearing posh clothes - not the usual gear worn by the ramblers who normally call for refreshments. Must be some sort of celebration - how inconvenient. I manage to attract the attention of a lady wearing an apron who quickly serves up chocolate & raspberry cake with a mug of hot chocolate. As I head for the door, to claim my favourite spot at the table outside, I look to where a small gathering of people are pointing their cameras. It's Nick Clegg, his voice is a little croaky as he chats to diners.
Not even the Deputy Prime Minister can distract me from my cake, but as always I am carrying my trusty Lumix point & shoot camera, so I grab a few snaps for posterity. It turns out that the village shop has won a Countryside Alliance award and Mr Clegg is here to do the honours. I'm about to tuck into my cake when he asks if I mind him moving in on my space for an official photograph. "Sure" I say, as my cake is once again so near, but so far. I want to say, "Are the Lib Dems a spent force now, Nick?" but the sun is shining and every dog has his day.
More security men appear wearing dark glasses and mumble into their walkie talkies - it could be a scene from Clint Eastwood's, In The line Of Fire, except the 'G Men' speak in Yorkshire accents. Soon the entourage heads into the village and at last the moment arrives when my fork delicately penetrates the deliciously moist dark triangle that is my raspberry & chocolate cake.
It doesn't get any better than this!
I have tried to discover the identity of the cake maker - but it's a closely guarded secret. All I know, is that she lives in Bradfield. If I wasn't already spoken for I would be asking for her hand in marriage.
The ride home isn't half as strenuous - the worst is always over by the time I arrive in Lower Bradfield, and I now have time to enjoy the beautiful vistas around Damflask Reservoir and reflect on my day so far.
And it's not over yet!
Back home I complete post cycle ride stretching exercises and sink into a relaxing hot bath, (the boiler is OK). MP3 is playing on shuffle and magically creates a mix of laid back music starting with Sinatra's Nice 'N' Easy and ending half an hour later with Mark Knopfler's Wild Theme from Local Hero
It's now just after 8pm and we're finishing off a delicious tea of Spinach & Goat's Cheese Fritata, a Nigel Slater recipe (alla Bev) and it's movie time!
We try to show our nearly 14 year old daughter, Emily as many 'good' films as we can. Earlier this week she enjoyed The Graduate from 1967. Despite the almost subliminal glimpses of Anne Bancroft's naked chest, (which I'd forgotten about), Emily thought it was "bonkers!"
Tonight it's Dead Poets Society from 1989.
By 10.30 we're all wiping the tears away. What a brilliant film!
It's been such an interesting day. Must put it on my blog..........
This has been a blog by Steve Mirfin of Phoenix Photography
The photographer always at the ready to EAT CAKE
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