Cycling and Sirens

"Under the Westway... where I stood watching comets lonesome trails, shining up above, me the jet fuel it fell, down to earth where the money always comes first, and the sirens sing." 

- Blur, Under The Westway

I've been going cycling almost every evening. The days are too hot and busy, the night is just perfect. I've found a circuit that is almost completely car free - nearly 3 miles of weaving between estates, walkways under the Westway and quiet Notting Hill streets. The breeze is wonderfully cool, I can feel my puffers breathing in that night air, reaching new deep dark and dusty (gunky more like) depths. My leg muscles pump away, arm muscles reacting to every bump, even the ghost of my former six pack is stirring as my core tries to keep me upright, "remeeember meee" it croakily, fleetingly whispers in the wind.

It feels good. Even the wibbly wobbly jelly legs as I step (stumble) off is a reassuring sign that things are working - wasted lazy legs are waking. Hibernation is over suckers. One minute later they're fine. Tomorrow, they won't, as a faster, longer route awaits! I do a little cough, maybe a huff, shift a little blob. Not much to be honest. That's how I like it.

I like the distant roar of the Westway, the distant wail of the sirens on Ladbroke Grove, the distant rattle of the hammersmith and city line trains. I just like night time; stolen time away from burning heat and burning eyes. I'm only comfortable in jumpers, and jumpers in 30 degree heat is just bonkers. The darkness means I can also leave the house without a jot of make-up - I feel so liberated! Liberated and freeeee. My only restraint is to be back by 10 to watch Big Brother. And even that's on +1.

My red arrow route.