Yesterday I got so old I felt that I could die

Habits. Not the nun variety. Nor perhaps a slightly twisted Elmer Fudd. I am thinking of those habitual behaviours that started off as a really good, or practical, or fun idea, and then turned into something you just do. The Princess told me it was all about the secondary gain.

And this blog post is one of them. I rode to work, therefore I must blog. I'm out all day tomorrow, or today actually, even though I haven't slept, well I have, but on the sofa so that doesn't count. It's 1.22AM. Old habits do indeed, die hard.

It was a good film though I can't remember what it was called. Based on a true story that I do remember people talking about at the time, in the pub at football. Rettendon, 1995, December I think. Not really a fan of the gangster genre, a bit too much swearing for my taste, and I'm not offended by the profane. Just the sacred.

Nowadays there is so much choice on television at this hour, it's neither morning or evening, it's more in between days. When my son was born, that's only 10 years ago, I remember being bored witless as I fed him in front of a surreal Japanese film, or documentary about gravel extraction. Those were the choices on the two channels most nights. Well, it felt like that to me.

Yesterday morning seems like an age ago, but it was warm, muggy and very wet at 6.30AM when I left for work. The usual way, pretty much, another habit, I don't like main roads and I'm increasing bored by trundling along on the flat, especially on my own. I was in my own inner world of peace and solitude going up the Port du Bales, and even Long Lane is a pale imitation. Despite the conditions I was wearing arm and leg warmers, I can't bear the thought of hypothermia, but as usual I was overreacting.

Maybe the added protection was the reason for my relative rapidity, maybe it was the thought of being late for an 8.30AM meeting. Another piece of habitual behaviour, despite my preference for a flexible and adaptable approach to life, I am pathologically averse to being late. Then there are all the rituals about coffee which we have nowadays. The paper cup, the cardboard cup-holder, the froth. Is there a message in that somewhere?

By the time I left to come home, I fancied something new, so I did the hill in Ashton Park, the one that goes right through the middle, doubles back as it rises, and comes out above the suspension bridge road. Well, you have to break the habits of a lifetime sometime.

Here's the route, nearly 50 miles today. I seem to have broken that habit successfully, the one where I have to get it to a round number of miles. What else can I change?

http://ridewithgps.com/trips/385865