There was romance in the air and overpriced restaurants overbooked when Saturday dawned with - and you'll never believe it - sunshine in the air.
My plot was essentially a selfish one. First time on a bike since caressing the tarmac two and a half weeks ago, see if the old joints still worked, make sure I hadn't forgotten how to ride, turn up at Nonsuch and if necessary just go home on the train.
But it went well. Who doesn't get the odd twinge? The patisserie in Cheam was packed but we still got a table, Tim turned up for club business and save me a ride, Anna and Roger were there, Nigel rolled up as were leaving, and we all went to the rendezvous at the Mansion.
There a vertiable throng was waiting and Steve was there to lead a ride down south to Brockham. I assumed, rightly, that most would want to go on his proper ride while Maggie and I decided that a modest paced pedal to Long Ditton would be as far as was sensible. But Ken, A&R, Sue and Nigel (a fellow casualty, nursing a bandaged foot) slotted in behind Maggie and me, and off we went over well worn tyre tracks through the new safer route around Worcester Park Station, under the A3 tunnel at Tolworth and on to sunny Ditton.
Nice Buns
I didn't think I'd qualify and get past the quality control at the Nice Buns cafe, but there was no age or shape discrimination and they let us all in; they even had red paper roses on the table for us. So we had a leisurely coffee and made our way back through Surbiton to Worcester Park and thence went our various ways home.
Good company, a lovely day and a problem-free ride. But next morning the sun was just a wierd memory. Had it been real or was I dreaming? Is there really a dazzling orange-yellow fireball in the sky to be seen above the greyness, or is it just a hoax?