On Sunday, London had what is probably the last really good day of 2015. It's nearly officially autumn on Wednesday (even if the weather's been a month or so ahead of the calendar), so the number of halfway decent riding days is about to be halved.
(Really Good Day = jeans and no inner in the jacket, with summer boots & gloves)
Sunday was too good to pass up, and the bike agreed vocally. That is, she coughed and spluttered and generally cleared her pipes at me before consenting to start properly.
Clearly, she needed a run, especially if I want to do a weekend run in a couple of weeks (assuming the weather gods agree. Please? Pretty please?)
I headed off, threading through all the roadworks that, for some reason, the powers that be have decided must go ahead on nearly every London road simultaneously. Autumn is not the best time to get around to fixing last winter's damage if you ask me. I guess the PTB aren't motorists.
I wound my way towards Dorking, the bike purring enjoyment of actual movement and curvy bits, and saw that one of my favourite pubs has reopened after refurbishment, so I stopped. This is always a risky proposition, as they tend to remodel anything I actually like right off the menu.
The Star, although they have gone and put a table and a pot plant in my usual parking, still do a decent nut roast, and more importantly, still serve little baby dark mint chocolates with their coffee. This is the very hallmark of a civilised pub.
