I've just been watching M Night Shyalaman's recent film 'The Happening' - you know the one, where the vegetation begins releasing a chemical that short-circuits the human instinct for self-preservation. People everywhere start committing sucide.
It's a one-idea film and it doesn't do a lot for me. (How menacing can you make a field of grass and a wind machine?)
But let me tell you - It's no joke. The hedgerows between here and Stevenage have already started experimenting.
Only last Friday, I saw a woman patiently waiting in her Audi to turn onto the big Corey's Mill roundabout. She sat there quietly until an eight-wheel articulated lorry was almost level with her and then drove straight out in front of it. I tell you, no sane person behaves like that. There is a lot of grass about beside that turning.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, coming into Hitchin, I watched this guy pull out to do an overtake when there was another car only a hundred yards ahead coming the other way. Instead of nipping back into lane as quickly as he could, the guy hit the brakes so that I was almost beside him before he could pull over. That gave me one hell of a moment. I was sure he was going to follow one knee-jerk reaction with another and pull back in across me. Fortunately it was on a residential street with speed humps, so no-one was going that fast. Both cars came to a halt their bumpers a few feet apart. What kind of state of mind do you have to be in to behave like that. There are a lot of trees on Whitehill Road (Rowan trees - I'm taking note.)
And then - well no, this one isn't funny. Seriously not-funny! Two months ago my neighbour next door hanged herself from the apple tree in the back of her rented garden - That's 'my apple tree' - the one I've been looking after for years because the transient population of tenants who rent the property is not interested. The guy who owns the house lets me pick the apples every autumn. (I love climbing around in that tree.)
I knew something was up the night it happened because when I rode the Daytona into my road on my way home from work, it was full of flashing blue lights (again! It's getting to be quite a regular free show in my usually quiet part of town.)
I felt really bad about it. The woman had moved in a couple of weeks before. I'd seen her a few times but was always hurring off somewhere in too much of a hurry to say hello. She always looked very stressed. It's ridiculous, I know, but I can't help thinking that if I'd stopped and talked to her and made her feel a bit more welcome she might not have done it.
Was she depressed? Did she have mental health problems? No-one locally knew.
It made me think about when I became seriously depressed for two long years in my twenties. It was an awful experience - much worse than physical pain. I know that if someone is in that kind of state it takes more than a friendly neighbour to pull them out of it, but I can't help feeling for her and thinking...
I am also wondering whether I am going to gather the apples next autumn.
I had a good Christmas this year. On Christmas Day I herded together all the waifs and strays I knew locally - friends who don't 'do' Christmas - and organised a dawn-to-dusk walk over the commons to the Pegsdon Hills, south of the town.
New Year was good too. I spent it up in Snowdonia, Wales. Tim, an old friend of mine, has access to a cottage at the foot of Mount Snowdon, and we spend a long weekend there every year with friends. Usually I ride over on the bike, but there were warnings of heavy snow this time so I chickened out and caught the train to Malvern instead and let time drive the rest of the way (Edit: 'time?' I mean of course, Tim. Cosmic man!) . The guys are all musicians (Tim is also an instrument maker), so the days were spent walking and scrambling in the mountains and the evenings passed by in the cottage chilling out to the sound of jamming. When I say 'chilling out' I'm being literal. The only heating in the cottage is a wood-burning stove in the living room (and the gas cooker in the kitchen.) There's no running water, just a hand pump to lift river water up into a tank in the loft. It was so cold this year, though, that the pipe had frozen and we had to bring it up the hill in jerry cans. I love that kind of thing.
I took a few pics.
This is the view from the cottage window. Snowdon itself
is hidden behind cloud (as usual.)
This is Tryfan - covered in icy, broken rock. Getting to the top was a good scramble.
This is Chris, contemplating infinity by the river at Bethgellert. Actually, he is probably considering how to drain it. (He's is an engineer.)
Chris rides an amazing old Guzzi Italian police bike with all the bells and whistles.
This is Dan coming to terms with the concept of
a pickled egg.
This is Tim, playing to the farmers across the valley. (Tim rides the oldest BMW on the planet.)
This is Gellert's memorial stone. (The town of Bethgellert - 'Gellert's grave' - is named after it). The story is that Prince Llewellyn (the last Welsh ruler of Wales), on returning from a hunting trip found his baby son torn apart, and his dog, Gellert, lying beside the cot covered in blood. In his rage Llewellyn slew the dog only to discover that his child had been attacked by wolves and Gellert had been severely wounded trying to protect him. In remorse, Llewellyn raised this monument to the hound.
This is a rather good statue of Gellert peering out protectively from behind a doorway.
In October the Daytona started giving me problems. Every few days the engine would suddenly cut out. At first, I thought it was random but then I noticed that it happened whenever I pulled in the clutch. That suggested there might be a problem with the side-stand cut-out switch. I puggled around with it for a while but it seemed OK. When the stand is down the plunger on the switch is out, so it is unlikely to be getting stuck.
After about a fortnight, the problem seemed to go away and I began to forget about it. But then, one evening on my way home from work, the engine cut out not once or twice but every bloody time I clutched in giving me an uncomfortable and awkward ride home. As I had to change gear regularly in tricky traffic situations, it was pretty scary too.
The next day was a Saturday, so I decided to have one more look at it before taking it over to the dealers. I decided there was no point in guesswork, I would have to approach the problem thoroughly and logically and go through all the possibilities one by one - so I kicked it.
Since then, she's been fine. That was a couple of months ago.
I've always thought the intuitive approach was a good one.
(I didn't kick it very hard: this is my pride and joy we are talking about - and my foot.)
A few weeks after that I had to take the Daytona in to the Triumph dealer anyway for her 12,000 mile service. The dealer's place is out in the sticks and there is little public transport to get me back home again after I have left it with him. What busses there are take hours and hanging around in this dull little village is mind-numbingly boring. So the dealer always lets me have a courtesy bike for the day. That means I don't have to take time off work and I get to try out a new bike each time. In the past, I've had a Bonnie and a Scrambler for the day. This time, the courtesy bike was a Sprint ST, with only 800 miles or so on the clock. The Sprint was a revelation.
As a do-it-all bike, it would bore me to tears; no doubt about it. It is so good mannered; so bloody genteel. But what a fantastic touring bike! She feels comfortable, planted, secure, has excellent handling and as much power and torque as you could ask for. Mmmm. And apart from that she felt like she were personally tailored to fit my long back and relatively short legs. If I could afford another bike I would have one just for travelling through Europe. And then I would travel through Europe more often. Lovely!
Here's the Sprint in my back garden a couple of months ago, temporarily keeping the Suzuki company in place of the Daytona. My neighbour's Bandit is to the right. The tiny hint of yellow to the left is the Hyosung.
And this is a shot taken from the same spot this evening. All donations to my garage fund gratefully received...
) 
