By what serendipitous telepathy I know not, but something told me to head to Elvington and Sutton on Derwent via Heslington, rather than cut across to Murton after leaving yet another tedious evening meeting at the office. A light summer drizzle was falling so I had donned the much abused and down-at-brim Tilly hat as protection. Now, at 8.45 or so, one would expect the Portland Street Pedallers to have moved on swiftly from their first port of call and be cosily ensconced in the second, so my glance into the beer garden of the Charles XII was intended to be no more than that. However, sheltering from the barely noticeable drizzle, there were the pedallers, getting in another pint. Anything, even the negligible charms of the Charles, to keep them from the damp and the prospect of a further few miles in the balmy and by this time extremely pleasant evening air. So we huddled there amongst the student masses, who clearly have either no taste or no ability to get off their backsides to find a decent pub, until we agreed to pootle across the Stray to the Wellington, where it was a relief to find a well-kept pint and a bar full of real people.
Cognoscenti amongst my readers will note that this hardly qualifies as an evenings cycling (even taking into account advancing age and infirmity). Perhaps our highest aim should be to breach the ring road. Onward !
