fun on the Sport Relief bike ride

It's the first time I've been back to the Queen Elizabeth Park since the Olympics were held there. It's about to be re-opened as a proper park and with several sporting zones included.

I was there for the Sport Relief bike ride, which turned out to be rather good fun. My early challenge was whether I'd be able to get my bike out of my car, because of the different opening times of the nearby car parks. Fortunately, I'd moved to the car park under the 24-hour Casino, which meant that, as long as I didn't mind negotiating a few flights of stairs, then I'd be okay.

This trip from Stratford into the Essex countryside was an occasion for proper lycra and a very bright orange top. Unlike some, I decided to go with long legs rather than shorts. My gloves were fingerless, but at 06:00 in the morning it was probably the wrong decision, with the thermometer reading 6 degrees.

A group of us took the perimeter road around the large shopping centre to get to the Lee Park Velodrome, and even at this time there were quite a few people around, ready to see us on our way. I was in the 6:30 wave for starting, and through faffing with safety pins on the number, was one of the last of the first group to go.

Early sunshine, yet still cold, it would be another 45 minutes before there'd be any real warmth, rather than just the sun's low glow, which we were riding towards.

Stratford, Wanstead, Redbridge, Ilford and then out into the hillier Essex countryside. Empty roads at this time on a Sunday and a route that had picked its way through side streets, around an urban farmyard(?) and even a short stretch on a gravelled track. Good organisation, friendly folk waving, cheering and pointing out the route. A well-run event.

I wasn't in a hurry, and a couple of the hills, a dash of sleet and a playful cross-wind also played their part in ensuring I'd not make any fancy time. But hey, this was for charity in any case.

The last part of the return journey was over the same route as the way out. There were many others still on the outward section when I was heading back to base. They'd probably been sensible and selected a more sane start time. By now there were buses and a few trucks around, but the biggest obstacle was somehow the sheer number of cyclists still heading outwards.

When the Orbit tower suddenly loomed into view, I realised I was almost back. Unlike some landmarks, the approach back to the Olympic Park was pretty quick and I was soon on the finishing ramp with people clapping as I collected my little medal and a fresh glug of water.

Grand Budapest Hotel

I stood on a tube platform marvelling at the huge advertisement for the Wes Anderson movie 'Grand Budapest Hotel', already in the knowledge that we'd booked to see it on the comfy chairs in the Electric Cinema.

It's been done on an elaborate scale, with something of a modernised 'Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines' crazy caper style about it.

The hotel looks like an iced cake confection in some of the scenes and when shown in its later more run-down state has a kind of over-signaged Germanic utilitarian orange glow about it.

The vast array of well-know actors keep a relentless pace with many 21st century sensibilities in the dialogue, and a sharpness to the wit, rather than something to laugh out loud about.

I enjoyed it, although it is a bit like drowning in a very rich pink iced cake mix.

magnolias, beach blankets and babylon

There were bright blasts of Magnolia trees on every corner, when we decided to drop into BBB for a spot of lunch.

Well, not exactly drop into, it was slightly planned, and meant we could get a complementary prosecco before we dined.

Beach Blanket Babylon is a rococo institution in Notting Hill, and a lovely way to spend a relaxed lunchtime with a good changing cast of interesting local folk.

It's just a street or two away from the busy market, made famous in that film, and an oasis of chill in a bustling area.

We sat close to the bar, in that area with the Gaudi-like mosaics and the understated fireplace.

re Knog-ing the Cayo

It should only take a few minutes really.

The re-Knog-ing just required the location of the frogs and a quick check that they were still powerful enough. They winked back at me alright but I couldn't resist flipping them and adding new cells.

A quick slip around the carbon of the Cayo and everything was ready.

It's not the frogs that are the problem actually, I've discovered a new creak and it's coming from the Arione. Never mind, the horses can hear me on the lanes.

Today's interesting sightings: The mum jogging up the steep hill with her baby in a three-wheeler buggy. The randomly startled pheasants running back and forth across the road. The caw caw caw from the rookery. The tightrope squirrels on the power lines. That green woodpecker flying parallel to the road. A few early morning gunshots. About a dozen other cyclists saying hello.

tripping the dark fantastic

Last weekend was the first outing for the carbon bike this year.

It involved the rigmarole of pumping tyres and checking things and I really do need to give it some oil to make some of the bits spin around a little more smoothly.

I've entered for some sort of event in just over a week so I suppose I'd better make sure that everything is functional. That includes me, of course, having today tripped over a large loudspeaker box and ladder which had been placed across the entrance into a darkened room.

Ouch.

not quite a London particular

Two days this week I've woken to an etherised view of London. A grey haze rubbing the window panes.

I've walked past closed sawdust pubs to the morning tube and joined the lines waiting patiently at just the right spots on the platform.

By evening it has all changed. A bright yellow splash across the darkness and those same market-side pubs spilling animated people onto the pavements. Just one more before the bus or train home.

This London is only a stone's throw from the Thames, and with all the signs of a pickup in the beat.

twelve years a slave

We'd left the pub mid-evening and decided to see Twelve Years a Slave, the story of Solomon Northup (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a free black man from Saratoga, New York. He is tricked into a visit to Washington, where he is kidnapped and trafficked to Louisiana, and sold as a slave.

Artist/director Steve McQueen shows the Northup memoirs as a harrowing tale. It's from the slave's perspective showing the violent treatment by 'owners' towards what they considered their property in the form of the slaves.

It's unremitting, Northup is passed around from owner to owner, with casual violence in each locale. The wives of the owners are as desensitised, with the slaves mainly treated as little more than livestock.

The narrative creates a range of brutal episodes. It's a tough one to watch because of it, with slow cuts and long scenes to drive home the point.

In parts the camera is closely involved, and at other times there's an almost documentary stillness to painterly yet often harsh scenes.

As the final accelerated ending played out, it left me with mixed feelings about it as a movie. Worthy, yes. A story that needs to be told. Undoubtedly. Closure. No, or at least only partly. There were many things left unresolved and a rushed conclusion.

It's a part of a huge and somewhat suppressed story about the institutional supply chains that supported America's foundations, too vast to encapsulate in this single film.

my hotel television keeps trying to sell me things

Working until late most days this week, plus evenings at a selection of Moroccan, Indian and Brazilian restaurants.

It wasn't until Thursday that I had time to flop in front of the Temporary Television That Has To Be Treated With Care.

That's because although it has a wide selection of channels, it doesn't very easily go past '5'. It's something to do with the remote control, I think, and I've tried pointing it from very close and pressing the buttons firmly, but it'll usually give me a sporting chance to get as far as ITV1 and on a couple occasions I even found Sky 1.

Otherwise, it flips to various sales menus. Would I like high-speed internet access? Maybe a recent movie? Something -er- salacious?

It doesn't tire of offering from around these selections, but it does mean I've been somewhat limited in what I can watch. I suppose I could phone downstairs to get it fixed, and it's probably just tired batteries (the telly's or maybe mine?)

Instead I've remembered that I loaded episode two of True Detective onto the iPad. That will do nicely for an evening's amusement.

I'm still only at the second episode, where there's various quotes from the mysterious 1895 Robert W. Chambers book 'King in Yellow' which is about a play that drives people mad. Chambers set this prismatic story in an unnerving future of 1920.

Considering the obvious tie-in to this story, the creepy book is a steal on Kindle as a freebie at the moment. If there was ever a real live time traveller (as well as Thomas Pynchon) then I'd plump for Chambers as a strong candidate. Oh, okay, and William Gibson. Adding to the fun, I see the Amazon book was transcribed by a community of volunteers to get it into Kindle format.

So, television problem solved. Watch the episode and then read the book. Starting with the macabre Repairer of Reputations.

...And maybe admire the mocked-up magazine cover art on Slate.

watching the detectives non procedurally, with a king in yellow

I've been watching Line of Duty on catch-up.

I'm not sure if its because I've been away from home, but it's a Wednesday evening "don't miss" type of programme, whilst tucked in my temporary room. Good enough that I watched it again when I got back home this weekend.

I already know I'll miss the next episode because of a business dinner somewhere. It's like the old days of television where you have to be there at the right time. I guess I'll find it on iPlayer afterwards if I'm still away.

The underlying plot involves a deadly witness protection car ambush with Detective Lindsay Denton in charge of the convoy and now the chief suspect.

There's conspiracies, twists and a bit of potential corruption, with other important players not surviving into the second reel.

No need for subtitles from Nordic. Some would call it a police procedural, but I'll call it a proper drama.

I've also just watched the cinematic first episode of the Matthew McConaughey/Woody Harrelson True Detective series set in a moodily drawn Louisiana. It started deceptively grounded in procedure - a murder, ritual, scenes at the morgue but simmering underneath is a kind of Lovecraftian/Edgar Allen Poe mysticism. There's various bumps and screams under the surface which I assume will reveal over the coming weeks.

McConaughey's character frequently trips off on little speeches about existence, “This place is like someone’s memory of a town and that memory’s faded,” he says. “Stop saying stuff like that,” comes Harrelson's more grounded retort. I'm guessing the rather skewed camera angle on the scene above isn't an accident. Look how everything else in the scene is so well arranged.

There's also various occult artefacts. A kind of devil's trap made of twigs. I remember seeing some of these eerily hanging in a wood in Canada once. More work to make than a circle of salt or a pentagram? And possibly a mandrake wrapped in the centre of the trap? Don't they scream and try to kill whoever pulls them from the ground?

I'm expecting this show to go weirder and already have the second episode ready to watch when I get a moment.

limited time

I've been carrying one of those beanie hats this week because even on short walks there'll be sudden downpours of rain.

It seems to fit with the look on the tube too, where parts of commuter uniform include (a) those hats - mainly more stylish than my plain black one (b) various types of running shoe or similar sports footwear (c) a digital device to read - definitely not a newspaper in the morning. (d) an optional copy of the Standard, Time Out (Tuesday) or bizarrely Decanter(Thursday) to read on the evening tube.

Yes, I'm not commuting by cable car at the moment, but instead picking my tube doors wisely.

shards of thought

I'm temporarily living in the shadow of the Shard.

An interesting building which somehow dominates the view late at night.

Stand three steps further back and the main cityscape is of its always-on lights.

I've mused over why different levels of the building use different colour lighting, and why some apparently empty areas are fully lit whilst others are always in shadow?

But it's mainly one of those examples of where I'm 'in the scene' instead of 'observing the scene'.

Maybe next week I'll slow down enough to have time to take a better look.

you need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track

After I saw that recent movie about the '60s folksinger, I flipped to listening to some Bob Dylan again in the car. Not exclusively, but when on recent circuits of the M25, it's formed a lyrically intense soundtrack.

On my bike, if on a turbo instead of the road, I listen to higher beats per minute stuff that's good for the cycling.

I've noticed there's often not much to the words though. Kind of "feel my body heat, yeah, come close to me' repeated about 50 times. I also know pain points like when Red Oktober by Ex-Plosion comes on during the hill climb in Hell Hath No Fury. Old school synth with a bad bass line. Same with Krystal Nation on another damp tee shirt climb.

So back with the Dylan I'm on track 192, which my car steadfastly informs me is about 60% through the list.

It's Isis and worryingly I seem to know all the words. "A man in the corner approached me for a match. I knew right away he was not ordinary. He said, "Are you lookin' for somethin' easy to catch?" I said, "I got no money", he said, "That ain't necessary" Just that little piece already outdoes my cycle-listening lyrics and that isn't even the full setup for the story.

And there's the ones I've played twice. Like the Dylan poem about Woody Guthrie. So much packed into seven minutes. Although I'm not sure it would urge me up the hill in the same way as Ex-Plosion.

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb...
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