124, 123,122

It is another week of bitter winds and icicles on my handlebars. The Regent's Park, despite a nasty northerly down the back straight hurling snow that stung like grit, was, however, host to hardy runners and peddlers, grinning and bearing it. The Brahs monkeys, sadly, had dropped from the trees, their icy brittle limbs no longer able to hang on. They have cut back the unruly, unkempt hedges surrounding TRP and one can now glimpse the lake, scene, many years ago, of The Who miming 'The Kids Are Alright' very badly.

Le Dash has been hastily organised: late train to Newhaven; overnight ferry to Dieppe; 65 miles on, camp in a rather nice town encrusted on a hill, Montreuil sur Mer; then cut across the Pas de Calais for an early evening ferry back to Dover - 120 miles or so of easy going country.

I have got by mass of body down to 14st 8 lbs. I no longer need certain elements of my significant wardrobe. I was able to sell a selection of my casual trousis - see below - on ebay to a provincial cricket club who were short of covers for their wickets.