Ran out over the Mendips this afternoon, which on a Sunday in August is an act of optimism. Burrington Combe had the usual line of cars parked halfway up the verge, so I carried on over the top and stopped in a lay-by nobody wants. A chap in a Golf pulled in a few minutes later, looked at the bike, looked at the total absence of a rear mudguard, and asked what happens when it rains. I told him I get wet. He seemed satisfied with that. Came home the long way round by Chew Valley, reservoir full of little sailing boats, no reason at all to hurry.