This morning, after another night of poor sleep, and bad dreams when I did sleep, I awoke feeling very out of sorts. Chris opened our bedroom curtains to reveal a grey sky outside and long trails of honeysuckle from our neighbour’s bush streaming in the strong wind.

“Is it raining?” I asked.

“Not at the moment, but it has been, and it will again,”said Chris somewhat discouragingly.

“I don’t care, I want to go cycling – I need to go cycling,” I was adamant.

“Well, we had better go soon.”

So shortly after breakfast, with our visitors still in bed, we took to our bikes. My mood was as dark as the sky above us and I hardly spoke. I didn’t experience the usual thrill of flying down the bridle path to Dawlish Warren; and I didn’t even give a little wiggle going over the “sleeping policemen”. What does that mean, do I hear you ask? Now in the normal run, I stand on the pedals as I approach the traffic-calming bumps on the road, lean down into my handlebars, and give a small, barely noticeable, wiggle of my bottom before sitting back on my saddle. I must add that this strange ritual is for Chris’s benefit and he always responds with either a soft whistle or a clack of his tongue (often confused with the clack of his gear change). It saddened me that I didn’t even feel up to giving a little wiggle.

We passed a flock of sheep in the field by the cycle-track.

“Don’t those sheep look funny standing huddled together in the middle of that field?” Chris asked.

“They look like they’re waiting for the end of the world,” I answered miserably. (Oh dear!)

We arrived at Cockwood Harbour – the tide was out fully yet again (how can the tide always be out?) – and it looked dark, muddy and bleak under the grey sky. We usually circle around in the “Anchor Inn”  car park and head back home but this morning was different.

“I don’t feel like stopping,” I told Chris, “you can turn back if you want to but I want to keep on going.”

“That’s okay, I’ll keep with you,” he said.

So we kept on going to Starcross, where there was a major traffic jam both ways and we zipped through on our bikes (and felt grateful to be riding not driving). We kept on going on the Powderham road by the estuary and I looked across at two boats resting eerily on their sides on the sand.

“They look like hulks,” I observed gloomily.

“They are hulks,” confirmed Chris cheerily.

I didn’t believe him but I thought he was funny and I smiled to myself. We passed Powderham Castle and soon reached the little church on the edge of the castle estate, a convenient place to call the end of our outward ride. As we pulled off the road into the church car park I noticed a man, perhaps an usher, about to close the church door for the beginning of service. He saw me and waited a few moments before deciding to shut the door.

“Shall we go in?” I asked Chris.

“You can if you want to, I’ll wait outside,” he said without grumbling (he usually grumbles).

I didn’t go in. Instead, I closed my eyes for a minute or two whilst thinking about my late Dad, my dear friend Amr and my lost babies, and I told them … well, that’s between me and them. I dried my eyes and I was ready to go home.

It rained on the way home and we got soaked through to the skin but it was great; the tide had turned and the sea was coursing back into the river; and I could feel the blood coursing through me as I put on a spurt. I sped past a pair of men’s black under-pants that dangled from the hedge opposite the castle; I waved enthusiastically to oncoming Vespa riders (at least a dozen of them in convoy) who tooted and waved back, and all we ordinary cyclists called out “Good morning” to one another, in spite of the rain; we zoomed through Starcross with the normal traffic, which had cleared; we saw people with cameras gathering by the railway line in readiness for a special train coming through and, minutes later we saw the “Torbay Express” chuff by rather chuffed that fans turned out in the rain; the sheep were no longer huddled and afraid, the reality was not as bad as they had anticipated; and when we reached the first “sleeping policeman” I stood on the pedals, leaned forwards and gave a little wiggle. Chris whistled and clacked his tongue, or perhaps he just changed gear.