Today wasn’t perhaps the perfect day for dressing up as a St. Trinian’s girl in white summer shirt and shorts, and going on two cycle rides. You see, that old Arctic wind (which has been an almost constant feature since my return to England four weeks ago) was still blowing and the sun was too wimpy to pierce through the clouds for more than a few minutes at a time but at least the rain kept off. Now normally Chris and I are fair weather cyclists and our friend Caroline isn’t an any weather cyclist at all (she hasn’t been on a bike for a year) but we three, wearing our summer term uniforms (of sorts), were prepared to brave the elements; not simply for the fun of doing so but also because my brother Robert, who organised the event, had asked us to take part. In truth, the sun was out when we decided upon our theme of dress on the basis of fun factor (not sun factor – no need of that today) and comfort, and everyone knows you can rarely trust the weather forecast.

Over thirty cyclists registered for the event. Only fourteen stalwarts turned up, but what a wonderful sample of vintage and classic sartorial elegance (well, most of them – just not our trio) was to thrill our little seaside town of Dawlish. There were plenty of gentlemen in authentic tweed jackets, plus fours* and flat caps; a midwife (in real life, a doctor and ready to answer the call) in sensible long cape and boots; an English rose wearing a polka dot dress and no cardigan (must have frozen); and then there was Chris, Caroline and me – Chris hoped people wouldn’t think he, too, was a St.Trinian’s girl! Maybe that’s why he wore his ‘Dennis the Menace’ jumper.

The number of stalwarts had reduced to nearly half for the second, and longer ride, to Cockwood and back; and two of us nipped home en route to pick up essentials – a sheepskin coat for Caroline and a big black jumper for me. We arrived back to rapturous applause from thirty or forty people who had been waiting for us on the green in the ever colder wind. Ten minutes or so later, when the juggler on a unicycle had finished and the three piece band had begun to play again, the green was almost deserted; David, our compere with a boater and cane, did an impromptu dance (no doubt to warm himself up). He thanked us all for taking part and we left him to his hosting and dancing, and we went home for a nice cup of tea.

[*Wikipedia Plus–fours are breeches or trousers that extend 4 inches (10 cm) below the knee (and thus four inches longer than traditional knickerbockers, hence the name).]

As you may recall I’ve had my new bike for only a week but it wasn’t a brand new one; nevertheless, it isn’t old – perhaps a year or two – so it’s hardly vintage and tomorrow we will attend the Vintage & Classic Cycle Event, part of the Dawlish Heritage Day Celebrations (funny how I’ve been here all these years and never heard of this special day before!). Chris and I have to go because, owing to my brother Robert’s interest in bicycles, he was collared into organising this event and you have to support your family.

In any case I enjoy dressing up and joining in with fun things; Chris, who is more staid than me (as exemplified by his original choice for dressing as an Edwardian gentleman), was less keen about being a part of the Heritage Day entertainment for all the tourists and visitors. But to give Chris his due, when he realised that he couldn’t get out of going, he got into the spirit of it; in fact he has spent the last ten minutes affixing a wicker basket  to the carrier at the rear of my bike. (Funny how that nasty film – ‘The Wicker Man’ – came into my mind.)

“Is that too close to the saddle?” Chris asked. “Will it annoy you?”

I thought he was worried that my bottom was so big that it would hang over the end of the saddle and hit against the basket as I rode along. Unsure if indeed my bottom had such vast proportions I sat on the saddle to find out. Only when I had ascertained that my bottom didn’t stick out beyond the saddle did I dare speak up for myself.

“My bottom isn’t that huge – what a cheek!” I said in a huff, but secretly I was pleased to be able to say that for I had suspected that Chris’s query had some foundation (as did I – just not as much as I thought!).

At present Chris is putting a basket on his bike. Half and hour ago he disappeared upstairs and I heard him return with the old-fashioned horn – it has come out of seclusion, having been sentenced to a solitary life a long time ago after a stonking, honkingly noisy visit from our young nephews who loved that old horn. Perhaps we can love it again now that it is fulfilling it’s original purpose for being… on Chris’s bike.

I have a feeling that it will be a lot of fun tomorrow, provided it doesn’t rain all day (rain in the morning is forecast) and if you care to come along all the cyclists shall be forgathering at the Brunswick (not wicker – ugh!) Arms at 9.30 am. Chris said that if it’s really cold he will revert to his Edwardian costume but I’m going as a St. Trinian’s Belle no matter what!

My brother Robert says we must dress up in vintage clothes (1920s, ’30s, ’40s or ’50s) for the Vintage Cycle Event to be held in Dawlish next Sunday so Chris bought a £2.60 boater, a 99p moustache set and a £2.99 cravat with matching handkerchief over the Internet – he wanted to be an Edwardian gentleman (Lord only knows why!) whilst I thought I would wear a black dress, pearls and big white hat for my Italian film star look. When Chris’s boater arrived a few days ago I tried it on and felt rather envious – I reckoned it suited me and it struck me it would be more fun to go as a naughty St.Trinians schoolgirl. Chris agreed and we decided to go as a pair of unruly escapees from school.

At first Robert thought our idea was more “carnival” than “vintage” but he’s glad that we’re coming at all and he softened. Here are some shots of the try-outs…

“I wonder if we’ll see Fernando again,” I said ruefully, “I hated saying goodbye to him at the gate yesterday – I wish we had invited him in.”

“Yes, but if you give an inch they’ll take a mile. We did the right thing,” Chris assured.

At the time Chris and I were taking the longer route back to the cortijo after another escapade up the mountain and I rather hoped that we would bump into Fernando again coming down the hill. We reached the driveway where we had first met him and I took a few steps around the bend for a better view.

“I can’t see anyone,” I said disappointedly.

“He’s probably in the village,” Chris responded, “I expect he gave up waiting for you.”

“I think I loved him,” I said.

“I know,” Chris gave me a pat on the arm, “Don’t  worry, I’m certain you’ll see him again.” (I’m so lucky to have an understanding husband.)

“Hope so,” I tried to be positive and I turned to walk back down the road.

“Darling, look who’s here!” Chris said just as Fernando ran up to me.

And Fernando came home with us, and this time we invited him inside. We introduced him to Alan who was finishing his breakfast and I made eggs and bacon for three.

Fernando, unaccustomed to the  traditional English breakfast (and a little unsure of the correct way to eat the dish), decided to eat one egg first, then the other followed by the bacon.

“He eats in a very refined manner,” remarked Alan, who spoke as if Fernando wasn’t there  or was deaf (which is a bit ironic because both Alan and Chris are a tad deaf – more than a tad in Alan’s case!).

“He probably hasn’t had eggs before,” said Chris.

“I shouldn’t think so,” laughed Alan. “What made you think he would like raw eggs, Sally?”

“Well, when I was farm-sitting for Rosie and I accidentally dropped an egg, Inca and Malachy went crazy for it and ate the lot, shell and all! Now I have to deliberately drop an egg now and then for a treat!”

Fernando got a bit desperate for our breakfasts too so I had to lure him with another egg to get him back down to the gate. I felt sad shutting the gate on him – I do love him you know…