Lovely firm breasts

So there are a couple of things I didn't cover off yesterday, and that was mostly because I'd used up most of my poetic juices.

On Tuesday I went for a 18 mile bike ride, and I told you all about how hard I'd found it. Yesterday I went on the same route, partly as a comparison against the Tuesday ride. And while I found it hard, it wasn't as hard as Tuesday. Still lacking a bit of oomph on the inclines, but not nearly as bad.

So is that because I'd done the Tuesday ride that I'd built up strength, or is it that I'm two days further on from the initial chemo cycle? Not sure how I can test that conundrum.....

The eagle eyed amongst you will have notice that in neither report about my cycling have I referred to flapjacks. This is because I have a self-imposed rule that any ride of less than 20 miles does not merit a flapjack stop. I suspect the 18 mile route I've covered this week is going to be the longest I do for a while, so if you're tuning in solely for flapjack reviews then I'm sorry but you'll be disappointed for a while.

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Woke up this morning with a rather sore gum. Can't work out if this is just a sore gum, or a consequence of the chemo. I do find I'm a little more alert to my aches and pains than usual. I'll try a Strepsil and see where that takes me.

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Kismet. Serendipity. As you know I've been messing around making soups, and the like, while I've been off, and as such I've been on the look out for possible recipes to try. One I'd seen which looked pretty good was a "Roast Chicken" soup designed to be made with leftovers from a Sunday roast.

I came in the house the other day to some lovely smells. They were the Victoria Sponge (see yesterday), and Gel had also roasted a couple of lovely firm Costco chicken breasts with some garlic. She'd done so on the off chance they'd come in useful.

I saw my opportunity and leapt right in. And very useful they were. Here is my Roast Chicken Soup with cheesy scones

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When I was a very small child, I remember my mum regularly taking me into Didsbury village. The route would take us through Fletcher Moss Park, past the Old Cock, along Wilmslow Road into the village. The park was a proper park in those days in that there was a permanent staff looking after the bowling greens, tennis courts (grass and hard court), and Alpine Garden and Orchid House (some sort of green house and any rate). Over the years the amount of manpower given over to maintaining the park has dramatically reduced, and the bottom end of it has now been made part of the River Mersey flood defences. When the river gets too high, the sluices are open and thousands of gallons of Mersey water fills the area where I used to play Sunday afternoon football in the Manchester Industrial League.

That bottom area is now effectively an area of wild marshland, and has been joined by the area next to it that Didsbury tip used to inhabit. My mates and I spent many long hours trawling through the garbage on the tip, looking for TVs to smash up. Now it's all fields and woodland. Mature looking fields and woodland. That makes me feel old.

Gel had a business meeting nearby, so I spent an hour or so wandering about this familiar, yet unfamiliar environment.

What I do remember as a kid was the main building in the park where the park keeper (I guess) must have lived, and all the equipment stored (I remember seeing the lawnmowers in the garage below the house). What I don't remember as a kid, was the Cafe ever being open. For the last 30-odd years, however, the cafe has been open and I rewarded myself with a coffee and a brownie while I watched the ghost of me as a child drifting past.

This photo shows some seats positioned to look over what was the Alpine Garden.