The streets here are not paved with gold. Their shine
Is not the gleam of ingots, but the glare
Of sunlight on wet tarmac. And they’re mine
For now; it seems no-one’s inclined to share
A stormy Sunday afternoon with me
Out on the road. No, they’re all snug inside
With post-lunch television, cups of tea
And slumber. It’s left up to me to ride
These plated lanes alone. The bike, hand-made
From steel and aluminium, tipped with chrome,
Cuts through this metalled landscape like a blade;
Quicksilver flashing down the hill for home.
I have no gold or silver to my name.
But there are riches here that I may claim.
Even though I detest sport, I love major sporting occasions, because if everyone’s inside watching the TV, it means the roads are quiet. As you can imagine, during yesterday’s Wimbledon tennis final, featuring the first Brit for 76 years, I had Sussex pretty much to myself. The weather wasn’t great, but the solitude was wonderful. N.