I didn’t fancy going for a run today (the last Sunday in June). I’ve not really wanted to run since the Bristol Half Marathon back in May. It goes like that sometimes after an event: I sorta lose interest in running for a while. I’ll probably pick it up again in the autumn when the weather turns and it’s a little cooler.

However, I really did fancy cycling in the New Forest.

From home, there are a lot of cycle paths until you get past Totton, on the other side of the Test river.

The city of Southampton is bounded on the west by the Test, which is suitable for ocean going vessels, and in the east by the Itchen. My home is near the Test, and The New Forest is across the water from there.

Once in the forest, the roads are more clear and at times I am the only vehicle on them. Through the wind in my ears I can hear birds singing.

I pass thatched cottages and old stone churches.

There are wild horses at the side of the road. I tried to take a photo of a foal, but mummy wasn’t happy with me being so close and bared her teeth. She is bigger than me and faster than me and I’m not going to argue with her, so I scoot off before I get bitten or kicked.

The horses can be very friendly and curious and often come to see what’s on offer when you picnic in the forest. There are also cattle wandering around. These are not wild, but they are certainly friendlier then cattle you find on a farm. They too are curious and will come over to see what you’re doing.

I wave to cyclists who pass me in the opposite direction, and at the drivers of classic motors: old folks driving even older cars.

At the beach at Lepe, I dismount and sit on a bench overlooking the sea with views of the Isle of Wight.

I phone my dad and he tells me about his Irish grandmother, the fun he had as a kid, and the brutality of his own father.

While we’re talking, a horse and trap pass me, a family are paddle boarding on the calm sea, and a cat like an old scrotum comes to see what I’m doing.

Talking of scrota, I’m wearing a pair of new cycling shorts that I bought from Temu. They are so much more comfortable than the ancient pair I’ve been using that I bought from Lidl years ago. Finally, cycling without a scrotum is comfortable again!

I watch the creeping tide. It is so calm and so slow that I don’t know if it’s coming in or going out.

I stopped there for perhaps forty-five minutes before resuming my journey. I plan to go to Hythe and catch the ferry across to Southampton, thereby cutting off a large loop … and have lunch at the Thai festival in town… but the ferry is out of service and has been for eight months. They hope to resume it soon.

Damned! I’m hungry and I’m not going to be able to make it home without refuelling.

I grab some “sushi” from Waitrose, and a drink, and sit on the sea wall and enjoy the warm quiet, punctuated by the screams of gulls – like Legolas, gulls draw me to the sea.

I love living near the coast. Sometimes, I think that I would sicken and die if I was too far from the sea.

Now that I’ve refuelled, it’s time to start the journey home. It’s not too far really.

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The next morning I cycled to work.. Things were a little sore around my scrotal void’s sensitive skin. Maybe next time I’ll pop a bit of vaseline down there for comfort!