The rigorous dieting and training regime I promised myself has not quite gone to plan. I've given up alcohol - apart from an occasional glass of wine at the weekend, but my riding has been compromised by a combination of a bad chest cold and the worst weather in the UK for thirty years. Following the freezing cold day with Sky, the heavens opened and dumped feet of snow right across London and Southern England.
The Surrey Hills were a white wasteland and half of Richmond Park was closed off because it was little more than rutted ice. A few half-hearted attempts at the turbo were all I managed.
So this morning was eagerly anticipated. Clear blue sky, no snow or ice, my chest no longer sounding as though I smoked 40 a day - out to the park on the fixed gear. Along with every other cyclist in the southern half of the UK. At least that's what it seemed like.
After a couple of laps, we passed a young woman pushing her bike and, naturally, asked her what the problem was. It turned out that she'd forgotten her tyre levers, so I lent her mine on the understanding that she'd leave them behind the till at the cafe.
She said that dozens of cyclists had passed her while she was pushing the bike, but we were the first to stop and offer help. Not very chivalrous, but the old ways of the road seem to be disappearing.
Still, I'm back on the bike, so that's a start.
And why the picture of the Stelvio? Another story, which will have to wait.