A wee Sunday cycle in Shetland

At the finish: Last but only slightly embarrassed

James with his free fish supper and milkshake

Almost over

I felt sick. It could have been the over-abundance of granola and porridge (carb loading, on son James's advice) or simply nerves. This morning was Shetland's, and my, first cycle sportive, in aid of the Royal National Mission to Deep Sea fishermen, organised by local (and Britain's most northerly) chip shop, Frankie's.

I wasn't nervous because I was competing to win the thing. At nearly 56 and a lover of bikes and their ability to get you legally to and from pubs, rather than actual cycling, that was never on the cards. It was just that having been sponsored to the tune of £200, I was very uncertain that I had the stamina or fitness to actually cover the required 40 miles. Yes, there were 10 and 20 mile options, but 40 seemed only right.

James, on the other hand, fresh from a term of fixed-wheel endurance cycling and triathlon training, thought he had a good chance. He wasn't far wrong. Only a half-hour puncture repair hiatus (I had the pump; he had to wait for me, and I was last) stopped him (he claims, and I agree) finishing in the first bunch. He hauled back a good swatch of the field and finished in two and a half hours.

It took me an hour more than that. There was a nasty incident with my rear derailleur (jammed chain) which took 10 minutes of oily hands and swearing to fix. But by the time I'd finished the first 20 miles ( we were doing a double loop from Brae to Voe, then up Dales Lees to Firth, over to Sullom Voe then back to Brae via Voxter; 1000 feet of climbing )I knew I could manage 40, and fuelled by sultana cake and Ribena, I kept going through some of the best Shetland Sabbath summer weather this year.

The wind was as friendly as it could be. The long, near-eternal climb up Dales Lees was unbelievably easy, but by the time Scatsta airport arrived for the second time, the windsock was pointing straight at me and it hurt. Bad windsock!

I was last in of the 40-milers (all of us male, which was surprising; there are some great woman cyclists in Shetland). But I claimed my free fish supper and milkshake with some gusto. Pain? A few back twinges but my 20-year old Brooks B17 saddle had done its job supremely well.

Thanks again to all who sponsored me through Just Giving and with real cash. Finally, some of you may wonder about the choice of RNMDSF as a charity to support. Those who live or have lived in fishing communities won't. The 'Mission' does a unique and wonderful job without any kind of proselytising, and as a journalist reporting on fishing tragedies in Shetland and elsewhere I was always gobsmacked by the commitment and service to the survivors and the bereaved shown by Mission staff.

(More) Talk Radio

The move towards ‘more speech’ on the radio show I present (BBC Radio Scotland, 14.35-16.00 weekdays, except Fridays, when it starts at 14.00) has not meant I simply talk more. It means, basically, that I talk more to other people.

We’re booking what are various called ‘guests’ or ‘contributors’, mostly musicians, who come on because they have product (gigs, CDs, downloads, their own bountiful personalities, charitable endeavours, chains of boutiques, ranges of wine) to promote. Yeah, I know the Beeb's good and decent and doesn't do product placement. But the truth is, you don't get guests with nothing to sell. Unless you pay them. And we're MOST reluctant to do that, except as a last resort.

So anyway,we’re widening things out to include comedians, authors, journalists and indeed anyone who might give good guesthood, on a show which is still basically about music. Speech. We like it.

We review albums, preview gigs, examine people’s record collections, talk about golf, cycling, food (always a favourite on the ever-hungry TMS) plumbing, roofing and about Scotland; we sift nostalgically through our pasts. Memory works well on the wireless.

Only very rarely am I face to face with any guest. I work for the most part out of a tiny self-operated studio (basically a microphone and a PC) in Lerwick, Shetland, some 200 miles from my producers in Aberdeen and the Big Huge Box that plays out all the music. The music, by the way, is mostly gleaned from what’s called ‘The Radio Scotland Daytime Playlist’ - it takes a few cues from Radio Two, but there’s a distinct Scottish dimension and me, the producers and our various contributors have a hand in what gets played too. In particular, anything I’m passionate about, and that fits into our general, uh, vibe, man, can usually be shoehorned in. No Crass so far, though.

This week, among others, we’ve had Ryan Adams on, promoting his new album Ashes and Fire, and Joan Wasser, who is/is in Joan As Policewoman. Check them out on iPlayer if you want. I found myself asking Ryan how it felt to perform sober (“It’s nice not to feel…sick’) after which he became virtually monosyllabic; and horrifying Joan with the tale of the Dave Matthews Band’s tour bus driver, who accidentally emptied the tour bus’s toilet tank while on the top deck of a road bridge. Pity the guy immediately underneath was driving an open-topped sports car...

American artists, even ‘difficult’ creatures like Ryan, know how to play the promo game, and are mostly used to the long-distance remote interview, where all the cues have to be auditory. No body language to help. It’s ears and brains only.

But then, that’s what the wireless is all about. Ears. And voices. Brains. People talking to each other. Telling stories. And playing records.

Truly incredible: By folding bike and inflatable raft from Sumburgh Head to Muckle Flugga

Kudos to these guys. This was almost unthinkably hard and very, very dangerous. They were lucky with the weather.

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Inverness and the Belladrum Festival, before the deluge

Two days working in Inverness, staying at the eccentrically excellent Anderson in Fortrose, and reacquainting myself with Dolphinsludge, Queen of the Highland Fleshpots.

The quilted shooting jacket, with its bandolier of shotgun cartridges, is for age eight or thereabouts. Hidden corners of Inverness still display aspects of the landed gentryism lurking around the Highlands.

But there are so many glorious aspects to the place...not just the river, the Ness islands, the bouncy bridges, but the substantial and robust cultural scene. The Eden Court complex was absolutely buzzing when we arrived to see the Canadian film Incendies - movies, the imminent book festival, the presence of the Netherlands Youth Orchestra. I met old friend John McNaught, who proudly pointed me in the direction of the revived Highland Print Studio. And then there is Charles Leakey's bookshop.

I love it best in winter, when the massive woodburning stove is throbbing and crackling with heat. But to point my camera at corner of the huge 'Scottish' section and know that I could comfortably and happily buy the whole lot...it's a kind of happiness. I didn't, though.

On to Belladrum, where I was working at the Co-op Verb Garden, the spoken word tent, interviewing the likes of Sharleen Spiteri, Fyfe Dangerfield, Frank Turner and Kassidy, appearing on panels about the press and music, and performing (with Jon Beach) The Malt and Barley Revue (great local whisky tasting from Jon) and the new religion show My Bad Gospel.

Highlights for me elsewhere were Woodenbox And A Fistful of Fivers - stunning live - Admiral Fallow, Teddy Thompson, the superb local food (especially the venison burger and the puddings) the new healing Fields setting in the old walled garden and the presence of Tchai Ovna for tea, and the Piano Ranch, complete with mossy VW.

We stayed at the legendary Caley in beautiful Beauly (next time, a length of tweed for a suit, if I can afford it). A wise move, given the deluge that descended on Saturday night. Then it was a flood-ridden route to Aberdeen.

Congratulations to Joe and team again for Bella and to Stephen, Jim, Chris (sound/light) and everyone else. Thanks to everyone who said hallo. And thanks too to the Campbells at the Caley and to Jon Beach of Fiddlers for the whisky (which I never got to drink). Next time.

The Raleigh

My first bicycle was essentially a toy; its removable stabilisers saw me safely though various wobbly adventures on the streets of Shawlands and Pollokshaws in Glasgow until, at the age of six, I found myself in the leafy seaside suburbia of Troon in Ayrshire.

It was on Ottoline Drive's sleepy tarmac that I learned to balance that old yellow and red Tri-ang, with its white, 12-inch Speedmaster balloon tyres. The stabilisers came off and I pedalled it at furious cadences up and down, often dressed as a cowboy. Finally, at the age of perhaps eight, I was presented by my dad with a second-hand 'proper' bike, a cherry-red Raleigh single speed which seemed vast, enormous, unrideable. Of course, I rode it immediately, my feet dangling inches from the ground with the saddle at its lowest.

The day a police car slid silently alongside as I was perched atop this machine, and a cop said 'you're too wee for that bike, son.' was the day I fell messily and tearfully into a hedge. Delivered home by the policemen, I was banned from riding until my feet could actually touch the earth while sitting on that flappy plastic Wrights saddle. Eventually, they did.

I have had a host of bicycles since then. I deeply regret the loss of my Uncle John's Dawes Dalesman, my first bike to have derailleur gears. But I still have my beloved early 80s Orbit Gold Medal Alivio. I was contemplating restoring its Reynolds 531 frame to original, pristine glory, when I began to check prices. An Argos (top stove enamallers) frame restoration starts at £600.

And then, on eBay, this came up. An Argos-restored early 80s Raleigh 531 Clubman, handbuilt in Nottingham, back in the days when Raleigh made their own frames. An absolute classic, albeit scratched and with some non-standard components. I coveted the Campagnolo derailleur, though.And surely it couldn't go that cheaply? It did.

Today I assembled it. It rides like a dream. It looks...breathtaking. You may have noticed that it's cherry red. Yes, the same cherry red as that long-ago single speed. I adjusted the saddle carefully. My feet touch the ground when I stop, just. If I stand on tip-toe. But when I ride, I ride my dreams back in time, faster and faster and faster.