Sometimes life throws you into surprising situations. What do Sunday morning cyclo-cross (I wouldn’t have even known to spell it cyclo with an ‘o’) and I have in common? Absolutely nothing. And yet on a wet but warm October morning I found myself waving not one but two cow bells enthusiastically from the barrier and cheering on the Southborough Wheelers (and everyone else in fact) with all my might.

Of course there’s context. I was staying with some friends for the weekend and this is what they do with their Sunday mornings. So I joined in – and it wasn’t hard. I found myself easily swept up in a community of enthusiasts of varying degrees of muddiness and allowing their energy to carry me along. I wasn’t waving those cow bells, I was nearly wanging them – a verb I believe only previously applied to throwing wellies.

I recently had reason to spend time at Bicester Heritage in Oxfordshire, somewhere I'd previously never even heard of let alone visited. Based in the former RAF Bicester site, it’s now an ode to motoring history and a centre for specialist automotive businesses housed in the old aviation buildings. Despite being a hive of activity at every turn the whole place has an oddly soothing effect. People with purpose just getting on with what they love to do.

I was there with a friend who is embedded in the motorsports world. It’s always a pleasure to spend time in the company of people who have a passion regardless of your own level of knowledge of the subject. We made a stop at the Motorsport UK headquarters to see a plaque he'd designed and the display of retro and modern F1 race helmets was very striking. Real people wore these to protect them. It’s a simple but powerful thing.

My morning at the cyclo-cross event also had an engineering twist. It happened to be taking place right next door to the Gatwick Aviation Museum, another previously unknown heritage gem. We were three mums with three young boys in our charge but I think it’s fair to say we were the kids in the sweet shop, testing out the aeroplane seats dotted about and crawling on our knees into cockpits. The children’s presence just gave us the excuse we needed.

Our visit coincided with an installation of the ‘Virgin Atlantic A350 Upper Class experience’ on loan from the airline. A combination of having young children and Covid has meant it’s over six years since I wafted my passport under a border security official’s nose. As a result going into an exhibition simulating the upper echelons of aviation comfort was rather like going on board a spaceship – surreal on many levels but delightfully so.

It was a day of joyful moments and a reminder to seek out experiences – I live within reach of the Jet Age Museum in Gloucester and have never been but will now – that add to your world in some way. As a writer and unashamedly compulsive observer it was also simply a prompt to record daily events that either inspire or uplift you. Wanging those cow bells for all they were worth in a company of welcoming, positive people did both.