I skilfully sidestepped the inquiry, but confirmed my acceptance of this year's invitation.

"Where are we going this time, France?"

"No... the far South-West, near Kenmare. So make sure you're fit."

So that was it. We were going off back to Ireland.

Preparing for such trips is never easy. Every summer since the first proper tour back in 1991, preparation has been somewhat varied.

Work commitments, family holidays and a hundred other calls on my time mean my preparation is never what it should be and all too often my performance has seen me trailing far behind the main group, taking care to keep a sharp eye out for their bikes stacked outside the next watering hole.

You see, these cycling tours are like no other, being about huge mileage and pubs, and probably at my age I should know better. I'm more of a walker than a cyclist and, time wise, it is not easy to fit in both.

The fruit and vegetable garden at home probably has first call on my time and this alone takes up a fair amount of time, especially now with strawberries, blackcurrants, loganberries and gooseberries all coming ready and needing to be picked, washed and brought into the kitchen for making into jam or into wifey's sublime summer puddings.

For years I have been dissatisfied with the crops from my strawberries, but by growing them in raised steel guttering the results have been marvellous.

Away from mud splashes, weeds, slugs and snails, and at a height that lends itself to easy care, the plants have remained free from pests and disease, mulching with straw has been a cinch, plus turning the fruits to get them evenly coloured and, of course, picking has been a delight.

Amazingly, for the first time ever we are close to having a glut of strawberries, but with a resolve sorely lacking in my commitment to cycling, I have thoughtfully chomped my way through pyramids of these succulent fruits. They do not need sugar, but strawberries without cream just wouldn't be right and so I have been working my way through a few gallons of cream also, with the result that my ever present love handles have become somewhat more generous and indeed have taken on the characteristics of lard paniers. We are now regularly cropping peas, beans and carrots from the garden, all of which provide excellent healthy eating – especially when served positively dripping with melted butter!

The freshly-dug new potatoes, too, are an absolute delight, with a flavour the supermarkets just cannot compete with. Served alone with just a (huge) knob of butter – or better still a few rashers of bacon – they make a pleasant dish fit for a king.

I happily while away many working hours tending to our crops, but Rory has other ideas. Like me, as he has grown older, has slowed down a little and indeed, like me, sleeps for hours. But there is life in the old dog yet, and as dog ownership is a serious commitment you simply have to find time to take them out.

As Rory cannot keep up with a bicycle any more, that means walking – and finding new places to explore with varied terrain.

So it was that last week we left the radishes behind for a while and popped down to Derbyshire. Inevitably we walked the classic route through Dove Dale and Mill Dale, but I wanted to try something new and so we visited Chee Dale.

The White Peak is a strange area where huge limestone quarries sit alongside hidden gems. Casual viewers may discount the dramatic qualities of the Derbyshire Wye, but their opinions will be altered should they set foot in Chee Dale.

Following the Monsal Trail, from the Wye Dale car park east of Buxton, the route takes you along flower margined disused railway tracks where you can see bloody cranesbill, bird's foot trefoil, spotted orchid, wild strawberry (I cannot write that without seeing the culinary potential), wild roses and hare bell.

The full glory of Chee Dale comes when the River Wye becomes cragbound in a limestone gorge and you are committed to following a line of strategically placed stepping stones (no joke if the river was in spate) to gain passage to the calm of the Angler's Rest in Miller's Dale village to enjoy lunch and perfect real ales.

Rory loved the walk, enjoying splashing around in the peaty waters and finding lots of new smells. I particularly enjoyed this walk but also the Kodiak Gold in the pub, and so returning to the car and handing over the keys had probably put on another half stone.

Hard work, fresh air, exercise... and beer! But is this good training for Ireland? In terms of landscape appreciation, then certainly. The colourful glories of the lakes and mountains of Killarney are magnificent.

Only those who have not seen its lakes at their best, with smooth surfaces reflecting sun-drenched woods and white woolly clouds, can think it over-rated.

In terms of beer appreciation then so, too, I feel my training is progressing well. Soon we will be tasting Murphy's on its home ground.
The problem is those mountains and that bike. The Caha Mountains have roads with numerous hairpin bends – and that means steep.

Then there is the savage country around Healy Pass with the Iveragh Mountains stretching across the skyline. These are long hard miles with few short cuts. Quite a commitment on a bicycle.

I have pumped up the tyres and dusted off my bike, and so I have shown I am taking this tour seriously.

There is just the small matter of getting fit. With one "lad" coming over from abroad for the tour, there will be no room for excuses. Coming over from Australia as he does, that really is showing commitment.