Thursday 10th September 2015

About a decade ago, I left the RAF and resumed my life in Civvy Street, that road, that path, was not always smooth, and friends dropped in and left along the way. That is friends in the usual sense and those I met online. For the best part of a year, I struggled to get motivated to find a job, but once I did, I found some online friends left me, maybe it was that they did not want me to move forward or be happy. I suppose, what I am trying to say here is that few of my first online friends stayed the course. Now, this may be partly down to Blogspot, as for the first few years I was on here there was no dashboard, and so I did not know about people's comments. So, maybe many friends thought I was ignoring them, when the truth was, I did not know.

In the period inbetween, I have moved forwards, sometimes back again, but for the past few years I think things have gone well. And this is what I would wish for everyone who reads my words, friends or not. So, when I heard this morning regarding two people who I know read this, well, I could not be more happy. One of them is my oldest online friend, who, has not always had things smooth, but is a talented writer, and I am proud to call her a friend. So, not wanting to sound to enigmatic, you know who you are, and I could not be more happy for both of you.

It may well be the modern way, that I have not met either of them, but the news is like that regarding oldest and dearest friends.

Monday.

Another week, and another week of travel. Or three days.

Monday, however, was another day at home, and trying to get ahead so the days when I was away things could not get too out of control.

For some reason, Monday was steak night, so I had to remember to get two out of the freezer and get them defrosted. The get down with work, wait on the cats, drink coffee, drink tea, pick raspberries. In short the usual things I do on a work day.

It was a glorious day, and so picking raspberries for a mid-afternoon snack was wonderful, as was watching ice cream melt on them. Then diving in and making the half pound of ripe fruit vanish. That was good.

The day fades, and the heat goes out of the day. With the coming of clouds and the wind turning north, it even was cold. So cold I broke and put the heating on. I mean I was shivering.

In fact it was so cold, and we were so hungry that when Jools came home, we bailed on the evening walked we planned, had coffee, then i cooked dinner. Steak and all the trimmings on a schoolday: nothing better. Even if in the evening, I did have to pack and get ready for another business trip the next day.

With Wales playing in the evening, I listen to the radio as an excited Robbie Savage nearly explodes each time Wales get near the goal. But it is to no avail as the game ends in a 0-0 draw, and so Wales still need a win to qualify.

Tuesday.

Whilst on the face of it, an eight thirty flight seems late enough not to cause problems, but then there is the getting up, drinking coffee, travel to the station, train to London, travel to the airport, security and so on. But it does mean I have to be on the first high speed service out of Dover, and then hope there is no holdups. I reckon I could still make it with an hour's delay, but it would be cutting it fine. Which is why it was still dark at night outside when the alarm went off at half four. Even the cats seemed reluctant to be fed at that hour.

I have coffee, then we pack my bags into the car and Jools takes me to the station. £85 for the ticket to London. And back. A few other bleary-eyed travelers were also waiting on the platform for the train, some hugging cups of coffee. I would wait until I got to the airport. The train arrived, I slumped into a seat, then stared out of the window as the train pulled out, with light growing in the east as dawn arrived. We pick up passengers en route of course, and it is not overly busy, until we stopped at Ebbsfleet, when the whole town got on, apparently. Standing room only once again. But then it is just 15 minutes into London from there, less if you, like me, get out at Stratford, and I have a seat!

Off at Stratford, across east London on the DLR, full of builders heading to work on various projects, most seemed to be nursing hangovers or at best in rather a bad mood, but then, hey, a long day at work ahead I suppose. The airport is quiet, I get a boarding pass, drop my case off and walk to security: I am through in ten minutes, which gave me an hour to have breakfast, which was just about perfect. Unlike the breakfast, which for an orange juice, two poached eggs on toast and a coffee: £13. A rip off really, but then everything is expensive there.

The flight is called, and unlike the flights I catch to Billund, this is a proper, if small jet, and being not fully booked we can spread out and have a double seat each, and there being enough room for all our bags. Perfect. Once we are in the air, London is lost from view, just a glimpse of the old Olympic stadium, now being made ready for the Rugby World Cup, wish I had had a camera, but then, can't snap everything. More's the pity.

We descend through thick cloud over Holland, only seeing the ground as we skim over the rooftops as we are on final approach. As far as hub airports are concerned, Amsterdam is not that bad, seems well designed and no queues until you get to a gate. But there is a long walk from the gate to immigration and then to baggage reclaim. Then there was the hardest thing, finding the rest of the team. Because we were all in Amsterdam for a celebration, the official team celebration for the end of the project. And there were cars booked, but not in my name, so I had to find them. And after agreeing on a place to meet, needless to say the others weren't there, instead waiting in a different place. My phone rings: we are you? Where we said we should be. We're somewhere else, come over to the car hire place.

They were not there either. But, I saw the project director standing near an exit, so I rush over, which was un-necessary, as there were more waiting to be done, as people's baldders were emptied at different times before it was decided we could leave.

The cars were found, sat nav programmed to the restaurant we were to have lunch at, followed by a closing meeting. What could go wrong?

Well, a water leak at the main hospital had turned streets to raging torrents, and the main ring road runs through the area, and that was closed. And as we tried to go round the blocked area, we realised that the restaurant was in the middle of the area. What could we do? A call was made and we were given the post code for a car park in a quiet area next to a country club. It was also beside a canal. We could see the restaurant on the other side of the canal, now what?

We saw a small boat leave the restaurant, and it came to us: get in said the manager! Making it sound as if this sort of thing happens every day. He takes us across, we climb out, and we are shown to the private dining area. We are served a fine three course meal, after which we have to have a closing meeting. Which we do fine, even if we were all a tad sleepy.

The manager takes us back to our cars, so we can then make our way to the hotel, which was not in the city centre, but a short tram ride away from it, I noted! OK, we are given an hour before we were to meet up again, this time for taxis to take us to another restaurant, this time for dinner. And drinks. And celebrating.

An hour and a half later, we met in the hotel lobby, and then went outside where our taxis were waiting, to take us to a most unusual place to eat. REM is inside a former helipad of an oil rig, and so is some 25m up in the air. And makes for a very unusual entrance, walking up the pierced metal stairway up to the main entrance.

After we had gone up to the helipad itself, we went back down to take our table, order drinks and food and wait to be served. Sadly, the food did not match the surroundings, or maybe it did. But it was free, or at least to us, helping the team celebrate the completion of the project. We drank strong Belgian beer, ate chewy steak, and then downed several desert wines. Before it was time to go back to the hotel, not before taking more shots of the view from the deck.

The taxis whisked us through the streets, running red lights and ignoring the speed limits. And say, should we really be driving along the tram tracks?