Current ERG leader, Mark Francois VC, stated in the summer that the country would explode if the UK did not leave the UK in 31st October 2019.
I have just checked the BBC and Twitter, and there have been no riots, not even Fairly Secret Ones involving overboiled gammon.
Ahem.
The fact hat a third Brexit deadline is going to come and go makes a reality of the claims that there would be trouble, that Nige would take up a gun, to take the law into their own hands.
Nothing happened, except the clock continues to tick, and the fact that international law was changed to extend the A50 process, this would have meant that there was nothing Johnson could have done to stop it, the worse thing would have been that UK legislation would not have been ready.
International law would have been ready.
Makes me wonder what would have happened if Brexit would be revoked, would anyone really notice or care?
Alternatively, were there to be food/fuel/water/energy shortages, then maybe disorder would have been on the cards. The country would have just enough fresh food for tree days.
Operation Yellowhammer was stood down, and the M20 was fully reopened once again.
And UK companies which have now spent millions in preparations for three Brexit days, none of which happened, each one cots UK businesses millions of pounds. And now there is a 4th one to prepare for on January 31st.
But, Johnson can no longer threaten the leave with no deal if the UK doesn't get what it wants. Or he said the country wants. His bluff has been called and the emperor is naked again.
Thursday 31 October 2019
Wednesday 30th October 2019
And how soon after returning from foreign climes that we get used to the hum drum life, which for me is working from home.
I slept through the alarm as I had been up nearly 11 the night before reading The Secret Commonwealth.
Outside the sun was already up, almost due south, or so it seemed, rising just left of dead centre of the back of the house.
There had been a slight frost, and some plants in the garden had already gven up, but others, like the cup and saucer plant, were still going well.
I find the i pod was flat, so no phys, instead I make a second coffee, tip in raspberries and blueberries in a bowl, top it up with yoghurt.
Lovely.
Meaning that once I had eaten, it was time for work.
And what is this: a meeting? Two meetings? Just like old times as we were tasked with getting stuff done, and talking.
There is cheese toasties for lunch, though lunch was only just after half ten, half eleven in Denmark. But I'm in Kent.
It is a fine, sunny autumnal day, so I go out for a bit of macro action, snapping what there was to see, which was plants lloking like they were coming to the end of their season, or some already finished off by the slight overnight frost.
Back to work as the goldfinches were chirruping again that I was in the way.
Dinner was boiled chicken and bacon, with rice. And I know it sounds very bland, but it is a fabulous meal. The chicken cooked long enough it fell off the bone, and then the rice cooked in oil then boiled in the chicken stock.
Lovely. And six thighs made enough for dinner for two and lunch for Jools the next two days.
Frugal.
Just as well as some of our meals in the US were pricey to say the least.
And to the evening, with more music, then to bed early, so I could plough on with The Secret Commonwealth. And for the first time ever I was blessed with both cats laying next to me in bed as I read. And there was no fighting.
I turned the light out at eleven, with tales of close escapes in the Ottoman Empire fresh in my mind.
I slept through the alarm as I had been up nearly 11 the night before reading The Secret Commonwealth.
Outside the sun was already up, almost due south, or so it seemed, rising just left of dead centre of the back of the house.
There had been a slight frost, and some plants in the garden had already gven up, but others, like the cup and saucer plant, were still going well.
I find the i pod was flat, so no phys, instead I make a second coffee, tip in raspberries and blueberries in a bowl, top it up with yoghurt.
Lovely.
Meaning that once I had eaten, it was time for work.
And what is this: a meeting? Two meetings? Just like old times as we were tasked with getting stuff done, and talking.
There is cheese toasties for lunch, though lunch was only just after half ten, half eleven in Denmark. But I'm in Kent.
It is a fine, sunny autumnal day, so I go out for a bit of macro action, snapping what there was to see, which was plants lloking like they were coming to the end of their season, or some already finished off by the slight overnight frost.Back to work as the goldfinches were chirruping again that I was in the way.
Dinner was boiled chicken and bacon, with rice. And I know it sounds very bland, but it is a fabulous meal. The chicken cooked long enough it fell off the bone, and then the rice cooked in oil then boiled in the chicken stock.
Lovely. And six thighs made enough for dinner for two and lunch for Jools the next two days.
Frugal.
Just as well as some of our meals in the US were pricey to say the least.
And to the evening, with more music, then to bed early, so I could plough on with The Secret Commonwealth. And for the first time ever I was blessed with both cats laying next to me in bed as I read. And there was no fighting.
I turned the light out at eleven, with tales of close escapes in the Ottoman Empire fresh in my mind.
Blame again
Let us not forget why the country is where it is.
It is here, mainly because the people who pushed for Brexit, in some case for most of their political career, did not have a plan what to do once they had won the referendum. Neither had the identified any problems/risks nor how to overcome them. In simple therms, despite being told over and over again that they needed to solve how the Irish Border would work, their repeated instance that it would be fine, or that no checks would ne needed or that it was a red herring or that the German Car Industry would come riding to the rescue or that Italian Prosecco producers would or that they need us more than we need them or that this was the easiest deal in history or that the UK held all the cards.
It was all lies and bluster.
Not only that, once May was PM, she appointed Brexiteers to most positions responsible for delivering Brexit. For negotiation the sequencing, the WA and PD. For starting informal trade talks with other nations, for getting legislation through The Commons. They had the unconditional support from the vast majority of the print media, a mostly helpful visual media, there was even a working majority in the Commons. Brexit was easy.
Or should have been.
A snap general election was called, and the working majority vanished.
DD was appointed Minister for Brexit.
He capitulated over sequencing.
He, and then Raab negotiated the WA, May edition. They both then voted against it. Raab literally was the Brexit Minister and then voted against his own work.
The Joint Statement on sufficient progress was agreed by Cabinet. Twice. Only when the EU wrote it down in a legally binding document did it get rejected. NO British Prime Minister could accept this. But May (and Johnson) did. Twice.
Then reneged on in the next 18 months.
May then forced Brexit to be written down and agreed to in a long weekend at Chequers. Her Cabinet fell apart.
She then had a series of Meaningful Votes. At least one of which would have passed if the 33 ERG members and the 10 DUP who voted against it, had instead voted for it, it would have passed.
Simple as.
It is not Remainers who have stopped Brexit, it is the very Brexiteers who whinge like babies that its not fair. They should take ownership of their failings, and come up with workable solutions, its not like they haven't had enough time.
And at the very last, Johnson's slightly amended WA passed two readings in the Commons, and just needed to pass the third, and with a little work would probably have done so. But Johnson pulled it and went for an election instead.
That is very strange.
Not choosing Brexit.
In all of this, we need to look back to 2016 and the false promises made by Brexiteers, most of whom are in the Cabinet now, and see what they promised then, and ask ourselves, if they got so much wrong then, why should we trust them now?
Its not like its hard to find out what was said, one of the biggest was written on the side of a freaking bus.
It is possible that the election will not solve anything. That another hung Parliament will be returned. And once Christmas is out of the way there'll be three weeks before the next Brexit Day.
The 4th so far.
If Labour wins, or leads a coalition, they want to have a further referendum, there would have to be yet another extension at least until June to watch Corbyn's already ambitious timetable to have one in 6th months after the election. Getting the legislation right and properly debated should take at least a year.
Or it might not be scrutinised properly.
In follow up to yesterday's post: Johnson either doesn't want Brexit or doesn't want Scrutiny. Or didn't want as there is now going to be an election.
It is here, mainly because the people who pushed for Brexit, in some case for most of their political career, did not have a plan what to do once they had won the referendum. Neither had the identified any problems/risks nor how to overcome them. In simple therms, despite being told over and over again that they needed to solve how the Irish Border would work, their repeated instance that it would be fine, or that no checks would ne needed or that it was a red herring or that the German Car Industry would come riding to the rescue or that Italian Prosecco producers would or that they need us more than we need them or that this was the easiest deal in history or that the UK held all the cards.
It was all lies and bluster.
Not only that, once May was PM, she appointed Brexiteers to most positions responsible for delivering Brexit. For negotiation the sequencing, the WA and PD. For starting informal trade talks with other nations, for getting legislation through The Commons. They had the unconditional support from the vast majority of the print media, a mostly helpful visual media, there was even a working majority in the Commons. Brexit was easy.
Or should have been.
A snap general election was called, and the working majority vanished.
DD was appointed Minister for Brexit.
He capitulated over sequencing.
He, and then Raab negotiated the WA, May edition. They both then voted against it. Raab literally was the Brexit Minister and then voted against his own work.
The Joint Statement on sufficient progress was agreed by Cabinet. Twice. Only when the EU wrote it down in a legally binding document did it get rejected. NO British Prime Minister could accept this. But May (and Johnson) did. Twice.
Then reneged on in the next 18 months.
May then forced Brexit to be written down and agreed to in a long weekend at Chequers. Her Cabinet fell apart.
She then had a series of Meaningful Votes. At least one of which would have passed if the 33 ERG members and the 10 DUP who voted against it, had instead voted for it, it would have passed.
Simple as.
It is not Remainers who have stopped Brexit, it is the very Brexiteers who whinge like babies that its not fair. They should take ownership of their failings, and come up with workable solutions, its not like they haven't had enough time.
And at the very last, Johnson's slightly amended WA passed two readings in the Commons, and just needed to pass the third, and with a little work would probably have done so. But Johnson pulled it and went for an election instead.
That is very strange.
Not choosing Brexit.
In all of this, we need to look back to 2016 and the false promises made by Brexiteers, most of whom are in the Cabinet now, and see what they promised then, and ask ourselves, if they got so much wrong then, why should we trust them now?
Its not like its hard to find out what was said, one of the biggest was written on the side of a freaking bus.
It is possible that the election will not solve anything. That another hung Parliament will be returned. And once Christmas is out of the way there'll be three weeks before the next Brexit Day.
The 4th so far.
If Labour wins, or leads a coalition, they want to have a further referendum, there would have to be yet another extension at least until June to watch Corbyn's already ambitious timetable to have one in 6th months after the election. Getting the legislation right and properly debated should take at least a year.
Or it might not be scrutinised properly.
In follow up to yesterday's post: Johnson either doesn't want Brexit or doesn't want Scrutiny. Or didn't want as there is now going to be an election.
Wednesday 30 October 2019
Tuesday 29th October 2019
Back to work.
Almost properly back to work, but as you will soon found out, there is more travelling to come.
Jools and I were both up at half five, she made coffee and fed the cats, as usual. I was too woolly headed to go on the cross trainer. I told myself I would go on it later, but knew that was a lie.
I listen to a podcast, eat breakfast, and soon enough it is time to start work. All I have to do is remember the password to log on.
Easier said than done.
But I had left myself a clue, so not all lost.
And once logged on, there are Windows updates to download and install. I can call people while this is going on, so have a chat with my boss and the guy who replaced me on the project.
I have a large backlog of mails, of course, but in general, not that many issues waiting for me to return. Most can be filed away in case for future reference.
People call me through the day to see how I am doing. I am doing fine, I tell them.
Which is the truth.
The cats have settled down and now are back on the old routine of bringing me mice/voles/goldfinches and demanding food'affection/treats/whatever.
I look out from the kitchen as a sup a cuppa. I see that the combination of plentiful rain and fairly warm temperatures have meant the grass is growing well, so much so that I have to get the mower out before it gets dark, just so its not too long come the spring, as it won't be mowed until August.
The birds are most upset with me being in the garden, getting in the way between them and the feeders, I can hear the goldfinches chirruping away in the trees.
And it is getting dark as I put the mower away.
And as agreed, we are having fajitas again for dinner as we had half the tortillas left. Jools was supposed to be going to yoga, but bad traffic meant she didn't get back into Dover half an hour or more after the class began. So she came back home, not getting back before quarter to seven.
I begin cooking, and it is all ready in ten minutes or so, along with some wine for me and cider for Jools. She is hardcore.
And that is another day done, three days and it'll be the weekend.
Phew.
I read The Secret Commonwealth before going to bed, rattling through 75 or so pages.
Almost properly back to work, but as you will soon found out, there is more travelling to come.
Jools and I were both up at half five, she made coffee and fed the cats, as usual. I was too woolly headed to go on the cross trainer. I told myself I would go on it later, but knew that was a lie.
I listen to a podcast, eat breakfast, and soon enough it is time to start work. All I have to do is remember the password to log on.
Easier said than done.
But I had left myself a clue, so not all lost.
And once logged on, there are Windows updates to download and install. I can call people while this is going on, so have a chat with my boss and the guy who replaced me on the project.
I have a large backlog of mails, of course, but in general, not that many issues waiting for me to return. Most can be filed away in case for future reference.
People call me through the day to see how I am doing. I am doing fine, I tell them.
Which is the truth.
The cats have settled down and now are back on the old routine of bringing me mice/voles/goldfinches and demanding food'affection/treats/whatever.
I look out from the kitchen as a sup a cuppa. I see that the combination of plentiful rain and fairly warm temperatures have meant the grass is growing well, so much so that I have to get the mower out before it gets dark, just so its not too long come the spring, as it won't be mowed until August.
The birds are most upset with me being in the garden, getting in the way between them and the feeders, I can hear the goldfinches chirruping away in the trees.
And it is getting dark as I put the mower away.
And as agreed, we are having fajitas again for dinner as we had half the tortillas left. Jools was supposed to be going to yoga, but bad traffic meant she didn't get back into Dover half an hour or more after the class began. So she came back home, not getting back before quarter to seven.I begin cooking, and it is all ready in ten minutes or so, along with some wine for me and cider for Jools. She is hardcore.
And that is another day done, three days and it'll be the weekend.
Phew.
I read The Secret Commonwealth before going to bed, rattling through 75 or so pages.
Here's the thing
A few days ago, I speculated that maybe, just maybe Johnson doesn't want Brexit. Neither did May.
The continued series of unforced errors in provoking people to take to the courts to limit their power, or to Parliament to stand up for itself and our constitution.
And now an election.
And after the Government secured the second reading of the WAB.
It would have required some work and compromise, but the third reading could have been passed before Christmas, ratification in January all ready for Brexit to happen on 31st January.
It really could.
All Johnson and Cummings would have to have done is some work. Even the vote that was lost on the timetable was almost won, the numbers were close, and with compromise, could have passed that too. Even with scrutiny the 31st January could have been met.
Brexit, Johnson's Brexit was in sight, he could almost touch it, raise it above his head in triumph.
And yet, instead, chose an election.
Which he way win, may win with a working majority.
Or not.
On current polling he might win a 52 seat majority, but tactical voting could reduce that by up to 50 seats. And numbers could change.
In order to secure the election, he restored the whip to 10 of the expelled MPs. The election vote was won by ten votes.
I may be wrong, but I don't think Johnson really wants Brexit, just the undiluted power the WAB and the once great withdrawal bill would provide. But he might even now be balking at the cost. £1350 billion a week lost by 2029.
Put that on the side of a bus!
The continued series of unforced errors in provoking people to take to the courts to limit their power, or to Parliament to stand up for itself and our constitution.
And now an election.
And after the Government secured the second reading of the WAB.
It would have required some work and compromise, but the third reading could have been passed before Christmas, ratification in January all ready for Brexit to happen on 31st January.
It really could.
All Johnson and Cummings would have to have done is some work. Even the vote that was lost on the timetable was almost won, the numbers were close, and with compromise, could have passed that too. Even with scrutiny the 31st January could have been met.
Brexit, Johnson's Brexit was in sight, he could almost touch it, raise it above his head in triumph.
And yet, instead, chose an election.
Which he way win, may win with a working majority.
Or not.
On current polling he might win a 52 seat majority, but tactical voting could reduce that by up to 50 seats. And numbers could change.
In order to secure the election, he restored the whip to 10 of the expelled MPs. The election vote was won by ten votes.
I may be wrong, but I don't think Johnson really wants Brexit, just the undiluted power the WAB and the once great withdrawal bill would provide. But he might even now be balking at the cost. £1350 billion a week lost by 2029.
Put that on the side of a bus!
Tuesday 29 October 2019
Monday 28th October 2019
Last Saturday, we sat in the garden of a Hungarian restaurant in Houston, Texas, and ate brisket hash. It was 25 degrees in the shade, and like summer.
24 hours later, and we were back in the UK, ten degrees cooler, and nearly November. It began to get dark at about four, and was no daylight by five. And for the next six weeks, daylight will get rarer and rarer. And then the days lengthen again.
But it is approaching deep mid-winter, the salad days of summer seem a lifetime away.
We both didn't go to bed until half nine on Sunday, and slept though until six on Monday, thus apparently killing the jetlag in one swoop.
Yay.
But Jools had to go to work, less than 20 hours after landing back at Heathrow; didn't seem fair, but she has only a limited amount of holiday to use.
And as I have the task of collecting the cats later, I have to take Jools to work. But at least as the clocks have gone back, it is dylight when we leave the house just before seven, and take the coast road to Hythe.
Dropping Jools off, I drive back to Dover. And as I drove along the Alkham Valley road, sunlight poured through the mist rising from the fields, and illuminated the horse chestnuts, whose leaves were already turning to gold.
I should have been concentrating on driving, but how could your heart not be stirred by such sights?
I drive on through through the roadworks as Kearsney Abbey, then up Whitfield Hill to Tesco. As we had nothing to eat. Nothing fresh anyways.
I had to search for a trolley that did not need a coin to free it from its brethren. I do that, as we have returned from our holibbs with no cash. In coins at least.
I get loads of stuff, mostly fresh food, and am on my way home for quarter to nine, packing stuff away and making breakfast, so that at quarter to ten, I can go to collect the cats.
hey are at a new place, and once I arrive, I wait in the office whilst the two prisoners were rounded up and put in their baskets The cost of the cat hotel is now close to the cost of our holiday, but they look well. though they do tell me that they haven't been fed in like 19 days.
So, driving back to Walmer, then up the Deal road, the cats sing songs of freedom. And food.
Once backed onto the drive, I get out and free the cats. They run to next door to do some gardening, then back inside, meowing loudly for food. Which I give them, because its been nearly three weeks.
Waiting for me is the stack of mail from Mum's house.
I make a brew and sit on the sofa, then begin opening them one by one, reading the letter, then calling each up in turn to call each company up and tell them the news that Mum had passed, and they would have to wait for probate for the monies they feel are owed.
Not taxing, but that takes three hours. I make notes and file the letters on the floor. For now.
At four, I go to pick Jools up from work, otherwise she would have had to get the bus or a train back.
By the time she came out at five, it was just about dark, even though the sky was clear.
Welcome to winter.
Back home, I make fajitas, with stir fry veg in wholemeal tortillas. I use the seasoning and chilli sauce we bought at the weekend, and its all pretty good.
And they day just peters out. We have to stay up to at least nine, so we're up at a sensible time in the morning. We go to bed and are soon joined by cats.
24 hours later, and we were back in the UK, ten degrees cooler, and nearly November. It began to get dark at about four, and was no daylight by five. And for the next six weeks, daylight will get rarer and rarer. And then the days lengthen again.
But it is approaching deep mid-winter, the salad days of summer seem a lifetime away.
We both didn't go to bed until half nine on Sunday, and slept though until six on Monday, thus apparently killing the jetlag in one swoop.
Yay.
But Jools had to go to work, less than 20 hours after landing back at Heathrow; didn't seem fair, but she has only a limited amount of holiday to use.
And as I have the task of collecting the cats later, I have to take Jools to work. But at least as the clocks have gone back, it is dylight when we leave the house just before seven, and take the coast road to Hythe.
Dropping Jools off, I drive back to Dover. And as I drove along the Alkham Valley road, sunlight poured through the mist rising from the fields, and illuminated the horse chestnuts, whose leaves were already turning to gold.
I should have been concentrating on driving, but how could your heart not be stirred by such sights?
I drive on through through the roadworks as Kearsney Abbey, then up Whitfield Hill to Tesco. As we had nothing to eat. Nothing fresh anyways.
I had to search for a trolley that did not need a coin to free it from its brethren. I do that, as we have returned from our holibbs with no cash. In coins at least.
I get loads of stuff, mostly fresh food, and am on my way home for quarter to nine, packing stuff away and making breakfast, so that at quarter to ten, I can go to collect the cats.
hey are at a new place, and once I arrive, I wait in the office whilst the two prisoners were rounded up and put in their baskets The cost of the cat hotel is now close to the cost of our holiday, but they look well. though they do tell me that they haven't been fed in like 19 days.
So, driving back to Walmer, then up the Deal road, the cats sing songs of freedom. And food.
Once backed onto the drive, I get out and free the cats. They run to next door to do some gardening, then back inside, meowing loudly for food. Which I give them, because its been nearly three weeks.
Waiting for me is the stack of mail from Mum's house.I make a brew and sit on the sofa, then begin opening them one by one, reading the letter, then calling each up in turn to call each company up and tell them the news that Mum had passed, and they would have to wait for probate for the monies they feel are owed.
Not taxing, but that takes three hours. I make notes and file the letters on the floor. For now.
At four, I go to pick Jools up from work, otherwise she would have had to get the bus or a train back.
By the time she came out at five, it was just about dark, even though the sky was clear.
Welcome to winter.
Back home, I make fajitas, with stir fry veg in wholemeal tortillas. I use the seasoning and chilli sauce we bought at the weekend, and its all pretty good.
And they day just peters out. We have to stay up to at least nine, so we're up at a sensible time in the morning. We go to bed and are soon joined by cats.
To the hustings!
There is to be a General Election, probably before Christmas.
The final obstacle, Corbyn, changed his mind this morning and has said he will now support Johnson's on paragraph bill amending the FTPA.
Let us not forget why we're here, at this point in time.
In April 2016 there was the referendum, where a narrow majority voted to "leave" the EU. I put in the commas as up to this point, what leaving entailed has been left largely blanks, or has changed as time goes on. For most ERGers it now means leaving with no deal.
May called a snap General Election shortly after triggering the A50 process, and called on the electorate to back her vision (!) for Brexit.
She lost her majority. But important to remember, the electorate chose this Parliament to deliver Brexit. Or not. And that this Parliament pretty much relected the referendum, in that there was just a majority for say what was not liked, but not a majority for anything that was liked.
As a Parliament, it has mis-stepped at times, but when pushed has stood up to an increasingly belligerent and bullying executive, and with packing of crowd-sourced legal cases, the power of the executive has been defined and limited. It hasn't been for nothing.
When Johnson, JRM or Cummings complain about losing votes, that is the sound of a constitution working, and it has done, in the end, for the last two years.
The Parliament has tried to tackle the basic issues with Brexit, but has found it cannot come up with a solution. And that was never going to change. In an election, anything can happen, the sitting Government can extend or lose their right to govern.
Elections are normally fought on policies and intentions, and on the past record of the sitting Government. But not this time. This will be fought with lies, spite and hate. We have seen it already in the three months Johnson has been PM, and this will only intensify through the next six weeks. Telling the truth would not get Johnson elected, lying and throwing mud at the other parties just might.
Truth has been in short supply since 2015, and with the Government refusing to undertake impact assessments and costing of Johnson's WA, how can anyone really make an informed choice when the consequences of voting this way or that are unknown.
It is expected that Johnson will win. But then May was projected to win a 200 seat majority in 2017, and didn't. Much can happen in 6 weeks, and it is on Thursday that the third Brexit day will come and go and the UK still in the EU at the end of it, even when Johnson staked his reputation (ha!) on delivering an October 31st exit. The last three months mirrored May's two years in power, only on speed, with cunning plan after cunning plan being hatched and failed, until a letter was sent requesting the EU grant a further extension.
An election was inevitable, as the EU could possibly have run out of patience if there had not been an election in December and come January another three month extension requested. So, best get this over with now.
The Speaker leaves his post on Thursday, a new one has to be elected, and whoever it is, might not allow such flexibility in interpretation of some of Erskine May's more obscure passages and rules. Berkow was flexible for both sides, much more so for the Government in the first year of May's premiership, but it is allowing humble addresses and amendments to what used to be unamendable motions that he will be remembered for. Though, it was May pulling the MV halfway through debate and only to reintroduce it later that seemed to fire the Speaker up in standing up for The Commons.
A new Parliament will make things different, but maybe not in the way expected.
We shall see, we shall see.
The final obstacle, Corbyn, changed his mind this morning and has said he will now support Johnson's on paragraph bill amending the FTPA.
Let us not forget why we're here, at this point in time.
In April 2016 there was the referendum, where a narrow majority voted to "leave" the EU. I put in the commas as up to this point, what leaving entailed has been left largely blanks, or has changed as time goes on. For most ERGers it now means leaving with no deal.
May called a snap General Election shortly after triggering the A50 process, and called on the electorate to back her vision (!) for Brexit.
She lost her majority. But important to remember, the electorate chose this Parliament to deliver Brexit. Or not. And that this Parliament pretty much relected the referendum, in that there was just a majority for say what was not liked, but not a majority for anything that was liked.
As a Parliament, it has mis-stepped at times, but when pushed has stood up to an increasingly belligerent and bullying executive, and with packing of crowd-sourced legal cases, the power of the executive has been defined and limited. It hasn't been for nothing.
When Johnson, JRM or Cummings complain about losing votes, that is the sound of a constitution working, and it has done, in the end, for the last two years.
The Parliament has tried to tackle the basic issues with Brexit, but has found it cannot come up with a solution. And that was never going to change. In an election, anything can happen, the sitting Government can extend or lose their right to govern.
Elections are normally fought on policies and intentions, and on the past record of the sitting Government. But not this time. This will be fought with lies, spite and hate. We have seen it already in the three months Johnson has been PM, and this will only intensify through the next six weeks. Telling the truth would not get Johnson elected, lying and throwing mud at the other parties just might.
Truth has been in short supply since 2015, and with the Government refusing to undertake impact assessments and costing of Johnson's WA, how can anyone really make an informed choice when the consequences of voting this way or that are unknown.
It is expected that Johnson will win. But then May was projected to win a 200 seat majority in 2017, and didn't. Much can happen in 6 weeks, and it is on Thursday that the third Brexit day will come and go and the UK still in the EU at the end of it, even when Johnson staked his reputation (ha!) on delivering an October 31st exit. The last three months mirrored May's two years in power, only on speed, with cunning plan after cunning plan being hatched and failed, until a letter was sent requesting the EU grant a further extension.
An election was inevitable, as the EU could possibly have run out of patience if there had not been an election in December and come January another three month extension requested. So, best get this over with now.
The Speaker leaves his post on Thursday, a new one has to be elected, and whoever it is, might not allow such flexibility in interpretation of some of Erskine May's more obscure passages and rules. Berkow was flexible for both sides, much more so for the Government in the first year of May's premiership, but it is allowing humble addresses and amendments to what used to be unamendable motions that he will be remembered for. Though, it was May pulling the MV halfway through debate and only to reintroduce it later that seemed to fire the Speaker up in standing up for The Commons.
A new Parliament will make things different, but maybe not in the way expected.
We shall see, we shall see.
American Notes
We visited three different downtown areas in out two weeks over the pond.
Chicago is a huge city, but I think we only really got a hint if that on the scary ride from the airport to our hotel, as we drove down the freeway with urban sprawl all around us, and the skyscrapers along Michigan Avenue, standing tall and in a line.
Once we had been dropped outside the hotel checked in and settled it, we looked down at the busy traffic and busier sidewalks.
But it felt classy. That was helped by staying in the area of town with all the designer shops and stores.
I wouldn't say that Chicago was unfriendly, but it is a big city, and knows it, and seems to like to go about its business.
Whenever we met a local, it was friendly enough, but not overly so.
But there were the homeless, those living on the streets. More of which I will come to later.
Chicago is famous for many things: music, The Blues Brothers, Organised Crime, the L, Lake Michigan, The Bears, The White Sox. But what did anyone ask us when we said we had been to Chi Town? Had we had pizza.
Yes, that seems to be Chicago's contribution to American culture; the deep pan pizza. Now I like a good pizza as much as the next guy, and I did have deep pan pizza from Gino's East, which was really good. But was that the best thing about the City? No. That was probably the Institute for Art, which we could and should have spent the whole day looking round
Architecture of many of the buildings, was just superb. Including the fittings and mouldings.
But pizza.
It also has Wacker. Or Upper and Lower Wacker. A two level road that follows the Chicago River, keeping most traffic off the streets, meaning that with the L above, the streets of Chicago are pretty safe for pedestrians.
Which is nice.
As for New Orleans.
New Orleans is Las Vegas' brash younger brother. Or older brother. Older sister.
As Las Vegas is a stupid idea, a city in the middle of the desert. A city below sea level near the mouth of a river that not only floods but is subject to regular hurricanes is also pretty dumb.
A city so low, it is impossible to bury bodies in the ground, due to the water table. A city fought over for centuries, even Britain had a go. A city steeped in its own history, culture and language. The French Quarter, which is actually Spanish. And that area, especially along Bourbon Street is a bit of a conundrum.
Because, there is so much to see and experience in New Orleans, or Nawlins, it seems such a shame that so many people go to drink themselves into oblivion, smoke on the streets, then go and drink a lot more.
The grand buildings and villas along Bourbon have had their ground floors converted to bars, restaurants, fast food joints, tat shops or places selling coctails, ready made from what look like washing machines.
As the day turns to night, out come the freaks, and playtime starts.
If Las Vegas is Disneyland for Adults then New Orleans is that hedonistic desire concentrated into a single street, because away from Bourbob, Nawlins is a fine colourful, vibrant and a place worth visiting for culture and cuisine.
I will remember coming out of a restaurant that Saturday night and weaving between drunks and parties of drunks, swigging form hug plastic containers of Hand Grenade or Hurricanes. We had the best food of our trip in New Orleans, and yet stayed in our room most of the evening, due to feeling uncomfortable. Canal Street didn't help much, as being the main road leading to the French Quarter, walking down it at any hour was like walking into a freak show, but at night, again, quite scary.
Maybe that's just me, though...
But thanks to Tripadvisor, we were able to find great places to eat, and sample the fabulous Cajun dishes we hoped we would be trying.
And away from the bright lights and hedonism of Bourbon Street, the French Quarter was everything I hoped it would be, all iron balconies and galleries, narrow streets, and even further out, there was the Garden District, all leafy lanes and its mad mix of 19th century architectural styles.
Both Jools and I loved that walk round the Garden District, but for most of the others on the walk, they only really became animated and interested about any houses when it was revealed if someone famous had lived there. Is that what piques most modern American's interests now? I guess so.
And Houston.
A Texas city, and yet not feeling how I would imagine Texas to feel.
From the huge urban sprawl that began some nearly 20 miles outside the city, and 14 lane road leading into the centre and downtown, it was clearly the very modern American city. And yet downtown was quiet, stylish and criss-crossed by trams. Only a few fast food joints on the streets of downtown, plenty of restaurants, bars and so on.
Although each city was different, one thing they all had in common was homelessness. All had it in incredible numbers.
And Chicago, in the winter, is no place to be if you're homeless, especially in the winter. I was men, women and children sleeping on Michigan Avenue and the surrounding areas. But a family of four sleeping in the doorway of a designer shop is the one thing I will always remember. An elder child making sure his younger brother was wrapped up against the cold.
I spoke to a disabled guy beside the Chicago Rover, everyone else was just walking by. I talked to him. He was at the end of his tether, he just wanted food. I gave him $5. And then another ten. I said to him, if everyone did one good thing a day, then poverty and homelessness would be a thing of the past. Giving one man fifteen bucks isn't going to change the world, but its a start. And if we all did it, the world would be better.
Thing is, most of the homeless we saw were black. These looked, at face value, to be normal people, down on their luck, just trying to make their way in a hard, cruel world. Most of the white folk I saw were either drunks or on drugs, wide-eyed and staggering around. Might be a generalisation, but its what I felt I saw.
America is the richest country in the world, and chooses to have high numbers of homeless, and do nothing about it. Although, that's not true, they do do stuff, like fence off dry areas under freeway flyovers so that the homess might have a dry place to sleep at night. Or make benches impossible to lie down in.
America broke my heart this trip. And with Trump in the White House, when he's not playing golf, there is no chance things will change for the better. It will be a while before we return to the US, I feel.
And then there is the food:
Which is kinda linked to the homelessness and lack of equality.
I saw so much food. So much food served, and not eaten, taken home in Styrofoam boxes to be thrown away. If eateries served less, then maybe what is saved could be provided to the poor and homeless?
You order an entree, then you get a salad of soup free: why? The entree is fucking huge. If you are not used to the size of portions and you had a starter, then you have a table of food, which you stand little chance of eating all. So it goes out into the trash.
In Houston, downtown, we tried to find somewhere that did breakfast. Just breakfast, bacon, eggs, links. Nothing special. But everywhere did the same breakfast "sandwiches", made with reheated sausage patties, some kind of reconstituted egg thing. That's not food. That's not breakfast. Even Arby's now serve that as breakfast, no longer a place where you go to sit down and be served, the whole food preparation thing is done by one person following on screen instructions.
Chicago is a huge city, but I think we only really got a hint if that on the scary ride from the airport to our hotel, as we drove down the freeway with urban sprawl all around us, and the skyscrapers along Michigan Avenue, standing tall and in a line.
Once we had been dropped outside the hotel checked in and settled it, we looked down at the busy traffic and busier sidewalks.
But it felt classy. That was helped by staying in the area of town with all the designer shops and stores.
I wouldn't say that Chicago was unfriendly, but it is a big city, and knows it, and seems to like to go about its business.
Whenever we met a local, it was friendly enough, but not overly so.
But there were the homeless, those living on the streets. More of which I will come to later.
Chicago is famous for many things: music, The Blues Brothers, Organised Crime, the L, Lake Michigan, The Bears, The White Sox. But what did anyone ask us when we said we had been to Chi Town? Had we had pizza.
Yes, that seems to be Chicago's contribution to American culture; the deep pan pizza. Now I like a good pizza as much as the next guy, and I did have deep pan pizza from Gino's East, which was really good. But was that the best thing about the City? No. That was probably the Institute for Art, which we could and should have spent the whole day looking round
Architecture of many of the buildings, was just superb. Including the fittings and mouldings.
But pizza.
It also has Wacker. Or Upper and Lower Wacker. A two level road that follows the Chicago River, keeping most traffic off the streets, meaning that with the L above, the streets of Chicago are pretty safe for pedestrians.
Which is nice.
As for New Orleans.
New Orleans is Las Vegas' brash younger brother. Or older brother. Older sister.
As Las Vegas is a stupid idea, a city in the middle of the desert. A city below sea level near the mouth of a river that not only floods but is subject to regular hurricanes is also pretty dumb.
A city so low, it is impossible to bury bodies in the ground, due to the water table. A city fought over for centuries, even Britain had a go. A city steeped in its own history, culture and language. The French Quarter, which is actually Spanish. And that area, especially along Bourbon Street is a bit of a conundrum.
Because, there is so much to see and experience in New Orleans, or Nawlins, it seems such a shame that so many people go to drink themselves into oblivion, smoke on the streets, then go and drink a lot more.
The grand buildings and villas along Bourbon have had their ground floors converted to bars, restaurants, fast food joints, tat shops or places selling coctails, ready made from what look like washing machines.
As the day turns to night, out come the freaks, and playtime starts.
If Las Vegas is Disneyland for Adults then New Orleans is that hedonistic desire concentrated into a single street, because away from Bourbob, Nawlins is a fine colourful, vibrant and a place worth visiting for culture and cuisine.
I will remember coming out of a restaurant that Saturday night and weaving between drunks and parties of drunks, swigging form hug plastic containers of Hand Grenade or Hurricanes. We had the best food of our trip in New Orleans, and yet stayed in our room most of the evening, due to feeling uncomfortable. Canal Street didn't help much, as being the main road leading to the French Quarter, walking down it at any hour was like walking into a freak show, but at night, again, quite scary.
Maybe that's just me, though...
But thanks to Tripadvisor, we were able to find great places to eat, and sample the fabulous Cajun dishes we hoped we would be trying.
And away from the bright lights and hedonism of Bourbon Street, the French Quarter was everything I hoped it would be, all iron balconies and galleries, narrow streets, and even further out, there was the Garden District, all leafy lanes and its mad mix of 19th century architectural styles.
Both Jools and I loved that walk round the Garden District, but for most of the others on the walk, they only really became animated and interested about any houses when it was revealed if someone famous had lived there. Is that what piques most modern American's interests now? I guess so.
And Houston.
A Texas city, and yet not feeling how I would imagine Texas to feel.
From the huge urban sprawl that began some nearly 20 miles outside the city, and 14 lane road leading into the centre and downtown, it was clearly the very modern American city. And yet downtown was quiet, stylish and criss-crossed by trams. Only a few fast food joints on the streets of downtown, plenty of restaurants, bars and so on.
Although each city was different, one thing they all had in common was homelessness. All had it in incredible numbers.
And Chicago, in the winter, is no place to be if you're homeless, especially in the winter. I was men, women and children sleeping on Michigan Avenue and the surrounding areas. But a family of four sleeping in the doorway of a designer shop is the one thing I will always remember. An elder child making sure his younger brother was wrapped up against the cold.
I spoke to a disabled guy beside the Chicago Rover, everyone else was just walking by. I talked to him. He was at the end of his tether, he just wanted food. I gave him $5. And then another ten. I said to him, if everyone did one good thing a day, then poverty and homelessness would be a thing of the past. Giving one man fifteen bucks isn't going to change the world, but its a start. And if we all did it, the world would be better.
Thing is, most of the homeless we saw were black. These looked, at face value, to be normal people, down on their luck, just trying to make their way in a hard, cruel world. Most of the white folk I saw were either drunks or on drugs, wide-eyed and staggering around. Might be a generalisation, but its what I felt I saw.
America is the richest country in the world, and chooses to have high numbers of homeless, and do nothing about it. Although, that's not true, they do do stuff, like fence off dry areas under freeway flyovers so that the homess might have a dry place to sleep at night. Or make benches impossible to lie down in.
America broke my heart this trip. And with Trump in the White House, when he's not playing golf, there is no chance things will change for the better. It will be a while before we return to the US, I feel.
And then there is the food:
Which is kinda linked to the homelessness and lack of equality.
I saw so much food. So much food served, and not eaten, taken home in Styrofoam boxes to be thrown away. If eateries served less, then maybe what is saved could be provided to the poor and homeless?
You order an entree, then you get a salad of soup free: why? The entree is fucking huge. If you are not used to the size of portions and you had a starter, then you have a table of food, which you stand little chance of eating all. So it goes out into the trash.
In Houston, downtown, we tried to find somewhere that did breakfast. Just breakfast, bacon, eggs, links. Nothing special. But everywhere did the same breakfast "sandwiches", made with reheated sausage patties, some kind of reconstituted egg thing. That's not food. That's not breakfast. Even Arby's now serve that as breakfast, no longer a place where you go to sit down and be served, the whole food preparation thing is done by one person following on screen instructions.
Monday 28 October 2019
Sick of it
I am fed up with Brexit.
I read about it, I listen to podcasts, I write about it, I think about it.
I hate it. We hates it, precious.
I wish it would all just go away. But ii won't.
We are now nearing the endgame, as far as A50 is concerned. An election will likely lead to a Johnson victory, with many Conservative associations now packed with hardline leavers as prospective MPs, it seems impossible that he will not get a working majority.
But then, we though that May would get a 200 seat majority two and a half years ago, and instead we got a hung Parliament. Just because we think something will happen doesn't mean it will happen.
Though Remain remains (ahem) as divided as ever. And trying to work out what the Labour policy on anything Brexit is impossible.
Maybe that was the point, to make us all weary so we just give up? I want to give up. Go and live in NO if the deal is accepted. I ear they have very nice orchids over there.
The Conservatives have been in power since May 2015.
May appointed Brexiteers into positions so they could deliver Brexit.
For the most part, the Conservatives have had a Parliamentary majority for all those four years.
There have been two elections, soon to be a third, becasue they did not like the result the last two gave.
But no hope of a second referendum, because that result must be respected.
Many of the Cabinet members were part of Vote Leave. That vote the law twice in finding and data sharing, and yet the police inquiry seems to have gone very quiet. Odd that.
The three MVs would have passed had not the ERG and hardline Brexiteers have voted against it all three times. And yet moderate MPs who voted for May's WA were ousted because in voting for the WA three times they were somehow frustrating Brexit, and people like JRM who did vote against it are put in positions of power as a reward?
I am thinking about the point at which I stop writing about Brexit; is it when the WA is ratified? Is it at the end of the TA? Or do I go on documenting the gradual decline of this once great nation?
Not sure.
I just want it to stop.
I read about it, I listen to podcasts, I write about it, I think about it.
I hate it. We hates it, precious.
I wish it would all just go away. But ii won't.
We are now nearing the endgame, as far as A50 is concerned. An election will likely lead to a Johnson victory, with many Conservative associations now packed with hardline leavers as prospective MPs, it seems impossible that he will not get a working majority.
But then, we though that May would get a 200 seat majority two and a half years ago, and instead we got a hung Parliament. Just because we think something will happen doesn't mean it will happen.
Though Remain remains (ahem) as divided as ever. And trying to work out what the Labour policy on anything Brexit is impossible.
Maybe that was the point, to make us all weary so we just give up? I want to give up. Go and live in NO if the deal is accepted. I ear they have very nice orchids over there.
The Conservatives have been in power since May 2015.
May appointed Brexiteers into positions so they could deliver Brexit.
For the most part, the Conservatives have had a Parliamentary majority for all those four years.
There have been two elections, soon to be a third, becasue they did not like the result the last two gave.
But no hope of a second referendum, because that result must be respected.
Many of the Cabinet members were part of Vote Leave. That vote the law twice in finding and data sharing, and yet the police inquiry seems to have gone very quiet. Odd that.
The three MVs would have passed had not the ERG and hardline Brexiteers have voted against it all three times. And yet moderate MPs who voted for May's WA were ousted because in voting for the WA three times they were somehow frustrating Brexit, and people like JRM who did vote against it are put in positions of power as a reward?
I am thinking about the point at which I stop writing about Brexit; is it when the WA is ratified? Is it at the end of the TA? Or do I go on documenting the gradual decline of this once great nation?
Not sure.
I just want it to stop.
Sensible policies for mad times
I had this post all mapped out in my head, as I lay in bed with insomnia-induced-jetlag raging. But by the time I have got round to it, circumstances have moved on.
Anyway, with the EU stalling on how long to grant an extension to A50, I thought the sensible thing to do would be to grant a year's extension, with the option for the UK that they could leave once details had been agreed. If details had been agreed. SO, some sense of normality could be returned to.
But, just now, it was announced that the EU have granted one to 31st October, but the UK can leave after December 1st if a deal has been agreed.
Not as bad as it could have been, but just resets everyone's clocks by 100 days.
The next question is when to have the inevitable election. Johnson is now at his weakest having had to extend A50 and so not deliver on his repeated promises to take the UK out of the EU by the 31st October. Any Brexit vote will be split between the Conswervatives and the Brexit Party, meaning that hard core vote would be split.
But the "Remain Alliance" is also split, not agreeing on whether an election is good or not, and now trash-talking each other in the press. If Labour, the LibDems, SNP et all can't work together, then there will be a Brexit, probably Johnson's WA then no deal.
And then the country is fucked.
Most people just want Brexit done, and think that the WA is Brexit. But it isn't, of course. Brexit will drag on through most of next year, though not in Parliament so much, but the nuts and bolts of the details of a trade deal and all the rest have yet to be agreed internally in the UK let alone what the policy would be in the actual talks. Just like the start of the initial talks two and a half years ago.
And look how well that turned out!
Anyway, with the EU stalling on how long to grant an extension to A50, I thought the sensible thing to do would be to grant a year's extension, with the option for the UK that they could leave once details had been agreed. If details had been agreed. SO, some sense of normality could be returned to.
But, just now, it was announced that the EU have granted one to 31st October, but the UK can leave after December 1st if a deal has been agreed.
Not as bad as it could have been, but just resets everyone's clocks by 100 days.
The next question is when to have the inevitable election. Johnson is now at his weakest having had to extend A50 and so not deliver on his repeated promises to take the UK out of the EU by the 31st October. Any Brexit vote will be split between the Conswervatives and the Brexit Party, meaning that hard core vote would be split.
But the "Remain Alliance" is also split, not agreeing on whether an election is good or not, and now trash-talking each other in the press. If Labour, the LibDems, SNP et all can't work together, then there will be a Brexit, probably Johnson's WA then no deal.
And then the country is fucked.
Most people just want Brexit done, and think that the WA is Brexit. But it isn't, of course. Brexit will drag on through most of next year, though not in Parliament so much, but the nuts and bolts of the details of a trade deal and all the rest have yet to be agreed internally in the UK let alone what the policy would be in the actual talks. Just like the start of the initial talks two and a half years ago.
And look how well that turned out!
Sunday 27 October 2019
Sunday 27th October 2019
We left the last post with Jools and I beginning a six hour wait for our flight. Terminal D at Houston has a bar, a duty free shop, a chocolate shop. And, that's about it.
But the bar did have sports on several of the TVs hanging off the wall, there was college football to watch, and on the other TVs, some kind of rotating series of short programs one of which featuring a reporter getting a rainbow hair-do like "influencers" have. Or something. Over six hours we saw get it done at least 5 times. And each time she seemed very pleased.
I drank beers, until we ran out of dollars.
And at seven, they put the World Series on. One of the competing teams is the Houston Astros, and there were several fans in the bar. Houston started the game 4 training 2-1, but had been 2-0 down 24 hours before, and were now on the road in Washington.
It was hard concentrating on the game as well as people watching. There was the drunk girl at the bar supping well from bottles of microbrew, a party of Australians were were angry that the service wasn't instantaneous, the Goth who might have been a musician with his manager, but looked like a man baby being looked after by his Dad. The goth was dressed in ankle length leather coat, huge gothy shoes and an Iron Maiden tour t shirt, from 2017, so not even a hipster reproduction of a Killers Tour one and there were the Mexican behind us who talked loudly at their mobile phones for hours on end.
The Astros began well, and just got better, and by the time the bottom of the 7th approached, were 8-1 up thanks to a grand-slam homer.
The whole bar cheered, then went to queue to get on the plane.
British Airways: no more coffee for me, teas from now on please, even if it was luke warm and weak, its still a cuppa. In a paper cup.
We strap ourselves in, but are told the entertainment system had failed and was rebooting. It was still rebooting two hours later. By which time we had eaten "dinner" and I had made two and a half mini bottles of wine disappear, hoping that I would fall into a drunken slumber.
In which case I succeeded. I fell asleep whith the plane somewhere south of Dayton, Ohio and I woke up with the plane about an hour from the Irish coast. I feel like crap, I'm sure I look like shit. And all around me, people had contorted themselves in odd shapes to try to get some shuteye. We had been offered an upgrade when we checked in: £750 for the next class up, eight grand of seat for seven fifty. Each. But we did not have that sort of money to throw round. Maybe we should have just stumped up the cash to get some sleep?
For breakfast we were served something like scrambled egg on bread. It looked horrible, tasted worse. I left it, and drank the tea.
And that was it, we dropped down from cruising height over Wales, got lower over the home counties, turned over London and landed.
On time.
We have to wait to get off, but that allows the bags to be unloaded.
We have to catch the shuttle train to the main building, then straight through the passport scanner. A ten minute wait for our cases, by which time the taxi was waiting outside.
Like clockwork.
We meet the driver and load the cases, she is also called Julie, and after a brief conversation at the beginning of the trip, she drives in silence, bordering on the edge of road rage.
But we get home quick.
No jams at all, so in under 90 minutes she was driving us to St Maggies up Jubilee Way, in bright sunshine, though at least twenty degrees coller than Housten the day before. Or was it still the same day?
I have no idea.
We go inside, put the kettle on for a proper brew. The unpack, start washing and me cooking dinner.
Dinner with lots of vegetables. As those weemed to be in short supply in the US.
I took one shot for the day, looking out into the back garden, just as the sun set, showing that we were home.
And shattered.
But the bar did have sports on several of the TVs hanging off the wall, there was college football to watch, and on the other TVs, some kind of rotating series of short programs one of which featuring a reporter getting a rainbow hair-do like "influencers" have. Or something. Over six hours we saw get it done at least 5 times. And each time she seemed very pleased.
I drank beers, until we ran out of dollars.
And at seven, they put the World Series on. One of the competing teams is the Houston Astros, and there were several fans in the bar. Houston started the game 4 training 2-1, but had been 2-0 down 24 hours before, and were now on the road in Washington.
It was hard concentrating on the game as well as people watching. There was the drunk girl at the bar supping well from bottles of microbrew, a party of Australians were were angry that the service wasn't instantaneous, the Goth who might have been a musician with his manager, but looked like a man baby being looked after by his Dad. The goth was dressed in ankle length leather coat, huge gothy shoes and an Iron Maiden tour t shirt, from 2017, so not even a hipster reproduction of a Killers Tour one and there were the Mexican behind us who talked loudly at their mobile phones for hours on end.
The Astros began well, and just got better, and by the time the bottom of the 7th approached, were 8-1 up thanks to a grand-slam homer.
The whole bar cheered, then went to queue to get on the plane.
British Airways: no more coffee for me, teas from now on please, even if it was luke warm and weak, its still a cuppa. In a paper cup.
We strap ourselves in, but are told the entertainment system had failed and was rebooting. It was still rebooting two hours later. By which time we had eaten "dinner" and I had made two and a half mini bottles of wine disappear, hoping that I would fall into a drunken slumber.
In which case I succeeded. I fell asleep whith the plane somewhere south of Dayton, Ohio and I woke up with the plane about an hour from the Irish coast. I feel like crap, I'm sure I look like shit. And all around me, people had contorted themselves in odd shapes to try to get some shuteye. We had been offered an upgrade when we checked in: £750 for the next class up, eight grand of seat for seven fifty. Each. But we did not have that sort of money to throw round. Maybe we should have just stumped up the cash to get some sleep?
For breakfast we were served something like scrambled egg on bread. It looked horrible, tasted worse. I left it, and drank the tea.
And that was it, we dropped down from cruising height over Wales, got lower over the home counties, turned over London and landed.
On time.
We have to wait to get off, but that allows the bags to be unloaded.
We have to catch the shuttle train to the main building, then straight through the passport scanner. A ten minute wait for our cases, by which time the taxi was waiting outside.
Like clockwork.
We meet the driver and load the cases, she is also called Julie, and after a brief conversation at the beginning of the trip, she drives in silence, bordering on the edge of road rage.
But we get home quick.
No jams at all, so in under 90 minutes she was driving us to St Maggies up Jubilee Way, in bright sunshine, though at least twenty degrees coller than Housten the day before. Or was it still the same day?
I have no idea.
We go inside, put the kettle on for a proper brew. The unpack, start washing and me cooking dinner.
Dinner with lots of vegetables. As those weemed to be in short supply in the US.
I took one shot for the day, looking out into the back garden, just as the sun set, showing that we were home.And shattered.
Saturday 26 October 2019
Saturday 26th October 2019
And now the final day.
And day of travelling.
And waiting.
And the question of how to fill the day. I mean, the flight was at eight, so that gave us 10 hours to fill, even if we left the hotel at ten. I believe we had seen most of what Houston had to offer, apart from the endless supply of steak restaurants, of course.
We were awake at six, as usual. But then laid in bed for an hour, just enjoying the peace and not doing anything.
We get up, check the news and after coffee start packing. It all went in there, it'll all go back. We say.
And it does.
At half nine we were done, one last trawl round the room and we leave.
They will debit my credit card they tell me, smiling.
We get the car from the valet. They will also invoice us by mail.
More smiles.
We load the car and decide to go to Walmart from beans.
Beans.
Boston beans.
The sat nav takes us 5 miles to the supercenter.
We wander round, find the beans aisle. No Boston beans, but there were others. We also buy hot sauce. And spices.
On the other side of the car park there was a cafe, so we walk there. Not drive.
Breakfast is proper cooked breakfast.
And pecan pie. I would like to partake in a piece of your pecan pie. I said.
They gave me a piece.
We go to the natural history museum.
I like a good museum. I do. But we are here just to walk through the butterfly house. Because we like butterflies.
We pay for tickets, and go straight for the butterflies. It is magical, as always, to have tropical butterflies and try to feed on your t shirt. Or is it just me?
The museum is also great, but lots of stuffed animals. I means lots. As Jools said, soon this sort of place will be all where you can see tigers and other rare animals.
We look through a display of minerals. Then jewels.
The Faberge collection is stunning. But we are just using up our time.
We get bored, so leave. And take the car on the half hour drive to the airport. It was two in the afternoon.
Jools wanted to look for some books, so we stop off at a barnes and Noble. I buy books. Jools doesn't.
Round the corner is a place to eat. Others have not yet opned or have private parties on. So, we walk the half block to The Backstreet Cafe. Walk, I tell you.
We both have brisket hash sitting in the garden out back, beside the fountain. Would we like to see the desert menu?
We would
Two creme brulees, please.
We make those vanish. And that was it, holiday over. Just time to drove to the airport
We end up taking the toll road, which without an e pass meant we would be prosecuted. Will have to catch us first.
And we arrive.
We check the car in, get the shuttle bus to the airport, the check in desks are open.
London, 20:25 please.
That is now two hours later.
Bugger. 6 hours.
So, here we are, waiting.
One hour down, five to go.....
And day of travelling.
And waiting.
And the question of how to fill the day. I mean, the flight was at eight, so that gave us 10 hours to fill, even if we left the hotel at ten. I believe we had seen most of what Houston had to offer, apart from the endless supply of steak restaurants, of course.
We were awake at six, as usual. But then laid in bed for an hour, just enjoying the peace and not doing anything.
We get up, check the news and after coffee start packing. It all went in there, it'll all go back. We say.
And it does.
At half nine we were done, one last trawl round the room and we leave.
They will debit my credit card they tell me, smiling.
We get the car from the valet. They will also invoice us by mail.
More smiles.
We load the car and decide to go to Walmart from beans.
Beans.
Boston beans.
The sat nav takes us 5 miles to the supercenter.
We wander round, find the beans aisle. No Boston beans, but there were others. We also buy hot sauce. And spices.
On the other side of the car park there was a cafe, so we walk there. Not drive.
Breakfast is proper cooked breakfast.
And pecan pie. I would like to partake in a piece of your pecan pie. I said.
They gave me a piece.
We go to the natural history museum.
I like a good museum. I do. But we are here just to walk through the butterfly house. Because we like butterflies.
We pay for tickets, and go straight for the butterflies. It is magical, as always, to have tropical butterflies and try to feed on your t shirt. Or is it just me?
The museum is also great, but lots of stuffed animals. I means lots. As Jools said, soon this sort of place will be all where you can see tigers and other rare animals.
We look through a display of minerals. Then jewels.
The Faberge collection is stunning. But we are just using up our time.
We get bored, so leave. And take the car on the half hour drive to the airport. It was two in the afternoon.
Jools wanted to look for some books, so we stop off at a barnes and Noble. I buy books. Jools doesn't.
Round the corner is a place to eat. Others have not yet opned or have private parties on. So, we walk the half block to The Backstreet Cafe. Walk, I tell you.
We both have brisket hash sitting in the garden out back, beside the fountain. Would we like to see the desert menu?We would
Two creme brulees, please.
We make those vanish. And that was it, holiday over. Just time to drove to the airport
We end up taking the toll road, which without an e pass meant we would be prosecuted. Will have to catch us first.
And we arrive.
We check the car in, get the shuttle bus to the airport, the check in desks are open.
London, 20:25 please.
That is now two hours later.
Bugger. 6 hours.
So, here we are, waiting.
One hour down, five to go.....
Friday 25th October 2019
Out last full day in the US of A.
And here we are in the city of Houston, where my old school friend, John, lives.
Normally.
Sadly, he is Perth Australia, at the moment. On business.
Perth is where another schoolfriend, Andy, lives.
Normally.
He is back in the Lowestoft sorting out his mother's affairs as she has been put in a home.
At least Andy and John did meet on John's last night in Perth when Andy arrived back. John is now travelling back to Houston from Perth. Via Sydney, Auckland before arriving back home some time this evening. When we are leaving. So, chances are we will pass at some point.
So it goes, so it goes.
So, to Friday..
The weather changed. It went from being in the mid-70s on Thursday to being overcast, heavy rain at first, but with a cool, cold wind.
Though our room overlooks the atrium of the hotel, so no idea when we get up what the weather is like outside. It shouldn't be that cold should it?
It could, as it turned out.
I was asked to find some spices for a friend back home, so we had identified a whole food shop about ten blocks from the hotel. After coffee in our room we wander down to the lobby, and outside, the rain came down in sheets. We had our raincoats on, so the rain shouldn't bother us. But damn! it was cold. And Jools wearing shorts.
We splish splash down Austin to the ship, look round and find what we were looking for. We'll come back we said, but our thoughts were then on breakfast.
We had thought that downtown there would be some fine places to have a proper, cooked breakfast. So we go up into the shopping centre opposite, and find the food court, but all what is on offer is the same breakfast "sandwiches" that most places have. And we have had enough of that rubbery egg omelette thing. So we go to Starbucks for a coffee and a paninni, and retire to eat, drink and people watch.
We had read about the "tunnels". Tunnels could mean anything from native American things dating back into antiquity to something dull and modern, and all else between. Sadly, it was the latter. Tunnels to help people move around downtown without going outside in the heat of the day in summer.
We walk down a couple of "the loop", and come to a barbers. My hair has been growing well in the warm and sunny weather, there was a chair free, so I go in and get the guy to understand pretty much what I want, and he gets to work. I sit on the chair, but instead of the guy walking round, the chair is spun round and round. Like a record.
But in half an hour, I have fairly short hair, which cost me nineteen bucks.
We walk on, but endless tunnels make us want daylight, and up on the streets the rain had almost stopped, but was still cold.
So we did what anyone else would have done, we got on a tram to travel to the end of the line. And back.
As you do.
The line took us past the university, out into the suburbs, running at street level, right through the richer parts, then as we went further out, areas got poorer, and adorned with tags and graffiti.
At the end of the line we get on the next train back.
We get off in the centre of the city, and go on a hunt for lunch, ending up at a Mexican place that does tacos. I have a sampler that came with 5 different mini-tacos. All good.
We walk to the "theater district" to see if there was any neon signs worth snapping in the blue hour. There wasn't. So we walked back to the whole food shop, bought spices and biscuits, then walked back to the hotel, buying a coffee in the lobby, taking the lift up to our room where we chilled for a few hours, as for our last night, we planned a special meal.
Next door to the hotel is a fine looking steak place, Vic and Anthony's, so I book a table, and the afternoon fades away to evening.
At least we only have to walk over the drive to the restaurant, but this being the first time I have eaten at a place with a dress code, I have to cover my t shirt with a jumper. I was the man in black.
It was very nice indeed. We start with cocktails, have the best crab cakes in the history of the world as a starter. I chose a bottle of red, Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. We tell the maitre'd that it was where we spent our honeymoon. He is impressed.
We both have ribeye on the bone for main. And both were huge. We do finish them, but we were fuller than full. Damn, the best meal ever.
I finish the wine and cocktail. We pay, and walk back to the hotel, both of us laying on the bed with meatsweats.
I watch game 3 of the World Series, at least until the bottom of the 6th, when sleep took us from this world.
And here we are in the city of Houston, where my old school friend, John, lives.
Normally.
Sadly, he is Perth Australia, at the moment. On business.
Perth is where another schoolfriend, Andy, lives.
Normally.
He is back in the Lowestoft sorting out his mother's affairs as she has been put in a home.
At least Andy and John did meet on John's last night in Perth when Andy arrived back. John is now travelling back to Houston from Perth. Via Sydney, Auckland before arriving back home some time this evening. When we are leaving. So, chances are we will pass at some point.
So it goes, so it goes.
So, to Friday..
The weather changed. It went from being in the mid-70s on Thursday to being overcast, heavy rain at first, but with a cool, cold wind.
Though our room overlooks the atrium of the hotel, so no idea when we get up what the weather is like outside. It shouldn't be that cold should it?
It could, as it turned out.
I was asked to find some spices for a friend back home, so we had identified a whole food shop about ten blocks from the hotel. After coffee in our room we wander down to the lobby, and outside, the rain came down in sheets. We had our raincoats on, so the rain shouldn't bother us. But damn! it was cold. And Jools wearing shorts.
We splish splash down Austin to the ship, look round and find what we were looking for. We'll come back we said, but our thoughts were then on breakfast.
We had thought that downtown there would be some fine places to have a proper, cooked breakfast. So we go up into the shopping centre opposite, and find the food court, but all what is on offer is the same breakfast "sandwiches" that most places have. And we have had enough of that rubbery egg omelette thing. So we go to Starbucks for a coffee and a paninni, and retire to eat, drink and people watch.
We had read about the "tunnels". Tunnels could mean anything from native American things dating back into antiquity to something dull and modern, and all else between. Sadly, it was the latter. Tunnels to help people move around downtown without going outside in the heat of the day in summer.
We walk down a couple of "the loop", and come to a barbers. My hair has been growing well in the warm and sunny weather, there was a chair free, so I go in and get the guy to understand pretty much what I want, and he gets to work. I sit on the chair, but instead of the guy walking round, the chair is spun round and round. Like a record.
But in half an hour, I have fairly short hair, which cost me nineteen bucks.
We walk on, but endless tunnels make us want daylight, and up on the streets the rain had almost stopped, but was still cold.
So we did what anyone else would have done, we got on a tram to travel to the end of the line. And back.
As you do.
The line took us past the university, out into the suburbs, running at street level, right through the richer parts, then as we went further out, areas got poorer, and adorned with tags and graffiti.
At the end of the line we get on the next train back.We get off in the centre of the city, and go on a hunt for lunch, ending up at a Mexican place that does tacos. I have a sampler that came with 5 different mini-tacos. All good.
We walk to the "theater district" to see if there was any neon signs worth snapping in the blue hour. There wasn't. So we walked back to the whole food shop, bought spices and biscuits, then walked back to the hotel, buying a coffee in the lobby, taking the lift up to our room where we chilled for a few hours, as for our last night, we planned a special meal.Next door to the hotel is a fine looking steak place, Vic and Anthony's, so I book a table, and the afternoon fades away to evening.
At least we only have to walk over the drive to the restaurant, but this being the first time I have eaten at a place with a dress code, I have to cover my t shirt with a jumper. I was the man in black.
It was very nice indeed. We start with cocktails, have the best crab cakes in the history of the world as a starter. I chose a bottle of red, Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. We tell the maitre'd that it was where we spent our honeymoon. He is impressed.
We both have ribeye on the bone for main. And both were huge. We do finish them, but we were fuller than full. Damn, the best meal ever.
I finish the wine and cocktail. We pay, and walk back to the hotel, both of us laying on the bed with meatsweats.
I watch game 3 of the World Series, at least until the bottom of the 6th, when sleep took us from this world.
Friday 25 October 2019
Delay or no delay?
The UK has requested a further extension to the A50 process.
Johnson sent the letter (unsigned), and it was accepted by the EU.
In principle, the EU has accepted the request for a further extension.
But they don't know how long to grant the extension for.
It all really depends on what the UK would use a further extension for.
As it always was.
It seems that France has rejected an extension to 31st January 2020.
The feeling in the EU is to offer maybe a year's extension, so that they don't have this circus every few months, but if the WA is ratified in the UK then a new date can be agreed.
In other news, Operation Brock is being restarted over the weekend, and from Monday the southbound carriageway will be closed to prepare for a possible no deal Brexit on Friday. It is still the default position.
As it is also, if a WA is agreed, then the PD has to be turned into some kind of legal form, and if it is not completed and ratified by 31st December 2020, then the UK is left with no deal. Again. But as the UK would have legally already have left the EU, then there would be no revoke option. And in the WAB, the Government has said that Parliament could not stop that from happening, though that could be amended. Although, a future Government with a working majority could just change that law.
One last point worth noting, if Johnson's WA and the WAB are passed, then it means the end of the single market in the UK. For years we have been talking about the SM in the EU, and yet, this WA and WAB would wrench NO partially out of the UK and the political union of the UK.
That the leader of the Conservative and Union Party, Alexander Boris de Piffel Johnson, is willing to do this to push the most damaging of Brext through is jaw-dropping. This is no more a conservative policy in any tradition than nationalising the railways. And yet here we are.
One final thought from me today; is it possible that Johnson and Cumming's constant missteps actually provoking Parliament to stop the most damaging Brexits? The latest being scrutiny of the WAB to last less than three days, this was always going to be rejected by the Commons, so why do it in the first place when all you are doing is setting yourself to fail?
Like the insistance of the October 31st for leaving the EU, when it was clear from a month ago that there wasn't time. Not only for domestic laws to be passed, but for the updated WA to be ratified by the EU. Was never going to happen.
It was said that if May wanted to sabotage Brexit, her actions would have been no different from what she actually did. Is it the same with Johnson?
So many unforced errors, can they really be so incompetent?
All other them, educated at great expense at some of the most famous public schools, then going onto Oxbridge, and yet so shit.
Johnson sent the letter (unsigned), and it was accepted by the EU.
In principle, the EU has accepted the request for a further extension.
But they don't know how long to grant the extension for.
It all really depends on what the UK would use a further extension for.
As it always was.
It seems that France has rejected an extension to 31st January 2020.
The feeling in the EU is to offer maybe a year's extension, so that they don't have this circus every few months, but if the WA is ratified in the UK then a new date can be agreed.
In other news, Operation Brock is being restarted over the weekend, and from Monday the southbound carriageway will be closed to prepare for a possible no deal Brexit on Friday. It is still the default position.
As it is also, if a WA is agreed, then the PD has to be turned into some kind of legal form, and if it is not completed and ratified by 31st December 2020, then the UK is left with no deal. Again. But as the UK would have legally already have left the EU, then there would be no revoke option. And in the WAB, the Government has said that Parliament could not stop that from happening, though that could be amended. Although, a future Government with a working majority could just change that law.
One last point worth noting, if Johnson's WA and the WAB are passed, then it means the end of the single market in the UK. For years we have been talking about the SM in the EU, and yet, this WA and WAB would wrench NO partially out of the UK and the political union of the UK.
That the leader of the Conservative and Union Party, Alexander Boris de Piffel Johnson, is willing to do this to push the most damaging of Brext through is jaw-dropping. This is no more a conservative policy in any tradition than nationalising the railways. And yet here we are.
One final thought from me today; is it possible that Johnson and Cumming's constant missteps actually provoking Parliament to stop the most damaging Brexits? The latest being scrutiny of the WAB to last less than three days, this was always going to be rejected by the Commons, so why do it in the first place when all you are doing is setting yourself to fail?
Like the insistance of the October 31st for leaving the EU, when it was clear from a month ago that there wasn't time. Not only for domestic laws to be passed, but for the updated WA to be ratified by the EU. Was never going to happen.
It was said that if May wanted to sabotage Brexit, her actions would have been no different from what she actually did. Is it the same with Johnson?
So many unforced errors, can they really be so incompetent?
All other them, educated at great expense at some of the most famous public schools, then going onto Oxbridge, and yet so shit.
Thursday 24th October 2019
And so, the final stage of the holiday draws near. A 90 mile hope to Houston, a fairly straight run; what could go wrong?
We shall see.
And on the way, we would call into the Space Center for some rocket-based fun and frolics.
We packed up one last time, our collection of clean clothes getting ever smaller. And with one last trawl round the room, we leave and check out. We stop for coffee down in the lobby, but not breakfast, as microwaved egged based rubbery omelette things and meat-based sausage patty thing is just not food.
We would find somewhere decent on the way. So I said.
We drive out of Port Arthur, fill the car up as it had been several hours since we had last filled it up. The car stopped bleeping at his. For a while, though it did keep telling me I needed a break. We had only just started?
Anyway, Jools took over driving duties, so I could take shots from the passenger seat.
Now, I am not normally one of a nervous disposition, but trucks hammering by either side at 70mph is quite hair raising. But we do reach the outskirts of Houston safe enough.
The sat nav then took us on a grand tour of the suburbs and gated communities. Most worryingly is the total lack of signs pointing to anything like a Space Center. I mean, you would think one or two signs would mention it. But no.
It wasn't until we turned onto NASA Drive or something, we guessed we were in the right area.
Oh, there it is, a Space Shuttle making sweet love to that Jumbo Jet. We paid $5 to park the car, the lady smiled as she took our money.
We park a good two minutes walk from the entrance, mainly so I could take shots of the shuttle and 747. The day was crystal clear, so made for fabulous shooting conditions, and it was a target-rich environment.
We walked to the entrance, paid another $29 each to go in.
Beyond, there was a huge space filled with things for children to get engaged in, but also scatted were real spacecraft that had been used in one of the programs.
There was a Gemini capsule, a mock up of Skylab to show how big it actually was and a diorama of a moon landing. Further on there was a film of the whole space program, dating back to the 60s, and once you had seen that, you were free to go to "Enterprise Plaza", to walk under, round and in both the Space Shuttle Enterprise and the 707 underneath.
I realised how much I was enjoying this, I mean, one of my first memories was watching a moon landing on TV at school. It was watch TV or do maths. It was a choice I would carry on making right upto my exams a decade later. Explains my poor grades!
As well as a constant series of photographic opportunities, it was edumacational too.
To round off the visit, there was a tram tour round the site, with a guided walk through of the training area, and finally, the hangar containing an unused Saturb V rocket.
It is huge, it goes without saying. But I'll say it anyway.
I took dozens of shots. Although the other couple of hundred people on the tour kept getting in the way. Are we all photographers now? Yes we are.
We decide to leave as it was now packed, so after buying a t shirt(!) we go back to the car, Jools programs the sat nav, and we drive into the centre of Houston.
The main road into the city, I450912 or something, had 5 lines in each direction, with two more on an expressway, and two more on a local road running parallel. On both sides, 15 miles of strip mall stretched on and on. It looked horrible. While in the distant somg haze, downtown rose into the sky. Our hotel was somewhere in there. Somewhere.
Once near to downtown the sheer number of off and on ramps, we missed our turning, and so had to go round the inner ring road, filled with sheer terror at the number of roads joining and leaving.
We turned off, and suddenly, we were in downtown, a simple turn onto Texas Street brought us to the hotel.
Shellshocked, I let the guy park the car for us.
We take our luggage in, check in and we go to our room on the 4th floor. It is most splendid, but then should be.
After freshening up, we go to look for somewhere to eat, and on the opposite corner of the junction is a fine looking Tex-Mex place, Irma's.
Inside there is just one other table being used, so we get fantastic service, we order cocktails. I had wild game combo, made with wild boar. It was fabulous. As was the second and third cocktails I had. Spiked lemonade, which was very, very nice.
After that, we go for a leg stretching walk, which takes us to a bar. I order an IPA, and we sit at a streetside table and watch the world, and trams, go by. I have a second and third beer.
It is all very civilised.
In a beery kind of way.
We were waiting for the sun to set so I could get shots in the warm light before walking back to the hotel.
It turns out we couldn't be bothered to go back out, so we sit in the room and listen to the radio, write and I edit pictures.
As you do.
We shall see.
And on the way, we would call into the Space Center for some rocket-based fun and frolics.
We packed up one last time, our collection of clean clothes getting ever smaller. And with one last trawl round the room, we leave and check out. We stop for coffee down in the lobby, but not breakfast, as microwaved egged based rubbery omelette things and meat-based sausage patty thing is just not food.
We would find somewhere decent on the way. So I said.We drive out of Port Arthur, fill the car up as it had been several hours since we had last filled it up. The car stopped bleeping at his. For a while, though it did keep telling me I needed a break. We had only just started?
Anyway, Jools took over driving duties, so I could take shots from the passenger seat.Now, I am not normally one of a nervous disposition, but trucks hammering by either side at 70mph is quite hair raising. But we do reach the outskirts of Houston safe enough.
The sat nav then took us on a grand tour of the suburbs and gated communities. Most worryingly is the total lack of signs pointing to anything like a Space Center. I mean, you would think one or two signs would mention it. But no.
It wasn't until we turned onto NASA Drive or something, we guessed we were in the right area. Oh, there it is, a Space Shuttle making sweet love to that Jumbo Jet. We paid $5 to park the car, the lady smiled as she took our money.
We park a good two minutes walk from the entrance, mainly so I could take shots of the shuttle and 747. The day was crystal clear, so made for fabulous shooting conditions, and it was a target-rich environment.
We walked to the entrance, paid another $29 each to go in.Beyond, there was a huge space filled with things for children to get engaged in, but also scatted were real spacecraft that had been used in one of the programs.
There was a Gemini capsule, a mock up of Skylab to show how big it actually was and a diorama of a moon landing. Further on there was a film of the whole space program, dating back to the 60s, and once you had seen that, you were free to go to "Enterprise Plaza", to walk under, round and in both the Space Shuttle Enterprise and the 707 underneath.
I realised how much I was enjoying this, I mean, one of my first memories was watching a moon landing on TV at school. It was watch TV or do maths. It was a choice I would carry on making right upto my exams a decade later. Explains my poor grades!
As well as a constant series of photographic opportunities, it was edumacational too.
To round off the visit, there was a tram tour round the site, with a guided walk through of the training area, and finally, the hangar containing an unused Saturb V rocket.
It is huge, it goes without saying. But I'll say it anyway.
I took dozens of shots. Although the other couple of hundred people on the tour kept getting in the way. Are we all photographers now? Yes we are.
We decide to leave as it was now packed, so after buying a t shirt(!) we go back to the car, Jools programs the sat nav, and we drive into the centre of Houston.The main road into the city, I450912 or something, had 5 lines in each direction, with two more on an expressway, and two more on a local road running parallel. On both sides, 15 miles of strip mall stretched on and on. It looked horrible. While in the distant somg haze, downtown rose into the sky. Our hotel was somewhere in there. Somewhere.
Once near to downtown the sheer number of off and on ramps, we missed our turning, and so had to go round the inner ring road, filled with sheer terror at the number of roads joining and leaving.
We turned off, and suddenly, we were in downtown, a simple turn onto Texas Street brought us to the hotel.Shellshocked, I let the guy park the car for us.
We take our luggage in, check in and we go to our room on the 4th floor. It is most splendid, but then should be.After freshening up, we go to look for somewhere to eat, and on the opposite corner of the junction is a fine looking Tex-Mex place, Irma's.
Inside there is just one other table being used, so we get fantastic service, we order cocktails. I had wild game combo, made with wild boar. It was fabulous. As was the second and third cocktails I had. Spiked lemonade, which was very, very nice.
After that, we go for a leg stretching walk, which takes us to a bar. I order an IPA, and we sit at a streetside table and watch the world, and trams, go by. I have a second and third beer.
It is all very civilised.In a beery kind of way.
We were waiting for the sun to set so I could get shots in the warm light before walking back to the hotel.
It turns out we couldn't be bothered to go back out, so we sit in the room and listen to the radio, write and I edit pictures.
As you do.
Thursday 24 October 2019
A part of my youth died.
Today, a 78 year old man with Alzheimers died surrounded by his family.
You probably will not have heard of him.
But he was a hero of mine.
Duncan Forbes was Norwich City Captain when I started to go to watch them play in 1973.
My most vivid memory of him is him scoring I think the 4th goal in in a 5-3 win over Aston Villa in August 1975. A header, and in the process of scoring, he broke his nose. His shirt was covered with snot and blood. He cared not.
He had scored.
Duncan Forbes was captain when the club got promoted for the first time, and remained at the club for a third of a century, ending up running the travel club, Club Canary, before becoming a scout.
I knew Duncan from those Club Canary days. Happy to still be connected with the club, herding us brave band of away supporters onto our buses at various away games, and being there when we were promoted at Odsal in Bradford, and being dumped out of the FA Cup at Wigan.
Former top referee, Norman Burtenshaw's autobiography tells of his encounter with Duncan. A player who said nothing, but roared. Roared his players on, and they did.
The most iconic image of Duncan is him during pre-season training on Mousehold Heath, in vest and shorts.
There will never be another Dunc.
Mores the pity. Rest in peace, big man,
You probably will not have heard of him.
But he was a hero of mine.
Duncan Forbes was Norwich City Captain when I started to go to watch them play in 1973.
My most vivid memory of him is him scoring I think the 4th goal in in a 5-3 win over Aston Villa in August 1975. A header, and in the process of scoring, he broke his nose. His shirt was covered with snot and blood. He cared not.
He had scored.
Duncan Forbes was captain when the club got promoted for the first time, and remained at the club for a third of a century, ending up running the travel club, Club Canary, before becoming a scout.
I knew Duncan from those Club Canary days. Happy to still be connected with the club, herding us brave band of away supporters onto our buses at various away games, and being there when we were promoted at Odsal in Bradford, and being dumped out of the FA Cup at Wigan.
Former top referee, Norman Burtenshaw's autobiography tells of his encounter with Duncan. A player who said nothing, but roared. Roared his players on, and they did.
The most iconic image of Duncan is him during pre-season training on Mousehold Heath, in vest and shorts.
There will never be another Dunc.
Mores the pity. Rest in peace, big man,
Wednesday 23rd October 2019
Welcome to Port Arthur!
We awake in our budget room, awash with bonus pillows.
We have slept well.
Most of the others in the hotel stay here when they are working, so come half eight once we are up, showered and dressed, they have left for work.
Just the question of what to do....
Alligators seems to be the answer. In particular, Gator Word, about half an hour out of town.
We aim to get there once the park opens at then, driving along the long strip mall out into the marshes and across the bayous to Fannet.
We drive past the farm once.
And again the second time and end up on the on ramp to I10. We could not turn round. So we mix with the traffic through roadworks to the next exit, take the road back, then find the entrance to the park.
And then find it is closed until November 1st.
Bugger.
What to do?
Even though we had only had breakfast two hours before, we go to the soul food place that was closed the night before. Jools has a burger, which looked stunning, made with hand made patty and secret sauce and so on. I had a fried shrimp sandwich, which was OK.
We went back to the national park down on the Gulf Coast, hoping for more insects and birds, and maybe staying there until sunset at half six.
We parked up, and wandered round dead slow. I was hoping to snap some dragonflies, but they just won't be settling. However, a mating pair landed in front of me.
I snap them.
There were a few birds about: Ibis, a blue heron and many seagulls including some kind of plover.
I snap them too.
At half two, we were done. We could not fill four more hours here. So we drive back to the hotel.
We tried to find a bar, but only succeed in finding a place that did canteen style meals. Te food was crap, but there was lots of veggies. We have had hardly any vegetables in the twelve days we have been here, so we fill our boots.
Only cost forty five bucks.
We go back to the hotel, listen to the radio, I write and edit shots. Jools goes to the gas station to pick up snacks.
We listen to more music.
I watch the World Series game 2. Until bottom of the 6th. The game was tied at 2 all. I should have watched more, but it could have gone for hours. We went to bed.
We awake in our budget room, awash with bonus pillows.
We have slept well.
Most of the others in the hotel stay here when they are working, so come half eight once we are up, showered and dressed, they have left for work.
Just the question of what to do....
Alligators seems to be the answer. In particular, Gator Word, about half an hour out of town.
We aim to get there once the park opens at then, driving along the long strip mall out into the marshes and across the bayous to Fannet.
We drive past the farm once.
And again the second time and end up on the on ramp to I10. We could not turn round. So we mix with the traffic through roadworks to the next exit, take the road back, then find the entrance to the park.
And then find it is closed until November 1st.
Bugger.
What to do?
Even though we had only had breakfast two hours before, we go to the soul food place that was closed the night before. Jools has a burger, which looked stunning, made with hand made patty and secret sauce and so on. I had a fried shrimp sandwich, which was OK.
We went back to the national park down on the Gulf Coast, hoping for more insects and birds, and maybe staying there until sunset at half six.We parked up, and wandered round dead slow. I was hoping to snap some dragonflies, but they just won't be settling. However, a mating pair landed in front of me.
I snap them.
There were a few birds about: Ibis, a blue heron and many seagulls including some kind of plover.
I snap them too.
At half two, we were done. We could not fill four more hours here. So we drive back to the hotel.
We tried to find a bar, but only succeed in finding a place that did canteen style meals. Te food was crap, but there was lots of veggies. We have had hardly any vegetables in the twelve days we have been here, so we fill our boots.Only cost forty five bucks.
We go back to the hotel, listen to the radio, I write and edit shots. Jools goes to the gas station to pick up snacks.
We listen to more music.
I watch the World Series game 2. Until bottom of the 6th. The game was tied at 2 all. I should have watched more, but it could have gone for hours. We went to bed.
Strike!
Our erstwhile PM, Alexander Boris de Piffel Johnson, announced that 12th of December was his chosen date for a General Election as his failure to secure the timetable for the WAB.
But again, The Commons said "no".
So, it seems the Government is going on strike.
Yes, you read that right.
Until Johnson gets what he wants, there will be no more business other than urgent stuff.
No Queen's Speech debate. No Budget. Nada.
One might point out that this is no different from the past two years, but hey.
So, Johnson cannot get his WA through the Commons, and the Commons will not allow him to have an election until after 31st October.
Not that it is going to fix anything, but it seems that the political system in the UK is even more paralysed than ever.
I have no idea how this is going to pan out, but all bets are off now. Once people learn that Johnson lies every time he opens his mouth, might they begin to question everything?
Who knows?
So, until next time.
But again, The Commons said "no".
So, it seems the Government is going on strike.
Yes, you read that right.
Until Johnson gets what he wants, there will be no more business other than urgent stuff.
No Queen's Speech debate. No Budget. Nada.
One might point out that this is no different from the past two years, but hey.
So, Johnson cannot get his WA through the Commons, and the Commons will not allow him to have an election until after 31st October.
Not that it is going to fix anything, but it seems that the political system in the UK is even more paralysed than ever.
I have no idea how this is going to pan out, but all bets are off now. Once people learn that Johnson lies every time he opens his mouth, might they begin to question everything?
Who knows?
So, until next time.
The devil and the detail
As I write this short post, the Brext Secretary, Stephen Barclay, is in the Commons trying to explain to MPs how the proposed border on the island of Ireland is going to work.
He's not very sure himself.
If very basic details like this are unclear to the very person who was supposed to have negotiatied and written them, then what hope for the rest of us, and more importantly, businesses who use the border in order to be profitable?
Do they need to fill in declarations? From NI to UK? From UK to NI? Or both?
These are critical details, as the UK could leave the EU in seven day's time. So this stuff should all be nailed down and easy to follow and easy enough so that a Brexiteer could explain it.
But they can't, because as soon as Brexit encounters reality or the detail is written down, it falls apart.
This was always the way.
And probably the most basic error, or oversight from them is how Brexit would affect the union of the UK and Great Britain.
Brexit will lead to Irish unification, sooner or later. Maybe within a generation, maybe sooner.
And both the First Ministers of Scotland and Wales have both said they will not grant the WAB approval, which apparently both devolved assemblies need to give, but Johnson is quite happy to trample over that convention too, to deliver an English-exceptionalist Brexit.
In the words of DAG, the UK will leave the EU by simple operation of international law in seven days. Unless there is an extension or revokation. There is not enough time now to leave with a WA on the 31st in order to pass all legislation
He's not very sure himself.
If very basic details like this are unclear to the very person who was supposed to have negotiatied and written them, then what hope for the rest of us, and more importantly, businesses who use the border in order to be profitable?
Do they need to fill in declarations? From NI to UK? From UK to NI? Or both?
These are critical details, as the UK could leave the EU in seven day's time. So this stuff should all be nailed down and easy to follow and easy enough so that a Brexiteer could explain it.
But they can't, because as soon as Brexit encounters reality or the detail is written down, it falls apart.
This was always the way.
And probably the most basic error, or oversight from them is how Brexit would affect the union of the UK and Great Britain.
Brexit will lead to Irish unification, sooner or later. Maybe within a generation, maybe sooner.
And both the First Ministers of Scotland and Wales have both said they will not grant the WAB approval, which apparently both devolved assemblies need to give, but Johnson is quite happy to trample over that convention too, to deliver an English-exceptionalist Brexit.
In the words of DAG, the UK will leave the EU by simple operation of international law in seven days. Unless there is an extension or revokation. There is not enough time now to leave with a WA on the 31st in order to pass all legislation
Wednesday 23 October 2019
Tuesday 22nd October 2019
Before leaving Morgan City, we booked up our hotel for the next two nights. Jools chose Port Arthur. I assumed it was because it was beside the seaside. Or something.
Before hitting the road, we have breakfast, which included the young Jelltex trying to operate the automatic pancake making machine. Two minutes later, two small well cooked pancakes dropped onto a Styrofoam plate, which my plastic knife and fork struggled to cut.
The coffee was good though.
All our dirty laundry is in one case, the clean in the other, meaning we only have to carry one case when we check in now.
We load the car, Jools programs the sat nav, and we set off towards the interstate.
It was a glorious morning, so glorious we managed to work out how to open the sun roof on the car, so that a cool fresh breeze kept us chilly. But we stuck with it, as it nearly November and was sunny. It looked like summer and we were going to enjoy it!
We drove up through fields criss-crossed with ditches and dikes, passing through places like Baldwin, Jeanerette, New Iberia. Passing through identakit towns with strip malls, fast food joints and filling stations all looking the same. Sigh.
And then we join I10. The day was warmer, and carried on heading west, travelling across farmland barely abover the water table, but crops of sugarcane, rice all looking very healthy. Trucks carried away harvested cane for processing. We drove on.
Lake Charles had a very fine lake, called Charles I believe, and a huge bridge which the interstate leapt over yet another canal big enough for ocean-going liners to get up.
And after another half an hour we left Louisiana and entered Texas.
Wish us well.
Not quite sure what happened to the road, but it went from being wide and straight to narrowed laned and twisting and turning. Caught me by surprise, but as traffic was light, my poor lane management caused no issues.
We turned off to go south towards Port Arthur. The road went over yet another canal on a pair of stupidly high bridges, so high, Jools took shots.
A ten minute run down a busy road brought us to our hotel, La Quinta, a chain, but reasonable. Our room wasn't ready. Not surprising at it was only half twelve.
What to do?
I looked at the map, and it showed a nature reserve called Texas Point. I programmed it in, and off we went.
After a while, the road went through the middle of an oil terminal. Very odd indeed, the pipes, pillars and cables reached over and under the road, the air was thick with the smell of chemicals.
Out the other side, and the road ran beside yet another canal, and more oil refineries type places until we were in open country. On the right hand side, reeds stretched out of sight, but again, the water was lapping at the edge of the road.
At the main junction, there was a diner.
We were hungry. Shall we go in?
We shall.
Tammie's diner ran from a caravan, or whatever one is called over here. After the food is cooked, there is a covered area to sit. Food is good, plentiful and cheap.
Grackles wait to hoover up the leftovers. These are the American version of magpies; slightly smaller, all black, but in sunshine their feathers have a blue iridescence. They are smart as heck, later I would watch on go round to the front of cars picking off dead flies to eat, so much protein with little effort.
Ten more miles down the road brought us to Sea Rim State Park.
The air had been thick with dragonflies up to this point, but here there were dozens, hundreds on the wing, feeding (we found out later) on mosquitoes. Now, mosquitoes can smell the blood of a Jelltex from miles off, now here I was in their back garden, it would be messy.
It was about twenty five degrees, a stiff breeze blew, meaning that the dragonflies didn't settle, making photography almost impossible. I tried to snap them on the wing, but the camera was having none of it.
But there were Monarch butterflies about, and snapping one of those is always great.
After a couple of hours, we were done, so drove back to the hotel so we could check in and see what had happened in the world.
The room is large and comfortable, wifi is fairly fast, and there is free coffee in the lobby. Ticks most of the boxes.
Thing about modern America is that walking anywhere is impossible. There are food places around, but you have to cross about six lanes of traffic on three roads to get there.
And then there was boudain.
My friend, John, who lives in Houston told me i had to try boudain when I was here. We had seen the lace he recommended on the way over that morning, but ten was too early for lunch. So, I did a google search, and found a place nearby.
The sat nav took us to a convenience store in the middle of a neighbourhood, we went in but was just a store. We found out the kitchen closed at six, 15 minutes before.
Damn.
I did a search on the sat nav, and there was The Boudain Hut. The other side of town.
We set off.
You know that scene when the Blues Brothers walk into that country and western bar? That was us, in some honky tonk roadhouse on the edge of town.
They were very understanding, I have boudain balls (!) which was rather like Dutch croquets, but OK, not worth hunting round town for an hour for though.
They were setting up for some kind of karaoke, so we paid and left.
Then back to the hotel at dusk, with the colour that you only get in Hollywood movies. All orange on the horizon and dark, dark blue above.
Purdey.
We get some beers on the way back, then once in the room, pop open one each as we listened to the radio.
Days to do, getting few. Thoughts are turning to tasks when we get home. Real life always gets in the way!
Before hitting the road, we have breakfast, which included the young Jelltex trying to operate the automatic pancake making machine. Two minutes later, two small well cooked pancakes dropped onto a Styrofoam plate, which my plastic knife and fork struggled to cut.
The coffee was good though.
All our dirty laundry is in one case, the clean in the other, meaning we only have to carry one case when we check in now.
We load the car, Jools programs the sat nav, and we set off towards the interstate.
It was a glorious morning, so glorious we managed to work out how to open the sun roof on the car, so that a cool fresh breeze kept us chilly. But we stuck with it, as it nearly November and was sunny. It looked like summer and we were going to enjoy it!
We drove up through fields criss-crossed with ditches and dikes, passing through places like Baldwin, Jeanerette, New Iberia. Passing through identakit towns with strip malls, fast food joints and filling stations all looking the same. Sigh.
And then we join I10. The day was warmer, and carried on heading west, travelling across farmland barely abover the water table, but crops of sugarcane, rice all looking very healthy. Trucks carried away harvested cane for processing. We drove on.
Lake Charles had a very fine lake, called Charles I believe, and a huge bridge which the interstate leapt over yet another canal big enough for ocean-going liners to get up.
And after another half an hour we left Louisiana and entered Texas. Wish us well.
Not quite sure what happened to the road, but it went from being wide and straight to narrowed laned and twisting and turning. Caught me by surprise, but as traffic was light, my poor lane management caused no issues.We turned off to go south towards Port Arthur. The road went over yet another canal on a pair of stupidly high bridges, so high, Jools took shots.
A ten minute run down a busy road brought us to our hotel, La Quinta, a chain, but reasonable. Our room wasn't ready. Not surprising at it was only half twelve.
What to do?
I looked at the map, and it showed a nature reserve called Texas Point. I programmed it in, and off we went.
After a while, the road went through the middle of an oil terminal. Very odd indeed, the pipes, pillars and cables reached over and under the road, the air was thick with the smell of chemicals.
Out the other side, and the road ran beside yet another canal, and more oil refineries type places until we were in open country. On the right hand side, reeds stretched out of sight, but again, the water was lapping at the edge of the road.
At the main junction, there was a diner.
We were hungry. Shall we go in?
We shall.
Tammie's diner ran from a caravan, or whatever one is called over here. After the food is cooked, there is a covered area to sit. Food is good, plentiful and cheap.
Grackles wait to hoover up the leftovers. These are the American version of magpies; slightly smaller, all black, but in sunshine their feathers have a blue iridescence. They are smart as heck, later I would watch on go round to the front of cars picking off dead flies to eat, so much protein with little effort.
Ten more miles down the road brought us to Sea Rim State Park.
The air had been thick with dragonflies up to this point, but here there were dozens, hundreds on the wing, feeding (we found out later) on mosquitoes. Now, mosquitoes can smell the blood of a Jelltex from miles off, now here I was in their back garden, it would be messy.
It was about twenty five degrees, a stiff breeze blew, meaning that the dragonflies didn't settle, making photography almost impossible. I tried to snap them on the wing, but the camera was having none of it.
But there were Monarch butterflies about, and snapping one of those is always great.After a couple of hours, we were done, so drove back to the hotel so we could check in and see what had happened in the world.
The room is large and comfortable, wifi is fairly fast, and there is free coffee in the lobby. Ticks most of the boxes.Thing about modern America is that walking anywhere is impossible. There are food places around, but you have to cross about six lanes of traffic on three roads to get there.
And then there was boudain.
My friend, John, who lives in Houston told me i had to try boudain when I was here. We had seen the lace he recommended on the way over that morning, but ten was too early for lunch. So, I did a google search, and found a place nearby.
The sat nav took us to a convenience store in the middle of a neighbourhood, we went in but was just a store. We found out the kitchen closed at six, 15 minutes before.
Damn.
I did a search on the sat nav, and there was The Boudain Hut. The other side of town.
We set off.
You know that scene when the Blues Brothers walk into that country and western bar? That was us, in some honky tonk roadhouse on the edge of town.They were very understanding, I have boudain balls (!) which was rather like Dutch croquets, but OK, not worth hunting round town for an hour for though.
They were setting up for some kind of karaoke, so we paid and left. Then back to the hotel at dusk, with the colour that you only get in Hollywood movies. All orange on the horizon and dark, dark blue above.
Purdey.
We get some beers on the way back, then once in the room, pop open one each as we listened to the radio.
Days to do, getting few. Thoughts are turning to tasks when we get home. Real life always gets in the way!
The blame game continues
Johnson is blaming Labour.
Blaming them for stopping Brexit.
Johnson paused Brexit because Parliament wanted to scrutinise the WAB.
Scrutiny is literally its job.
Many members of the Conservative Party are happy to blindly vote for the WAB with actually reading it. At all. Not even the notes or summary.
They are happy to go on TV to say its a great deal, without knowing if that is true or not.
Brexit is, and always was, a death cult.
Today, it emerged a member of the ERG wrote to the Polish Government asking them to veto the A50 extension. The Polish Government replied it was not in their interest to have a no deal Brexit.
The Home Secretary, speaking as I write this, about the customs checks between Britain and NO refuses to elaborate in hypotheticals as they haven't happened yet. FFS.
But elsewhere, DExEU confirms there will be checks in both directions.
And the EU will mull over the extension request for some more time.
Johnson never had a plan.
The ERG never had a plan.
There still is no plan.
Blaming them for stopping Brexit.
Johnson paused Brexit because Parliament wanted to scrutinise the WAB.
Scrutiny is literally its job.
Many members of the Conservative Party are happy to blindly vote for the WAB with actually reading it. At all. Not even the notes or summary.
They are happy to go on TV to say its a great deal, without knowing if that is true or not.
Brexit is, and always was, a death cult.
Today, it emerged a member of the ERG wrote to the Polish Government asking them to veto the A50 extension. The Polish Government replied it was not in their interest to have a no deal Brexit.
The Home Secretary, speaking as I write this, about the customs checks between Britain and NO refuses to elaborate in hypotheticals as they haven't happened yet. FFS.
But elsewhere, DExEU confirms there will be checks in both directions.
And the EU will mull over the extension request for some more time.
Johnson never had a plan.
The ERG never had a plan.
There still is no plan.
Tuesday 22 October 2019
Monday 21st October 2019
AKA the Big Goodbye to the Big Easy.
Yes, as quick as that, it was time to leave and begin the last phase of our trip. Much to do, but also to pack, see how much clean clothes we had, did we need to go to the laundrette, or should be just buy some cheap t shirts?
All this and more to sort out after breakfast. And it being a weekday, the Palace was open at half eight, so a minute after opening we were waiting to go in so we could get a good unhealthy start to the day. Bacon, links and alligator sausages along with lots and lots of coffee made us soon wake up.
Back in the hotel there was a bronchitis convention, of doctors, not the disease, and got me thinking; when all these quacks go to a convention, who is looking after the sick back home?
I have no idea.
We go to pack, and with one last check we leave.
Out on the street, we get the creole speaking cab driver to understand we wanted the Avis lot at the airport. But we also told him and his mates we loved to hear them speak in creole. It is the most amazing language.
Through what counts as rush hour traffic, gets us to the airport, and a short walk to the lot where a very helpful lady, loves my Alien-themed t shirt, and upgrades us twice as my preferred card could not be added. We have a huge Lincoln Fugly town car. Or something. There was more than enough room for us and our cases and my camera gear, leaving enough room for a medium sized fridge on the back seat, if we wanted.
I had been studying a map, as to where to go, and saw a road leading out to sea to two small islands.
We shall go there.
We program the sat nav with Grand Isle, and off we go, out of the airport, down the interstate, heading west for half an hour before we turn south.
Beside a network of canals large enough for medium sized- oil rig supply vessels to have got up so far from the sea. Along the road and as far as the eye could see, sugarcane waved in the wind, slowly ripening.
We went further south.
There are only two toll roads in the state we were told. We found one of them.
The Gateway to the Gulf Freeway cost $3.75, and took the road on a ten mile long bridge/raised roadway, over a network of slatmarshes and slow-moving channels of water. On the horizon, oil rigs and jack up barges could be seen.
It was other-worldly.
And then we reached the first of the two islands.
I say islands. Sheppy back in Kent is formed from sandbanks. But it does rise to over a hundred feet, if not higher, above level of the river. Grand Isle is also made from a sand bank, but rose little above the level of the sea. I mean, if it was two inches above the sea, it might be too much! Water lapped at the edge of the road, houses, built on stilts has their footings under water.
People live here?!
Not only do they live here, but they are trying to sell their houses.
This is in an area of high risk of hurricanes and storm surges, and I have seen shark's fins higher above the water.
The town, is a collection of houses on stilts, ship docks and occasional bars.
It is out of season, and most places are closed. Further on, the road to another fuel terminal is under water. Two or three inches. It looks bad.
We turn round and are confronted with the sight of the town backed with storm clouds as black as my first two wive's hearts.
There was rain coming.
We decide to leave and head back to the mainland, but before we reach the bridge back, the heavens open, turning day into night and falling so hard it was like fog.
We press on, it was like the end of the world. Have I said that already?
We reach the main land and retrace our steps back to the interstate. It had taken three hours.
On we went in heavy rain, thick spray, but traffic was quite light, so not too bad. Until decide we had had enough, and we should try to find somewhere to stay.
We find a Holiday In in a small town called Morgan City.
They had a room and the noisiest air conditioning unit in Christendom.
Due to rain and that there was no sidewalk, we drove to the next hotel two blocks down for dinner, at a place called Mogan's. Morgan's in Morgan City. Sadly, our server was not called Morgan.
But we have a fine dinner, though both courses arrived at the same time, meaning we had a full table.
I have cajun-spiced rib eye, which came with fries and salad, and coming after bbq shrimp to start. I could not finish it all, but made a good stab.
And that was it.
We returned to the hotel, lightning flashed around now that darkness had fallen. We listen to more radio, then go to bed once The Patriots had thrashed the Eagles.
Yes, as quick as that, it was time to leave and begin the last phase of our trip. Much to do, but also to pack, see how much clean clothes we had, did we need to go to the laundrette, or should be just buy some cheap t shirts?
All this and more to sort out after breakfast. And it being a weekday, the Palace was open at half eight, so a minute after opening we were waiting to go in so we could get a good unhealthy start to the day. Bacon, links and alligator sausages along with lots and lots of coffee made us soon wake up.
Back in the hotel there was a bronchitis convention, of doctors, not the disease, and got me thinking; when all these quacks go to a convention, who is looking after the sick back home?
I have no idea.
We go to pack, and with one last check we leave.
Out on the street, we get the creole speaking cab driver to understand we wanted the Avis lot at the airport. But we also told him and his mates we loved to hear them speak in creole. It is the most amazing language.
Through what counts as rush hour traffic, gets us to the airport, and a short walk to the lot where a very helpful lady, loves my Alien-themed t shirt, and upgrades us twice as my preferred card could not be added. We have a huge Lincoln Fugly town car. Or something. There was more than enough room for us and our cases and my camera gear, leaving enough room for a medium sized fridge on the back seat, if we wanted.
I had been studying a map, as to where to go, and saw a road leading out to sea to two small islands.
We shall go there.
We program the sat nav with Grand Isle, and off we go, out of the airport, down the interstate, heading west for half an hour before we turn south.
Beside a network of canals large enough for medium sized- oil rig supply vessels to have got up so far from the sea. Along the road and as far as the eye could see, sugarcane waved in the wind, slowly ripening.
We went further south.
There are only two toll roads in the state we were told. We found one of them.
The Gateway to the Gulf Freeway cost $3.75, and took the road on a ten mile long bridge/raised roadway, over a network of slatmarshes and slow-moving channels of water. On the horizon, oil rigs and jack up barges could be seen.
It was other-worldly.
And then we reached the first of the two islands.
I say islands. Sheppy back in Kent is formed from sandbanks. But it does rise to over a hundred feet, if not higher, above level of the river. Grand Isle is also made from a sand bank, but rose little above the level of the sea. I mean, if it was two inches above the sea, it might be too much! Water lapped at the edge of the road, houses, built on stilts has their footings under water.
People live here?!
Not only do they live here, but they are trying to sell their houses.
This is in an area of high risk of hurricanes and storm surges, and I have seen shark's fins higher above the water.
The town, is a collection of houses on stilts, ship docks and occasional bars.It is out of season, and most places are closed. Further on, the road to another fuel terminal is under water. Two or three inches. It looks bad.
We turn round and are confronted with the sight of the town backed with storm clouds as black as my first two wive's hearts.
There was rain coming.We decide to leave and head back to the mainland, but before we reach the bridge back, the heavens open, turning day into night and falling so hard it was like fog.
We press on, it was like the end of the world. Have I said that already?
We reach the main land and retrace our steps back to the interstate. It had taken three hours.
On we went in heavy rain, thick spray, but traffic was quite light, so not too bad. Until decide we had had enough, and we should try to find somewhere to stay.
We find a Holiday In in a small town called Morgan City.
They had a room and the noisiest air conditioning unit in Christendom.Due to rain and that there was no sidewalk, we drove to the next hotel two blocks down for dinner, at a place called Mogan's. Morgan's in Morgan City. Sadly, our server was not called Morgan.
But we have a fine dinner, though both courses arrived at the same time, meaning we had a full table.
I have cajun-spiced rib eye, which came with fries and salad, and coming after bbq shrimp to start. I could not finish it all, but made a good stab.
And that was it.
We returned to the hotel, lightning flashed around now that darkness had fallen. We listen to more radio, then go to bed once The Patriots had thrashed the Eagles.
Slightly more idea now
The second reading of the WAB has passed, but only so that MPs can amend it.
And then the programming vote failed, in which the PM tried to get all stages of the bill done in two and a half days. MPs refused, and now Johnson has "paused" the WAB.
This means the UK now waits to see what extension, if any, the EU offers.
Johnson is pressing for an extension of just a month, but the formal request was until January 2020.
It might all depend on France.
It is a fucking mess to be honest.
Glad I'm not listening to events taking place, just the summary at the end of the day.
Now Parliament will switch to debating the pointless Queen's speech, which had been pulled this week.
And then the programming vote failed, in which the PM tried to get all stages of the bill done in two and a half days. MPs refused, and now Johnson has "paused" the WAB.
This means the UK now waits to see what extension, if any, the EU offers.
Johnson is pressing for an extension of just a month, but the formal request was until January 2020.
It might all depend on France.
It is a fucking mess to be honest.
Glad I'm not listening to events taking place, just the summary at the end of the day.
Now Parliament will switch to debating the pointless Queen's speech, which had been pulled this week.
Monday 21 October 2019
I have no idea what's going on
Thing about being on holiday, is doing all the holiday stuff, editing photos and then writing about what we did, and then trying to keep up to date on the ongoing clusterfuck back home.
Today, the Government tried to bring back the MV or whatever it was for the WA, but the Speaker disallowed it on th basis that he stopped May bringing her MV back, it is against convention.
Back then, JRM backed his decision, but now as Leader of the House and responsible for getting legislation through the House, he disagrees.
Apparently forgot what he said just a few months ago.
Tonight, the Government released the Withdrawal Agreement Bill (WAB), and plan to give Parliament just two days to read, debate and vote on it.
All the talk of restoring sovereignty to Parliament always was bollocks, when it now clearly about railroading what the executive wants.
If the bill is passed, then it allows the Government to walk out of negotiation on trade with the EU with no deal in place, so the cliffedge is just 14 months later. This was always true, but to see this now as Government policy is shocking.
And Parliament is weary. The country is weary Of Brexit, but now, right at the end, nerves need to be held.
Failure to have at least two weeks scrutiny on what the WAB will be dereliction of duty by Parliament, and a sham of democracy.
This is the true face of Brexit.
Today, the Government tried to bring back the MV or whatever it was for the WA, but the Speaker disallowed it on th basis that he stopped May bringing her MV back, it is against convention.
Back then, JRM backed his decision, but now as Leader of the House and responsible for getting legislation through the House, he disagrees.
Apparently forgot what he said just a few months ago.
Tonight, the Government released the Withdrawal Agreement Bill (WAB), and plan to give Parliament just two days to read, debate and vote on it.
All the talk of restoring sovereignty to Parliament always was bollocks, when it now clearly about railroading what the executive wants.
If the bill is passed, then it allows the Government to walk out of negotiation on trade with the EU with no deal in place, so the cliffedge is just 14 months later. This was always true, but to see this now as Government policy is shocking.
And Parliament is weary. The country is weary Of Brexit, but now, right at the end, nerves need to be held.
Failure to have at least two weeks scrutiny on what the WAB will be dereliction of duty by Parliament, and a sham of democracy.
This is the true face of Brexit.
Sunday 20th October 2019
Another day in Nawlins.
And an even hotter on than Saturday.
So, to be different, we have booked a swamp tour for the morning, into the afternoon.
What larks!
We have to be at a hotel behind ours at eight to pick up a bus. We were up in time, all showered and dressed, camera batteries checked, memory cards in camera.
All set.
I just go to check something online, and an e mail had come in, that due to ongoing demolition work (more of this later), the pick up point had been moved.
Eeeek.
So, we look for the hotel, work out a route. But we have to be there by eight, and we have 25 minutes to get there.
We get going.
Sunday morning in Crescent City is a thing to behold, drunks and the less lucky were sleeping where they could, partially dressed and some stinking. Talking of stinking, the streets smell pretty bad too. Gangs of Ne'er-do-wells hanging around looking at doing mischief, or they might just be bored. Eyes down and walk on.
Down Canal Street, the turn right just before the river, and two blocks along was the hotel, and a large group of people also awaiting for the tour are already there. Including on in a Reanimator t shirt, I admire his and he says nice things about my They Live t shirt.
We wait and wait. One bus comes, double parking beside the taxi rank, which infuriates the first driver who wants to throw some punches, it seems. The bs moves on, and ours comes. We climb on as our names are ticked off.
All aboard the Skylark.
Our driver, Pam, welcomed us on board, gave us a safety brief, and drive off, taking us out of the downtown towards the motorway. On the way she asked where we were all from, whether we had tried various cocktails, foods, bars and so on, getting up a real feel good atmosphere on board.
She also points out the 9th Ward, still recovering from Katrina, the Lower 9th, even worse. But many homes have been rebuilt.
I10 leaps out over Lake Pontchartrain, the remains of the old freeway on the left hand side, another victim of Katrina.
We turn off the freeway, down ever smaller roads until we come to their office, beside a lifting bridge. Jools goes to check in, and get the wristbands we needed to board one of the half dozen boats.
We buy some snacks, as there had been no time for breakfast. And then, one by one the groups were called forward by the captains; ours being the last.
We climb on the boat, he says: don't fall in, don't drop your phones in the water.
And we were off, slowly backing out of the dock, then opening the throttle on the outboard. We were sat at the front, the bow lifts up and we accelerate along the river, taking long quick turns as the river meanders. It is a fabulous morning, the trees are hung with Spanish Moss, sunlight falls through it. The wind is in our hair, the sun in our eyes.
It is perfect.
There are many boats out, and each captain has their "spot" for finding alligators. Once one boat has been to one site, and other slides in.
We see one large adult alligator from afar, but thanks to my zoom lens, I get a fine shot.
We go on.
Time and time again, the boat slows and the captain steers us down narrow channels as we look for more gators. We only find ones fairly young, less than 7 years. But he has snacks, which he teases the gators with, to get them the rear up out of the water.
That happened on the other side of the boat, on our side we saw a small two year old gator which was more than happy to show us its gnashers.
All along the river and narrow channels, reeds an other plants hummed with life, butterflies, dragonflies and birds. Elsewhere, trees were hung with beards of Spanish Moss, which is neither Spanish nor a moss. But that is mere details.
We take a channel into the mangrove woods, trees and roots pushing out of the water. The channel narrows, and at the end is a bristly shape, a flat snout sniffs the air.
A wild boar.
Each captain has a selection of treats with which to feed the not-so-wildlife, and as the case here A cup of something entices the hog to the side of the boat, half submerged in the brackish water.
The cup is emptied into the open mouth, bits go flying, but the hog is happy.
As are we as cameras record the scene.
Behind the boat, a pair of pleading eyes looks in, and a raccoon tries to get near the boat. I am in the perfect spot to get shots, as it sits at the foot of a large tree, waiting for something. One of the passengers throws something, and the trat lands at the foot of the tree. The raccoon grasps it in its little hands.
And so our trip was coming to an end.
The boat backed out, and we make our way to the river, where the captain opens the throttle and we cruise away down the river, back to the bridge and dock, where our bus was waiting, as we were the last boat to return.
The bus retraced its way back to downtown, and on the way passing the partially collapsed Hard Rock Hotel.
Last week I saw a video of people running for their lives as a building under construction collapsed. Little did i know that 9 days later, we would be staying three blocks from it, and on Sunday the two unstable cranes were due to be brought down in controlled explosions. One man lost his life in the collapse, and local news has been paying tribute to the man.
We drop our stuff back at the hotel, only to find it is in the exclusion zone, but the police lets us in. And after dropping our stuff off we go back out to find a place to eat as it was half two and we had yet to eat.
Deaney's was closed, but the seafood next door was open. We go in.
It is quiet as most public are outside the exclusion zone, so we get a table and a very attentive waitress.
I have the seafood platter, which was wonderful, along with two hurricane cocktails and a beer.
Phew, that was some good eatin'.
And then we were told that all doors had been locked whilst the explosive charges were set off.
Another cocktail, please!
Just after three there is a huge bang that echoes round the narrow streets, and all local TV channels switches to a life feed as the cranes were brought down.
Or one was.
As the second half collapsed onto the hotel. A partial success, then.
We walk back to the hotel where after a few minutes we both lay on the bed and are soon snoring gently.
At half six we wake up to find it dark outside and our heads spinning.
I have had enough of the French Quarter at night, I know, must be getting old. But Jools says she wanted to go out, and so we do at just after eight, but it is madness out there. Not quite Saturday night madness, but mad enough. We walk down the road beside the hotel, and into another hotel bar-cum-restaurant.
I have a brown ale, Jools has cider. We have a starter to top us up for the night, and I have garlic crusted wings, which was yet more good cajun eatin'.
On all TV screens was the Cowboys thrashing the Eagles, and the sound turned up all the way to 11, so there was no escaping it.
We were done our last night in New Orleans. We walk back to the hotel, I lay on the bed and watch the end of the game.
All done.
Tomorrow, the last stage of the holiday happens, a road trip along the coast into Texas.
And an even hotter on than Saturday.
So, to be different, we have booked a swamp tour for the morning, into the afternoon.
What larks!
We have to be at a hotel behind ours at eight to pick up a bus. We were up in time, all showered and dressed, camera batteries checked, memory cards in camera.
All set.
I just go to check something online, and an e mail had come in, that due to ongoing demolition work (more of this later), the pick up point had been moved.
Eeeek.
So, we look for the hotel, work out a route. But we have to be there by eight, and we have 25 minutes to get there.
We get going.
Sunday morning in Crescent City is a thing to behold, drunks and the less lucky were sleeping where they could, partially dressed and some stinking. Talking of stinking, the streets smell pretty bad too. Gangs of Ne'er-do-wells hanging around looking at doing mischief, or they might just be bored. Eyes down and walk on.
Down Canal Street, the turn right just before the river, and two blocks along was the hotel, and a large group of people also awaiting for the tour are already there. Including on in a Reanimator t shirt, I admire his and he says nice things about my They Live t shirt.
We wait and wait. One bus comes, double parking beside the taxi rank, which infuriates the first driver who wants to throw some punches, it seems. The bs moves on, and ours comes. We climb on as our names are ticked off.
All aboard the Skylark.
Our driver, Pam, welcomed us on board, gave us a safety brief, and drive off, taking us out of the downtown towards the motorway. On the way she asked where we were all from, whether we had tried various cocktails, foods, bars and so on, getting up a real feel good atmosphere on board.
She also points out the 9th Ward, still recovering from Katrina, the Lower 9th, even worse. But many homes have been rebuilt.
I10 leaps out over Lake Pontchartrain, the remains of the old freeway on the left hand side, another victim of Katrina.
We turn off the freeway, down ever smaller roads until we come to their office, beside a lifting bridge. Jools goes to check in, and get the wristbands we needed to board one of the half dozen boats.
We buy some snacks, as there had been no time for breakfast. And then, one by one the groups were called forward by the captains; ours being the last.
We climb on the boat, he says: don't fall in, don't drop your phones in the water.
And we were off, slowly backing out of the dock, then opening the throttle on the outboard. We were sat at the front, the bow lifts up and we accelerate along the river, taking long quick turns as the river meanders. It is a fabulous morning, the trees are hung with Spanish Moss, sunlight falls through it. The wind is in our hair, the sun in our eyes.
It is perfect.
There are many boats out, and each captain has their "spot" for finding alligators. Once one boat has been to one site, and other slides in.
We see one large adult alligator from afar, but thanks to my zoom lens, I get a fine shot.We go on.
Time and time again, the boat slows and the captain steers us down narrow channels as we look for more gators. We only find ones fairly young, less than 7 years. But he has snacks, which he teases the gators with, to get them the rear up out of the water.
That happened on the other side of the boat, on our side we saw a small two year old gator which was more than happy to show us its gnashers.
All along the river and narrow channels, reeds an other plants hummed with life, butterflies, dragonflies and birds. Elsewhere, trees were hung with beards of Spanish Moss, which is neither Spanish nor a moss. But that is mere details.
We take a channel into the mangrove woods, trees and roots pushing out of the water. The channel narrows, and at the end is a bristly shape, a flat snout sniffs the air.A wild boar.
Each captain has a selection of treats with which to feed the not-so-wildlife, and as the case here A cup of something entices the hog to the side of the boat, half submerged in the brackish water.
The cup is emptied into the open mouth, bits go flying, but the hog is happy.As are we as cameras record the scene.
Behind the boat, a pair of pleading eyes looks in, and a raccoon tries to get near the boat. I am in the perfect spot to get shots, as it sits at the foot of a large tree, waiting for something. One of the passengers throws something, and the trat lands at the foot of the tree. The raccoon grasps it in its little hands.
And so our trip was coming to an end.The boat backed out, and we make our way to the river, where the captain opens the throttle and we cruise away down the river, back to the bridge and dock, where our bus was waiting, as we were the last boat to return.
The bus retraced its way back to downtown, and on the way passing the partially collapsed Hard Rock Hotel.
Last week I saw a video of people running for their lives as a building under construction collapsed. Little did i know that 9 days later, we would be staying three blocks from it, and on Sunday the two unstable cranes were due to be brought down in controlled explosions. One man lost his life in the collapse, and local news has been paying tribute to the man.
We drop our stuff back at the hotel, only to find it is in the exclusion zone, but the police lets us in. And after dropping our stuff off we go back out to find a place to eat as it was half two and we had yet to eat.
Deaney's was closed, but the seafood next door was open. We go in.
It is quiet as most public are outside the exclusion zone, so we get a table and a very attentive waitress.
I have the seafood platter, which was wonderful, along with two hurricane cocktails and a beer.
Phew, that was some good eatin'.
And then we were told that all doors had been locked whilst the explosive charges were set off.
Another cocktail, please!
Just after three there is a huge bang that echoes round the narrow streets, and all local TV channels switches to a life feed as the cranes were brought down.
Or one was.
As the second half collapsed onto the hotel. A partial success, then.
We walk back to the hotel where after a few minutes we both lay on the bed and are soon snoring gently.
At half six we wake up to find it dark outside and our heads spinning.
I have had enough of the French Quarter at night, I know, must be getting old. But Jools says she wanted to go out, and so we do at just after eight, but it is madness out there. Not quite Saturday night madness, but mad enough. We walk down the road beside the hotel, and into another hotel bar-cum-restaurant.
I have a brown ale, Jools has cider. We have a starter to top us up for the night, and I have garlic crusted wings, which was yet more good cajun eatin'.
On all TV screens was the Cowboys thrashing the Eagles, and the sound turned up all the way to 11, so there was no escaping it.
We were done our last night in New Orleans. We walk back to the hotel, I lay on the bed and watch the end of the game.
All done.
Tomorrow, the last stage of the holiday happens, a road trip along the coast into Texas.
Sunday 20 October 2019
Dear Mum
Dear Mum,
Well, you're gone.
I've been meaning to tel you a few things, know its too late now, but still.
First up, I got a tattoo.
In fact, I got two tattoos. Like 14 years ago. On the top of each arm. I like them, but never told you.
Sorry.
I gives me no pleasure, really, to be proven right. The house was going to kill you. That or your lifestyle. One thing I didn't get was how ill you really had made yourself. You liked to call me a "fucking know-it-all", guess I am. But even after all we went through, still wish you were here.
And you could still have changed.
But, leopards and liars never change their spots.
I spoke to Pat, the person you said you had apologised to for lying to in relation to your smoking. She said you had never said any such thing.
Another lie.
Not that I believed you in the first place, but your lies did hurt people, and pushed people away.
We gave you a good send off. Some truths were said, others hinted to. I think it went down well. Everyone said you would have loved to have met everyone at the Wherry afterwards.
Thing is, you could have seen all those folks, most lived within a two minute walk of the house. Many had not seen you for 20 years.
Your loss.
Really, your loss. But then, they remembered you as you were, as you were when Dad died and before. Not who you chose to become.
Anyway, as I said, you worked, paid your taxes, paid the mortgage, so you could live your life however you wanted. No one could stop you.
So, your life ended, earlier than it should. And, life goes one.
We will say goodbye to you next month when you are laid next to Dad. I hope you get to spend eternity apologising to him for what you did.
Still, sleep well. Be at peace, and I hope you found what you were looking for.
Well, you're gone.
I've been meaning to tel you a few things, know its too late now, but still.
First up, I got a tattoo.
In fact, I got two tattoos. Like 14 years ago. On the top of each arm. I like them, but never told you.
Sorry.
I gives me no pleasure, really, to be proven right. The house was going to kill you. That or your lifestyle. One thing I didn't get was how ill you really had made yourself. You liked to call me a "fucking know-it-all", guess I am. But even after all we went through, still wish you were here.
And you could still have changed.
But, leopards and liars never change their spots.
I spoke to Pat, the person you said you had apologised to for lying to in relation to your smoking. She said you had never said any such thing.
Another lie.
Not that I believed you in the first place, but your lies did hurt people, and pushed people away.
We gave you a good send off. Some truths were said, others hinted to. I think it went down well. Everyone said you would have loved to have met everyone at the Wherry afterwards.
Thing is, you could have seen all those folks, most lived within a two minute walk of the house. Many had not seen you for 20 years.
Your loss.
Really, your loss. But then, they remembered you as you were, as you were when Dad died and before. Not who you chose to become.
Anyway, as I said, you worked, paid your taxes, paid the mortgage, so you could live your life however you wanted. No one could stop you.
So, your life ended, earlier than it should. And, life goes one.
We will say goodbye to you next month when you are laid next to Dad. I hope you get to spend eternity apologising to him for what you did.
Still, sleep well. Be at peace, and I hope you found what you were looking for.
Another week of chaos.
This week, some kind of resolution for Brexit might be found.
Or not.
Johnson hopes to bring back a vote in his WA tomorrow, though it seems unlikely numbers in the chamber will change that much, depends what might be offered to tempt waverers.
Johnson and Raab seem confident not only they have the numbers, but that Brexit will happen in 31st October. It is impossible to see that happening due to the legislation that will need to be passed before then, there just isn't time, but Johnson will try to railroad Parliament with little or no scrutiny, pretty much as the Conservatives have done since the referendum.
What is clear, is that the Tories have lost the DUP who would vote to revoke Brexit before backing Johnson's WA.
In the meantime, the Scottish inner court will decide if Johnson tried to frustrate Parliament and thus go against assurances the Government made a week ago. It is unlikely they will do anything, but we have been saying such things for two weeks.
Anyone who says this week, or at the end of it, they knew what the outcome was going to be, is lying.
Anything can happen.
Or not.
Johnson hopes to bring back a vote in his WA tomorrow, though it seems unlikely numbers in the chamber will change that much, depends what might be offered to tempt waverers.
Johnson and Raab seem confident not only they have the numbers, but that Brexit will happen in 31st October. It is impossible to see that happening due to the legislation that will need to be passed before then, there just isn't time, but Johnson will try to railroad Parliament with little or no scrutiny, pretty much as the Conservatives have done since the referendum.
What is clear, is that the Tories have lost the DUP who would vote to revoke Brexit before backing Johnson's WA.
In the meantime, the Scottish inner court will decide if Johnson tried to frustrate Parliament and thus go against assurances the Government made a week ago. It is unlikely they will do anything, but we have been saying such things for two weeks.
Anyone who says this week, or at the end of it, they knew what the outcome was going to be, is lying.
Anything can happen.
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