I meant to put this on the last Brexit/COVID post, but the sheer stupidity deserves a post of its own.
On Saturday, there was a massive anti-mask rally at Trafalgar Square, organised by Jereny Corbyn's brother.
Thousands of people attended, none wearing masks, and also attending were various racists and mouthbreathers, including one chap who brought along a flag depicting the British Union of Fascists from 1936. My Grandfather, and many of our grandparents literally risked their lives fighting actual fascists in WWII, yet these mothbreathers claim to love England. I mean its always England, isn't it?
There were raves in London, Manchester and near Bath, as people have apparently forgotten we are in the middle of a global pandemic. Apparently, there was little the police could do(!).
The cost of COVID will have to be paid, sooner or later. Latest rumours is of higher taxes for the wealthy, or yet another tax raid on pensions. You know the very thing Gordon Brown is still mocked for?
I don't have the answers, but austerity certainly doesn't work, cutting spending on benefits, infrastructure investment will double the effect of a recession.
And then there's Brexit, which will kill off those companies that will survive the year.
Grim all round, and all so avoidable.
Yet, Boris ploughs on, towards the cliff edge.
Monday 31 August 2020
Sunday 30th August 2020
Sunday.
Last Sunday in August, middle day of a three day weekend, and it is so cold we have to put the heating on.
Not only is it cold, it is cloudy too, light very flat. I have no urge to go out to take shots.
So I don't.
Life has settled down, and apart from the occasional hissing fit between the older cats and kittens, the only downside is Cleo who is still pooing inside, on the crpet, under a bed, anywhere except in the litter box or outside. We are hoping she grows out of it. Soon. In the meantime we keep an eye on her and try to clean the accident away before the smell gets too bad. Other than that, they are a delight, during the day we can't get near them to hold or hug, but they like to play, especially with a piece of rolled up silver paper as it doesn't roll as freely as a ping pong ball. Cleo will play for ages with that, and for Poppy I have tied a catnip infused plush fish on a piece of string, and we play with that for ages, making Poppy just three feet in the air, doing cartwheels.
Some nice bread to go with the cheese would be good. Says Jools.
So, I Google how to make "proper" baguettes, and find one. So I make a batch of dough through the morning, have them in the oven at eleven, and done by half past, so we could have lunch before midday, when Le Tour was due to begin. I missed the first day, but with the second stage being in mountains, it would be good. Or should be.
The bread was fabulous, almost as good as from No Name Shop, and went so well with the strong cheese and glass of tripel. OK, it was early, but I should be able to stay awake through the afternoon.
I take my place on the sofa and watch the rolling start, then luxuriate in the wonderful countryside as the race headed along a long deep valley before beginning to climb. Small villages clung to hillsides, like on the edge of a huge rock knife. I could live there, I thought, more than once.
The race goes up, over one mountain, down the other side, through an attractive town before climbing up a mountain the other side of the river. Once at the top, down again, and back to Nice, round the town twice and fin.
Nice looks nice. I could love there too.
Just a shame that Brexit is taking the opportunity away from us. We can only stay in France for three months at a time from January, another one of them Brexit bonuses.
Dinner was that old favourite, chorizo hash, which always goes down well. I wash it down with the remaining half of the tripel.
Lovely.
But that was it, even though the sun came out and it warmed up, too cold to go outside, so we listen to the radio until just gone nine.
Last Sunday in August, middle day of a three day weekend, and it is so cold we have to put the heating on.
Not only is it cold, it is cloudy too, light very flat. I have no urge to go out to take shots.
So I don't.
Life has settled down, and apart from the occasional hissing fit between the older cats and kittens, the only downside is Cleo who is still pooing inside, on the crpet, under a bed, anywhere except in the litter box or outside. We are hoping she grows out of it. Soon. In the meantime we keep an eye on her and try to clean the accident away before the smell gets too bad. Other than that, they are a delight, during the day we can't get near them to hold or hug, but they like to play, especially with a piece of rolled up silver paper as it doesn't roll as freely as a ping pong ball. Cleo will play for ages with that, and for Poppy I have tied a catnip infused plush fish on a piece of string, and we play with that for ages, making Poppy just three feet in the air, doing cartwheels.
Some nice bread to go with the cheese would be good. Says Jools.So, I Google how to make "proper" baguettes, and find one. So I make a batch of dough through the morning, have them in the oven at eleven, and done by half past, so we could have lunch before midday, when Le Tour was due to begin. I missed the first day, but with the second stage being in mountains, it would be good. Or should be.
The bread was fabulous, almost as good as from No Name Shop, and went so well with the strong cheese and glass of tripel. OK, it was early, but I should be able to stay awake through the afternoon.
I take my place on the sofa and watch the rolling start, then luxuriate in the wonderful countryside as the race headed along a long deep valley before beginning to climb. Small villages clung to hillsides, like on the edge of a huge rock knife. I could live there, I thought, more than once.
The race goes up, over one mountain, down the other side, through an attractive town before climbing up a mountain the other side of the river. Once at the top, down again, and back to Nice, round the town twice and fin.
Nice looks nice. I could love there too.
Just a shame that Brexit is taking the opportunity away from us. We can only stay in France for three months at a time from January, another one of them Brexit bonuses.
Dinner was that old favourite, chorizo hash, which always goes down well. I wash it down with the remaining half of the tripel.
Lovely.
But that was it, even though the sun came out and it warmed up, too cold to go outside, so we listen to the radio until just gone nine.
The Boris Method
I saw a program on method acting. Not sure if it was De Niro or Brando, but he would stay "in character" all day, even in his trailer. I mention this because I can't really believe that such an expensive education could have produced someone so useless as our current PM. Before interviews, he puts his head in his hands, ruffles his groomed hair and becomes "Boris", bumbling, lovable upper class twit.
Boris should be an after dinner speaker, or a quiz show host, but not Prime Minister. He can't hack the work required. He seems to be waiting for the time he can become a former Prime Minister. He seems to op up once a week, make a meandering speech and then vanish again for a week, he has been doing this for a year now, and it is easier now that Parliament is in recess, so he doesn't face his weekly humiliation at PMQs.
But of course, there is much hard work to do, a second wave now look inevitable, as in France and Germany, lockdown fatigue is resulting in less and less social distancing and mask wearing, so infection rates creep up. 1.4 in France. It is estimated to be about 1.1 in the UK; estimated as we don't have an actual track and trace system that works. And in not having that, reopening schools and universities as well as offices is more risky here. The economy needs you to return to the office. Indeed, so the Government can tank it again in January with Brexit.
But that is just details.
Leaving building the lorry park in Ashford to the last minute means that, say, a Saxon settlement is unearthed, it delays an already overdue project.
Brexit has been on its summer holibobs, but there have been talks ongoing, not that they have achieved anything. But the madness will begin again soo, as the days shorten further, if its a case who will blink first, it will be our method acting PM, taking whatever deal the EU will give him.
Probably.
Boris should be an after dinner speaker, or a quiz show host, but not Prime Minister. He can't hack the work required. He seems to be waiting for the time he can become a former Prime Minister. He seems to op up once a week, make a meandering speech and then vanish again for a week, he has been doing this for a year now, and it is easier now that Parliament is in recess, so he doesn't face his weekly humiliation at PMQs.
But of course, there is much hard work to do, a second wave now look inevitable, as in France and Germany, lockdown fatigue is resulting in less and less social distancing and mask wearing, so infection rates creep up. 1.4 in France. It is estimated to be about 1.1 in the UK; estimated as we don't have an actual track and trace system that works. And in not having that, reopening schools and universities as well as offices is more risky here. The economy needs you to return to the office. Indeed, so the Government can tank it again in January with Brexit.
But that is just details.
Leaving building the lorry park in Ashford to the last minute means that, say, a Saxon settlement is unearthed, it delays an already overdue project.
Brexit has been on its summer holibobs, but there have been talks ongoing, not that they have achieved anything. But the madness will begin again soo, as the days shorten further, if its a case who will blink first, it will be our method acting PM, taking whatever deal the EU will give him.
Probably.
Sunday 30 August 2020
Saturday 29th August 2020
Record Store Day (part 1) 2020.
I mention the above as it is a thing, and we have a proper record shop near us, one that sells ales as well as records; something for everyone. And this above event as The The had a new single out, recorded using the same mellatron as used on This is The Day over 30 years ago, and I thought I would give it a go to get a copy which was being released for the event.
We wre up just after six, it is only just getting light at that time. It was grey and cool, typical for a bank holiday weekend if i'm honest.
We have coffee and breakfast, and much to Jools' surprise I announce I am going to Deal. I won't be long.
With it being a holiday, and Deal being on the seaside, it should have been busy, and busier than it has been, but still not back to normal. At ten past nine, there were still dozens of parking spaces free. I park at the far side, leaving a short walk to Smugglers Records. It is open, and there is no queue. I was directed to the RSD releases, but The The was sold out, they had just three copies.
I look through the rack and find a Lovely Eggs lp, on picture disc, so I get that.
Just along the High Street is a fine cheese shop, No Name Shop, which sells unpasteurised French cheeses. It is easy to get carried away, so I limit myself to two cheeses. And a baguette. And some egg tarts. But that is it.
I leave town before I can spend more money, getting back home in 40 minutes.
The weather doesn't improve, we have second breakfast and more coffee, whilst listening to the radio.
A few weeks ago I had bought some plug plants. We had planted the Viper's Bugloss, but the Moth Mulleins were still in their pots, and needed to be sorted. So before I got listening to Huey, we went out and planted the eight plants around the garden. The garden is looking neat and tidy now, thanks to the time Jools has put in over her time on furlough.
We have stinky French cheese and fresh bread for lunch, which is every bit as fabulous as it sounds.
Then Jools asked "are you going to buy some new speakers?" The cats between them have been taking it out of the bass refelexs on the right hand channel, to the point the sound is no affected. I have not used the hi fi for many months. Now I should point out that the money from Mum's estate hasn't been burning a hole in my pocket, there is no camera equipment i really wanted. But, speakers, eh?
Shall we go to Canterbury to the hi-fi shop? Yes we shall.
At least the shop is on this side of the city, so we didn't have to fight our way round the ring road. We park outside the ruined abbey, walk through Waitrose car park to the shop.
I go in and announce I have been told to buy some speakers.
How much would Sir like to spend.
I have no idea.
What amp does Sir have?
Technics A300 mk2.
Oooh, some power there. How about these KEFs?
I knew there is a room at the back where stuff can be tested out: can we hear them?
Give us 5 minutes, Sir.
When it was all wired up, I was asked, what would Sir like to hear?
Like a Prayer 12" I say.
He struggled to find the exact mix in the legion of versions on a streaming device.
He put one on and it sounded OK. Better than OK.
Can you play WFL (Think About the Future mix)?
Give me a minute.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Sounded good.
Can you deliver?
Yes, on Wednesday.
I buy the speakers I didn't know I wanted.
We walk back to the car and drive home. Jools drives, its safer if I'm honest.
For dinner we have caprese, with tomatoes from our garden, including the first of the striped beefsteaks, which was very tasty indeed. It all goes rather well with the potato bread I made, stuffed with hard Italian cheese.
It felt like November, so we put the heating on and watch Gardener's World, while outside it gets dark.
We wre up just after six, it is only just getting light at that time. It was grey and cool, typical for a bank holiday weekend if i'm honest.
We have coffee and breakfast, and much to Jools' surprise I announce I am going to Deal. I won't be long.
With it being a holiday, and Deal being on the seaside, it should have been busy, and busier than it has been, but still not back to normal. At ten past nine, there were still dozens of parking spaces free. I park at the far side, leaving a short walk to Smugglers Records. It is open, and there is no queue. I was directed to the RSD releases, but The The was sold out, they had just three copies.
I look through the rack and find a Lovely Eggs lp, on picture disc, so I get that.Just along the High Street is a fine cheese shop, No Name Shop, which sells unpasteurised French cheeses. It is easy to get carried away, so I limit myself to two cheeses. And a baguette. And some egg tarts. But that is it.
I leave town before I can spend more money, getting back home in 40 minutes.The weather doesn't improve, we have second breakfast and more coffee, whilst listening to the radio.
A few weeks ago I had bought some plug plants. We had planted the Viper's Bugloss, but the Moth Mulleins were still in their pots, and needed to be sorted. So before I got listening to Huey, we went out and planted the eight plants around the garden. The garden is looking neat and tidy now, thanks to the time Jools has put in over her time on furlough.
We have stinky French cheese and fresh bread for lunch, which is every bit as fabulous as it sounds.Then Jools asked "are you going to buy some new speakers?" The cats between them have been taking it out of the bass refelexs on the right hand channel, to the point the sound is no affected. I have not used the hi fi for many months. Now I should point out that the money from Mum's estate hasn't been burning a hole in my pocket, there is no camera equipment i really wanted. But, speakers, eh?
Shall we go to Canterbury to the hi-fi shop? Yes we shall.
At least the shop is on this side of the city, so we didn't have to fight our way round the ring road. We park outside the ruined abbey, walk through Waitrose car park to the shop.
I go in and announce I have been told to buy some speakers.
How much would Sir like to spend.
I have no idea.
What amp does Sir have?
Technics A300 mk2.
Oooh, some power there. How about these KEFs?
I knew there is a room at the back where stuff can be tested out: can we hear them?
Give us 5 minutes, Sir.
When it was all wired up, I was asked, what would Sir like to hear?
Like a Prayer 12" I say.
He struggled to find the exact mix in the legion of versions on a streaming device.
He put one on and it sounded OK. Better than OK.
Can you play WFL (Think About the Future mix)?
Give me a minute.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Sounded good.
Can you deliver?
Yes, on Wednesday.
I buy the speakers I didn't know I wanted.
We walk back to the car and drive home. Jools drives, its safer if I'm honest.
For dinner we have caprese, with tomatoes from our garden, including the first of the striped beefsteaks, which was very tasty indeed. It all goes rather well with the potato bread I made, stuffed with hard Italian cheese.
It felt like November, so we put the heating on and watch Gardener's World, while outside it gets dark.
Here we go again
Just so you know, in two weeks the football season begins. Again.
It seems only a few days ago that the latest round of pain that marked the final 9 games of the Premier League season ended and we were rightfully relegated.
By "we" I mean Norwich City.
A year ago we were still full of hope of the still new season, having beaten Newcastle in the first home games, ad soon to come was the stunning home victory against Citeh. And then it all went wrong.
Very wrong.
Nearly two decades ago, WSC published an article by an Ipswich fan on their then recent relegation and how unrelentingly dreadful the experience had been. He ended with the thought that maybe promotion from the then Football League wasn't worth the pain of the weeks and months of constant defeats.
I have thought much about this over the years. Each time we have been promoted, the summer break has been full of blind optimism, thinking how well our team of heroes would do. For the last two times I have have been 100% wrong. Contrary to what I thought, the team that either won the Championship, came second of got promoted via the play-offs were not ready, or good enough, for the trials ahead.
I have seen Norwich promoted three times as Champions of either the Second Division, The First Division of the Championship in 1986, 2004 and 2019, and each time the hopes had been higher and the resulting season, worse. As champions in 1986, winning the title at a romp, we could happily expect the season ahead to see us comfortable survive, and indeed that was the case. It started many years in the top flight, culminating with the team finishing 3rd in the first Premier League season, and qualifying for Europe for the first and only time.
2004-05 was my last year as a season ticket holder, and despite being champions, and buying apparently experienced and more than capable players, we went straight back down, having not scored enough goals.
Last year, and last season, bucking the trend to spaff tens of millions on players, City stuck with what they had, and did OK at first, but after Christmas, just one league wine, including those nine straight defeats with just one goal scored. It was painful.
I can say, that in my opinion, the team promoted 14 months ago was the most capable footballing side Norwich had produced, scored goals from all over the team, not just relying on the fella up front to bang em in. And we scored less than ever, 26 goals in 38 games. We were always going to concede, but I thought scoring was the least of our worries.
Show what I know.
At the three away games I managed to get to; Anfield, Old Trafford and New White Hart Lane, there was a sizeable amount of football tourism; is that what we want, giving sets and space to why be fans, but are willing to overpay for the chance of seeing their local hero from Korea play? Is that what being in the Prem means too, now?
And so back to the point of this post, as the new season beckons, the prize for winning again would be another season in the Prem, being hammered week in week out: is it worth it? And now throw in the chaos that is VAR, the whole Prem experience is pretty dreadful, with those in the ground, when we're allowed, knowing less than anyone.
If being promoted isn't worth it, then what is the point? Is there a point? Should we be happy being the club with most Prem promotions and relegations?
Teams that have survived and even thrived have done so because of close links between owner and an agent, or a style of football that isn't attractive. Or sometimes, just luck. Even if you survive for a season, two or more, the threat of relegation hangs over every team in the bottom half of the table all season. Three defeats in a row is a crisis and the manager is under threat.
Even if a club over-achieves, like Burnley, and they finish 7th, then the following season brought a relegation struggle, fans get restless and calls for the manager to be removed.
So, discontent if you spend and fail, discontent if you don't spend and fail and discontent if you fail to match previous season's highs.
It is grim.
What do I want for Norwich this season? Maybe winning, but not quite enough to go up, happy to win a hat full of games, but just miss out.
So those who are only happy when they have something to complain out, moan just a little less, and we can always look forward to next season.
It seems only a few days ago that the latest round of pain that marked the final 9 games of the Premier League season ended and we were rightfully relegated.
By "we" I mean Norwich City.
A year ago we were still full of hope of the still new season, having beaten Newcastle in the first home games, ad soon to come was the stunning home victory against Citeh. And then it all went wrong.
Very wrong.
Nearly two decades ago, WSC published an article by an Ipswich fan on their then recent relegation and how unrelentingly dreadful the experience had been. He ended with the thought that maybe promotion from the then Football League wasn't worth the pain of the weeks and months of constant defeats.
I have thought much about this over the years. Each time we have been promoted, the summer break has been full of blind optimism, thinking how well our team of heroes would do. For the last two times I have have been 100% wrong. Contrary to what I thought, the team that either won the Championship, came second of got promoted via the play-offs were not ready, or good enough, for the trials ahead.
I have seen Norwich promoted three times as Champions of either the Second Division, The First Division of the Championship in 1986, 2004 and 2019, and each time the hopes had been higher and the resulting season, worse. As champions in 1986, winning the title at a romp, we could happily expect the season ahead to see us comfortable survive, and indeed that was the case. It started many years in the top flight, culminating with the team finishing 3rd in the first Premier League season, and qualifying for Europe for the first and only time.
2004-05 was my last year as a season ticket holder, and despite being champions, and buying apparently experienced and more than capable players, we went straight back down, having not scored enough goals.
Last year, and last season, bucking the trend to spaff tens of millions on players, City stuck with what they had, and did OK at first, but after Christmas, just one league wine, including those nine straight defeats with just one goal scored. It was painful.
I can say, that in my opinion, the team promoted 14 months ago was the most capable footballing side Norwich had produced, scored goals from all over the team, not just relying on the fella up front to bang em in. And we scored less than ever, 26 goals in 38 games. We were always going to concede, but I thought scoring was the least of our worries.
Show what I know.
At the three away games I managed to get to; Anfield, Old Trafford and New White Hart Lane, there was a sizeable amount of football tourism; is that what we want, giving sets and space to why be fans, but are willing to overpay for the chance of seeing their local hero from Korea play? Is that what being in the Prem means too, now?
And so back to the point of this post, as the new season beckons, the prize for winning again would be another season in the Prem, being hammered week in week out: is it worth it? And now throw in the chaos that is VAR, the whole Prem experience is pretty dreadful, with those in the ground, when we're allowed, knowing less than anyone.
If being promoted isn't worth it, then what is the point? Is there a point? Should we be happy being the club with most Prem promotions and relegations?
Teams that have survived and even thrived have done so because of close links between owner and an agent, or a style of football that isn't attractive. Or sometimes, just luck. Even if you survive for a season, two or more, the threat of relegation hangs over every team in the bottom half of the table all season. Three defeats in a row is a crisis and the manager is under threat.
Even if a club over-achieves, like Burnley, and they finish 7th, then the following season brought a relegation struggle, fans get restless and calls for the manager to be removed.
So, discontent if you spend and fail, discontent if you don't spend and fail and discontent if you fail to match previous season's highs.
It is grim.
What do I want for Norwich this season? Maybe winning, but not quite enough to go up, happy to win a hat full of games, but just miss out.
So those who are only happy when they have something to complain out, moan just a little less, and we can always look forward to next season.
Saturday 29 August 2020
Give them credit
In order to book a COVID test through the UK Government's own webiste, you have to go through an ID check via US credit company, TransUnion. If you don't agree to this, no COVID test.
Anyone who thinks the Government under the evil genius, Cummings, wouldn't use the crisis to harvest data hasn't been paying attention.
So, wonder how much Cummings and the Cabinet Office are getting as a backhander from TransUnion for this data source?
If you atually believed the Tories when they said the NHS would be safe under them, then then there is no hope for you.
Remember, in July there was an Opposition amendment to ban this, but the Conservatives voted it down.
Meanwhile, the UK Governement is starting its project to create the computer system that is needed at the end of the year.
It doesn't exist yet, and has to be working in two months to test out.
But I'm sure its all under control.
Heck, they're even considering asking freight companies about their thoughts. I believe their first thoughts are along the lines of "why isn't this done already, you had four years!".
But don't worry, Boris is in charge, he's taken direct control. Of many things.
So, don't worry.
Anyone who thinks the Government under the evil genius, Cummings, wouldn't use the crisis to harvest data hasn't been paying attention.
So, wonder how much Cummings and the Cabinet Office are getting as a backhander from TransUnion for this data source?
If you atually believed the Tories when they said the NHS would be safe under them, then then there is no hope for you.
Remember, in July there was an Opposition amendment to ban this, but the Conservatives voted it down.
Meanwhile, the UK Governement is starting its project to create the computer system that is needed at the end of the year.
It doesn't exist yet, and has to be working in two months to test out.
But I'm sure its all under control.
Heck, they're even considering asking freight companies about their thoughts. I believe their first thoughts are along the lines of "why isn't this done already, you had four years!".
But don't worry, Boris is in charge, he's taken direct control. Of many things.
So, don't worry.
Friday 28th August 2020
I slept better.
I was hungry when I woke up.
I had coffee. And breakfast.
I had energy.
It has taken a week.
We hope that with things returning to something close to normal next week, I can get back on the cross trainer, do no snacking, drink less.
The usual empty promises.
But I will try.
Being a Friday, there are several meetings. One after the other.
The morning passes in a blur. It ends with four auditors talking about audits. Again. I mean, we could do this every day, all day. Will we get any further forward?
I don't know.
I make bacon butties for dinner.
Now, for the last two weeks there has been almost daily predictions by the Met Office of storms. Each morning I put the storm radar on to track the thunderheads as they drift over from France, Essex or Sussex. And each day they built, the radar shows multiple flashes, but only to melt away before it reached us.
So it made sense that on the day when there was no storms forecast for the country, that we here in East Kent would get a storm. Not a huge one, but with thunder and lightning, and clouds dark enough to turn day into night, foretelling of the coming of the horsemen. Or something.
Jools called me to look at the sky, and to the north, towering over the house was a huge thunderhead, dark enough to suck all light into it. While the garden was lit by the still hot summer sun. The contrast was amazing.
I took shots.
I made coffee, which we took down to the shelter so we could look back at the clouds.
It started raining. Of course. So we beat a retreat to the house and looked at the storm radar matching the flashes seen outside to where the radar showed the lightning. The storm seems to be stuck over Barham, maybe the storm liked the church?
It bubbled, flashed and banged away for half an hour, we had downpours, then the sky cleared and the storm melted away out into the Thames Estuary.
That was exciting.
So to make it more exciting, I pricked two large bags of sloes, added sugar and topped the demijohn up with 2 litres of gin. We need to do a second. But, looking good.
I then switched to food and made a batch of courgette fritters, frying the batter mix until crisp and golden, all ready to dip into garlic mayo while sipping a large tripel.
And that was the day.
We also started putting actual money in our savings accounts for the first time in years.
Sensible.
Darkness came at half seven, the kittens full of energy and demanding to be played with.
I was hungry when I woke up.
I had coffee. And breakfast.
I had energy.
It has taken a week.
We hope that with things returning to something close to normal next week, I can get back on the cross trainer, do no snacking, drink less.
The usual empty promises.
But I will try.
Being a Friday, there are several meetings. One after the other.
The morning passes in a blur. It ends with four auditors talking about audits. Again. I mean, we could do this every day, all day. Will we get any further forward?
I don't know.
I make bacon butties for dinner.
Now, for the last two weeks there has been almost daily predictions by the Met Office of storms. Each morning I put the storm radar on to track the thunderheads as they drift over from France, Essex or Sussex. And each day they built, the radar shows multiple flashes, but only to melt away before it reached us.
So it made sense that on the day when there was no storms forecast for the country, that we here in East Kent would get a storm. Not a huge one, but with thunder and lightning, and clouds dark enough to turn day into night, foretelling of the coming of the horsemen. Or something.
Jools called me to look at the sky, and to the north, towering over the house was a huge thunderhead, dark enough to suck all light into it. While the garden was lit by the still hot summer sun. The contrast was amazing.I took shots.
I made coffee, which we took down to the shelter so we could look back at the clouds.
It started raining. Of course. So we beat a retreat to the house and looked at the storm radar matching the flashes seen outside to where the radar showed the lightning. The storm seems to be stuck over Barham, maybe the storm liked the church?
It bubbled, flashed and banged away for half an hour, we had downpours, then the sky cleared and the storm melted away out into the Thames Estuary.That was exciting.
So to make it more exciting, I pricked two large bags of sloes, added sugar and topped the demijohn up with 2 litres of gin. We need to do a second. But, looking good.
I then switched to food and made a batch of courgette fritters, frying the batter mix until crisp and golden, all ready to dip into garlic mayo while sipping a large tripel.And that was the day.
We also started putting actual money in our savings accounts for the first time in years.
Sensible.
Darkness came at half seven, the kittens full of energy and demanding to be played with.
Friday 28 August 2020
Thursday 27th August 2020
Pay Day.
Bonus pay day.
It turns out, it is easier to take out a loan than replay it.
Seriously.
I left you the day before with the fact hat we had been wired enough money to pay off our mortgage, and had received late in the afternoon the redemption value.
All we had to do now was transfer the balance from our bank account to that of Nat West.
Simples.
We had got up, and if I'm honest, still felt like shot. Even the thought of paying off debts didn't perk me up.
I do sleep through the alarm, this is mainly due to the fact I lay awake for at least two hours during the night, my mind just wandering through things, nothing in particular. So, when the alarm went off, it was like I had no or little sleep.
Jools made coffee, the smell tempted me downstairs.
She went out collecting more sloes and blackberries, I tried to wake myself up.
At nine, Jools tried to pay the mortgage off.
We had our bank account details. Check.
We had Nat West's mortgage account. Check.
We had the details to add to the transaction. Check.
We had the money in our bank to cover it. Check.
But the computer said "no".
Or a computer said no.
No idea where the fault lay, just that as the transaction was due to complete, it failed.
Jools, being the brains of the organisation, called Lloyds.
Called Nat West.
Called Lloyds, as they both blamed each other.
Turns out that there is a £25k limit on transactions via a debit card per day.
And our bank account created an alarm when the full amount was to be transferred, even though we had warned them this was going to happen.
And hour passed.
Nearly two hours passed when the final block on the transaction was removed, and the transfer went to be "pending".
It was paid. Or in the process of being paid.
Wow.
Just like that.
I felt no different.
Maybe its because the act took to late in the month to cancel September's payment, which we would get back within a few days. I don't know.
What shall we do?
Go out for lunch.
I looked online, the Old Lantern was closed, but the Lydden Bell was open, and seemed to have tables.
We drove there.
I have been there to eat just once before, when my friend from Denmark, Steffen, came over and paid for us to eat out.
But we were eating out now as homeowners in our own right, we could afford this, and not blink.
Also, this was the first time we had eaten out since some time in February.
There is a menu.
There are specials.
There are starters.
We were hungry! I order baked Camembert with chilli jam followed by Brie and bacon beefburger. And a pint.
And all around, at a social distance, were the other diners and families, it all seemed pretty normal.
The food came, and it was good. Real good. I spread the runny cheese on fresh bread rolls, sipping the fresh IPA inbetween mouthfuls.
Yummy.
We were done some time after three. When we get back, I check my mails and close for the day.
I am tired. Worn out. I take to the sofa to listen to a podcast, and just about to stay awake. I fail at staying awake from four once I put the radio on.
I wake at half five, there are cats and kittens everywhere.
I still feel pooped.
We have cheese and crackers an me a small tripel for supper.
That finishes me off. We go to bed at nine, Scully is waiting.
Bonus pay day.
It turns out, it is easier to take out a loan than replay it.
Seriously.
I left you the day before with the fact hat we had been wired enough money to pay off our mortgage, and had received late in the afternoon the redemption value.
All we had to do now was transfer the balance from our bank account to that of Nat West.
Simples.
We had got up, and if I'm honest, still felt like shot. Even the thought of paying off debts didn't perk me up.
I do sleep through the alarm, this is mainly due to the fact I lay awake for at least two hours during the night, my mind just wandering through things, nothing in particular. So, when the alarm went off, it was like I had no or little sleep.
Jools made coffee, the smell tempted me downstairs.
She went out collecting more sloes and blackberries, I tried to wake myself up.
At nine, Jools tried to pay the mortgage off.
We had our bank account details. Check.
We had Nat West's mortgage account. Check.
We had the details to add to the transaction. Check.
We had the money in our bank to cover it. Check.
But the computer said "no".
Or a computer said no.
No idea where the fault lay, just that as the transaction was due to complete, it failed.
Jools, being the brains of the organisation, called Lloyds.
Called Nat West.
Called Lloyds, as they both blamed each other.
Turns out that there is a £25k limit on transactions via a debit card per day.
And our bank account created an alarm when the full amount was to be transferred, even though we had warned them this was going to happen.
And hour passed.
Nearly two hours passed when the final block on the transaction was removed, and the transfer went to be "pending".
It was paid. Or in the process of being paid.
Wow.
Just like that.
I felt no different.
Maybe its because the act took to late in the month to cancel September's payment, which we would get back within a few days. I don't know.
What shall we do?
Go out for lunch.
I looked online, the Old Lantern was closed, but the Lydden Bell was open, and seemed to have tables.
We drove there.
I have been there to eat just once before, when my friend from Denmark, Steffen, came over and paid for us to eat out.
But we were eating out now as homeowners in our own right, we could afford this, and not blink.Also, this was the first time we had eaten out since some time in February.
There is a menu.There are specials.
There are starters.
We were hungry! I order baked Camembert with chilli jam followed by Brie and bacon beefburger. And a pint.
And all around, at a social distance, were the other diners and families, it all seemed pretty normal.
The food came, and it was good. Real good. I spread the runny cheese on fresh bread rolls, sipping the fresh IPA inbetween mouthfuls.
Yummy.We were done some time after three. When we get back, I check my mails and close for the day.
I am tired. Worn out. I take to the sofa to listen to a podcast, and just about to stay awake. I fail at staying awake from four once I put the radio on.
I wake at half five, there are cats and kittens everywhere.
I still feel pooped.
We have cheese and crackers an me a small tripel for supper.
That finishes me off. We go to bed at nine, Scully is waiting.
Bonfire of rights
The right to a trial by a group of your peers goes back to Magna Carta.
And in order to defend yourself against a crime, there is legal aid.
Legal aid is not a gift, it is a necessity, and even those who are clearly guilty have the right to defend themselves.
So, when someone charged will killing a police officer, even when it is clear they were guilty, the £450,000 has to be spent, or is our brave free press suggesting that those charged with the most serious of crimes should not get legal aid? Or they should decide who is is deserving of legal aid?
Meanwhile the Home Office, forced to withdraw it's offensive video yesterday regarding activist lawyers, instead leaked a story in which the leaker (Cummings) said "There's a bunch of loudmouthed lawyers and barristers who seem to spend more time on social media than representing their clients, who seem to think that even the mildest criticism of their profession will bring about the destruction of democracy..."
Imagine being triggered by social media, Cummings is really that insecure.
Secondly, such loudmouthed lawyers and barristers like DAG, Jo Maugham and The Secret Barrister, have done more to shine a light on how the Government is trying to break laws to drive their policies through, and to show, in SB's case, how the Conservative Party has broken the legal system, closing multiple crown and local courts, and no money to repair or staff those that remain open. There was a two year delay on those cases that do reach court before COVID, which only added a couple of months to the delays.
So, here we have the Home Office launching unprecedented attacks on the Law and legal profession, it is something you would expect under a dictator of a banana republic.
Instead we have Johnson.
Johnson was filmed speaking at a school, in the library, where the librarian had placed some rather hilarious books behind the podium, including Fahrenheit 451 (the temperature books burn at), while Johnson rambled.
He appeared drunk.
At least incoherent. Repeating, twice, that Harry Potter isn't sexist.
He is, of course, a huge Churchill fan, the WWII leader not the insurance company, who apparently spent most of the war drinking large amounts of booze. Johnson is no Churchill, hides in fridges too much for that. But he looks and sounds a mess.
He is being pressed by backbenchers and Party financial backers to get more people back to working in offices. Although many of those who make the call, I'm talking about you Richard Littlejohn, are making such calls when having always worked from home. The Government cannot force employers or employees to return to the office, they will do so when it is safe, or feels safe to do so. A working track and trace would help in that, but Dido Harding is in charge of that, and has been for five months, spent over £12 million and its still a failure.
Public Health has been localised for decades, but in England, the public health response to the pandemic has been centralised. And has been a total failure.
And in order to defend yourself against a crime, there is legal aid.
Legal aid is not a gift, it is a necessity, and even those who are clearly guilty have the right to defend themselves.
So, when someone charged will killing a police officer, even when it is clear they were guilty, the £450,000 has to be spent, or is our brave free press suggesting that those charged with the most serious of crimes should not get legal aid? Or they should decide who is is deserving of legal aid?
Meanwhile the Home Office, forced to withdraw it's offensive video yesterday regarding activist lawyers, instead leaked a story in which the leaker (Cummings) said "There's a bunch of loudmouthed lawyers and barristers who seem to spend more time on social media than representing their clients, who seem to think that even the mildest criticism of their profession will bring about the destruction of democracy..."
Imagine being triggered by social media, Cummings is really that insecure.
Secondly, such loudmouthed lawyers and barristers like DAG, Jo Maugham and The Secret Barrister, have done more to shine a light on how the Government is trying to break laws to drive their policies through, and to show, in SB's case, how the Conservative Party has broken the legal system, closing multiple crown and local courts, and no money to repair or staff those that remain open. There was a two year delay on those cases that do reach court before COVID, which only added a couple of months to the delays.
So, here we have the Home Office launching unprecedented attacks on the Law and legal profession, it is something you would expect under a dictator of a banana republic.
Instead we have Johnson.
Johnson was filmed speaking at a school, in the library, where the librarian had placed some rather hilarious books behind the podium, including Fahrenheit 451 (the temperature books burn at), while Johnson rambled.
He appeared drunk.
At least incoherent. Repeating, twice, that Harry Potter isn't sexist.
He is, of course, a huge Churchill fan, the WWII leader not the insurance company, who apparently spent most of the war drinking large amounts of booze. Johnson is no Churchill, hides in fridges too much for that. But he looks and sounds a mess.
He is being pressed by backbenchers and Party financial backers to get more people back to working in offices. Although many of those who make the call, I'm talking about you Richard Littlejohn, are making such calls when having always worked from home. The Government cannot force employers or employees to return to the office, they will do so when it is safe, or feels safe to do so. A working track and trace would help in that, but Dido Harding is in charge of that, and has been for five months, spent over £12 million and its still a failure.
Public Health has been localised for decades, but in England, the public health response to the pandemic has been centralised. And has been a total failure.
Thursday 27 August 2020
Wednesday 26th August 2020
I have been laid low for nearly a week. I decide to try to treat the day as normal.
In that I would have fruit for breakfast.
Once I was hungry.
We have a house full of cats, or it seems like that as both kittens can appear to be in several places at once. Which is a good trick. And as they get bigger, both Cleo and Poppy grow to look more alike to Scully and Mulder.
I had written to the solicitor the day before asking if the balance for our mortgage could be forwarded to us out of Mum's estate. It arrived just before end of work on Tuesday.
A significant five figure sum appeared on our bank balance.
There it was.
Bang.
The next task of the day was to get a statement of our remaining mortgage, something that takes time, longer than it took to arrange in the first bloody place. But this is something that would become familiar in the forthcoming 24 hours.
But once the statement was requested, all we had to do was wait.
The money is there. But it is a series of ones and zeroes, rather than a huge wadge of used fifty quid notes in our dirty mitts.
It still doesn't seem real.
I mean, I knew I was always going to be the sol beneficiary of my parent's estate, even through the dark days in the mid-90s when we didn't talk. But then once we learned that Mum had discovered equity release in the form of a lifetime mortgage, we resigned ourselves to their not being any money for us. We thought interest would eat up the value, then years of residential care.
Not that we minded, we bought this house realising we would have to work well into our 60s, nearly to our 70s. But the house and our life was worth it.
Then it changed overnight last September.
And here we are, nearly at the end of the journey, and with fistfulls of cash, and by the end of the week the house should be ours, our credit cards paid off, and early next month, the final loan paid off.
Debt free.
Wow.
But even all this is wonderful news, even if it did take Mum's passing for it to happen, I am very flat. I have no energy, not sleeping well.
There is always work. But I have caught up with work, so have time to do other secondary, but equally important tasks.
By mid-morning, it was a warm and sunny day, but the sun, now directly south, is much lower in the sky than a month ago, the light passes through leaves and petals of flowers, making their colours more vibrant. This will intensify next month with summer's last hurrah.
Jools makes lunch, marmalade sandwiches, just like a good Paddington Bear.
I still feel, bleugh.
I take the camera out, and end up chasing a Small White round the garden, and finally snap it resting on one of the raspberry canes, it holding its forewings behind its afts.
I do cook dinner at about six, breaded pork, stir fry and curried rice. And wine.
The wine wasn't clever, but wine always makes the most mundane of meals fell like a feast.
I struggle to stay awake through the evening, just about managing to to hear all of Marc Riley.
In that I would have fruit for breakfast.
Once I was hungry.
We have a house full of cats, or it seems like that as both kittens can appear to be in several places at once. Which is a good trick. And as they get bigger, both Cleo and Poppy grow to look more alike to Scully and Mulder.
I had written to the solicitor the day before asking if the balance for our mortgage could be forwarded to us out of Mum's estate. It arrived just before end of work on Tuesday.
A significant five figure sum appeared on our bank balance.
There it was.
Bang.
The next task of the day was to get a statement of our remaining mortgage, something that takes time, longer than it took to arrange in the first bloody place. But this is something that would become familiar in the forthcoming 24 hours.
But once the statement was requested, all we had to do was wait.
The money is there. But it is a series of ones and zeroes, rather than a huge wadge of used fifty quid notes in our dirty mitts.
It still doesn't seem real.
I mean, I knew I was always going to be the sol beneficiary of my parent's estate, even through the dark days in the mid-90s when we didn't talk. But then once we learned that Mum had discovered equity release in the form of a lifetime mortgage, we resigned ourselves to their not being any money for us. We thought interest would eat up the value, then years of residential care.
Not that we minded, we bought this house realising we would have to work well into our 60s, nearly to our 70s. But the house and our life was worth it.
Then it changed overnight last September.
And here we are, nearly at the end of the journey, and with fistfulls of cash, and by the end of the week the house should be ours, our credit cards paid off, and early next month, the final loan paid off.
Debt free.
Wow.
But even all this is wonderful news, even if it did take Mum's passing for it to happen, I am very flat. I have no energy, not sleeping well.
There is always work. But I have caught up with work, so have time to do other secondary, but equally important tasks.
By mid-morning, it was a warm and sunny day, but the sun, now directly south, is much lower in the sky than a month ago, the light passes through leaves and petals of flowers, making their colours more vibrant. This will intensify next month with summer's last hurrah.
Jools makes lunch, marmalade sandwiches, just like a good Paddington Bear.I still feel, bleugh.
I take the camera out, and end up chasing a Small White round the garden, and finally snap it resting on one of the raspberry canes, it holding its forewings behind its afts.
I do cook dinner at about six, breaded pork, stir fry and curried rice. And wine.The wine wasn't clever, but wine always makes the most mundane of meals fell like a feast.
I struggle to stay awake through the evening, just about managing to to hear all of Marc Riley.
Running out of time
Germany holds the EU's Presidency, and for next week's Ambassador's meetings, they have cancelled all discussions regarding Brexit. It has been in in Angela Merkel's words, a waste of a summer.
The EU will not bend on their red lines, and unless Johnson capitulates at the last minute, there is unlikely to be any kind of deal.
Meanwhile, in the UK, busted flushes like DD keep getting space to push their failed theories, and that the EU will blink.
Johnson said in June that a framework for a deal would be agreed by the end of July. Well, we are a month later than that, and no sign of the deal that he was elected to implement.
Meanwhile at home it is all about cancel culture and Rule Britannia, and white folks telling black folks they can't change British traditions.
To make the case, this afternoon Brexiteers and UK Karens lost their shit as Argos latest ad showed a black family buying stuff.
They said nothing last Christmas when it was an actual family of aliens will blue skins, but black skins.....
The EU will not bend on their red lines, and unless Johnson capitulates at the last minute, there is unlikely to be any kind of deal.
Meanwhile, in the UK, busted flushes like DD keep getting space to push their failed theories, and that the EU will blink.
Johnson said in June that a framework for a deal would be agreed by the end of July. Well, we are a month later than that, and no sign of the deal that he was elected to implement.
Meanwhile at home it is all about cancel culture and Rule Britannia, and white folks telling black folks they can't change British traditions.
To make the case, this afternoon Brexiteers and UK Karens lost their shit as Argos latest ad showed a black family buying stuff.
They said nothing last Christmas when it was an actual family of aliens will blue skins, but black skins.....
Never our fault
Boris Johnson, 16 August: "Let's be in no doubt about it, the exam results that we've got today are robust, they're good, they're dependable for employers"
BJ 26th August: "I’m afraid your grades were almost derailed by a mutant algorithm"
Not his fault.
The head of the Exam Regulator and the Department's senior Civil Servant have either resigned or been sacked.
But the Minister responsible, Gavin Williamson, is still in post, and claimed he only knew of the issues four days after the results were released, blaming poor briefings by his Department.
So, this goes to the root of the question, if the Minister of State is no responsible for his Departments multiple clusterfucks, then what, exactly, is a Minister of State for?
Meanwhile, the Home Office Tweeted a video accompanied by this text:
"Small boat crossings are totally unnecessary and we continue to return migrants with no right to be in the UK.
Another flight left today with more planned in the coming weeks."
And in the video claiming that "activist lawyers" had stopped sending illegal migrants back to somewhere, anywhere.
At the moment there is no legal route for migrants to use so to claim refugee status, the UK Government closed those down. And at the end of the year, all agreements for returning those we can currently will expire.
Meanwhile, hundreds of millions of pounds has been funnelled to the Tory's friends and backers under cover of COVID, with no scrutiny, no tender process, no audit.
But let them drop another dead cat to go with the Rule Britannia one.
BJ 26th August: "I’m afraid your grades were almost derailed by a mutant algorithm"
Not his fault.
The head of the Exam Regulator and the Department's senior Civil Servant have either resigned or been sacked.
But the Minister responsible, Gavin Williamson, is still in post, and claimed he only knew of the issues four days after the results were released, blaming poor briefings by his Department.
So, this goes to the root of the question, if the Minister of State is no responsible for his Departments multiple clusterfucks, then what, exactly, is a Minister of State for?
Meanwhile, the Home Office Tweeted a video accompanied by this text:
"Small boat crossings are totally unnecessary and we continue to return migrants with no right to be in the UK.
Another flight left today with more planned in the coming weeks."
And in the video claiming that "activist lawyers" had stopped sending illegal migrants back to somewhere, anywhere.
At the moment there is no legal route for migrants to use so to claim refugee status, the UK Government closed those down. And at the end of the year, all agreements for returning those we can currently will expire.
Meanwhile, hundreds of millions of pounds has been funnelled to the Tory's friends and backers under cover of COVID, with no scrutiny, no tender process, no audit.
But let them drop another dead cat to go with the Rule Britannia one.
Wednesday 26 August 2020
Tuesday 25th August 2020
My 55th birthday.
15 years ago, I spent it, mostly drunk, in Las Vegas.
30 years ago, was spent with my friends from the chicken factory, in Lowestoft, wearing cheap sunglasses.
As you do.
I am older and more sensible now, of course.
And I am now in the middle of my mid-50s. Whatever that means.
And I was still ill. Not badly, but not 100%. And instead of eating at prescribed times, I said I would only eat when hungry.
I skipped fruit. But did have two coffees.
We were woken up by the smell of Cleo pooing under the bed. Man, that is some stink, and to think it came out of such a cute kitty cat.
Up an attem.
In the morning meeting, my boss wished me happy birthday. Which was nice.
The plan had been to go out for dinner, to a pub and have dinner in the beer garden. But the weather had other ideas.
The wind howled. The rain fell.
It was like November, and the wind was only going to get stronger through the day.
So, I would be cooking steak for dinner.
But it would be a long, long day.
And all I had to do was finish writing the audit reports and then write nonconformity reports.
They do pay me well for doing such things.
We have the remaining pork pie for lunch, play some music, and the day grows old, but the wind gets stronger, and we have to have the table lamp on all day.
Dinner was to be steak. Steaks. Brontosaurus steaks, of the opening title sequence of The Flintstone size steaks.
Yabba dabba doo.
I boil the potatoes.
Cook the fresh corn, fry the sliced potatoes and then griddle the steaks.
The meal barely fit the large square plates.
It was yummy. But I wasn't really that hungry, but I eat most of it.
IN the end, Jools sent me a card, and that was it. Comes with having no family I suppose. Still, I was expecting it, and anyway, I have everything I want.
We listen to the radio, then go to bed at eight to read before nodding off shortly after nine.
Phew, rock and roll.
15 years ago, I spent it, mostly drunk, in Las Vegas.
30 years ago, was spent with my friends from the chicken factory, in Lowestoft, wearing cheap sunglasses.
As you do.I am older and more sensible now, of course.
And I am now in the middle of my mid-50s. Whatever that means.
And I was still ill. Not badly, but not 100%. And instead of eating at prescribed times, I said I would only eat when hungry.
I skipped fruit. But did have two coffees.
We were woken up by the smell of Cleo pooing under the bed. Man, that is some stink, and to think it came out of such a cute kitty cat.
Up an attem.
In the morning meeting, my boss wished me happy birthday. Which was nice.
The plan had been to go out for dinner, to a pub and have dinner in the beer garden. But the weather had other ideas.
The wind howled. The rain fell.
It was like November, and the wind was only going to get stronger through the day.
So, I would be cooking steak for dinner.But it would be a long, long day.
And all I had to do was finish writing the audit reports and then write nonconformity reports.
They do pay me well for doing such things.
We have the remaining pork pie for lunch, play some music, and the day grows old, but the wind gets stronger, and we have to have the table lamp on all day.
Dinner was to be steak. Steaks. Brontosaurus steaks, of the opening title sequence of The Flintstone size steaks.Yabba dabba doo.
I boil the potatoes.
Cook the fresh corn, fry the sliced potatoes and then griddle the steaks.
The meal barely fit the large square plates.
It was yummy. But I wasn't really that hungry, but I eat most of it.
IN the end, Jools sent me a card, and that was it. Comes with having no family I suppose. Still, I was expecting it, and anyway, I have everything I want.
We listen to the radio, then go to bed at eight to read before nodding off shortly after nine.
Phew, rock and roll.
And the bleat goes on
The debate, if that is what it is, rages on whether children should go back to school or not, and if they do should they have to wear masks.
And so on.
Without a fully functioning track and trace, for children, parents, teaching assistants, teachers, cleaners, and so on, then any return to school is risky.
Also, where the family of a child has someone who is vulnerable or needed to be shielded, then returning to school is very risky. Children can carry the virus, back to the family home, and pass it on.
In schools where classes are stable, there is no streaming and so little mixing in corridors and other communal spaces, maybe not so bad, but where in schools where every hour, children from all classes pile into corridors, pass each other closely, to make their way to next classes, with a different set of pupils, then that is something else. Doubly so, as studies show that as children reach teenage years, they have infection rates similar to adults.
While the Mail and Express focus on the dead cat story about Rule Britannia, other papers focus on yet another U-turn by the Government, this time on childfren wearing said facemasks in school. And the point here is not that the Government has changed it’s mind, it that such a change was so predictable, and came after days of Ministers being on TV and radio saying this would not happen.
It is such actions that have destroyed trust in Government, but now it seems that the backbenchers are revolting in that the science advice has changed, it hasn’t, but that the Government should ignore the science, because, facts don’t matter. The Venn diagram between Brexiteers and COVID doubters is a perfect circle, because they know best.
Meanwhile Johnson, happy to go on “holiday” through the A level result fiasco, and say nothing on the matter, can’t be shut up on the Rule Britannia dead cat story. The UK should stop “cringing with embarrassment” about our history he blathered. Thing is, it is a filtered view of history, and like a flag, it is something that xenophobes and Brexiteers are only too happoy to rally round and get all worked up over.
Remember, when the going gets too hard, Johnson hides in a fridge, this was a low hanging fruit, a non-problem that didn’t need fixing, and sone he could drone on and on without having to do any preparation for.
Rumours increase of Johnson’s exit in 6 months time, with the Metro leading with it this time. Turns out that the evil brain, Cummings, was in hospital all the while Johnson was on holiday in Scotland, meaning that Johnson can’t pretend to be PM without Cummings, so went to stay in a remote part of the country in a Daily Mail photo-story.
Who was running the country? Hancock? Raab? Gove? Williamson? JRM? The Downing Street Cat?
In Brexit, former Australian PM Tony Abbott is to be made Joint President of the Board of Trade. Wonder if he qualified under the “Australian points based system” for immigration? I thought we had had enough of unelected bureaucrats?
DD, writing in The Sun says: “I have always said the last three weeks will matter more than the first three years. Michel Barnier is desperate to resolve his red line issues before we get to the critical endgame”. But remember, DD was Minister for Brexit for two years, and totally failed to deliver the easiest deal in history and showed time and time again even after two years in post, an almost total failure to understand the subject, or as Ian Dunt put it: “He was in charge and he messed it up, from start to finish ... After all that arrogance and swagger, there was no intellectual force to back it up. He failed completely."
Meanwhile, elsewhere in trade talks, the grownups have been busy: “The EU and the US have agreed on a significant tariff reduction, the first in more than 20 years. The agreement eliminates or reduces tariffs for € 168 million in EU and US exports.”
Bust listen to DD for sure……..
And so on.
Without a fully functioning track and trace, for children, parents, teaching assistants, teachers, cleaners, and so on, then any return to school is risky.
Also, where the family of a child has someone who is vulnerable or needed to be shielded, then returning to school is very risky. Children can carry the virus, back to the family home, and pass it on.
In schools where classes are stable, there is no streaming and so little mixing in corridors and other communal spaces, maybe not so bad, but where in schools where every hour, children from all classes pile into corridors, pass each other closely, to make their way to next classes, with a different set of pupils, then that is something else. Doubly so, as studies show that as children reach teenage years, they have infection rates similar to adults.
While the Mail and Express focus on the dead cat story about Rule Britannia, other papers focus on yet another U-turn by the Government, this time on childfren wearing said facemasks in school. And the point here is not that the Government has changed it’s mind, it that such a change was so predictable, and came after days of Ministers being on TV and radio saying this would not happen.
It is such actions that have destroyed trust in Government, but now it seems that the backbenchers are revolting in that the science advice has changed, it hasn’t, but that the Government should ignore the science, because, facts don’t matter. The Venn diagram between Brexiteers and COVID doubters is a perfect circle, because they know best.
Meanwhile Johnson, happy to go on “holiday” through the A level result fiasco, and say nothing on the matter, can’t be shut up on the Rule Britannia dead cat story. The UK should stop “cringing with embarrassment” about our history he blathered. Thing is, it is a filtered view of history, and like a flag, it is something that xenophobes and Brexiteers are only too happoy to rally round and get all worked up over.
Remember, when the going gets too hard, Johnson hides in a fridge, this was a low hanging fruit, a non-problem that didn’t need fixing, and sone he could drone on and on without having to do any preparation for.
Rumours increase of Johnson’s exit in 6 months time, with the Metro leading with it this time. Turns out that the evil brain, Cummings, was in hospital all the while Johnson was on holiday in Scotland, meaning that Johnson can’t pretend to be PM without Cummings, so went to stay in a remote part of the country in a Daily Mail photo-story.
Who was running the country? Hancock? Raab? Gove? Williamson? JRM? The Downing Street Cat?
In Brexit, former Australian PM Tony Abbott is to be made Joint President of the Board of Trade. Wonder if he qualified under the “Australian points based system” for immigration? I thought we had had enough of unelected bureaucrats?
DD, writing in The Sun says: “I have always said the last three weeks will matter more than the first three years. Michel Barnier is desperate to resolve his red line issues before we get to the critical endgame”. But remember, DD was Minister for Brexit for two years, and totally failed to deliver the easiest deal in history and showed time and time again even after two years in post, an almost total failure to understand the subject, or as Ian Dunt put it: “He was in charge and he messed it up, from start to finish ... After all that arrogance and swagger, there was no intellectual force to back it up. He failed completely."
Meanwhile, elsewhere in trade talks, the grownups have been busy: “The EU and the US have agreed on a significant tariff reduction, the first in more than 20 years. The agreement eliminates or reduces tariffs for € 168 million in EU and US exports.”
Bust listen to DD for sure……..
Tuesday 25 August 2020
Monday 24th August 2020
I told you I was ill.
No idea what I picked up, but it laid me low for, by Monday, four days.
I thought it about time I was getting back to normal, so without really feeling hungry, I have a bowl of fruit and yogurt and a coffee, then another coffee.
Later, there is the weekend's croissants to make vanish.
Already, its a lot of food.
For lunch we have the second of the pork pies, salad and slaw.
Apart from eating, it is Monday and the first day back at work, of course. So I can update my colleagues on my adventures and findings from last week.
There was no juicy gossip to share.
Thing about doing audits is that there are audit reports to write.
And log.
Then findings to complete, more reports to raise and circulate. It is several day's work, even I was motivated. But I was washed out.
But I do get the two summaries done, sent off to my joint-auditor for his input, so I begin on writing up on the database.
Hours pass.
Jools is a blur of activity, as ever. I really should help at some point, but by the time the afternoon draws to an end, I am struggling with a lack of energy.
I am not really hungry, but Jools is, so I cook fishcakes and stir fry, but my digestion is saying, "no more veg!"
I also have some red wine. Just a glass and a half. Or so.
It laid me out, I go upstairs for a lay down before seven, and snooze the two hours until Marc Riley ends.
It is dark before eight, and I am joined on the bed by Scully who decided that this is where she will spend the night. Who am I to argue?
No idea what I picked up, but it laid me low for, by Monday, four days.
I thought it about time I was getting back to normal, so without really feeling hungry, I have a bowl of fruit and yogurt and a coffee, then another coffee.
Later, there is the weekend's croissants to make vanish.
Already, its a lot of food.
For lunch we have the second of the pork pies, salad and slaw.
Apart from eating, it is Monday and the first day back at work, of course. So I can update my colleagues on my adventures and findings from last week.
There was no juicy gossip to share.Thing about doing audits is that there are audit reports to write.
And log.
Then findings to complete, more reports to raise and circulate. It is several day's work, even I was motivated. But I was washed out.
But I do get the two summaries done, sent off to my joint-auditor for his input, so I begin on writing up on the database.
Hours pass.
Jools is a blur of activity, as ever. I really should help at some point, but by the time the afternoon draws to an end, I am struggling with a lack of energy.
I am not really hungry, but Jools is, so I cook fishcakes and stir fry, but my digestion is saying, "no more veg!"
I also have some red wine. Just a glass and a half. Or so.
It laid me out, I go upstairs for a lay down before seven, and snooze the two hours until Marc Riley ends.
It is dark before eight, and I am joined on the bed by Scully who decided that this is where she will spend the night. Who am I to argue?
Triggered
Over the weekend, a false story appeared on that the BBC was considering replacing Land of Hope and Glory and Rule Britannia at Last Night of the Proms.
It was a made up story then, but of course, Trumpflakes and Brexiteers have run with this as an example of the so-called “cancel-culture”.
Amazing how they laugh at those on the left for being snowflakes, when they are so easily triggered by something like this, or having to wear a mask, just to keep everyone else safe, just not them?
In keeping with current Government COVID rules, there will be no singing at LNOTP, but this hasn’t stopped many of today’s papers leading that the BBC has stopped the singing the line: “Britain never, never will be slaves.”
The British Empire, and so so its wealth, was built on slavery. Or a third of it was: supplying slaves for the Americas, produce from there to the UK and finished goods to the rest of the world, ensured companies like the East India Company always had the holds of their ships full, making money, lots of money on each leg. And made it’s members and owners, and the country, very very rich.
And a lot of the art, the stately home, the pageant of this country is built on the money obtained over the bodies of slaves. Even when it wasn’t from slaves, some pretty dreadful stuff went on, all to make the motherland rich, or its already rich elite, richer still. And it was all legal.
People could own slaves, kidnap people to make slaves, transport them over the ocean, thrown them overboard if they thought the trip loss-making, sell them. And it was all legal in the eyes of the English legal system.
Many of the items in museums were either stolen, or just taken from where they were made, and now the UK refuses to return them.
Until the country comes to terms with its history, we will be in denial about things like the statue removal in Bristol. Colston wasn’t a law-breaker, some kind of fugitive from justice. He did what the law allowed and grew rich on that. Why not put some of those statues in museums, replace them with statues of slaves, at least acknowledging that part of our past?
And God Save the Queen is a dirge, should be replaced. By almost anything. And also has that little sung 4th verse emploring “The rebellious Scots to crush”. OK, just looked at Wiki, and its more interesting and complicated than that.
Anyway.
Getting triggered by a non-story. So very 2020.
And helps distract from the 67,000 additional deaths or the PPE contracts from their mates or the subversion of our democracy.
But do go on.....
It was a made up story then, but of course, Trumpflakes and Brexiteers have run with this as an example of the so-called “cancel-culture”.
Amazing how they laugh at those on the left for being snowflakes, when they are so easily triggered by something like this, or having to wear a mask, just to keep everyone else safe, just not them?
In keeping with current Government COVID rules, there will be no singing at LNOTP, but this hasn’t stopped many of today’s papers leading that the BBC has stopped the singing the line: “Britain never, never will be slaves.”
The British Empire, and so so its wealth, was built on slavery. Or a third of it was: supplying slaves for the Americas, produce from there to the UK and finished goods to the rest of the world, ensured companies like the East India Company always had the holds of their ships full, making money, lots of money on each leg. And made it’s members and owners, and the country, very very rich.
And a lot of the art, the stately home, the pageant of this country is built on the money obtained over the bodies of slaves. Even when it wasn’t from slaves, some pretty dreadful stuff went on, all to make the motherland rich, or its already rich elite, richer still. And it was all legal.
People could own slaves, kidnap people to make slaves, transport them over the ocean, thrown them overboard if they thought the trip loss-making, sell them. And it was all legal in the eyes of the English legal system.
Many of the items in museums were either stolen, or just taken from where they were made, and now the UK refuses to return them.
Until the country comes to terms with its history, we will be in denial about things like the statue removal in Bristol. Colston wasn’t a law-breaker, some kind of fugitive from justice. He did what the law allowed and grew rich on that. Why not put some of those statues in museums, replace them with statues of slaves, at least acknowledging that part of our past?
And God Save the Queen is a dirge, should be replaced. By almost anything. And also has that little sung 4th verse emploring “The rebellious Scots to crush”. OK, just looked at Wiki, and its more interesting and complicated than that.
Anyway.
Getting triggered by a non-story. So very 2020.
And helps distract from the 67,000 additional deaths or the PPE contracts from their mates or the subversion of our democracy.
But do go on.....
Monday 24 August 2020
Sunday 23rd August 2020
Still, still ill.
Urgh.
I was feeling a little better. Not much, but some.
And there was an early start for us, and Betty's granddaughter, Sam decided to go home to the north west, as the pretty grim diagnosis of two weeks ago has given way to one that might take months to play out.
Public transport still doesn't seem that safe, so Jools said she would take her to Crewe and her husband could pick her up there.
Which meant I would be home alone. Again. On kitty and cat sitting duties.
I sleep through the alarm, and was woken by Jools telling me she was off and there was a coffee waiting for me downstairs. It took a long time for me to wake up, getting my mojo back.
I get dressed, go downstairs whit two little feline faces keeping an eye on me.
They wanted to play. I wanted coffee.
I drank coffee.
But I perked up. I played with the kittens for half an hour, and they never ran out of energy. Unlike me.
At nine, I was hungry. I make toast and marmalade and have another brew.
I had been up three and a half hours but had achieved little.
Come eleven, and Radcliffe and Maconie had ended, there was no excuse to loll around all day. I went outside to plant the last two of the Viper's Bugloss.
The phone goes; Jools is in Nantwich, and about to start driving south, she might be back by three, I thought.
Drive safe, I say.
Back in the garden, I scarify the lawn again. In particular the west side near the hedge, as this grows very lushly, and I want to fix that. It requires more scarifying, raking, brushing. I get several Kgs of debris and dead plant matter, and can see bare soul. Should be much less lush next year.
I am pooped. Again.
The sunny start had clouded over, so I go inside and quickly get sidetracked by watching podcasts and videos of rarely used freight lines in the US. I know how to party.
The kittens had been asleep all day, but they soon wake up, and when hungry are very loving; meowing and chirping for something to eat.
So begins the madness that is feeding all four felines at once. I am halfway through when Jools rings: she's about an hour away. There are cats and food everywhere.
"How are the cats?"
Mad.
With Jools back in Kent, I prepare dinner: steak and ale pie, roast potatoes, steamed vegetables and the beef gravy we had not used the week before.
I realise I was very hungry.
Which I decide was a good thing.
Dinner is just about ready when Jools gets back at just gone five, I finish off the roast potatoes, and dish up. Jools open the chilled bottle of fizz, and we eat.
Lovely.
Evening is spent watching the European Cup Final on YouTube. They call it the Champion's League, but its the European Cup trophy, so that's what it is.
Bayern and PSG play out for the biggest prize in European football in an empty stadium in Portugal. Even with fake crowd noise it seems oddly devoid of passion. A close and tense game, won by a single goal for Bayern.
You'll be glad to know next season's competition, or is this this season's? Does it matter?
It was dark by quarter past eight, needed the table light on by half seven. Four months to Christmas.
Get your sprouts on.
Poppy brought in her own food last night.
I thought it was a bird or a mouse. I was half right, it was a cooked chicken quarter.
I chased her upstairs and took it way from her and put it in the bin.
She went back out.
Two minutes later she came back with a cooked slice of gammon ham.
She dropped it at my feet.
No idea where she got these from.
But good work.
Urgh.
I was feeling a little better. Not much, but some.
And there was an early start for us, and Betty's granddaughter, Sam decided to go home to the north west, as the pretty grim diagnosis of two weeks ago has given way to one that might take months to play out.
Public transport still doesn't seem that safe, so Jools said she would take her to Crewe and her husband could pick her up there.
Which meant I would be home alone. Again. On kitty and cat sitting duties.
I sleep through the alarm, and was woken by Jools telling me she was off and there was a coffee waiting for me downstairs. It took a long time for me to wake up, getting my mojo back.
I get dressed, go downstairs whit two little feline faces keeping an eye on me.
They wanted to play. I wanted coffee.
I drank coffee.
But I perked up. I played with the kittens for half an hour, and they never ran out of energy. Unlike me.
At nine, I was hungry. I make toast and marmalade and have another brew.
I had been up three and a half hours but had achieved little.
Come eleven, and Radcliffe and Maconie had ended, there was no excuse to loll around all day. I went outside to plant the last two of the Viper's Bugloss.
The phone goes; Jools is in Nantwich, and about to start driving south, she might be back by three, I thought.
Drive safe, I say.
Back in the garden, I scarify the lawn again. In particular the west side near the hedge, as this grows very lushly, and I want to fix that. It requires more scarifying, raking, brushing. I get several Kgs of debris and dead plant matter, and can see bare soul. Should be much less lush next year.
I am pooped. Again.
The sunny start had clouded over, so I go inside and quickly get sidetracked by watching podcasts and videos of rarely used freight lines in the US. I know how to party.
The kittens had been asleep all day, but they soon wake up, and when hungry are very loving; meowing and chirping for something to eat.So begins the madness that is feeding all four felines at once. I am halfway through when Jools rings: she's about an hour away. There are cats and food everywhere.
"How are the cats?"
Mad.
With Jools back in Kent, I prepare dinner: steak and ale pie, roast potatoes, steamed vegetables and the beef gravy we had not used the week before.
I realise I was very hungry.
Which I decide was a good thing.
Dinner is just about ready when Jools gets back at just gone five, I finish off the roast potatoes, and dish up. Jools open the chilled bottle of fizz, and we eat.
Lovely.
Evening is spent watching the European Cup Final on YouTube. They call it the Champion's League, but its the European Cup trophy, so that's what it is.
Bayern and PSG play out for the biggest prize in European football in an empty stadium in Portugal. Even with fake crowd noise it seems oddly devoid of passion. A close and tense game, won by a single goal for Bayern.
You'll be glad to know next season's competition, or is this this season's? Does it matter?
It was dark by quarter past eight, needed the table light on by half seven. Four months to Christmas.
Get your sprouts on.
Poppy brought in her own food last night.
I thought it was a bird or a mouse. I was half right, it was a cooked chicken quarter.
I chased her upstairs and took it way from her and put it in the bin.
She went back out.
Two minutes later she came back with a cooked slice of gammon ham.
She dropped it at my feet.
No idea where she got these from.
But good work.
Two trillion pounds. And counting
UK debt now stands at £2,004,000,000,000.
And counting.
Surviving a pandemic was always going to be expensive, but we're not through that emergency yet, so this number will get much larger.
And it will have to be paid for. Somehow.
Or we could do what Governments do, leave it for our children and grandchildren to repay.
Of course, the UK started the crisis heavily in debt, made worse by a decade of failed austerity which was brought in to eliminate national debt, but the Conservatives doubled it instead.
Recovery will test, sorely, ideological right wing Government to undertake and implement left winf policies, like nationalisation and a universal wage, polices that Corbyn would have been pilloried for will be Conservative policy.
Strange days.
Meanwhile, the Government extended the ban on property renters being able to be evicted by another four weeks. The Government had had six months to prepare, but of course they left it to the last minute, leaving stressed families in limbo about where they could be living by the end of the week. And although a month is welcome, it does not solve the long term problem of how to cope with the hundreds of thousands of newly unemployed with little money and tons of debt.
Thankfully, Johnson, JRM, Gove and the rest know from personal experience what it is like to be poor and not now where the next meal is coming from, so will act with due care.
And counting.
Surviving a pandemic was always going to be expensive, but we're not through that emergency yet, so this number will get much larger.
And it will have to be paid for. Somehow.
Or we could do what Governments do, leave it for our children and grandchildren to repay.
Of course, the UK started the crisis heavily in debt, made worse by a decade of failed austerity which was brought in to eliminate national debt, but the Conservatives doubled it instead.
Recovery will test, sorely, ideological right wing Government to undertake and implement left winf policies, like nationalisation and a universal wage, polices that Corbyn would have been pilloried for will be Conservative policy.
Strange days.
Meanwhile, the Government extended the ban on property renters being able to be evicted by another four weeks. The Government had had six months to prepare, but of course they left it to the last minute, leaving stressed families in limbo about where they could be living by the end of the week. And although a month is welcome, it does not solve the long term problem of how to cope with the hundreds of thousands of newly unemployed with little money and tons of debt.
Thankfully, Johnson, JRM, Gove and the rest know from personal experience what it is like to be poor and not now where the next meal is coming from, so will act with due care.
Sunday 23 August 2020
Project reality, part #12345
The Sun doesn't provide the BBC a front page for their website overview.
Which is fine.
But today, the Sunday Sun ran a piece on a report leaked as to what the UK is having to do to prepare for there being no agreement on future trade.
That The Sun, under Murdoch's ownership was one of Brexit's biggest cheerleaders makes this a most interesting piece. On top of that it was "written" by Harry Cole, once of Guido Fawkes.
It paints a very grim picture indeed: power shortages, fuel shortages, food drops fr the Channel Islands 8,500 trucks in a jam heading for Dover, animal diseases ripping through the countryside, water shortages.
This is the worse case scenario, but it is telling that there is a report that spells it out.
Later, Michael Gove said this was indeed a worse case, but rest assured he was working 24 hours a day to ensure the country was ready.
For Brexiteer readers of the paper, this is confusing; is it more project fear, or project reality?
Gove makes references to the new opportunities Brexit will bring, but failing to spell out, once again, what these might be.
A question:
Would the EU let UK starve in the event of no trade deal being struck?
I have just had a short conversation with someone on Twitter, in which he said he didn't think either the UK Government of the EU was evil, and would stop people dying.
Thing is, the UK Government knows, always has known, what the different flavours of Brexit will cause to the UK and it's economy. If it is that bad, then there is time to change course, to admit how bad it will be, and do agree a future trade deal that is good for UK and the economy.
But I go back to what I said some four years ago, the UK and our people will have to see how bad things will be before they believe, until then many will say its all project fear, and another attempt to frustrate Brexit, even if it has already happened.
I think the country will have to experience real pain, to have the shortages that it will entail, to get the total perspective vortex view of the grand folly of Brexit. Only then, will the calls of betraying Brexit have a chance of being silenced.
If Brexit means Brexit, then it means power cuts, fuel and energy shortages, basic food shortages, Kent jammed with trucks.
Which is fine.
But today, the Sunday Sun ran a piece on a report leaked as to what the UK is having to do to prepare for there being no agreement on future trade.
That The Sun, under Murdoch's ownership was one of Brexit's biggest cheerleaders makes this a most interesting piece. On top of that it was "written" by Harry Cole, once of Guido Fawkes.
It paints a very grim picture indeed: power shortages, fuel shortages, food drops fr the Channel Islands 8,500 trucks in a jam heading for Dover, animal diseases ripping through the countryside, water shortages.
This is the worse case scenario, but it is telling that there is a report that spells it out.
Later, Michael Gove said this was indeed a worse case, but rest assured he was working 24 hours a day to ensure the country was ready.
For Brexiteer readers of the paper, this is confusing; is it more project fear, or project reality?
Gove makes references to the new opportunities Brexit will bring, but failing to spell out, once again, what these might be.
A question:
Would the EU let UK starve in the event of no trade deal being struck?
I have just had a short conversation with someone on Twitter, in which he said he didn't think either the UK Government of the EU was evil, and would stop people dying.
Thing is, the UK Government knows, always has known, what the different flavours of Brexit will cause to the UK and it's economy. If it is that bad, then there is time to change course, to admit how bad it will be, and do agree a future trade deal that is good for UK and the economy.
But I go back to what I said some four years ago, the UK and our people will have to see how bad things will be before they believe, until then many will say its all project fear, and another attempt to frustrate Brexit, even if it has already happened.
I think the country will have to experience real pain, to have the shortages that it will entail, to get the total perspective vortex view of the grand folly of Brexit. Only then, will the calls of betraying Brexit have a chance of being silenced.
If Brexit means Brexit, then it means power cuts, fuel and energy shortages, basic food shortages, Kent jammed with trucks.
Saturday 22nd August 2020
Still ill.
Urgh.
Not much of any importance happened through the day. I did try to eat. But not much.
In fact, I am struggling to remember much of what was done all day yesterday.
I must have woken up at some point, stating the obvious. Jools made coffee. The kittens played. The cats looked on. There was growling.
I try to help Jools in the garden through the day, but in the morning session, my stomach and below, complained so much so I went back inside and went to lay down. We did venture out just before lunch, having placed an order that the butcher, we drive out to Preston to pick it up.
Oddly enough, on the way back home, my stomach grumbled, so I thought I might like some food, and just ahead is the greasy spoon on the, ahem, Sandwich bypass. The owner does a bap containing two Lorne sausage slices, two hash browns and two fried eggs. It is the king of sandwiches.
I do eat it. All. But regret it all afternoon.
We drive home, put the shopping away and then listen to more Huey on the radio.
Jools does some gardening.
Jools goes out to buy me some drugs. I take two capsules, and hope things will soon be better.
Or not as bad.
I put in eight of the ten Viper's Bugloss plugs into the lawnmeadow, ready for next year when we hope there will be yet more bees and pollinators buzzing around.
After than I needed a lay down.
Come five, I risk half a pork pie and some humus on wholemeal bread. And a glass of wine.
That did me for the day. I listen to more radio through the evening, Jools watched "Line of Duty" on her computer, and kittens roll and tumble in the living room.
Will try to do better on Sunday.
Urgh.
Not much of any importance happened through the day. I did try to eat. But not much.
In fact, I am struggling to remember much of what was done all day yesterday.
I must have woken up at some point, stating the obvious. Jools made coffee. The kittens played. The cats looked on. There was growling.
I try to help Jools in the garden through the day, but in the morning session, my stomach and below, complained so much so I went back inside and went to lay down. We did venture out just before lunch, having placed an order that the butcher, we drive out to Preston to pick it up.
Oddly enough, on the way back home, my stomach grumbled, so I thought I might like some food, and just ahead is the greasy spoon on the, ahem, Sandwich bypass. The owner does a bap containing two Lorne sausage slices, two hash browns and two fried eggs. It is the king of sandwiches.
I do eat it. All. But regret it all afternoon.We drive home, put the shopping away and then listen to more Huey on the radio.
Jools does some gardening.
Jools goes out to buy me some drugs. I take two capsules, and hope things will soon be better.
Or not as bad.
I put in eight of the ten Viper's Bugloss plugs into the lawnmeadow, ready for next year when we hope there will be yet more bees and pollinators buzzing around.
After than I needed a lay down.Come five, I risk half a pork pie and some humus on wholemeal bread. And a glass of wine.
That did me for the day. I listen to more radio through the evening, Jools watched "Line of Duty" on her computer, and kittens roll and tumble in the living room.
Will try to do better on Sunday.
The blame game
In the last two weeks, it was announced that the body which oversaw the Pandemic response in England, Public Health England (PHE), was to be scrapped, a replacement body set up headed by a political appointment, Dido Harding.
It was thought that PHE was an untamed quango, and existed at arms length from the Department of Health and Social Care (DHSC), and the Minister, Matt Hancock.
Sadly, for Cummings, Johnson and Hancock, PHE is an exclusive agency of the DHSC, so Ministers were always responsible for any failures in policy. And had been reporting to Ministers all along.
Oh dear.
"An observation about Public Health England. In law, it does not exist as an entity. It is an executive agency of the Department of Health and Social Care. It is under the direct administrative control of the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care."
But let's not mere facts get in the way of pushing the blame to somewhere, anywhere else, but on Ministers, Johnson or Cummings.
So, inbetween the deadly first wave and a possibly deadlier second, the UK Government of talent will attempt to set up a new Public Health Body from scratch.
And preparing for the end of transition. I mean "preparing".
It was thought that PHE was an untamed quango, and existed at arms length from the Department of Health and Social Care (DHSC), and the Minister, Matt Hancock.
Sadly, for Cummings, Johnson and Hancock, PHE is an exclusive agency of the DHSC, so Ministers were always responsible for any failures in policy. And had been reporting to Ministers all along.
Oh dear.
"An observation about Public Health England. In law, it does not exist as an entity. It is an executive agency of the Department of Health and Social Care. It is under the direct administrative control of the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care."
But let's not mere facts get in the way of pushing the blame to somewhere, anywhere else, but on Ministers, Johnson or Cummings.
So, inbetween the deadly first wave and a possibly deadlier second, the UK Government of talent will attempt to set up a new Public Health Body from scratch.
And preparing for the end of transition. I mean "preparing".
Back to school
This morning, the Sunday Express, The Sunday Torygraph, The Sunday Mail and trill with the Government line that it is safe to send your children back to school.
Though, there is one or two problems with that:
1. There is not enough room, staff or facilities to allow social distancing.
2. Even if that is true, is it safe for teachers to go back?
3. Israel unlocked with undue haste, and spikes in cases were linked directly to the school reopening program.
4. The word of Chris Witty and other senior health professionals has been forever tainted with being mute when the Government claiming to have followed the science whilst it since emerged that the "science" told the Government to lock down two weeks earlier. That cost 20,000 lives, but hey.
5. Studies have shown that the older children/pupils are, the more like adults transmissions rates are. And a child with the virus can carry that back to the family home and spread it to everyone, like every parent knows.
But, certainly, trust this cabal of liars that returning to school is safe.
I know what I'd do.
Though, there is one or two problems with that:
1. There is not enough room, staff or facilities to allow social distancing.
2. Even if that is true, is it safe for teachers to go back?
3. Israel unlocked with undue haste, and spikes in cases were linked directly to the school reopening program.
4. The word of Chris Witty and other senior health professionals has been forever tainted with being mute when the Government claiming to have followed the science whilst it since emerged that the "science" told the Government to lock down two weeks earlier. That cost 20,000 lives, but hey.
5. Studies have shown that the older children/pupils are, the more like adults transmissions rates are. And a child with the virus can carry that back to the family home and spread it to everyone, like every parent knows.
But, certainly, trust this cabal of liars that returning to school is safe.
I know what I'd do.
Saturday 22 August 2020
It's crazy out there
We live on the edge of a small village, we don't go to pubs much, only three times since the lockdown started. We haven't eaten out, except for a sausage butty that one time. We go to Tesco once a week to do our shopping, and apart from going to Jen's every now and again, we mix with no one.
And I suppose that's how I thought the rest of the country was.
How wrong I was.
For the past three days I have been staying in Southampton. Southampton is a city, not huge, but a typical, provincial English city. And it was like Mardi Gras in Nawlins.
On Tuesday night we ventured to a small Italian place, so saw little other than those on the main street, seemed quite sensible, apart from the drunks who were shouting and singing until dawn.
Wednesday, was very different.
As I wrote in my blogs, the Government is subsidising eating out to a max of £10 a head, to encourage folks to get out and support businesses. So far, so good.
For two hours I tried to book something online and on the phone: nothing free.
So we went out walking, to the West Quay shopping centre, where I had seen many large eateries and chains; there must be some tables free there?
No.
Everywhere was packed, needing an hour's wait, if they would let you. Most were booked all night.
Some had gaps between tables, many seemed not to.
Most shocking was Wetherspoons. It was rammed. People lining up to get in, no social distancing, people singing, shouting, like there wasn't a pandemic on.
If this is normal in cities and towns up and down the country, and with enhanced lockdowns in many places, and another threatened in Birmingham, there is little hope of keeping the virus under control.
We had no choice but to travel on the ferry to the Island. Going over there was hardly anyone on board, but coming back, it was full. People from different groups were sitting at same tables and benches. Children were running around, banging into strangers, like their parents didn't care.
I am home now, but will isolate at least for a week here, and not go to Jen's for two weeks, just in case.
The week was a real eye-opener, but not in a good way. Sadly.
Stay safe, people.
And I suppose that's how I thought the rest of the country was.
How wrong I was.
For the past three days I have been staying in Southampton. Southampton is a city, not huge, but a typical, provincial English city. And it was like Mardi Gras in Nawlins.
On Tuesday night we ventured to a small Italian place, so saw little other than those on the main street, seemed quite sensible, apart from the drunks who were shouting and singing until dawn.
Wednesday, was very different.
As I wrote in my blogs, the Government is subsidising eating out to a max of £10 a head, to encourage folks to get out and support businesses. So far, so good.
For two hours I tried to book something online and on the phone: nothing free.
So we went out walking, to the West Quay shopping centre, where I had seen many large eateries and chains; there must be some tables free there?
No.
Everywhere was packed, needing an hour's wait, if they would let you. Most were booked all night.
Some had gaps between tables, many seemed not to.
Most shocking was Wetherspoons. It was rammed. People lining up to get in, no social distancing, people singing, shouting, like there wasn't a pandemic on.
If this is normal in cities and towns up and down the country, and with enhanced lockdowns in many places, and another threatened in Birmingham, there is little hope of keeping the virus under control.
We had no choice but to travel on the ferry to the Island. Going over there was hardly anyone on board, but coming back, it was full. People from different groups were sitting at same tables and benches. Children were running around, banging into strangers, like their parents didn't care.
I am home now, but will isolate at least for a week here, and not go to Jen's for two weeks, just in case.
The week was a real eye-opener, but not in a good way. Sadly.
Stay safe, people.
The week in cats
Wednesday
(Jools writing)
Went to bed quite late, all cats were out, closed the curtains and put done the blind. Wwke up at about 1.00 AM with indigestion, shouldn't have eaten so late, no poo anywhere, so all to the good, Cleo was in your room, Poppy was in the basket under the stairs and Mulder was on the sleeping bag.
When I woke up, no poo anywhere, fed the tiddlers, had put the alarm on for 5.00 AM, partly as I want to do a lot today and also to stagger the feeding, both tiddlers in the house and they ate quite well. Have witnessed both using the litter tray to pee.
Poppy very confident going out now and they have both been climbing the tree, Poppy more so, higher (very high to be honest) and more times than Cleo. She did need to be coaxed down everso gently. They have both been very affectionate this morning and no ducking away when I went to stroke them. They are currently sparko in the perspex box together! They did not touch the dried food I left in the back room for them
After feeding them went down the garden in my nightdress and they were running around the garden, Cleo doing that running for her life just for the joy of it. Have fed Mulder and Sculley successfully and given lots of attention, both came in wanting attention whilst I was eating my breakfast. Sculley is very clingy, they both are standing their ground though around Cleo and Poppy, although I have noticed Mulder's movements are very deliberate, rather than that loping gait that he sometimes has.
Thursday
Was in the back room last night just before bed and Mulder came in and gave the cactus what for, Poppy was in the box and was all goggle eyed, then Cleo came up and I diffused the situation by calling Mulder into the bathroom whilst I brushed my teeth. Mulder spent most of the night on the sleeping bag. We just need to work on Sculley now, bringing her back in the house.
Woke up last night to use the facilities, no poo anywhere upstairs, did not come down stairs. When the alarm went off, Cleo quickly came in the bedroom and wanted affection, so food basically. Poppy was on the stairs waiting too. They were all around me in the utility room and then Sculley came in. Cleo ate some food and was sick pretty quickly afterwards. Poppy used the tray to wee and then watching Cleo, could see she was about to poo and she did, I was trying to get Cleo and Poppy to settle into eating and you know what Cleo is like, all hither and thither. In the end I put the food on the stairs and stroked Cleo to try and calm her down and they both did settle down to eat. My conclusion is that they are as unsettled as Mulder and Sculley and we need to give them all the confidence that it is all ok. So despite the youngsters being frenetic, I am going to feed them on the stairs, settle them down and then feed Mulder and Sculley separately, staying with them all for a short while whilst they eat.
In all of this I managed to groom Cleo (as a way to distract her so that Sculley could eat), 3 fleas and Mulder one flea and Sculley no fleas and Poppy a small amount but not enough to catch any fleas if there are any.
It does seen to me that it is our job to give them confidence that it will be alright.
Oh, Tuesday evening when I had my tea, I had left half a pork pie on the side and Cleo was trying to eat it, when I went to sort it out, Poppy jumped on the table and tried to eat what was on my plate and this morning when I came down the bread had been pulled off the side and was on the floor in the living room.
Just thinking about them on the table, wondering if it might be an idea to close that window by the table to discourage them from using it and thinking the table is part of the thoroughfare.
(Jools writing)
Went to bed quite late, all cats were out, closed the curtains and put done the blind. Wwke up at about 1.00 AM with indigestion, shouldn't have eaten so late, no poo anywhere, so all to the good, Cleo was in your room, Poppy was in the basket under the stairs and Mulder was on the sleeping bag.
When I woke up, no poo anywhere, fed the tiddlers, had put the alarm on for 5.00 AM, partly as I want to do a lot today and also to stagger the feeding, both tiddlers in the house and they ate quite well. Have witnessed both using the litter tray to pee.
Poppy very confident going out now and they have both been climbing the tree, Poppy more so, higher (very high to be honest) and more times than Cleo. She did need to be coaxed down everso gently. They have both been very affectionate this morning and no ducking away when I went to stroke them. They are currently sparko in the perspex box together! They did not touch the dried food I left in the back room for them
After feeding them went down the garden in my nightdress and they were running around the garden, Cleo doing that running for her life just for the joy of it. Have fed Mulder and Sculley successfully and given lots of attention, both came in wanting attention whilst I was eating my breakfast. Sculley is very clingy, they both are standing their ground though around Cleo and Poppy, although I have noticed Mulder's movements are very deliberate, rather than that loping gait that he sometimes has.
Thursday
Was in the back room last night just before bed and Mulder came in and gave the cactus what for, Poppy was in the box and was all goggle eyed, then Cleo came up and I diffused the situation by calling Mulder into the bathroom whilst I brushed my teeth. Mulder spent most of the night on the sleeping bag. We just need to work on Sculley now, bringing her back in the house.
Woke up last night to use the facilities, no poo anywhere upstairs, did not come down stairs. When the alarm went off, Cleo quickly came in the bedroom and wanted affection, so food basically. Poppy was on the stairs waiting too. They were all around me in the utility room and then Sculley came in. Cleo ate some food and was sick pretty quickly afterwards. Poppy used the tray to wee and then watching Cleo, could see she was about to poo and she did, I was trying to get Cleo and Poppy to settle into eating and you know what Cleo is like, all hither and thither. In the end I put the food on the stairs and stroked Cleo to try and calm her down and they both did settle down to eat. My conclusion is that they are as unsettled as Mulder and Sculley and we need to give them all the confidence that it is all ok. So despite the youngsters being frenetic, I am going to feed them on the stairs, settle them down and then feed Mulder and Sculley separately, staying with them all for a short while whilst they eat.
In all of this I managed to groom Cleo (as a way to distract her so that Sculley could eat), 3 fleas and Mulder one flea and Sculley no fleas and Poppy a small amount but not enough to catch any fleas if there are any.
It does seen to me that it is our job to give them confidence that it will be alright.
Oh, Tuesday evening when I had my tea, I had left half a pork pie on the side and Cleo was trying to eat it, when I went to sort it out, Poppy jumped on the table and tried to eat what was on my plate and this morning when I came down the bread had been pulled off the side and was on the floor in the living room.
Just thinking about them on the table, wondering if it might be an idea to close that window by the table to discourage them from using it and thinking the table is part of the thoroughfare.
Friday 21st August 2020
I was still not well.
In fact, I was worse than the previous night.
I must have ate something that disagreed with me.
Anyway, by the time morning came, I was drained, and I hoped the worse was over. I was going to go out for breakfast, but there seemed no point as I wasn't hungry, and it would rattle through me. So, at seven, I packed up and checked out.
It was at least cool outside, and being early not much traffic on the roads. I made my way to the quayside, then up the long bypass running beside the city and the modern docks, up to the start of the motorway and out into the countryside.
I put the radio on and concentrated on the road ahead, hoping that I would not have to make any emergency stops.
Ahem.
Past Winchester, still early enough so there was little traffic making their way into the city centre. I press on over the downs.
It was cloudy, sometimes it tried to rain, but I made good time and got to the M25, turning east for home.
And for a Friday morning, in August, in the middle of the school holidays, the roads were amazingly empty. So I made really good time, entering Surrey and then Kent.
I stopped to call Jools I would soon be home, then back onto the road for the final run down the M20 to home.
Once home, Jools had gone shopping, so I unloaded the car, to be met for all four cats, telling me if it wasn't dinner time, that it was mid morning snack time.
I oblige. And try to pick up Cleo, which was silly, and she was too quick for me, giving me too scratches before she fled upstairs.
I'll be honest with you, I felt like shit.
I unpack, have a shower and try to eat something, as I seemed hungry. Which might not have been the best idea in the history of bad ideas.
Soon after lunch, I go to lay down, but the strong breeze bangs the new blinds, and I was too lazy to raise them and close the curtains.
I slept fitfully.
Then I met our new neightbour/pet: a juvenile pheasant has taken to visiting the food tray under the feeders for an afternoon snack. I was able to get shots from the house, then watch in amazement as Jools walked back up the path from the shed, within 5 feet of the bird, and he carried on eating.
The rest of the day was spent with me being overly-dramatic and being in a state of a near-faint.
Not much was achieved, apart from me making a cheese toastie for supper.
I should have had an early night, but there was the Europa League Final to watch, so I did, until ten.
Then bed.
In fact, I was worse than the previous night.
I must have ate something that disagreed with me.
Anyway, by the time morning came, I was drained, and I hoped the worse was over. I was going to go out for breakfast, but there seemed no point as I wasn't hungry, and it would rattle through me. So, at seven, I packed up and checked out.
It was at least cool outside, and being early not much traffic on the roads. I made my way to the quayside, then up the long bypass running beside the city and the modern docks, up to the start of the motorway and out into the countryside.
I put the radio on and concentrated on the road ahead, hoping that I would not have to make any emergency stops.
Ahem.
Past Winchester, still early enough so there was little traffic making their way into the city centre. I press on over the downs.
It was cloudy, sometimes it tried to rain, but I made good time and got to the M25, turning east for home.
And for a Friday morning, in August, in the middle of the school holidays, the roads were amazingly empty. So I made really good time, entering Surrey and then Kent.
I stopped to call Jools I would soon be home, then back onto the road for the final run down the M20 to home.
Once home, Jools had gone shopping, so I unloaded the car, to be met for all four cats, telling me if it wasn't dinner time, that it was mid morning snack time.
I oblige. And try to pick up Cleo, which was silly, and she was too quick for me, giving me too scratches before she fled upstairs.
I'll be honest with you, I felt like shit.
I unpack, have a shower and try to eat something, as I seemed hungry. Which might not have been the best idea in the history of bad ideas.
Soon after lunch, I go to lay down, but the strong breeze bangs the new blinds, and I was too lazy to raise them and close the curtains.
I slept fitfully.
Then I met our new neightbour/pet: a juvenile pheasant has taken to visiting the food tray under the feeders for an afternoon snack. I was able to get shots from the house, then watch in amazement as Jools walked back up the path from the shed, within 5 feet of the bird, and he carried on eating.
The rest of the day was spent with me being overly-dramatic and being in a state of a near-faint.Not much was achieved, apart from me making a cheese toastie for supper.
I should have had an early night, but there was the Europa League Final to watch, so I did, until ten.
Then bed.
Boris Johnson has been on holiday
Let's be honest, we haven't really noticed. I mean, he's not a hands on PM is he?
But then, never has been.
As London Mayor, he appointed deputies to do the actual work, while he did, whatever Boris did; hang from zip wires, play smaller kids at rugby, cheat on his wives and families.
Then as Foreign Secretary, he mastered none of his briefs, insulted many of his opposite numbers, avoided contentious votes in the Commons, agreed to May's WA plan, then resigned when others did.
He was found, as Prime Minister, of giving the Monarch unlawful advice. A signed affidavit would have gotten him, JRM off the hook, but he, none of his Mnisters of any senior civil servants were willing to do so. There was no reason to prorogue Parliament, let along a good reason.
He, Cummings responded by briefing against the Judiciary, who were doing their job to interpret the law that Ministers and the Government made remarks that the judges "as the judges taking sides on Brexit", when all they were doing was pointing out there had to be a legal limit on prorogation. JRM denounced it as a constitutional coup. Remember, this is just making the Government of the day follow the laws of the land.
At any point, they could introduce legislation to change this, and there would be no problem. But this was never about obeying laws or not, it has always been about avoiding scrutiny, be it by the Judiciary, the press and media, Parliament or the public. This is a man who hid in a fridge during the election campaign so not to be interviewed on TV.
Johnson and Cummings want to rule by diktat, issuing commands like some modern day two-headed Henry VIII. Only that the Gina Millar case, in which the May Government of the day was forced to pass Brexit legislation through Parliament not use prerogative powers.
But such powers is what they like. And under Public Health Law, Johnson and Cummings, through Hancock can issue SIs, bypassing Parliament and all the scrutiny that involves, also ensures that contradictory rules and laws are issued, of immigration guidance with more pages of exclusions than actual rules.
That they want power for power's sake is bad enough. In a literal sense, they have no idea what to do with their power, other than to give legal force to Cummings' latest bright ideas. But those who will follow Johnson, and rest assured Johnson will leave Downing Street, maybe sooner than many think, might use that power for more sinsiter purposes.
Once Judaical Review is restricted or removed, the opportunity for any one of us to challenge the Executive to account, expecting it to obey the same laws that we all do, will be gone, and never to remove. In Poland, Hungary, Turkey, we have seen petty dictators remove large parts of their Judiciary to make it less possible to uphold basic human rights. Now that the UK has left the EU, in their sights next is the Human Rights Act and membership of the European Convention on Human Rights.
Brexit will be a bonfire of rights, because as was clear with Cummings' trip to Durham, all pigs are equal, but some are more equal than others.
So, Johnson went to the remote Outer Hebrides, rented a cottage and put up a large tent in the next field. Without the landowners permission. He is heading back to London, though not clear if he will be returning to his apparent one working day a week. But its OK, as former England goalkeeper, Peter Shilton, says we are giving Johnson too had a time, what with him recovering from the virus, having ignored his own social distancing advice.
Meanwhile, Ministers are not expected to resign, even when they have screwed up the futures of perhaps hundreds of thousands of A Level students.
Of course it was the exam regulator's fails, Secretary of State for Education. And of course you only realised the consequences of the formula you approved last weekend, a full six weeks after you were formally warned, and week after Scotland was forced to abandon exam results after using the same formula. How could you have linked these things together in order to make a competent decision?
Instead, Williamson thought it a good idea to have a photoshoot done, with his staring moodily into the mid-distance whilst sipping from a possibly empty mug. A fan on the desk pointed the wrong way, but most alarmingly of all, in the foreground at the edge of the desk, was a leather whip.
I wish I were making this up.
But like all Ministers, Hancock was appointed on his allegiance to Brexit and obey any order from Cummings, no matter how mad. And it wouldn't really matter if they did resign, as someone as incompetent would be waiting to take over to carry out orders without question, have no independent thought.
In today's Brexit news, is a warning from IDS that the EU should beware, as the UK is happy with no deal, and it would hurt the EU more than the UK, showing that after a lifetime of public "service" he has understood nothing. The value of lost trade for the EU would be higher than the UK's, but would only represent 15% of the Bloc's GDP, while for the UK it would be over 50%. I know which is worse, apparently the former Leader of The Conservative and Union Party does not.
The same with trucker's rights and licences. The EU will only agree to things in it's interest to do so. And will trade that off for something like fishing rights access, quid pro quo, as it were. Choices will have to be made, actual negotiations where each side gives something to get something else in return. Screaming just what you want makes the UK Government look like a spoilt toddler.
The EU is not moving, it will always start 23 miles from the Kent coast, and doing trade with it is the most profitable and economically sensible thing to do, and best for the UK. Brexit is never ever going to change that. Brexiteers might feel any weakness in the terms of Brexit will lead to backtracking and closer ties to the EU in the future. But that is inevitable. Trade is only possible with close ties, and the closer the ties to more trade there is, and tat is better for the UK economy.
A hard Brexit in January will result on some knee-jerk actions, which will result in quick agreements being done. But in the end, the UK will always be close to the EU, and that is a fact that Brexiteers will have to get used to. And reality means we have to trade with it, we need their good, services and labour.
Which is why Brexit was always such a stupid idea.
Have a great weekend.
But then, never has been.
As London Mayor, he appointed deputies to do the actual work, while he did, whatever Boris did; hang from zip wires, play smaller kids at rugby, cheat on his wives and families.
Then as Foreign Secretary, he mastered none of his briefs, insulted many of his opposite numbers, avoided contentious votes in the Commons, agreed to May's WA plan, then resigned when others did.
He was found, as Prime Minister, of giving the Monarch unlawful advice. A signed affidavit would have gotten him, JRM off the hook, but he, none of his Mnisters of any senior civil servants were willing to do so. There was no reason to prorogue Parliament, let along a good reason.
He, Cummings responded by briefing against the Judiciary, who were doing their job to interpret the law that Ministers and the Government made remarks that the judges "as the judges taking sides on Brexit", when all they were doing was pointing out there had to be a legal limit on prorogation. JRM denounced it as a constitutional coup. Remember, this is just making the Government of the day follow the laws of the land.
At any point, they could introduce legislation to change this, and there would be no problem. But this was never about obeying laws or not, it has always been about avoiding scrutiny, be it by the Judiciary, the press and media, Parliament or the public. This is a man who hid in a fridge during the election campaign so not to be interviewed on TV.
Johnson and Cummings want to rule by diktat, issuing commands like some modern day two-headed Henry VIII. Only that the Gina Millar case, in which the May Government of the day was forced to pass Brexit legislation through Parliament not use prerogative powers.
But such powers is what they like. And under Public Health Law, Johnson and Cummings, through Hancock can issue SIs, bypassing Parliament and all the scrutiny that involves, also ensures that contradictory rules and laws are issued, of immigration guidance with more pages of exclusions than actual rules.
That they want power for power's sake is bad enough. In a literal sense, they have no idea what to do with their power, other than to give legal force to Cummings' latest bright ideas. But those who will follow Johnson, and rest assured Johnson will leave Downing Street, maybe sooner than many think, might use that power for more sinsiter purposes.
Once Judaical Review is restricted or removed, the opportunity for any one of us to challenge the Executive to account, expecting it to obey the same laws that we all do, will be gone, and never to remove. In Poland, Hungary, Turkey, we have seen petty dictators remove large parts of their Judiciary to make it less possible to uphold basic human rights. Now that the UK has left the EU, in their sights next is the Human Rights Act and membership of the European Convention on Human Rights.
Brexit will be a bonfire of rights, because as was clear with Cummings' trip to Durham, all pigs are equal, but some are more equal than others.
So, Johnson went to the remote Outer Hebrides, rented a cottage and put up a large tent in the next field. Without the landowners permission. He is heading back to London, though not clear if he will be returning to his apparent one working day a week. But its OK, as former England goalkeeper, Peter Shilton, says we are giving Johnson too had a time, what with him recovering from the virus, having ignored his own social distancing advice.
Meanwhile, Ministers are not expected to resign, even when they have screwed up the futures of perhaps hundreds of thousands of A Level students.
Of course it was the exam regulator's fails, Secretary of State for Education. And of course you only realised the consequences of the formula you approved last weekend, a full six weeks after you were formally warned, and week after Scotland was forced to abandon exam results after using the same formula. How could you have linked these things together in order to make a competent decision?
Instead, Williamson thought it a good idea to have a photoshoot done, with his staring moodily into the mid-distance whilst sipping from a possibly empty mug. A fan on the desk pointed the wrong way, but most alarmingly of all, in the foreground at the edge of the desk, was a leather whip.
I wish I were making this up.
But like all Ministers, Hancock was appointed on his allegiance to Brexit and obey any order from Cummings, no matter how mad. And it wouldn't really matter if they did resign, as someone as incompetent would be waiting to take over to carry out orders without question, have no independent thought.
In today's Brexit news, is a warning from IDS that the EU should beware, as the UK is happy with no deal, and it would hurt the EU more than the UK, showing that after a lifetime of public "service" he has understood nothing. The value of lost trade for the EU would be higher than the UK's, but would only represent 15% of the Bloc's GDP, while for the UK it would be over 50%. I know which is worse, apparently the former Leader of The Conservative and Union Party does not.
The same with trucker's rights and licences. The EU will only agree to things in it's interest to do so. And will trade that off for something like fishing rights access, quid pro quo, as it were. Choices will have to be made, actual negotiations where each side gives something to get something else in return. Screaming just what you want makes the UK Government look like a spoilt toddler.
The EU is not moving, it will always start 23 miles from the Kent coast, and doing trade with it is the most profitable and economically sensible thing to do, and best for the UK. Brexit is never ever going to change that. Brexiteers might feel any weakness in the terms of Brexit will lead to backtracking and closer ties to the EU in the future. But that is inevitable. Trade is only possible with close ties, and the closer the ties to more trade there is, and tat is better for the UK economy.
A hard Brexit in January will result on some knee-jerk actions, which will result in quick agreements being done. But in the end, the UK will always be close to the EU, and that is a fact that Brexiteers will have to get used to. And reality means we have to trade with it, we need their good, services and labour.
Which is why Brexit was always such a stupid idea.
Have a great weekend.
Friday 21 August 2020
Thursday 20th August 2020
Of course, we were in Southampton to work.
Well, not in Southampton, but on Fawley on Wednesday and on the Isle of Wight on Thursday. In order to have a full day's auditing, we had to catch the 06:00 ferry, which would mean being up at five and in the car by half past.
The alarm went off, and it was still dark. At least with the dreadful weather, there were no late night revellers outside, so no noise, and apart from being hot, I slept better. I tried to get up, got halfway upright and my feet slipped on the carpet and I fell back onto the bed, laughing.
I made it second time. Went for a shower, Terry called on the phone and by the time I reached it it had gone to answerphone. I called him back, it went straight to voicemail. I left him a message saying I was up.
He knocked at my door.
I called out I was in the shower, so up and no worries.
At twenty five past we met in the lobby, went out to his Audi A5, three litre thing, low slung and has lots of horses.
We drove down the couple of hundred yards to the quay, pulled in the waiting area, check in, and then we wait, just for ten minutes as the incoming sailing unloaded. There was only about a dozen cars waiting, so, once on board, there was plenty of room.
Up to the cabin decks, where there was a lot of empty space. We all had to wear masks, so I go up to the sun deck, ill-named as the sun was not yet up, but it was getting light.
The engine note rises, and the ferry slips out.
I know the views on both sides, but there is always something to see and photograph. We go past a large cruise ship, one of the Norwegian "jewel" ships. Tied up and no passengers. Next to it, another care transporter bringing in hundreds of new cars for those few aho are not furloughed or in fear of losing their jobs. Its cargo will join the tens of thousands of others already parked on the quayside.
It must make sense to someone.
The sun rose, and soon it lit up the scene, mainly of the oil refinery at Fawley on the starboard side.
I go down to find Terry and we try to get something to eat. Nothing cooked, and what you do buy must be eaten and drunk outside. So I buy a "breakfast" hot dog and a coffee, we go back outside and side on the aft deck in the lea of the ship to eat. Also on the right side, we could see the blade park where we had been the day before, the power station behind is still being demolished, much of the cladding has now gone, and will soon be gone.
The ferry crosses the Solent, and soon we are arriving into the mouth of the River Medina, with Cowes on both sides. We would dock on the east, the factory is on the west side. The floating bridge is broken. Again. So we will have to deal with the traffic in Newport.
West Cowes was lit by the light of the rising sun, and looked quite beautiful.
We were the first car off, so once the ferry had docked and was tied up, we were let off, down the ramp and onto the island, going up the hill, past Queen Victoria's summer house, Osbourne House, and to Newport.
Traffic was very light indeed.
We arrived at the factory at quarter past seven, before anyone else arrived, so we sit in reception, looking professional.
I know it may sound funny, but it seems I am doing an important ob, and so we are greeted, plied with coffee, second breakfast and so on, making sure we have everyting we needed.
And at eight, we got down to business.
Seven hours hard auditing passed.
We wrap up at half three, giving us an hour to get back to the ferry, we say thanks, they smile back and also say thanks, and we are gone. Back into the summer sunshine.
It was a seven mile run to the port, traffic was OK, and we arrive at four, just in time to see the incoming service dock and unload.
This time it would be packed.
We drive on, I climb four flights of stairs to the top deck so to watch as we cast off and leave the island.
I find a quiet place on one of the railings on the side, drink my cherry Coke and munch the bag of paprika crisps as we cruise towards Southampton.
We are called back to our cars, then wait to be allowed to leave. We were third car off, and from the quay it was a two minute run back to the hotel.
Job done.
We met back at seven. Terry loves 'Spoons. I hate it and its Brexit-loving owner. But he pays for a beer for me, which I accept. A pint of Peculiar.
Yummy.
We then go to find somewhere to eat. Its still busy, bust after striking out a few places, but we get an outside table at the Thai Street food place in West Quay.
In a brave mood, I order a very spicy dish, crispy pork belly with sauce that had three chilli symbols beside it.
It was hot indeed, but I make it vanish.
It was then I began to feel unwell.
Not due to that meal, but something in the previous 24 hours I guess. I had to make a quick retreat to the hotel, leaving Terry to return to 'Spoons for a "proper pint".
Well, not in Southampton, but on Fawley on Wednesday and on the Isle of Wight on Thursday. In order to have a full day's auditing, we had to catch the 06:00 ferry, which would mean being up at five and in the car by half past.
The alarm went off, and it was still dark. At least with the dreadful weather, there were no late night revellers outside, so no noise, and apart from being hot, I slept better. I tried to get up, got halfway upright and my feet slipped on the carpet and I fell back onto the bed, laughing.
I made it second time. Went for a shower, Terry called on the phone and by the time I reached it it had gone to answerphone. I called him back, it went straight to voicemail. I left him a message saying I was up.
He knocked at my door.I called out I was in the shower, so up and no worries.
At twenty five past we met in the lobby, went out to his Audi A5, three litre thing, low slung and has lots of horses.
We drove down the couple of hundred yards to the quay, pulled in the waiting area, check in, and then we wait, just for ten minutes as the incoming sailing unloaded. There was only about a dozen cars waiting, so, once on board, there was plenty of room.
Up to the cabin decks, where there was a lot of empty space. We all had to wear masks, so I go up to the sun deck, ill-named as the sun was not yet up, but it was getting light.The engine note rises, and the ferry slips out.
I know the views on both sides, but there is always something to see and photograph. We go past a large cruise ship, one of the Norwegian "jewel" ships. Tied up and no passengers. Next to it, another care transporter bringing in hundreds of new cars for those few aho are not furloughed or in fear of losing their jobs. Its cargo will join the tens of thousands of others already parked on the quayside.
It must make sense to someone.
The sun rose, and soon it lit up the scene, mainly of the oil refinery at Fawley on the starboard side.
I go down to find Terry and we try to get something to eat. Nothing cooked, and what you do buy must be eaten and drunk outside. So I buy a "breakfast" hot dog and a coffee, we go back outside and side on the aft deck in the lea of the ship to eat. Also on the right side, we could see the blade park where we had been the day before, the power station behind is still being demolished, much of the cladding has now gone, and will soon be gone.
The ferry crosses the Solent, and soon we are arriving into the mouth of the River Medina, with Cowes on both sides. We would dock on the east, the factory is on the west side. The floating bridge is broken. Again. So we will have to deal with the traffic in Newport.
West Cowes was lit by the light of the rising sun, and looked quite beautiful.We were the first car off, so once the ferry had docked and was tied up, we were let off, down the ramp and onto the island, going up the hill, past Queen Victoria's summer house, Osbourne House, and to Newport.
Traffic was very light indeed.We arrived at the factory at quarter past seven, before anyone else arrived, so we sit in reception, looking professional.
I know it may sound funny, but it seems I am doing an important ob, and so we are greeted, plied with coffee, second breakfast and so on, making sure we have everyting we needed.
And at eight, we got down to business.
Seven hours hard auditing passed.
We wrap up at half three, giving us an hour to get back to the ferry, we say thanks, they smile back and also say thanks, and we are gone. Back into the summer sunshine.
It was a seven mile run to the port, traffic was OK, and we arrive at four, just in time to see the incoming service dock and unload.
This time it would be packed.
We drive on, I climb four flights of stairs to the top deck so to watch as we cast off and leave the island.
I find a quiet place on one of the railings on the side, drink my cherry Coke and munch the bag of paprika crisps as we cruise towards Southampton.
We are called back to our cars, then wait to be allowed to leave. We were third car off, and from the quay it was a two minute run back to the hotel.
Job done.
We met back at seven. Terry loves 'Spoons. I hate it and its Brexit-loving owner. But he pays for a beer for me, which I accept. A pint of Peculiar.
Yummy.
We then go to find somewhere to eat. Its still busy, bust after striking out a few places, but we get an outside table at the Thai Street food place in West Quay.
In a brave mood, I order a very spicy dish, crispy pork belly with sauce that had three chilli symbols beside it.
It was hot indeed, but I make it vanish.
It was then I began to feel unwell.
Not due to that meal, but something in the previous 24 hours I guess. I had to make a quick retreat to the hotel, leaving Terry to return to 'Spoons for a "proper pint".
News in brief
I have been away for three days, with little or no time to keep track of Brexit and/or the pandemic.
Two items do stand out:
One, that meetings between Liz Truss and a number of political lobby groups in relation to a UK/US trade deal have been reclassified as private, and all notes have been deleted from the official record.
A meeting between a Minister of the Crown and lobby groups/think tanks are political, to pretend otherwise is an act of misleading.
And two, yesterday, the Express lead with a story, which is months old, that in the even of no deal, the EU will only issue a few hundred permits for HGV drivers to operate in the EU.
This is the reality of taking back control; you actually lose control.
We said this would happen, they knew better.
But didn't.
Meanwhile, another month has nearly gone by, and time has nearly run out. Micheal Barnier is not hopeful of a deal. Any deal. One cobbled together at such a late stage would be barely better than no deal.
And this morning, the Mail lead with photos showing Johnson "glamping" in Scotland, while the pandemic rages, and three more countries get added to the restricted travel list, but there is 36 hours notice. I mean, if they're that risky, surely the ban should come in straight away?
Two items do stand out:
One, that meetings between Liz Truss and a number of political lobby groups in relation to a UK/US trade deal have been reclassified as private, and all notes have been deleted from the official record.
A meeting between a Minister of the Crown and lobby groups/think tanks are political, to pretend otherwise is an act of misleading.
And two, yesterday, the Express lead with a story, which is months old, that in the even of no deal, the EU will only issue a few hundred permits for HGV drivers to operate in the EU.
This is the reality of taking back control; you actually lose control.
We said this would happen, they knew better.
But didn't.
Meanwhile, another month has nearly gone by, and time has nearly run out. Micheal Barnier is not hopeful of a deal. Any deal. One cobbled together at such a late stage would be barely better than no deal.
And this morning, the Mail lead with photos showing Johnson "glamping" in Scotland, while the pandemic rages, and three more countries get added to the restricted travel list, but there is 36 hours notice. I mean, if they're that risky, surely the ban should come in straight away?
Thursday 20 August 2020
Wednesday 19th August 2020
And on the 3rd day, it did rain. A lot.
I mean, we knew it was coming, but after the glorious day on Tuesday, we could hope the forecast was wrong.
But it wasn't.
The rain began before dawn, and did not stop all day.
Sigh.
And my auditing partner had announced that he wanted ti have breakfast in Wetherspoons, two doors along from the hotel, as the only food available here was a croissant and coffee which you would have to take back to your room to eat. For a tenner.
So we were two of those people who were queuing at the doors of 'Spoons before eight so we could get breakfast.
It was still raining.
I had a sausage sandwich and a coffee, and it cost £1.60 due to the Government's eat out to help out scheme. It hit the spot.
We walked back to the hotel, through to the car park to my car. I program the sat nav, and with the blowers on full to keep the screen and windows clear, we made our way to the main road, then along beside the dicks out towards the New Forest.
It was slow going, but we pressed on, through woodland and over a series of roundabout, arriving at the old power station site just after nine, right on time.
We check in at the gate then drive down to the offices, parking outside, and ready for the day ahead.
I was raining harder.
The offices were portacabins, and the rain drummed on the metal roof all day, making it seem we were in a big drum.
And so with us all present, down to work.
In the end, the weather was so foul, we didn't leave the offices, not for the site tour, which was now a shallow lake rather than a blade park.
The auditees had to leave at five, so we made sure we were finished s they could get their ferry, and we drive back along semi-flooded roads back to Southampton.
Briefly, the rain stopped. Which was nice.
After an hour chilling, we go out to look for somewhere to eat. No, as I said the Government's eat out to help out scheme is under way, and just about every table in every restaurant in the city was booked.
We tried everywhere.
All full, or at least with an hours's wait.
We were hungry.
And it started to rain again.
So, we ended up at the Duke of Wellington, where there were seats, they had great beer and did food.
Yay.
I order a pint of 6X and a bowl of chilli
It came and was home made and good.
I sent a pint of Swordfish down.
And another.
A Scottish couple on the next table were celebrating their anniversary of meeting. We chat a lot, and they end up buying us a drink.
I buy them one back.
And us too.
Its all a bit blurry from then on.
We do walk back early, with cries for us to stay, but we had to be up at five to catch the early ferry.
Rain had started again.
We got wet.
I mean, we knew it was coming, but after the glorious day on Tuesday, we could hope the forecast was wrong.
But it wasn't.
The rain began before dawn, and did not stop all day.
Sigh.
And my auditing partner had announced that he wanted ti have breakfast in Wetherspoons, two doors along from the hotel, as the only food available here was a croissant and coffee which you would have to take back to your room to eat. For a tenner.
So we were two of those people who were queuing at the doors of 'Spoons before eight so we could get breakfast. It was still raining.
I had a sausage sandwich and a coffee, and it cost £1.60 due to the Government's eat out to help out scheme. It hit the spot.
We walked back to the hotel, through to the car park to my car. I program the sat nav, and with the blowers on full to keep the screen and windows clear, we made our way to the main road, then along beside the dicks out towards the New Forest.
It was slow going, but we pressed on, through woodland and over a series of roundabout, arriving at the old power station site just after nine, right on time.
We check in at the gate then drive down to the offices, parking outside, and ready for the day ahead.
I was raining harder.
The offices were portacabins, and the rain drummed on the metal roof all day, making it seem we were in a big drum.
And so with us all present, down to work.
In the end, the weather was so foul, we didn't leave the offices, not for the site tour, which was now a shallow lake rather than a blade park.
The auditees had to leave at five, so we made sure we were finished s they could get their ferry, and we drive back along semi-flooded roads back to Southampton.
Briefly, the rain stopped. Which was nice.
After an hour chilling, we go out to look for somewhere to eat. No, as I said the Government's eat out to help out scheme is under way, and just about every table in every restaurant in the city was booked.
We tried everywhere.
All full, or at least with an hours's wait.
We were hungry.
And it started to rain again.
So, we ended up at the Duke of Wellington, where there were seats, they had great beer and did food.
Yay.
I order a pint of 6X and a bowl of chilli
It came and was home made and good.
I sent a pint of Swordfish down.
And another.
A Scottish couple on the next table were celebrating their anniversary of meeting. We chat a lot, and they end up buying us a drink.
I buy them one back.
And us too.
Its all a bit blurry from then on.
We do walk back early, with cries for us to stay, but we had to be up at five to catch the early ferry.
Rain had started again.
We got wet.
Wednesday 19 August 2020
Tuesday 18th August 2020
It has been 171 days since I left Kent.
Or approx 3.791 hours.
But with rules on meetings loosened enough to allow face to face meetings, I was to head into the world of blades once again.
A three night stay in Southampton, with a day at Fawley and a long day travelling to the Isle of Wight and back on Thursday.
Life at home has settled down with the kittens, but the pooing has git no better, with beds now the target it seems. On Monday my bedding a duvet had ti be cleaned, and again last Tuesday when Jools returned home. We are at a loss. Neither of us have seen such a thing, despite us both always having had cats. We hope they will grow out of it. Quick. Though it is likely to just be Cleo who is the guilty party.
We get up, survey the damage, find the little gifts. Thing is, they're both so cute too.
Jools goes for a walk, I faff around, and am ready fir work, though not many if us are, it seems.
After three hours work, I wrap up, go to pack, and then we have early lunch of pork pie and salad. Odd how being home for si long is now so very normal, and the thought of three days away, so hard.
Anyway.
I load the car: case, work bag and camera bag containing one camera. I kiss Jools and I climb in, set the sat nav fir the centre of Southampton, and I am gone in a cloud if dust.
I take the A/M20 route north, its easy enough. I put the radio on, the air con on, and I cruise at sixty all the way past Maidstone, onto the M26 to the M25 and out of Kent.
Surrey.
Much the same as Kent, but with more cars and stockbrokers.
Dark clouds gather, and there was warning signs if standing water!
Then water, actual water, fell from the sky, and soon each vehicle was making its own little cloud of mist. Speed drops to 50, if that, and it is not pleasant.
I reach the M3 turn, there was blue skies to the south, so I press on in that direction. Traffic thins and the rain stops as I pass Winchester. I din't stop.
On to Southampton, and through the leafy suburbs, down streets that have been reduced to single lanes, to make cycle lanes. It is slow going.
I press on, and the sat nav guides me through the centre, along some side streets, and arrive at the hotel less than three hours after leaving home.
Perfect.
I check in, dump my bags in the room and get the camera out to go for a wander. Southampton has the most complete city walls of any English city, so there should be plenty to snap. And having been here before I knew the direction to head for. I find the first stretch if all, climb the modern steps to the battlements, then over a modern bridge ti the western edge of the old city, which now looks down on a modern shopping centre. As is always the way.
I walk along, before I realise I was nearer the parish church, and just down from there is a very fine pub, serving fine Wadworth ales, which I used to sup when I lived in Wiltshire.
It was open, and only had two other customers, so I had a pint of Swordfish, a rum infused ale, which went diwn very well, so I sent a pint of 6X down to keep it company.
Lovely.
It almost felt normal, drinking in a pub, swapping jokes with the two old soaks and the barmaid.
But two pints in the late afternoon isn't clever, my head was spinning, so I pick up the wall again down the quayside, and follow it back up around the High Street.
I was hot and tired. So, I went back to the room, tried to do some work, but the late afternoon sun turned it into a sauna. I snoozed on the bed, only to be woken up by my glamourous assistant, Terry, who had arrived from North Wales.
We agreed to meet in half an hour and try to find one of the restaurants that one of the soaks had recommended.
We walk past one of the old city gates, now divorced from the walls, through a typical modern shopping street, down a side street and to a small modern restaurant. Not much to look at, and no seating inside, but it was a warm and pleasant evening, so we took a table outside and looked at the menu.
I decide on ant-pasti followed by penne bolognase to follow, we also have garlic bread and fries. Its a large amount if food, which we had little chance of finishing.
But it was all good, we pay and walk back. Doorways of shops are now places for homeless to sleep, now the Government thinks COVID is over, they are back on the streets. Some pitiful, really.
I pass on a nightcap, and go back to the room t relax and try to sleep.
Day done
Or approx 3.791 hours.
But with rules on meetings loosened enough to allow face to face meetings, I was to head into the world of blades once again.
A three night stay in Southampton, with a day at Fawley and a long day travelling to the Isle of Wight and back on Thursday.
Life at home has settled down with the kittens, but the pooing has git no better, with beds now the target it seems. On Monday my bedding a duvet had ti be cleaned, and again last Tuesday when Jools returned home. We are at a loss. Neither of us have seen such a thing, despite us both always having had cats. We hope they will grow out of it. Quick. Though it is likely to just be Cleo who is the guilty party.
We get up, survey the damage, find the little gifts. Thing is, they're both so cute too.
Jools goes for a walk, I faff around, and am ready fir work, though not many if us are, it seems.
After three hours work, I wrap up, go to pack, and then we have early lunch of pork pie and salad. Odd how being home for si long is now so very normal, and the thought of three days away, so hard.
Anyway.
I load the car: case, work bag and camera bag containing one camera. I kiss Jools and I climb in, set the sat nav fir the centre of Southampton, and I am gone in a cloud if dust.
I take the A/M20 route north, its easy enough. I put the radio on, the air con on, and I cruise at sixty all the way past Maidstone, onto the M26 to the M25 and out of Kent.
Surrey.
Much the same as Kent, but with more cars and stockbrokers.
Dark clouds gather, and there was warning signs if standing water!
Then water, actual water, fell from the sky, and soon each vehicle was making its own little cloud of mist. Speed drops to 50, if that, and it is not pleasant.
I reach the M3 turn, there was blue skies to the south, so I press on in that direction. Traffic thins and the rain stops as I pass Winchester. I din't stop.
On to Southampton, and through the leafy suburbs, down streets that have been reduced to single lanes, to make cycle lanes. It is slow going.
I press on, and the sat nav guides me through the centre, along some side streets, and arrive at the hotel less than three hours after leaving home.
Perfect.
I check in, dump my bags in the room and get the camera out to go for a wander. Southampton has the most complete city walls of any English city, so there should be plenty to snap. And having been here before I knew the direction to head for. I find the first stretch if all, climb the modern steps to the battlements, then over a modern bridge ti the western edge of the old city, which now looks down on a modern shopping centre. As is always the way.
I walk along, before I realise I was nearer the parish church, and just down from there is a very fine pub, serving fine Wadworth ales, which I used to sup when I lived in Wiltshire.
It was open, and only had two other customers, so I had a pint of Swordfish, a rum infused ale, which went diwn very well, so I sent a pint of 6X down to keep it company.Lovely.
It almost felt normal, drinking in a pub, swapping jokes with the two old soaks and the barmaid.
But two pints in the late afternoon isn't clever, my head was spinning, so I pick up the wall again down the quayside, and follow it back up around the High Street.
I was hot and tired. So, I went back to the room, tried to do some work, but the late afternoon sun turned it into a sauna. I snoozed on the bed, only to be woken up by my glamourous assistant, Terry, who had arrived from North Wales.
We agreed to meet in half an hour and try to find one of the restaurants that one of the soaks had recommended.
We walk past one of the old city gates, now divorced from the walls, through a typical modern shopping street, down a side street and to a small modern restaurant. Not much to look at, and no seating inside, but it was a warm and pleasant evening, so we took a table outside and looked at the menu.
I decide on ant-pasti followed by penne bolognase to follow, we also have garlic bread and fries. Its a large amount if food, which we had little chance of finishing.
But it was all good, we pay and walk back. Doorways of shops are now places for homeless to sleep, now the Government thinks COVID is over, they are back on the streets. Some pitiful, really.
I pass on a nightcap, and go back to the room t relax and try to sleep.
Day done
Tuesday 18 August 2020
The Government is for u-turning
An algorithm doesn’t write itself.
Maybe Gavin Williamson or Boris Johnson didn’t write it, but they ordered it to be done.
They would have been told the consequences.
Statistical analysis would have told them 39% would have their marks downgraded, and the model used favouring those from small schools, small classes and obscure subjects. Those from large schools, large classes doing maths and science would be massively disadvantaged.
But they went ahead anyway.
And on Wednesday, when Scotland made the same mistake, Conservative and Scottish Conservatives made hay, blaming the SNP’s First Minister.
But the model was the same used in England, Johnson and Williamson could have did what Sturgeon did and scrap the adjusted marks, but they went ahead.
Johnson called the system “robust” over the weekend as the backlash grew louder.
Even the Daily Star got it. How serious it was.
The, at four yesterday afternoon, the most inevitable U-turn of all happened. The teacher predicted grades would be used. But for many, already too late.
It turns out that an unconditional offer of a place at university is a legally binding contract, and those who got places meant for those who were downgraded cannot have their places taken away. Many courses are full. So, for many, they will have to wait a year to begin university, losing a year of paid employment later.
Those living with their parents might find that as they are no longer full time students, their parents lose many benefits. Others will have to try to find work for a year in the toughest job market for 40 years.
But next year’s university entrants will have two years of graduates pushing for the same number of places, meaning a second year gets disadvantaged.
And most universities cannot take on extra students because in June the Government capped numbers, punishable by huge fines is the cap is broken.
All could have been avoided had the Government realised what was happening in Scotland would also happen in England. But they ploughed on, not really caring. Or oblivious.
Johnson said in the last year he would be personally be responsible for the levelling up of the country, the buck stopped with him. Well, will the Prime Minister consider his position or will he try to blame the exam board?
What do you think?
Meanwhile, Johnson appointed Dido Harding, the head of England’s failed track and trace system to be head of the new body to replace Public Health England. Which will also have oversight on the still failing track and trace system. Her husband, Tory MP John Penrose is a board member of a think tank which called for PHE to be abolished.
You cannot make this up.
If the Government can screw up a simple thing like A Level results, imagine how great Brexit is going to be without a trade deal?
Imagine that, and put it on the side of a bus.
Maybe Gavin Williamson or Boris Johnson didn’t write it, but they ordered it to be done.
They would have been told the consequences.
Statistical analysis would have told them 39% would have their marks downgraded, and the model used favouring those from small schools, small classes and obscure subjects. Those from large schools, large classes doing maths and science would be massively disadvantaged.
But they went ahead anyway.
And on Wednesday, when Scotland made the same mistake, Conservative and Scottish Conservatives made hay, blaming the SNP’s First Minister.
But the model was the same used in England, Johnson and Williamson could have did what Sturgeon did and scrap the adjusted marks, but they went ahead.
Johnson called the system “robust” over the weekend as the backlash grew louder.
Even the Daily Star got it. How serious it was.
The, at four yesterday afternoon, the most inevitable U-turn of all happened. The teacher predicted grades would be used. But for many, already too late.
It turns out that an unconditional offer of a place at university is a legally binding contract, and those who got places meant for those who were downgraded cannot have their places taken away. Many courses are full. So, for many, they will have to wait a year to begin university, losing a year of paid employment later.
Those living with their parents might find that as they are no longer full time students, their parents lose many benefits. Others will have to try to find work for a year in the toughest job market for 40 years.
But next year’s university entrants will have two years of graduates pushing for the same number of places, meaning a second year gets disadvantaged.
And most universities cannot take on extra students because in June the Government capped numbers, punishable by huge fines is the cap is broken.
All could have been avoided had the Government realised what was happening in Scotland would also happen in England. But they ploughed on, not really caring. Or oblivious.
Johnson said in the last year he would be personally be responsible for the levelling up of the country, the buck stopped with him. Well, will the Prime Minister consider his position or will he try to blame the exam board?
What do you think?
Meanwhile, Johnson appointed Dido Harding, the head of England’s failed track and trace system to be head of the new body to replace Public Health England. Which will also have oversight on the still failing track and trace system. Her husband, Tory MP John Penrose is a board member of a think tank which called for PHE to be abolished.
You cannot make this up.
If the Government can screw up a simple thing like A Level results, imagine how great Brexit is going to be without a trade deal?
Imagine that, and put it on the side of a bus.
Monday 17 August 2020
Monday 17th August 2020
A bonus blog for Monday, and the day is not yet done.
But tomorrow I am travelling, to Southampton at first, to meet my half a minion at the hotel. The ndrive to Fawley on Wednesday and then popping over to the Isle of Wight on Thursday.
All exciting stuff. And will be the first time I have been out of Kent since March 13!
And for three days.
But first, Monday.
I was going to start phys again today, but with four days off, there didn't seem much point. There's always next week. I say.
Sunrise is now shortly before six, and so is not quite fully light when the alarm goes off. Night falls before nine, in fact as I write this at ten past eight, I need to put the table light on to be able to type.
The year ploughs on.
Work is the same. Early morning meeting, then yet more audit prep.
Jools goes shopping, getting a few things we need, and for her to eat when I'm away. I work on.
No rest for the auditor, it seems.
There is no storms forecasted, but it feels fresher, meaning we can sleep at night, which is always a bonus.
Jools returns with shopping, and we have the rest of the roast beef with salad and some fresh crusty bread, once we had put the shopping away.
Jools does gardening in the afternoon, more deadheading and clearing out of the wildlife pool, I make coffee and from the to patio I spy a hummingbird hawk moth. I try to snap it, and get some usable shots, but those wings beat fast.
Later, sitting and drinking yet another coffee, we watch as a thunderhead forms over France. Comparing it with the storm radar, it seems to be centered over St Omer, some 70 miles away. It drifts northwards, leaving us without thunder and lightning. Again.
We have caprese for sinner, with tomatoes from our very own garden.
Cats follow us about, and Cleo thinks all food is hers to scoff. We have to chase her off the table a few times.
Then she poos under the table.
Ewww!
And so here we are. Monday night, thinking about travel and some serious work to do in the coming days.
But tomorrow I am travelling, to Southampton at first, to meet my half a minion at the hotel. The ndrive to Fawley on Wednesday and then popping over to the Isle of Wight on Thursday.
All exciting stuff. And will be the first time I have been out of Kent since March 13!
And for three days.
But first, Monday.
I was going to start phys again today, but with four days off, there didn't seem much point. There's always next week. I say.
Sunrise is now shortly before six, and so is not quite fully light when the alarm goes off. Night falls before nine, in fact as I write this at ten past eight, I need to put the table light on to be able to type.
The year ploughs on.
Work is the same. Early morning meeting, then yet more audit prep.
Jools goes shopping, getting a few things we need, and for her to eat when I'm away. I work on.
No rest for the auditor, it seems.
There is no storms forecasted, but it feels fresher, meaning we can sleep at night, which is always a bonus.
Jools returns with shopping, and we have the rest of the roast beef with salad and some fresh crusty bread, once we had put the shopping away.
Jools does gardening in the afternoon, more deadheading and clearing out of the wildlife pool, I make coffee and from the to patio I spy a hummingbird hawk moth. I try to snap it, and get some usable shots, but those wings beat fast.
Later, sitting and drinking yet another coffee, we watch as a thunderhead forms over France. Comparing it with the storm radar, it seems to be centered over St Omer, some 70 miles away. It drifts northwards, leaving us without thunder and lightning. Again.
We have caprese for sinner, with tomatoes from our very own garden.Cats follow us about, and Cleo thinks all food is hers to scoff. We have to chase her off the table a few times.
Then she poos under the table.
Ewww!
And so here we are. Monday night, thinking about travel and some serious work to do in the coming days.
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