Sunday 15th September 2024

And a relaxing day was had by all. Or both of us.

Although I did wake at half five, my stupid brain thinking of the blog post, so I got up and wrote it, in the cool dark, pre-dawn.

Outside, animals and birds unknown called and squawked, while the gibbous moon sank in the west, and light appeared in the east.

We had food for breakfast, though we had coffee first. I brought the pot from home, so managed to get coffee almost like it tastes back in Kent, easier as I drink Italian blend coffee.

Breakfast was fruit and more coffee, whole the smart speaker played Stuart from Salford, where it was grey.

At eleven, we went out, back to the Co-Op as we found it was open, for more bread, butter, vegetables and fruit.

The roads were quiet, people back from mass, and menfolk were firing up the BBQs, while families stood around and just talked and smoked. Or smoked and talked.

Back here, we had bread and cheese and bread and butter and apricot jam, and wine, while sitting on the terrace in the sun.

Just like being on holiday.

After lunch, I went out to hunt for butterflies and flowers, and straight away was rewarded with a fine Violet Dropwing posing on a dead stem, allowing me to get several shots.

Into the woods and I see a large brown butterfly with an orange-ringed wing spot, a Tree Grayling, and near to Emy's office, a Geranium Bronze, a tiny blue butterfly.

Elsewhere, lots to see and snap: Long tailed blues, Common Blues, Brown Argus of some kind, and Meadow Browns, Cleopatra and Small Whites.

But it was hot, so back inside for some iced water, review the shots and try to ID what I snapped.

The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to stay awake, and keeping up to date with the football, as it was the North London derby.

I made carbonara for dinner, tricky with limited space in the kitchen and range of blunt knives, but I got it made, and pretty good it was, doubly with fresh guanciale.

We listened to some music, on the smart speaker, and from the farm down the hill where they were having a Eurodisco, the low point being a techno version of Another Brick in the Wall, but that ended dead on ten.

Saturday 14th September 2024

Me and my big mouth!Me and my big mouth!

Yesterday, said on the was down through France we had no traffic, no delays. Well, Saturday, we had the mother of all diversions.

But did work out well, and we saw sights and experienced real Alpine motoring the way it used to be.

We woke up in the chateau at just before six. We had showers and while Jools went for a quick walk, I did stuff online, before packing so to be ready for Le Grande Depart after breakfast.

We had rolls with apricot preserve, cake and lots of coffee before we said farewell and loaded up the car for the eight and a half hour drive to Tuscany.

Down the mountain and onto the main road, which lead us back to the autoroute, and then eastwards towards the mountains.

At this point I should say we don't read French well, if we could, then we would have read the multiple signs that said the Mont Blanc tunnel was closed. But instead we powered on towards the Alps, and the ever-narrowing valley that lead to the tunnel entrance.

We thought we were making good time, and followed the line of cars as we headed through tunnels and into the deep valley of Chamonix.

And all was going well until we came to the entrance road, which was blocked off, instead we carried on into the village, where the weekly market was being set up the other side of the railway crossing.

We panicked, consulted our phones which said there was a pass, just keep going and up and up and up.

We turned back onto the main road, and followed the line of cars heading up the Col des Montets. From the holiday village of Chamonix, the road twisted up and through the trees, mile after mile after mile.

We did pass a sign pointing to Le Col du Grand Colombier, and thinking Tony would love to go and look at that, though not probably ride it, but I could be wrong.

We got past the learner driver in front, halfway up, and made good speed, all was well until we reached the top and we entered Switzerland at 4,400 feet.

There's a village, with shops and people walking around in winter clothes as it was just above freezing, we kept going, pausing to stop at the breath-taking view into the valleys below, where the road was taking up.

Down and down, round and round, endless hairpins, steep slops and heart-stopping sheers drops to the valley thousands of feet below.

Only problem was, of course, was that we were in the wrong country. We needed to get to Italy.

And Italy was via another pass.

The Col du Grand Saint-Bernard.

Having reached the roundabout at the bottom, we turned right and began the even longer climb to the top.

The road, in fairness, was smoother and less curvy than the previous, but the climb was relentless, sometimes through steep villages hugging the mountainside, and up still.

Above the treeline gave out, and soon began the snowline, we would get there in time.

At 6,400 feet, there is a choice. Further to the tp of the pass at 2469m making it the highest pass in Europe, the very roof of the continent. Or take the 5.8Km tunnel at €16.50 into Italy.

We took the tunnel, after queuing for the toll, we drove through the middle of the mountain, and three-quarter through, into Italy.

Out the other side, and under the shadow of a 10km long avalanche tunnel, before out into the sunlight, and down the long, long descent into Italy, through villages clinging harder to steeper slopes, but all the while the road got better and better, until the autostrada began in a tunnel 5km from the bottom, and so we put the hammer down.

The deviation had taken three hours, and we still had eight to go. Onto the autostrada proper, and so we and the car began to eat up with miles towards the coast. All the while in the rear view mirror, the mountains faded away, and the land ahead and to both sides was flat countryside.

Speed limits in Italy, it seems, are only advisory, and so we joined the speed kings, speeding through the countryside.

We stopped at a service area for lunch and supplies, then back on the road past Turn, Alessandria and onto Genoa.

Genoa is on the coast, so our way would be south along the autostrada. Once we reached the city, we joined the coast road by a spiral junction and ramp that went upwards and upwards, leaving the city way down below.

The road then passed through dozens of tunnels as it wound its way along the coast, when emerging we got glimpses of houses and condos clinging to the steep sides of the hills, and the ground falling away to the right with the sea glistening to the right.

The E80 is an engineering marvel, so for an hour we alternated between bright sunshine and tunnels, so longer than 2km, but in time the road dropped to sea level, the tunnels ended, and we began the last 200 miles of the trip.

Past Pisa, Lucca and south now in Tuscany itself, but not here the historic hill town, but an endless urban sprawl beside the coast.

We were now in an area, if not that we know well, the names of the towns are familiar. We turn off near Grossetto, turning inland now on the final push, into the last 50 miles.

Of into the countryside, we stop at the last town before our destination, Ribolla at the Co-Op for supplies to last us the weekend.

Cheese, guanciale, tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, bread are bought, and then piled in the car, now just 20 minutes from our rental.

I began this blog 16 years ago, just before our wedding and then honeymoon. We came here, to Caminino, and now we return, staying at the same converted monastery, in the same apartment, overlooking olive groves down the misty coast and Elba beyond.

We arrived at the gates, they swung open, and we went down the final 100m on gravel, where Emy was waiting in the doorway to his office, waving.

Emy remembered us, and the kitten we rescued, he hugged us, poured prosecco and toasted our return.

We were beyond tired.

We unloaded the car, took the bags and cases upstairs, I prepared Insalata Caprese, like the first night we stayed all those years ago. But much better this time, with Balsamic and basil.

We ate on the terrace as night fell, and traffic on the old Roman road below was like diamonds on black velvet. I opened the wine, poured, and we toasted ourselves. And ate.

Friday 13th September 2024

Welcome to Montanges.

We have arrived at our chateau, and are settled in. We have bought cheese, bread and wine. All the major food groups.

We left St Maggies just after five, caught the ten to six train from Folkestone to Calais. Then drove 475 miles through France, avoiding Paris and its ring road.

No delays, no roadworks, just make great time and could not have gone better.

We are staying here the night, before heading into Italy for another seven hour drive tomorrow to Tuscany.

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Up at four, and time for a coffee before the lading of the car, switching off the water and putting the bins out. So that we were ready to roll at five.

Nothing on the roads leading to the port, but we were going to the tunnel, so up the A20, onto the motorway to Hythe before doubling back.

No trouble checking in, and as the terminal wasn't yet open, we drove round to the border, cleared both, so drove to the waiting area to find the barrier open so we could drive to the platform and onto the train right away.

A ten minute wait and we were away, into the chalk down and then under the sea to France. I read as the train rumbled its way to France, a new book about a great flood in Wales and the west country in 1607, more of that another time.

35 minutes later we arrived in France, and it was hammering down, and the newly risen sun managing to find a gap in the clouds from just above the horizon, made it feel like the end of the world.

I have only ever travelled north or south from Calais, so east was a new experience, heading east and then turning south to avoid Paris.

Clear blue skies clouded over and then mist drifted in, only to clear again half an hour later.

We stopped for breakfast at nine, a baguette filled with meat and pickles, then back onto the road, through farmland and mile after mile of woodland.

Very little traffic, and what there was we either zoomed past us, or we zoomed past them, heading east and then south.

We sail by Dijon and Lyon, stop at a service station for a burger, sadly. I know, but it was quick and cheap.

Then east to Grenoble, before turning off the motorway and into the mountains to find our room for the night, in a small chateau at the top of a valley.

We have a fine room in the 16th century castle, beside us there is a stone spiral staircase up and down.

Its all too good for us.

We have a coffee sitting on the terrace, watching two jays squawk at each other before flying off.

To think I missed the monthly department meeting for this.

The owner tried to book a table somewhere nearby for dinner, but ll places were booked, so we said we'd drive to the nearest shop for supplies, as we'd already eaten well.

So we drove along the valley via the twisty road to Champfromier, where we wandered round, band bought supplies from the boulangerie and the shop.

Back then to the castle to post some shots, and then sit in the large dining room and ear our feast, washing it down with a bottle of fine red.

Thursday 12th September 2024

Last day at work for two weeks, and we have to start with the olde grande cat round-up.

When we go to India, Sylv is coming to look after them, but this time, a new cattery, but first, the round up.

We lay in bed to nearly six, and grab the kittys one by one, placing each in a locked room until Poppy comes in at quarter to seven, we then have to pour the howling, scratching balls of fur into the boxes ready for the short trip to Lydden at nine.

Jools leaves for work on time, and i begin work, trying to ignore the caterwauling chorus behind me. Even Poppy joins in.

At nine I load the car, along with some blankets, and take them via Whitfield and the A2 to the old Circuit junction, down the hill to the farm.

Meow.

The owner comes to meet us, and Mulder and Scully in one pen, Poppy and Cleo in the other. Paperwork is sorted and date to pick them up confirmed.

And I am done.

Back to the A2, fill up at Barham before turning back home, and after a rushed breakfast, back down to work, through till three.

I had one last mail to send, so before sending that, I go out to scarify the lawnmeadow, pick up the dried thatch, and this time scatter the Yellow Rattle and Corncockle seed I collected in July and put aside to dry.

I have a beer while watching the Elephant hawkmoths, while a Hummingbird hawkmoth feeds on the Hotlips Salvia.

I go inside, send three more mails, and close the computer down.

I am done.

So, tidy the kitchen, and put stuff away, nothing to cook as Jools was bringing home a chippy tea.

Once we had eaten, we tidy up, I clean the litter trays and all the other stuff, before we pack and have showers.

All done.

All ready.

Wednesday 11th September 2024

Into the second half of the week, and jobs really piling up at work, but whatever happens, I will go on vacation on Thursday night.

It is hard to tear myself away from the wonder that is watching three Elephant hawkmoth caterpillars on the fuchsia next to the patio. How things so large can just vanish and take hours to find again.

Lots to do first thing, meetings to attend to and try to stay awake in, so that it is ten before I have breakfast and I then remember I was supposed to be making bread.

I find what looked like a quick recipe for Ciabatta, and indeed the first part was easy, making the starter, but then it seemed I killed it in adding to the rest of flour, or squeezed the air out.

And then it wasn't at "wet" as it should be. So after two pinch and foldings, I make two small loaves and leave them to prove, finishing work, then going out to mow the lawnmeadow, so that I can sow the wildflower seeds I collected through summer, before we went away.

It was a glorious afternoon, the sun came out and was warm, doubly so after some manual labour.

Bev and Steve came round to look at the caterpillars, and marvel at the large green turdettes, nearly as wound as the caterpillars themselves, now scattered all over the patio under the plant.

I put the bread in to cook, then am interviewed for the music podcast as it was my birthday fairly recently, so good to catch up with David, Mark and Magic Alex again.

Then I made Caprese, of course, nothing too hard, but the seasoning is the most important thing, as is high quality olive oil.

Jools gets back at six, just as I am done, so we can sit down and eat, feasting on the tomatoes, cheese, oil, basil and lashings of fresh bread, which was fine.

And so to the last evening with the cats, as they're off to a new cattery in the morning, if we can catch them.

So, we go to bed just after eight, oddly pooped once again.

Tuesday 10th September 2024

There have been some exotic moths captured along the south coast in the last week, but those were on the mild nights it rained here, so I did not trap. Monday night I put the trap out, but being near autumn, clear skies make the temperature plunge, and numbers were way down.

I did catch and snap a Common Plume, as well as a Cadis Fly, which is not a moth. And something I have not heard of since my IS Lessons at Middle School in 1977.

With rain due, I made sure I encouraged the moths to fly off, so I could pack the trap away, from what was probably the last use of the trap this year.

I went up to the house to make coffee and gird more loins for a working day.

I am running out of working days this month, with the road trip beginning on Friday, and so two weeks off and so no thoughts of work.

There is the report to finish, then agendas for future audits to plan and prepare for.

I do wonder what this is all for, writing reports people never read, and who's backside am I covering, my own or managements?

Not for much longer, mind.

The day slips by, with just the usual stuff happening, and regular breaks for teas, breakfast and lunch.

We present the final report in the afternoon, which hit like a bowl of cold collation into their faces.

Ans that was the day.

More wind and rain in the afternoon, with got itself together for storms in the evening, just hope it all dries out for some mowing action on Wednesday.

I make buttermilk chicken for dinner, and serve with noodles, fresh corn and creamed spinach.

It was good.

And then England v Finland, with each team fronted by former Norwich centre forwards, though Harry Kane has scored more now than he ever did at Norwich (0).

England ease to a 2-0 win, with Kane scoring both goals, and that's that.

No more football for two weeks for me.

How will I survive?

Monday 9th September 2024

Back to work.

Having been a dirty stop up, drinking wine and eating mini cheddars, I slept through the alarm, and it was Jools who woke me at quarter past six by throwing the curtains open.

Monday, then.

Jools left straight away, leaving me to finish my coffee and stare at the window at the saturated garden from Sunday's downpours.

Better get to work.

As always here is much to do, and not enough time to do it in.

Outside, the day was cool, cloudy and breezy, with clouds zipping across the skies, and it not being really warm enough to site outside, just as well really, as I didn't have enough time.

The kettle breaks. Or, sometimes doesn't boil to 100 degrees, so coffee or tea is lukewarm. I check with Amazon and find that delivery won't be until Thursday.

It was at this point i remember Jen's car was out front, so I hop in and nip to Tesco, get a cheapo kettle and something for lunch, and back home within 20 minutes, and gasping for a brew.

The new kettle works fine

The day passes.

There is a meeting with my manager and my colleague, and I am now on my guard as things said by my manager last week cannot be unsaid. So, I prepare for the worse, but by the use of facts and evidence, as able to answer some concerns on my manager's part, but it is a wearing process, to always be suspicious.

I change some details in the report, then have to wait for my colleague to rewrite one section, which he does at six minutes past eight.

So, I'm still working when Jools comes back from work at half five, time for a coffee and a short cake before she is off swimming, or aquafit.

After she has gone, there is France v Belgium on YouTube, so I settle down with a glass of wine to watch the game, stopping only when Jools returns to op a pizza in the oven for supper.

Rock and roll.

A Labour Brexit

Brexit has happened.

In 2020.

That the UK has failed to deliver much of the infrastructure required to implement it, is neither here nor there, as the EU had all its ducks in a row months before the Artice 50 period and transition periods ran out.

The EU has told the Labour Government it has to implement what Johnson signed up to at the end of 2019, in particular customs facilities for trade between Britain and Ireland, with such facilities only now being built in Hollyhead.

So, ignore any claims in the Mail or Express about undoing Brexit or rejoining the EU, as neither are going to happen in this Parliament.

Why?

There are negotiations between the UK and EU to even discuss either possibility. Starmer's suggestion of touring visas for musicians and artists has been turned down by the EU, and per the previous paragraph, that what has been agreed to previously has not been implimented.

And let me spell it out clearly: if there were to be substansivenegotiations, then the UK would have to request them, and the EU would then have the choice to accept or deny the request, as such negotiations are their gift. And this is because the current deal, as negotiated and championed by Johnson and Frost, was done at speed, light on detail and heavily weighed on what the EU wanted to ensure talks went at speed.

So, how's that for taking back control? Having to request fornegotations when the time comes, and remember, to get something the UK wants, then we would have to offer something the EU wanted, and as we caved into most of their demands because of the need to complete talks within two years, there is little more to give away. Hence, little chance of meaningful negotiations any time soon.

Do that, and maybe.

Also, a new EU Commission is not elected until January, so any major policy change would only happen after that.

Meanwhile, the UKCA conformity mark for construction products has also been kicked into the grass with no date of possible introduction, this leaves just some medical equipment now needing UKCA by summer next year, and the costs of conformity checks that would bring. It is likely that at some point this will also be scrapped.

Also scrapped is the inciming checks on much foodstuffs due from October this year, now delayed until July next year, by which time the UK Government hopes to have some alignment agreement with the EU making such checks obsolete.

In 2026 there are some talks over technical details in the TCA, but nothing major, and nothing that will lead to rejoing the SM, CU or the EU itself.

As Chris Grey points out in his current blog, "reset means reset", and as without any real details as May's "Brexit means Brexit" mantra.

So, the farce continues.

Sunday 8th September 2024

On the 4th day of the first weekend of heritage weekend. Don't worry, I know that makes little sense, but the success and popularity of the event across the country means a single four day weekend is no longer enough, it spreads to a second.

And as next weekend, when Ride and Stride is on, we won't be in Kent, it was a case of having to make do with today only.

So, first it was off to Littlebourne, where the Nailbourne becomes the Little Stour, and behind the church hides a massive aisled barn.

Sounded interesting, was to be open from ten, so after breakfast of bacon and sausage butties, we drove off along the A2, turning off to go by Aylesham and Wingham, to Littlebourne.

Its a good job the even was well signposted, because once you're past the church there's no indication that hiding behind the mature trees and church is such a large building.

We found it, parked up and walked in, where the vast space was being used mainly to showcase local artists whose work was on display to raise funds for the village.

Sadly, nothing took our fancy, and was too early for coffee and cakes, so after taking a few snaps we went back to the car, where despite the forecast of Biblical rain, floods and thunder, there was warm sunshine.

It really was a race against the clock to see how many places we could visit before the heavy rain and storms swept in. So, from Littlebourne we crossed the former Wantsun Channel, through Stourmouth, Preston and Plucks Gutter and out onto the Thanet Way, then through Acol, without making a bid, past the old airport, the RAF Museum and into Margate, finding a place to park opposite the church.

On St Patrick's Day 2020, I went churchcrawling with my friend, John Vigar, one of the churches, Margate, cancelled as infection rates rose, and people began to take it seriously. We met up at a Victorian church in Ramsgate, me then heading back home instead of going to St Peter, as I had only just visited.

But here I was, just gone twelve, and the single bell was chiming, and the cadet band were playing at the west end of the church, and people were milling about.

St John is the oldest surviving church on Thanet, though the Victorian were busy with a heavy hand, and the less said about the dreadful windows on the north side of the Nave the better.

I explained to a lady I was trying to understand the history of the church, and so to my eyes, looked Victorian, with fittings perhaps from the previous church.

She was most upset, this is a Norman church, she explained, can't you see the arcading, she asked.

Soon I saw the brasses on the floor, and memorials on the wall. In my defence, I have seen such things in Victorian churches, so, Normal it is. In parts.

Lots to see, in a church built on one level, quite the feat as its on a hill, so it feels larger, and from the outside, imposing, made of knapped flints and with the air of a prison.

But I was welcomed, and it is clearly a vibrant and living church, I enjoyed my visit, but need to go back to complete shots of the numerous memorials on the walls, as people were eating and socialising at the west end of the church.

I walked back to the car, with the intention of driving to Ramsgate for another stap at Pugin's church, but as we left the sprawl of Margate and that merged with the hell that is Westwood Cross, the rain began, and just got harder and harder.

So the plan to go to Ramsgate was abandoned, and instead we drove home through Biblical rain along to Sandwich then via the Eastry by-pass to home.

Where, once inside, and having to put the table lamp on as it was already so dark at one in the afternoon, I put the kettle on and we have a brew.

Thankfully, lots of international football is now on You Tube, so I spend several hours watching game after game, while sitting with Scully, drinking beer and eating Mini Cheddars.

Outside, day turns to night as we get a month's worth of rain in an afternoon, and the cats refuse to go out.

So it goes, so it goes.