Wednesday 24th December 2025

Christmas Eve.

In a brave mood, we planned to head to the gym for the forth day out of five.

The gym will be closed Christmas day and Boxing Day, so we thought we had better make the best of it, and anyway, we would have two days rest.

I did sleep to half five, and struggled to wake fully drinking coffee before we left for the sports centre at ten past six, arriving at twenty past.

Not many people were there, just the usual faces I suspect.

With the wind in the north east and keen, it cut through us as it blew into our faces as we hurried to the entrance.

I did half an hour. I could have done more, but it seemed enough. So, I left Jools to do ten more minutes, go downstairs and have a coffee as I waited.

When we got home, I made a batch of sausage rolls for breakfast, which due to our appetite, we ate all of.

With huge brews, of course.

Then time for a shower and change before a morning of not doing much, other than boiling the salt beef joint.

Growing up, I hated cold meats, and would have sausages whenever my parents had leftover cold cuts. And then I got it, and salt beef is one of the things I like, especially when made into sandwiches and/or rolls to go with wholegrain mustard and pickles.

Into our biggest pot when three roughly chopped onions, some carrots, assorted spices and the beef. Add a handful of peppercorns and bring to the boil, then simmer for three hours.

The kitchen and house filled with the aroma of the beef, and the kitchen too with the steam, coating the windows and so hiding the bright sunny day from view.

Once cooked until tender, so tender it was almost impossible to carve, I make rolls for us with dill pickles and lashings of mustard and a beer/cider to wash it down with.

In the afternoon, with another brew, the final slice of the first Christmas cake was eaten, before we sat down to watch Funeral in Berlin, the second of the Harry Palmer films, following on from the Ipcress Files.

It was stylish, without being over-complicated. Everyone was double-crossing everyone else, except for Michael Caine, who got the lady and was right all along.

And that was Christmas Eve, really.

A glass of Vin Santo in the evening, listen to some music. And to bed at nine, lest Santa might not call.

Tuesday 23rd December 2025

It is nearly Christmas.

And somehow, we had managed to book another Christmas meal out with friends.

Before that, there was, is always, the gym.

It would have been easy to bail, but as well as cycling, after we had to go to Preston to collect our order from the butcher.

The alarm went off at quarter past five, Jools went down to feed the cats and test Scully. Coffee was made, and we drank that and got ready to go out.

They gym isn't quite so crowded as a normal mid-week morning. There were spaces in the area nearer the entrance.

But the wind had swung round, and instead of the walk to the entrance being in the lea of the wind, instead it was a walk into the teeth of strong winds, made sharper as temperatures had began to fall.

There will be frosts by Christmas Day, but for now it felt bloody cold.

For the first time, there was no cycling round a city somewhere in the world, or a ride in the cab of a train. Instead I just listened to the Sound of Football Christmas podcast, mostly with my eyes closed.

Time slipped by anyway, and soon forty minutes had slipped by, and I packed up my stuff and went down to wait for Jools to finish her session in the pool.

And then into the car to drive along the Sandwich Road, before crossing over the marshes to Preston.

In the pre-dawn, the shop's lights and festive signs burned bright and welcoming.

I went inside, and as usual, the bags containing orders were ready, so I remember my number, the bag is found and I pay. I leave them with a small bottle of sloe gin, which is sampled and declared a vintage, as it was so smooth.

Back home then, back to Sandwich then taking the road into Deal and along the coast through Walmer to home, so to avoid Dover port, just in case queues had built in the last hour.

Sometimes, its good to travel the long way, rather than rush around. We had all day.

We get back home.

We were hungry. So I make pigs in blankets in cheesy rolls for breakfast. Given the choice between that and muesli, revealed that there was no choice.

After breakfast, I have a shower and shave, then pull on a pair of jeans I have not worn for a decade. They just about fit, and I look like an over-stuffed sausage, but its an improvement.

At half twelve, we leave for Lydden, the roads were quiet, and it was easy to drive to Whitfield and down the hill.

Through Lydden to the Bell at the far end, found a parking space, and we were walking to the door when Ange and Sean arrive, so we wait while they parked, and walk back to us.

We hug, and go inside.

We were the only ones partaking in the Christmas menu, while others had fish and chips or burgers.

Our table was laid with crackers and festive napkins, so we sat down, ordered drinks and waited for the first course.

In the meantime, a small bowl, well cup, of spicy pumpkin soup was brought for us as an amuse bouche.

The first course arrived, we each had something different. Me, a baked camembert and crusty bread.

I chose well.

For the main course we all had roast turkey, roast potatoes, gravy and vegetables.

Not as good as mine, but then I didn't have to cook or wash up.

We toast ourselves, and pull the crackers so we could crack corny joked and were paper crowns.

Tis the season.

For dessert we have a cheeseboard each, while Sean and myself also have a glass or port.

Because.

Cheers.

Three hours later, we were stuffed. Outside it was getting dark, so we part outside, and Jools drove us back home, back along the quiet roads where, once inside, we lock the doors, close the curtains and keep the cruel world out.

We have a drink and some peanuts for supper, the cats were fed, and quiet settled on the house.

Jools watched more of the Dr Who spin-off, and I watched stuff on YouTube until the last game before Christmas, Arsenal v Palace kicked off in the League Cup.

An OK game, went to penalties, until Palace missed the 16th spot kick to hand the win to the Gooners.

On the wrong track

There is no right time to undertake major repairs of the nation's railways.

Bank holiday, Christmas and Easter are chosen as much commuter and business travel is reduced. But this causes problems for leisure travel, and those wanting to visit family and friends.

Yesterday, BBC News In Depth pages, looked at the engineering work on the railways, and in particular, work to replace a junction just north of Milton Keyens on the West Coast Main Line (WCML).

"The £26m project they'll be working on this Christmas is one of the biggest scheduled across the country: Hanslope Junction, a crucial part of the West Coast Main Line, which is wearing out.

Each day almost 500 trains use it and an increasing number of faults are causing delays, the repercussions of which ripple throughout the network. Now, the whole thing, comprising four tracks, is to be re-laid.

It's a giant and complicated jigsaw puzzle of 130 separate track panels - not something that can be done when trains are roaring up and down. So, it will leave passengers with no trains between Milton Keynes and Rugby and Milton Keynes and Northampton not just late on Christmas Eve and on Christmas Day (as is usually the case) but up until the morning of 5 January. It means no direct trains linking London Euston with north-west England and Scotland for 11 full days.

It's a similar story up and down the country, with other projects, too, like updating signalling technology. In all, 5% of the rail network will be shut down over the festive period - part of a £160m engineering project organised by Network Rail."

The WCML is wearing out and is full. Full of express, semi-fast, local and freight services. If only there was some project that would help ease this.

HS2 is being built, but just as a high speed branch line from London to Birmingham, the most important and financiially rewarding parts north of Birmingham, and the Y junction to Leeds and Manchester have been cancelled.

Instead of HS2, Labour, the Conservatives and the Greens tell us that the WCML should be upgraded. This is upgrade work, and will close the line for two weeks. Two decades ago when the WCML was upgraded, it took ten years and ten billion pounds, and barely kept up with growth, and delivered a decade of blockades and closures for those who use the line.

HS2 gave the nation a generational oportunity to massively increase capacity, but without any of the blockades and closures. But rhe Conservatives kept changing the project, adding to costs, and then pulled the plug. Labour has not reversed that, nor has it said it will.

HS2 can unloack national growth, as express services swithing to HS2 would free up capacity for additional services on the WCML and much more freight too. Freight could be taken off the roads, delays reduced and increase efficiency.

But not now.

21st century trains running on a 19th century railway.

When it can.

Monday 22nd December 2025

Monday morning of Christmas week. And we are pretty much set for the big day, other than having to go to the butchers on Tuesday.

But I needed a haircut. I meant to go last week, before the schools closed, but ran out of time, so aimed to be at the door of one of the barbers come half eight Monday morning.

A slow start to the day: Jools didn't go swimming, so we had coffee before leaving the house at quarter past eight, driving into town at the height of what would normally be the school run, but this morning the roads were empty.

Down into town, I park, then walk up by the church and see that the barber opposite is open, well, gone in and turned the lights on, so I go over and see if I need an appointment.

I don't, so am shown into the chair, and he gets to work, under the supervision of his teenage son, who looks closely at my hair as it is shorn.

Not as good as the other place, but good enough to get into the New Year, so I pay and leave.

Jools had gone for a walk, so she messages me to go and have a coffee.

Which I obey.

I also buy a large slice of cherry shortbread, as who can't say no to shortbread?

Jools arrives and tells me of the new decoration in the Newbridge Underpass leading to and from the promenade.

After drinking my coffee, we walk over Market Square and down the slope into the underpass.

It sure is colourful, and full of historical information. Previously it was hand-painted boats that might have visited the port, this is brighter and better.

Then back home for a shave and a change of clothes, as we were going out for lunch.

We have not seen Mary since January, we had planned to meet up but life and stuff got in the way. I mean we're retired now so there is no excuse, but anyway.

At least there is no jams to the port now, the worst is past, so we go down Jubilee Way and along Townwall Street before heading up towards Folkestone.

We had an hour, so decide to go for a walk at Samphire Hoe.

I mean Jools goes for a walk while I look for Early Spider Orchid rosettes. Some walking was involved.

It was at least a bright, calm day, so a pleasant walk beside the railway line, even if I didn't see a single rosette. The cattle had churned up the ground into deep mud, the orchids will show in due course.

I walk for half an hour, then turn round and go back, meeting Jools at the visitor centre.

A quick blast up the A20 to Capel, then into Folkestone and down The Tram Road beside the old line to Folkestone Harbour. I wanted to see what was going on with the bus station, as it has closed and the small car park we sometimes use is now closed and being partly used by buses.

We find a place to park my The Leas, walk down the Promenade to the war memorial, and opposite is the Gurkha Restaurant where we were to meet Mary for lunch.

It was so good to see Mary again, as she was on fine form now recovered from her accident a couple of years back. We talked as we ordered food, lamb Gurkha curry for Jools and I, and soft drinks.

The curry was the right size, not too big. So we ate, talked and made plans for more meet ups in the new year.

Our parking was running out, so we paid up and walked back to the car park. One last hug with Mary, and we climbed in the car to dive back, along the Alkham valley so to avoid the port traffic, just in case.

The low sun cast warm colours and long shadows of the woods along the valley. Up through River, Whitfield Hill and finally along the A2 to home.

Always good to get home.

And a welcoming committee of four meowy cats, all demanding dinner, two and a half hours early.

In order to be able to ignore them, I boil the kettle and we have a brew and one last man-sized slice from the first Christmas cake, and then retire to opposite corners of Chez Jelltex to pursue our hobbies.

After feeding the cats, we ponder what to have for supper. There was still over a third of the focaccia, so I had the bright idea of cutting it into fingers, halving those before toasting the crust sides, and after turning them over, laying a slice of vintage cheddar on them to toast and turn molten.

Turns out that was genius, and delicious, more so with a pint of Shepherd Neame Christmas ale to wash it down with.

There was football in the evening, but I bail at half time with Fulham winning 1-0 against Forest.

Sunday 21st December 2025

At 15:03 GMT, the winter solstice occured, and so from that moment there will be a little more light each day.

As ever, at first the changes will be so slight we will not notice, but come the end of January, we will notice, then the increase will acceperate until we reach 21st March, while after that there will still be more light each day, the daily increase will lessen each day.

Anyway. Sunday was bright and sunny.

Its Sunday again.

It would be nice to lay in bed, but I don't want to get fat feet, so am up at six, and after coffee we are out of the door just before seven.

Jools goes swimming, while i go to the bike, and instead of cycling round a city or national park, I go to You Tube as the bike has internet access, and line up a video from a train cab in Switzerland.

Only trouble with that was not being able to see the info page or the time ticking, so as the train sped through the snow-covered fields of Switzerland, the time passed.

I did know the podcast I was listening to had only 44 minutes left t run when I started, so get to the end or near the end, and I would have done it.

I did three minutes short. Which is OK, and as I though Jools would go to the steam room after her swim, I got a coffee and sat down with a flapjack too.

Jools appeared.

No sauna.

So I drank up and we left via the petrol station at Tesco, and then home.

We had another brew, listened to the radio before I had a shower and changed, again.

The morning passed.

We ate at one: grilled duck breast, flavoured rice, creamed spinach, sprouts with bacon and peas.

All very nice and fairly healthy. Apart from the duck, the cream in the spinach and the streaky bacon.

And the beer.

And football in the afternoon. Rangers up first, losing to Hearts in Scottish kickyball. Then Villa v Man Utd, which was good, and Villa won.

Earlier, England lost The Ashes in 11 days. 11 days to lose three tests. It happened overnight when I slept, so can pretend it never happened.

How old is "old"?

It all started with a post on Faceache about the oldest buildings in England, and St Martin in Canterbury was top of the list.

Of course, it depends on how you define what a building is.

And then whether the materials in the building's walls are what make it ancient or, indeed, the oldest.

St Martin is certainly old.

The west wall of the Nave is Saxon, and the north and south walls have Roman brick in them, and have lots of blocked up doorways and windows. But that doesn't make it old.

It is probable that St Martin is built on the remains of a Roman mausoleum, and it is possible that that was dedicated to St Martin. Legend has it that Queen Bertha, when she married, was already converted, and wanted a place in Canterbury to use for worship of her and her Court.

There is another church in the grounds of St Augustin's Abbey, St Pancras, that is built of Roman brick too, and the east Nave wall is Saxon, and this is just as likely to have been built for Queen Bertha. And the dedicaton is a Roman one too.

I digress.

And then I stumbled across a video claiming to show the oldest pubs and inns in England, with one claiming to be over a thousand years old. But the current building was built on the remains of a former inn, and so in combining the two, or more, buildings that have stood on the site you can get to a thousand years.

As the narrator said, if I built a pub on one of the great pyramids, then could I claim that to be 4,000 years old?

Indeed.

It turns out that the most famouls "oldest pub in England", The Trip to Jerusalem in Nottingham, is not the oldest pub in England, but it probably not the oldest pub in the city. In fact the claim was made after repainting the pub in the early 20th century.

For claims of great age to be verified, there has to be documented evidence for it. One pub claims to have been mentioned in Domesday, which is odd that no pub is mentioned in Domesday.

The Mermaid in Rye claims to have been renovated in 1420 AD, at least that's what the carving above the door says. But it is just a carved piece of wood.

Do we have pubs and inns of great age in England? (and Scotland and Wales) Yes.

Does it matter which is the oldest?

Not really.

Just go in, enjoy the beer and atmosphere.

Saturday 20th December 2025

And so it is the weekend again.

The last one before Christmas, so what better way to get into the Christmas spirit than go to the gym to cycle round Oʻahu in Hawaii.

Indeed.

I think I have now run out of places on the bike to cycle round, so will think of something else going forward.

I can say the views from the top of the mountain one of the roads ended up, down onto the modern city beside the sea, was incredible. But whether its worth flying across American and half the Pacific to get there is another matter.

After the gym we went to Tesco, to get the vegetables and other stuff for Christmas, with the idea that if we didn't get it on that trip, we could do without.

In fact, we didn't spend as much as expected, and was good to escape at half eight before the crowds arrived.

Now there is just the butcher to go to on Tuesday, and we will be ready for the "big" day.

Back home to put the shopping away, and to have breakfast while we listen to RadMac on the wireless.

Jools did some gardening, and I had a shower, so all fresh and fragrant for the rest of the day.

Norwich were on the tellybox at half twelve, playing away at Preston. And were pretty poor I have to say, and didn't have a shot on goal until the last quarter, but Preston hadn't scored either.

Then the best move of the game, City scored three minutes from time, so would exit the bottom three were they to hang on.

But Preston levelled with the last kick/header.

Its the hope that kills.

Then sat on the sofa with Scully to listen to the footy on the radio while watching the scores come in via Final Score. Its one of the joys of Saturdays in winter.

In the gap between quarter to five and the Spurs v Liverpool game at half five, there was time to boil water for pasta, warm up more defrosted ragu and crisp up the leftover focaccia in the grill.

Spurs lost 2-1, and had two players sent off, and should have lost a third player too when Liverpool scored their first.

A mad game.

Friday 19th December 2025

Christmas is nearly here, and the weather, in celebration brought us a Springlike day.

Although it began dark and cloudy, the sun soon chased those clouds away, and the skies cleared and it became almost warm.

Jools was off early to her yoga class, so i got up, made coffee and then put the bins out.

It was still dark and chilly. So, I turned the heating up another notch.

Once dawn came and the sky cleared, I did a bit of tidying up, and began to make a "no knead" focaccia, which after the initial mixing, requires four or five nip and folds, so air gets trapped in the wet dough, and in that way rises ever more.

Taking all day means more air gets trapped, and the bread will get bubblier and lighter.

Out in the garden, the hellebores have begun to open with the stalks producing three flowers that took three days to open, having done so, I get a few shots as shot of the day.

Come four, the defrosted ragu is put into a pan to cook some of the excess water off, meanwhile, after rising in the an for two hours and having infused oil poured over the dough, the bread is put into the oven for baking.

And at half four, with the pasta cooked, I tip that into the ragu, mix it up and serve, and the bread taken out of the oven, sliced and placed on a cutting board.

And how magnificent was it?

Very.

We were all washed up and put away for half five, so I could take part in the weekly quiz, and this week won, guessing that the AI image was of a mirage, so the LP was Mirage by Fleetwood Mac. (1982).

Then to play some vinyl: the latest Public Service Broadcasting LP, then some twelve inches: Pet Shop Boys, Chic, Change and Diana Brown.

Damn right!

The evening had football, the Welsh derby between Swansea and Wrexham, won by the home team in the 92nd minute with former Norwich player, Adam Idah, scoring from almost two inches from the goal line.

Thursday 18th December 2025

We have several appointments before Christmas.

Two of which were Thursday.

But first is the coffee and then the drive to the gym, and then the gymming itself, and the drive back.

As Christmas nears, the gym is a little more empty each day, which is good for us.

I cycle round Los Angeles, which is a bit soulless if I'm honest. The last part is beside a canal which looked very unlike Los Angeles, and more fenland near Upwell if anything.

But the rest is dreadful.

Its just something to look at.

So, back home for a shower and get changed, before we're off to Canterbury University to meet the financial advisor.

I looked at the traffic map, and thought it was worth risking going to Wincheap, then round the ringroad before doubling back up the hill to the university.

Which would have been great were it not for the road closure near Westgate meaning all traffic has to go along Orchard Street, then turn down past Canterbury West station, which, when we got there, the level crossing was closed to allow a train to depart, so the jams were even worse.

But once the train cleared the crossing, the jam cleared and we could turn left up the hill, then to the Innovation Centre where the review was taking place.

A review of our pension and the status of its pot, which we are now drawing on.

In short, it is increasing faster than we are spending it, despite the 47th President.

So, all is good, and we can change the monthly amount that we receive to take into account Scully's medication and testing equipment, which is nearly £300 a month, I kid you not.

We had arranged to meet a friend, Fran, pick her up and go to the Grove Ferry Inn for lunch. I booked a table as I was sure it would be busy.

We picked Fran up in Whistable, and drove back to Thanet Way and along through Sarre before turning down the hill to Grove Ferry, though no longer is an actual ferry, but a bridge. And level crossing.

It was five to midday, so we waited in the rain before we saw another group go in, so we follow, and are shown to a table overlooking the river and level crossing.

There were just two other groups in the large restaurant eating. How they make money like this, I don't know.

Anyway, just one waitress/barmaid on duty, who did a fine job.

We had burgers and fries, which was fine, not the wonder that the chef had promised he would do in the future last time we were there.

And the only decent draught beer was Guinness, which was OK.

By now the rain had returned, and turning the afternoon into an early evening. We took Fran back before leaving to drive home, in driving rain, with spray making it all the more difficult.

We got back at three, put the lights and the kettle on.

And relax.

No need for any supper; we were so full from lunch. Though after feeding the cats, we have a coffee and the last of the limoncello pantone.

Which was nice.

Three nights poor sleep meant an early night at nine. And as it turned out, I slept for eight hours strait.

Which was also nice.

Wednesday 17th December 2025

There is no escape from the system.

In August I had a blood test and it showed I had diabetes.

I have taken this seriously, and gone to the gym now four times a week, and have reduced my blood sugars by 13 points.

But being diabetic means being added to many databases and tests in the NHS, one being eye tests.

So, I had my first one this morning, early enough so that Jools couldn't finish her class, get back home and take me to the health centre before nine.

So, after a lay in to nearly seven, I had time to get dressed and sup my coffee before we had to leave home just after eight.

Jools dropped me off at the layby at Burgoyne Heights, the sun had just risen, and was about to break over the low cloud covering the French coast.

My main aim was to snap the castle at sunrise, bathed in warm light, but as the sun rises south east, the sun just caught the battlements and keep on the left hand side.

Traffic was heavy heading into town, but I had an hour, so walked down the hill, getting closer shots of the Lock and Key of the Kingdom.

I cross the road, then take the steep hill down Connaught Hill, past the water cistern to the overgrown path leading down towards Buckland.

Further down the path opened up to a path, with a fine wall on the left hand side, with a satisfying brick pattern mixed in with the flint, and showing how steep the path was.

Into the houses that rise up from Maison Dieu Road, with parents taking their children to school this last week before Christmas.

I arrive at the health centre, but have half an hour to kill, so sit on a bench near the bowling green and listen to a podcast, chilly in the frosty morning air. But clear blue skies above and warm sunshine over my shoulder.

Time came to go in, and I sat in an oversize armchair until I was called. The nurse put drops in each eye to open my iris, then wait fifteen minutes for the opening to take place.

I was taken back in, two photographs of my retina, and that was it.

Jools was in the main hall with her keep fit colleagues, so I joined them in a cuppa and a scone.

We chatted about things for half an hour, then Jools and I walked back to the car.

The drops made the bright sunshine overbright, and it hurt to look at the sunlit buildings and trees, So, Jools drove us back home, as it was unsafe for me to drive.

And once home I sat on the sofa for two hours with my eyes closed listening to podcasts until the drops wore off.

I peel some potatoes, let them soak for an hour, then boil them in fresh salted water until they start to fall apart. After steam drying under a teatowel, popped into hot oil in a pan, and roasted on max heat for nearly two hours.

Meanwhile vegetables were prepped, and half an hour from the spuds being down, set to steam. Lamb and mint pies in the oven.

When it came to dish up, the pies were fine, the vegetables had a bit of bite, but the roast potatoes were gloriously golden and crispy. And once through the outer crispiness, inside was light and fluffy.

Best roasties. Ever.

After eating, we wash up, then watch the remainder of a documentary on the Aztecs, while outside the sun set on another fine day.