Thursday 11th June 2026

It is time.

But it is also Thursday.

And Thursday means phys and going to the gym.

So, as usual, I was dead to the world when the alarm went off, and after a couple of minutes crawled out of bed and into the world.

Cats tested, jabbed and fed. We drink coffee. And are out of the house at ten to six, arriving at the sports centre dead on six, and the doors were already opened.

I do my usual session. Forty minutes, and so am all hot and bothered, I go down to cool down outside, wait for Jools, then we walk to the car and drive to Tesco.

Where the big empty space now has hoardings round it, and a combination lock on the door.

Great things are coming, we're told.

This does meal there is less of the other stock, and aisles have been combined, making finding stuff even harder.

But we're round in twenty minutes and back home by half seven, well before rush hour and the school run combine.

It was to be cool and breezy. But even we were surprised how breezy and cold it would become. Especially as there was sunshine early on, but soon it clouded over, the wind built, so we closed the door, windows and buckled so turned the heating on at lunchtime as we were so darned cold.

Soon the clouds produced rain.

Then lots of rain.

And that was that.

The rain lasted into the afternoon and evening, so we went nowhere.

I had a delivery of beer to wait in for, then it was left outside so the box was sodden, and hidden behind the bins.

Not much else to say, other than in the evening there was the opening game of the World Cup, Mexico v South Africa, and a game as one sided as its possible to get, though Mexico score just two goals, though three players sent off.

There is a second game later, kicking off at three in the morning. I would be asleep.

Wednesday 10th June 2026

The madness of the main part of orchid season is dying down, with many species seen this year already but a memory. But as some species fade, others come into flower.

Kent is mostly chalk downland, and so alkali PH soil, and water meadows that used to line the major rivers in the county have long since been drained, leaving just a few places where nature can survive, hanging by a thread.

One of the species, the Early Marsh Orchid, is now only found beside the Medway, one of two species that is not found in east Kent.

I have not been there to the reserve for a couple of years, but after hearing that there were a few pale pink spikes to see, I asked Fran if she would like to come along.

She would, so would come down on the train, and be collected after I dropped Jools off in town.

Only the railways had other ideas. Her connecting train from Ramsgate didn't turn up, and staff didn't know when or if a replacement would turn up. So I said I would go to Ramsgate to pick her up.

I could change the route accordingly, so would be go to the Medway site first.

For the middle of school run, the trip to Ramsgate wasn't too bad, so I arrived at the station just after half eight and Fran was waiting, and the latest news was that a train wouldn't have arrived until quarter to ten. No matter we were on the move now.

Back to Thanet Way and heading west on the roller coaster that is Thanet Way, which they are trying to repair, but does mean that speed is limited to just 50. I had my eyes to the sky as the forecast was for rain later, and we wanted the sunshine for the orchids.

It seemed that we were heading into cloudy weather, our concern that the rain would hold off.

Once we crossed the Medway, we turned off the motorway and went down the main road, through villages until we reached Snodland.

Snodland is not a pretty town, cut in half by the now dualled A229, and the lower end of the town dominated by a paper mill by the river.

We parked in a narrow residential street next to the filling station. I put on my wellingtons, the first time I had worn them since tearing my knee Cartlidge two and a half years ago.

Just hoped I wouldn't suffer a similar injury. In truth, the injury was more down to the poor state of my legs and knee itself, rather than the expensive boots I had been wearing for just the second time.

We walked through the industrial estate, the busy yard to the right was now closed and guarded by automatic scanners, but they don't pick us up.

Down the subway, under the railways and there, in front was the reserve. Vegetation taller than six feet blocked the view, so rather than battle through that, we took the paved footpath and hoped to hop over the fence further along.

At least there was no barbed wire, so we were able to get over, and get through a thin line of vegetation, but where there were orchids previously, there was no sign.

We walk to the gate separating the two fields, and walk on. I checked where the D. x grandis used to be, of which there was no sign.

I felt if we went further on, and was proved right. Through the long grass I saw evidence of other people going this way, and a little further on we found orchids. And handily, KWT had numbered the pure Early Marsh spikes, meaning we found spike number four and spike number two, and a little further on we found an un-numbered smaller spike too.

But all in all there was only perhaps a dozen orchids, and two were apparently different hybrids, in that the hybrids had different parents.

But we snap them anyway, ten walk back to the fence, climb over and walk back to the car.

From Snodland it was a bit of a hike down to Ashford, but easier to take the A229 to the top of the M20, then south to Leeds before turning off and cruising down the A20, the good news was that as we went south and east, the weather was brightening.

We park in the woods, cross the road and down the gentle slope towards the bog and the boardwalk that crosses it.

Seemingly, the highland cattle, or were they longhorns, had to be replaced by ponies as people were trying to get selfies with the cattle and stressing them out. So with the cattle gone, many of the fences were removed too, and the ponies wander and munch.

We found a few Heath spotted as we neared the bog, then on either side of the boardwalk there were several, perhaps the best year for some time, but the area where the thickest numbers used to be found are now orchid-free.

One last place to search, was another bog the other side of the reserve, where a hybrid between the Heath spotted and the Southern marsh had been recorded.

I had vague memories, Fran had i-recorder, and between us we went northwards and down to another boardwalk. Across that and beside a dried up bog, behind some trees a path lead, and where there was a small bridge, in the dried up stream were several Southern Marsh.

We went to investigate, and at the back was one paler spike with spotted leaves, and SMO bracts; this was the hybrid.

Probably.

Yay.

As storm clouds gathered, we hurried back to the car, and then a long drive across country to Sandwich and back to Monk's Wall, as Fran had not been there before.

I set off with no clear idea of route, but into Ashford, then up through King's Wood to Challock, from there to Faversham before rejoining the A2 towards Dover, turning off for the Wingham turning.

I guess it took half an hour, but soon the coast was nearing, as were the clear blue skies and sunshine.

We parked down the slope, and once walking up, I was confronted by a scene of devastation: over 50m either side of the cycle path/footpath had been recently strimmed., flayed stems of Lizard orchids lay in the grass.

These are a protected species, and what was done had nothing to do with sight lines for drivers or anything, as vegetation on the road side of the barrier was untouched.

However, the central reservation was untouched, so we walked over and enjoyed the Lizards there in their prime.

We go to our last destination, Sandwich Bay, to check on a spike of Broomrape I saw last week, to see if it could be identified. But clouds blacker than my second wife's heart were gathering. A cold breeze had built up, we didn't have long.

After parking we walked over the meadow and through the dune slacks, where we were diverted by several newly emerged Small skippers feeding, we even snapped a couple.

Onto the golf course and just before the first fairway crossing were the two spikes.

Not Knapweed broomrape, probably some variant of Common broomrape. It was purple with a yellow top to the spike, and a fair size, but not big enough for Knapweed.

We walked back to the car, bought an ice cream, then I dropped Fran off in the centre of Sandwich, just as the first fat rain drops began to fall.

Day became night as I drove out of the town, and yet by the time I got to Deal it was raining much less, and seemed brighter.

I drove back along the coast, getting back at half three. I fired up the storm radar and saw spikes being registered all over east Kent and Thanet.

It rained hard here, and almost dark enough to have the lights on.

And so to the evening and dinner. Or supper.

And then, nothing.

Just a long evening with no football. But fear not, the world cup begins at 20::00 BST on Thursday, so Scully and I can watch a game before bed time, each and every night.

The World Cup of grift

Tonight sees the start of the World Cup in Mexico, Canada and the US. A World Cup I said would never take place, what with one of the hosts bombing one of the participating nations against international law and the US Constitution.

The bloated competition now has 48 teams, and the expanded group stage will just have 16 teams eliminated, so we will be left with 32 teams entering the knockout phase.

A referee, the leading African referee, Omar Artan, has been banned from entering the US not because of anything he has done, but because he has a name similar to someone who has. And FIFA, who you thought would support the referee, just accepted it.

Iran, who the US and Isreal are attacking are only allowed to enter the US on the day of their games in Los Angeles and Seattle, and must leave US soil the same day. Mot of their officials and all of their fans have had their visas withdrawn.

Five other nations have serious restrictions on their players, officials and fans.

FIFA says nothing.

And yet from the back of my mind I believe there is something in the contract the host countries and FIFA sign which guarantees entry to fans, officials and players.

Elsewhere, most US businesses are grifting to a huge extent, with hotels airlines, restaurants massively increasing prices. The New Jersey Transit Authority increased subway tickets to the Met Life Stadium from $12.50 to over $100, citing recouping costs associated with the World Cup. It is my understanding, the Authority has spent very little, if nothing on infrastructure, so there are no costs to recoup. Just grifting.

FIFA bought three quarter of match tickets, then dumped them on the market a few weeks back, for many games involving lesser supported teams, or those whose fans cannot enter the country, now selling for below face value. Other games have seen massive proce increases from previous tournaments, going against the promises made in the bid document.

FIFA defends this, as they receive a cut of the proces, and 15% from both the seller and buyer via their resale portal.

I will avoid most of the games, as only the early kick offs are before my bed time, so will miss two thirds, at least of all group games.

It also seems no lessons have been learned from last year's World Club Cup tournament, when matches were delayed for over two hours because of thunderstorms and the risk of lightening strikes. What will happen during the final round of group games where the two games are due to kick off at the same time, and one is delayed: will both be delayed to ensure teams don't know what result they need?

It is an even worse shitshow than anticipated, with Trump as President, and deciding who dies and who does not get to attend games, even with visa and match tickets and accommodation booked. We shall see how empty stands are and how poor the atmosphere is once it kicks off. Whatever goes wrong, it will be FIFA's fault. Just remember that.

Tuesday 9th June 2026

So, back in the jugg agane.

Chiz, chiz.

What I mean is, that after a week when I did no phys since last Tuesday, at the gym at least. But lead two tours, went to Norwich and round Crown Point in the rain, up the downs on Sunday morning.

Then two days rest. Once night bad sleep, one night good. It was time to hit the gym again, so up at ten past five, get ready, drink coffee and ready to go.

I was woolly headed, but was determined to do the full 40 minutes, so had a podcast to listen to, so all was set.

I arrived at a minute to six to find a massive queue waiting to get in, though most were going swimming, so once we were let in and through the turnstile, up the stairs and onto the bike.

Forty minutes seems a lot, especially for the first ten minutes, then the second isn't much better. But the miles stack up, and once over twenty minutes, it was downhill.

In a manner of speaking.

I do the session in full, once cooled down I walk back to the car and drive to Tesco for a few supplies to tide us over.

Tesco was half empty. Literally.

Several aisles and shelving units were missing, creating an odd space in the middle of the store. Not shortages we were told, there are big changes coming to your favourite store!

We shall see.

Back to the car and home, getting back later than usual, but Jools is ready to go, and has made a fresh brew.

So all good.

She leaves, I drain my pint cup of tea, check on the world.

Hmmmm.

I had a shave, shower and changed, putting on another t shirt I have had for several years ,and like the last one, fits perfectly too.

I mess around in the garden. Fill up the wildlife pond and disturb a basking frog. He'll get over it when the water is twice as deep.

To cure my posture, I went into town to buy some new trainers, then once home put the supports for my foot arch in, I would wear them in the afternoon and see if I got foot ache or not.

I sit in the garden and read some Norfolk poetry given to me by Cam, but my eyes grow heavy, and soon rain sweeps in. And despite it not being forecast, there were several rumbles of thunder.

We were to meet friends in Canterbury. Maybe it would be drier there? We take rain jackets just in case.

We drove along the A2 to Whitfield, then onto the duel carriageway beyond Lydden, parking by St Augustine's, then walking along the narrow streets, crossing the inner ringroad, past Christchurch Gate and on to the back alley pub, The Thomas Becket.

I buy a pint of mild, and a bottle of zero alcohol cider for Jools, and wait for Peter and his wife to arrive.

Pete was asked to lave by my former employer. Not for anything he'd done or not done. It seems that some of the better paid middle management were being paid to leave. This came as a surprise to the interim Global Manager of his function to find that he could not do the tasks assigned, as you're paying me to leave on Friday.

Oh.

Its his second week retired. And is getting used to it, but is happier, which I told him.

We make pints of beer and mild disappear, chatting about work, music, football and railways.

Ahem.

After some time and some pints, we walk to the smash burger place and order smash burgers with pulled brisket. I have poutine instead of chips.

Jools helps me eat the poutine, as its was a large bowl. But the rest is good and sits well on at least four pints of mild and Best.

Sadly, we had to go home as we were late in testing Scully, so we hug and say farewell. Them to the station and us to St Augustine's, where Jools pays the parking charge, then drives me home, while clear golden sunshine lights our way.

Scully is sitting on the drive, asking where the heck we had been as it was seven. I test her, give her her jab, then a big bowl of food, before feeding the other three.

I was shattered again, so went to be at eight after a cupper and a chocolate covered shortbread, and was soon zedding away for England.

Monday 8th June 2026

Monday.

And I was still tired.

I slept through until nearly nine, by which time Jools was dressed, fed the cats, tested Scully, and was ready to walk to Kingsdown.

I was barely able to string two words together, so I drank coffee and big Jools farewell as she started her 90 minute walk along to Fleet House, down the Dip, along Otty Bottom Road to Kingsdown.

I was to pick her up, maybe, sometime after eight.

There was pods to listen to, videos to watch, and the minutes and hours slipped by, until I got a message that Jools would meet me at Ringwould, having got a bus into Deal, had breakfast and had caught the bus home towards St Maggies, at least until Ringwould.

I drove to meet her and found a place to park, saw the bus cruise past, and then the figure of Jools come walking up the path.

I went to meet her, turned round, then headed back along to Deal Road to the Duke of Yorks roundabout, although the restaurant that bears that name shut down two weeks back.

We turned right along the A2 to Whitfield, then along to Jen's, where she and Sylv were just up, and preparing to go to yoga.

We all hug, swap news and I take a shot of Sylv's budgie, then bid them farewell to drive home for a late breakfast and another brew.

Jools went to collect Twiggy for more admin, so I retired upstairs to read another book that Cam had given me over the weekend, and gave me cause to ponder the Norfolk, Norwich and East Anglia lost since I was a lad over half a century ago.

No more are reeds harvested, wind pumps and windmills lay silent and broken, and even the Broads themselves, once lauded by Bowie himself, are empty.

How I miss those huge skies and lazy winds. When I'm inside beside the fire.

I begin to cook chorizo hash, so Jools takes Twiggy home, and the kitchen is soon filled with the stream from boiled potatoes and the smell of cooking vegetables and sliced chorizo.

We eat at three, over half the day gone. But the day has clouded over again, and is cool in the shadow from the sun.

I wanted an early night, but Scully's blood readings at eight and nine meant I had to stay up until the numbers climbed again after ten o'clock.

By which time it was dark, and downright chilly.

Sunday 7th June 2026

Who knew retirement could be so tiring?

Four days orchiding out of the last six days, going to the gym, walking, walking up downs and so on meant that come Sunday morning my legs and glutes said they were tired.

Achy and tired.

We got up at six, having both slept through our alarms, and coming down stairs I said to Jools no gym for me today.

She said her neither.

So that was that.

But with the weather due to cloud over after mid-morning and the breeze get up, I suggested going out and doing some light orchiding after coffee.

Which is what happened.

Out of the house at seven anyway, then out past the port, along Townwall Street and up the A20 to Folkestone, then along the motorway before turning up Stone Street.

Then came the issue of the summer: road closed signs, although no idea where the road was closed from, so how far you could go along.

I took a chance and went along the valley, through the village and then turn down a side lane, and as we turned there was another road closed sign. Maybe they meant it that time?

So that was over five miles where the signs said the road was closed. And wasn't.

So we park on a slight bend, and once I got the camera out it was over the stile, now almost totally hidden by a sapling, the stile itself now getting quite shaky, but we got over safe.

Up the wooded slope and out into open downland, and the down itself to the right.

I knew roughly where the Late Spiders were on the lower flank, but after those at Folkestone dying off, I had no idea what we would find.

I found the first spike about halfway up, then a dozen more. All in perfect condition. I started to take shots of them all, but as we climbed higher, there were more and more spikes, all again in perfect condition.

I saw some obvious hybrids, so snapped them too. Then got out the big lens to get better shots of some of the spikes.

There were too many spikes for the cages, though there was little evidence many had been here, just one spike flattened.

On the way down I took more shots, but it wasn't until I got back home I saw it had two shoulders on each side of the lip: something I had never seen before.

At the top of the down, I sat to admire the view. Over to Ashford on the right, then across to Dungeness and the windfarm on the Marsh just over the border in East Sussex.

Clouds were thickening, and a breeze picking up.

We hurried down the down, through the wood and over the stile. And a short drive away was another smaller site.

I checked the spikes, all were "normal", and no sign of the mono-coloured one that used to show well.

Even here half the spikes were burnt to a crisp, and the rest would soon follow.

We return to the car and after turning round, go back to Stone Street then down to the motorway and home.

For a Sunday its quiet, but then its only half nine, the sensible world is still sleeping, or having breakfast.

Breakfast.

Shall we go to Chaplins for breakfast, I ask.

We shall.

So instead of going up Jubilee Way straight home, we turn down Castle Street,, nab the last parking space, and have taken the last table they had.

The waitress knows our order, but asks anyway. And like magic the other customers melt away, leaving just us.

Our food comes. And is a lot, but we are hungry and we have been a couple of action all morning. We make the food vanish.

A couple off the cruise ship comes in. He's wearing a Seattle Seahawks t shirt. I talk to him for a while, and we point out where the mini bus will pick him from outside.

We go home. Once home I have a shower, then go to the wardrobe to get some clean clothes out. I have come to realise in the last few weeks, that my t shirts are rather like dresses. Huge billowy things, large enough to take two of me.

I look at the last concert t shirt I bought. An optimistic purchase of an XXL t shirt from what turned out to be the last ever Pere Ubu t short. I get it out and try it on.

It fits.

After four years. It feels odd wearing clothes that actually fits, rather than be as my old Dad would have put it, like two penneth of rough-stuff tied up ugly.

We make a brew.

[edit: the pandas meant that my completed text for this was lost from the last update. ]

We relax and listen to the four hours of Huey, now on Virgin Radio. He plays a mix of calm and relaxing, sometimes challenging tunes. Shame about the ads, but we get eight hours of him on Virgin compared to three on BBC before he left.

Lunch was crispy chilli beef, new potatoes fried in butter and some of the leftover smoked garlic focaccia.

We know how to live.

The afternoon was now cool and cloudy, with the threat of rain. So we go nowhere. Jools watched A Very Peculiar Practice on the i player, and I write and watch a video from Japan.

The day fades.

It ends with me posting shots of flowers and orchids for #WildflowerHour, but in four days the World Cup starts, and there will be games at eight every evening. But I won't be watching games in the middle of the night.

Saturday 6th June 2026

A few months ago, my friend Simon told me of an open day at Crown Point TMD in Norwich. Tickets were free, but limited.

I got one, so was set.

Then forgot about it, but then that's what calendars are for: to remind us of things.

As I had to catch the quarter to eight train, not enough time for the gym, so we had a slow start, then rush round getting my shit together, get into the car for Jools to drop me off at Priory Station.

Sixty six quid bought me a return to the Fine City, and a short wait until the train arrived, allowing to get a seat on the left hand side for the hour's run to Stratford.

By the time we left Ashford, the train was busy, but not packed. I guess it was still early.

I walked up from the platforms at Stratfor, as both escalators were out of use, then into Westfield to walk to the regional station, but looking to see if anything could tempt me.

Odd juxtaposition of the many fitness shops and the countless sweet and ice cream place; so something to take off pounds and something to put it back on.

But it was still before nine, so few shops open, not many people about either.

I had half an hour to kill, so walked over the main road to Stratford Market, where there were the usual suspect shops along the walkways, and in the middle, small stalls selling blankets, knickers, exotic fruit and vegetables, and much more beside.

I spend ten minutes looking around, then walk back out, making my way to platform 10 to wait for my train to Norwich.

Before then, trains to Clacton and Southend departed, laden with people heading to the coast, even if the promised rain had begun to fall.

And as a treat, Greater Anglia put a Stanstead unit on the EAML, meaning there was no first class, and the poor guard had to explain to the party of four behind me how to claim a part refund.

For those travelling alone and with no luggage, these are comfortable, and for the most parts, seats have tables and match the large windows, allowing clear views of Essex, Suffolk and Norfolk glide by.

A Mother and her daughter, perhaps eight years old, spent their journey to Colchester discussing characters in Harry Potter, and why they were good, and whether Tinselworm, were it real, be scary or funny.

I got a sandwich and drink from the trolley service, and if I said I wanted a "meal deal" I could have a free chocolate bar.

I had a Twix.

I ate as the train crossed into Suffolk, into the tunnel and emerged at Ipswich.

Its the home of Ipswich Town, apparently.

After a five minute stop, we carried on north to Stowmarket and Diss, and finally into deepest Norfolk to Norwich. Over Trowse Bridge, from where I glimpsed the queue to get into Crown Point, a queue I would soon be joining.

My ticket was for twenty past twelve, meaning I had an hour. Perhaps I could get in early?

So from the station, I walk down Koblenz Avenue, past ASDA, which used to be the old sidings, oil facility for the railways, now long gone. Then past Carrow Road, the home of football, crossing over then taking Kerrison Road, where the first check point was.

No early entries. We were told.

So I am several others had to stand for forty minutes until it was ten past midday, then we were allowed in.

The rain came down harder, so I tried to redouble by steps. By legs grumbled. But they did pick up the pace. Past warehouses and industrial units, made of corrugated asbestos or something, still standing and being used decades on.

Round the corner and down the access road, which dived under the Wensum Bridge, and indeed, just beyond as I saw previously, was the checkpoint and the ticket scanning desk.

I was in. The rain was now coming down quite hard. I had to clean the eyepiece or lens of the big camera every couple of minutes, people hurried to the maintenance facility, the three buildings each having two "roads" which housed two multiple units.

The rails of the roads were raised on pillars, so that it looked like the trains floated, with bright lights illuminating the underneath of the trains.

At the other end there were some locomotives parked up: a 37, an 86, and a class 90 electric. And between was a steam locomotive from the North Norfolk Railway.

Inside there were stalls selling models or stuff for preserved railway societies.

I had been just over half an hour, and I had seen it all. I chatted with the British Transport Police, or some of them, and remarked what a great job they do, little did I know I would see them in action on the late evening train out of London that I shuddered about.

I was to meet friends at a nearby pub. So, I walked back to the entrance and straight up to the bridge that carries the ringroad over the railway, where back in the 1970s there was a corner shop, on the corner, where when we talked to the ground that way from the station, Dad would buy me a pack of Munchies which lasted through most of the game.

Its gone now, of course. Turned into a house, gone the same way as the two pubs: The Clarence Harbour and The Kingsway.

Along the ringroad, heading towards Yarmouth until I came to the pub, The Fat Cat and Canary, where I hoped to have a beer or two, and some lunch.

They had beer. Lots of beers, including Titanic Plum Porter which I made two pints disappear. Sadly, they didn't do food until 5, so I made do with Mini Cheddars and pork scratchings.

Cam arrived, soon followed by David. So we drank and chatted until just before five, when I ordered and ate a burger.

I suddenly realised I could catch an earlier train back to London at five, I had fifteen minutes to get to the station. Four pints of plumb porter meant I didn't walk in a totally straight direction.

I said goodbye to Cam and David, and set off back into the city.

I arrived at the station at two minutes past five, and the train had left. On time.

So I climbed on the train on the next platform, which would leave in half an hour. The only problem was that only the trains that left on the hour stopped at Stratford.

I would try to think of something on the way into London.

What I decided was to go into London and catch the first "fast" train back up the line back to Stratford.

And so I calmed down, and with my woolly head easing, I enjoyed the trip back south through into Suffolk and then Essex, before finally thundering down Brentford Bank into London. Or Brentford.

We whistled through Stratford, then dropped into the station's throat having passed through Bethnal Green.

The train on the next platform left in ten minutes, going to Southend, as long as I didn't fall asleep on the short run back to Stratford.

I didn't, so got off and took the DLR one stop to Stratford International, where I had a fifteen minute wait for the train to Dover.

I got on and took a seat near to the toilet, behind a group of smart gentlemen all wearing the same striped ties.

Military.

The toilet door was locked.

And remained locked.

The guard came round and the group told him that a couple had locked themselves in.

No amount of knocking or shouting would get them to open the door. So, using a tool on his belt, the guard unlocked the door, and then began five minutes of tug of way until the door was forced open.

A young couple was inside, dressed in sports gear and hoodies. She with very expensive looking nails, but trying to hide her face.

One of the gentlemen stood in the doorway so they couldn't shut it, turns out they were Royal Protection Officers, or some of them were, the wrong types to mess with.

At Ashford the British Transport Police came on board and took them away, so that people could use the toilet.

Excitement over, we carried on to Dover where Jools was waiting. I asked her how the concert was at the parish church.

Bugger she said. I forgot.

Time when I got home for a brew, too tired to sit up at watch England on TV.