Friday 2nd October 2026

Hey, hey it's Friday again.

And for the nth day in a row, I was awake well before five, laying in bed waiting.

For Godot.

An easy morning anyway, as Jools does yoga, and I have to put my trousers on and walk down the stairs without incident.

Which I do.

Coffee is drunk. Bins are put out, and that is it for the important tasks.

The farmer is harrowing the fields, so there are hundreds of gulls on the wing and squawking about it. It is another glorious autumn day at Chez Jelltex, though across France and Europe, its another day when the October temperature records will be broken. Some parts of France it will be 33 degrees.

We were given a "midweek roast" by the butcher months back for supplying them with Ramsons, so it was about time I used it, and as we had veg left over from Sunday, and gravy, during the day I mixed the batter for Yorkshire puddings, peeled and sliced the spuds for roasts.

I read through the morning and afternoon, the book about Churchcrawling, though its more a history of English churches in general, and includes some I have visited, including a few in Kent.

After boiling and draining, the potatoes are put into roast at three, basting every half hour or so with duck fat.

Meat in at four, then the Yorkshires, so all done with the vegetables at ten past five. Pink fizz is poured, and we sit down to a fine meal, the potatoes were extra crispy and golden, and the puddings light like Nun's farts.

I tried to watch the Northern Ireland game in the evening. The were leading Ukraine 2-0 at half time, but bed called.

So I went up. Good night sweetheart.

Thursday 1st October 2026

Thursday again.

And October. So Autumn. Again.

And up now well before the larks to sort the cats out and have coffee before going to the gym.

Once again my brain and body had me awake before five, so I get up ten minutes early, so am ahead of the curve so to be out by ten to six.

The rain from Wednesday had cleared, and it looked like it was going to be a fine day, once dawn arrived that is.

We do our fifty minutes, and although there is a temptation for breakfast, we go home to have either fruit of muesli and a fresh brew.

IN order to save more cash over Christmas, I go to Preston to buy one of the currently very cheap turkey crown joints for twenty five quid, thus saving something like seventy five in December.

Our freezer is full, so after driving back on the Sandwich and Eastry bypasses, I turn into Whitfield to drop it off at Jen's, and to see how she is.

I stay half an hour, but pass on a brew, then am back home for half eleven and thoughts turn to lunch, which was a Sussex pasty each liberated from the butcher. And so much better than Ginsters too.

The afternoon was spent sitting in the garden, reading and bird watching, as ell as moving the large storage box thus giving us double the space again on the top patio.

After dinner, and the evening round of sorting the cats out, there was football on the tellybox: Wales v Norway . Wales went on to stage a 2-1 win after falling a goal behind early on.

A very watchable game.

Wednesday 30th September 2026

Ten years ago to the day we received fibre-optic broadband, increasing our download speed from 0.5MB/sec to 38.5, two people came with a cherry picker to install a box on the pole and another on our house ready for the switch to "unlimited" broadband.

As the guy went up in the bucket, Poppy, having been woken by him drilling in the wall of the house, supervised from the middle of the living room.

All went well, other than BT had not connected the box on the pole, so the signal couldn't be tested, though a work order was raised to fix that before 9th October when its all due to go live.

Before then there was, well, not much.

Up at half five, drinking coffee and waiting for dawn to break. It's still dark until just before six, then sunrise at seven, if its not cloudy, so we need to have lights on first thing.

Jools went to her class at half seven, leaving me and the cats to the house.

There are podcasts, stuff on YouTube to entertain me, breakfast to eat, tea to drink. And in that way the morning slips by.

How I ever squeezed work in to my packed days is a mystery.

Jools gets pasties for lunch, bought on her way home from a new knitting group she has joined, also calling in for some sour cream due to the spicy chilli I made the other day, just in case it needed cooling down.

Rain fell for most of the day, on and off, getting more persistent as the day grew old, turning late afternoon into night just after five.

The cats complained, but accepted dinner.

We had the chilli, not as hot as expected, but the new coffee nitro stout I opened to go with it was perfect.

No football for the evening, so we went to bed at eight, and asleep soon after.

Tuesday 29th September 2026

Tuesday again.

And once again my brain and body had me awake before the alarm, this day some two and a half hours before.

So I lay in the dark and waited. And waited.

Up at ten to five, get dressed, put the kettle on and sort the cats out, so that Jools could get up and take her time.

Coffee made, drunk slowly, so that by ten to six, I was ahead of schedule, a lazy drive to the sports centre, where it was crazy busy, but again most folks going to the pool or an exercise class.

I went up and did forty minutes, I could have done fifty, but my legs just stopped going round.

Back home it was warm enough to sit out on the patio, and drink the tea that Jools had made before he left for her classes.

Its all go.

There was a second cake to bake, but first feed the first one with Masala wine, then wrap it up and place in a tin to mature for three months.

And the second was mixed, again with fruit left to soak in more Madeira, though for only 24 hours this time.

Once in the oven, the bright start outside gave way to mist and then fog. The mournful lowing of the foghorn echoing around the countryside as we're just a couple of miles from the port.

Too cold to site outside, so Scully and I take to the sofa, and she lays against my arm to keep warm and falls asleep.

At lunchtime, the sun breaks through, so I grab a few shots in the garden, but the fog returns. Until just after four the skies turned blue, the fog melted away, and it was warm again.

So it goes.

And then the statement from the PL on Citeh, and so all ears to the radio t listen for hot takes, before the England game kicked off at quarter to eight.

A dull, dull game, and one England struggled to break down the Czechs, though helped when one of their players was sent off.

Two second half goals didn't hide how poor England were in breaking down defensive teams, no matter how many players tey have to the pitch.

Monday 28th September 2026

The year is getting on, and thoughts turn to Christmas.

Or at least Christmas cake.

Christmas cakes.

Or, specifically, Dundee cakes.

As we don't like marzipan or icing.

We like cake.

But before that, there is the morning to deal with, with the usual chores.

We had an appointment in Canterbury at half eleven, which gave us little time to do other stuff, so Jools did beading, and I did whatever it is I do to fritter away the time.

We left at half ten, or a bit after, for the fifteen mile drive along the A2 to the city.

Rain had been forecast for most of the day, but by eleven, it hadn't arrived.

We went round the inner ring road, then up the hill to the university to meet with our financial advisor, with whom we had a few things to sort out and to clarify.

We talked for nearly and hour. Signed some papers, and were off back down the hill into the city, stopping off at Whitfriars so Jools could return some clothing to M&S. As it was just down the stairs, I waited in the car. Doomscrolling.

That done, we drove back out the city and home towards Dover, only just escaping an accident as a driver lurched to turn right at the Whitfield roundabout from the left hand lane. Without indicating.

So it goes.

Back home for lunch, then to the mixer for some cake action.

Mix butter and sugar for 15 minutes, add four eggs. Add flour, then fold in dried fruit (soaked in Madeira for three days), Morello cherries and dried peel. Oh, and mix spices.

Tip into a triple lined tine, cook for four hours on low.

Let cool.

And for a second trick, I rustle up a huge pan of chilli, made with lamb mince instead of beef, and you know, its really good.

Rain came late in the afternoon, and pretty much continued all night. Not enough, but a start.

We have supper, but with no football on all the channels I subscribe to, I listen to another discussion about Citeh before heading to bed at nine.

The entire house smells of cake.

Sunday 27th September 2026

Just over a week ago, a couple decided to set fire to the Hotel Grand Burstin in Folkestone.

A lot of the lower levels were badly damaged, and smoke and scorch marks could be seen outside.

Though we had not been. And enough time had passed, we thought, so that we were not vultures or something, so we could go to funky Folkestone, have a walk and take some pictures.

Being a Sunday, we could lay in the six, then once up, feed the cats, have coffee before leaving for the gym.

Where we both do 50 minutes, but whether it was cooler or we are a little fitter, not so humid, so not so sweaty.

I listened to the 606 podcast, broadcast on Friday, where most Citeh fans are in denial, but fans of other clubs are in a quiet rage.

Back out to the car, and away. Driving along the Alkham Valley, and into Folkestone down the old A20, then down Tram Road to the car park near the harbour.

I ambles over the crossing, then up the steps onto the old Harbour Branch, this was pretty much the only way as the road past the hotel is still closed, and has security restricting access.

From the old railway line, there was little obvious damage, until you looked closely at the entrance, where to the left of it, the damage is most severe.

Then around on the east side, fire had licked up the sides of the building, and smoke filled the stairway, the glass now black.

It is unclear how serious, if any, the damage is. Some people living nearby still can't return to their homes.

We walk on through the old station and beyond onto the harbour arm, but all eateries were still closed, opening at ten it seemed, still over an hour away.

So we turned round and walked back over to the harbour, back to the old level crossing, then back up the line to the steps, before returning to the car.

Back home then, through Capel and onto the A20 into Dover.

Traffic was light, so we cruised along Townwall Street, then up Jubilee Way to home.

But not before stopping at Westcliffe to look for more sloes. We got about another pound, some might have even been bullaces as they were so large.

We got back at half nine, time to have a brew and breakfast, before I got down to the serious business of preparing Sunday dinner.

Sunday dinner is roast beef, roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, steamed vegetables and lashings of gravy.

It requires planning, a timeline to keep to, so that I would dish up at half two, once Jen had arrived, and we could eat well.

Better than well.

And I cracked open the last bottle of red wine from our trip to France, a magnum of Bordeaux 2019, not a grand vin, but good enough.

None of us could finish our dinners, and after a long pause, Jools and Jen washed up, while I rested.

It was a total triumph.

We didn't eat again that day, and went to bed at eight, still full.

Premier problems

This day was a long time coming.

The Premier League v Manchester City.

In fact it began with Chelsea.

In fact it began with the Premier League being founded.

In fact it began seven years before then.

1985.

1985 was football annus horribilis: Heysel, Bradford fire, riots at Luton, Millwall, a death at Birmingham, and English teams banned from Europe.

ASt the start of the next season, in a bid to break the duopoly of the BBC and ITV on televised football, not football was shown on English TVs until January 1986. Football caved in, it needed TV more than TV needed football.

But.

A glimmer of hope for football was that in place of European football, a competition was set up for clubs who would have otherwise have been in Europe. They played each other in a knockout format, until there was a winner. Never a great success, the final wasn't played until the following season, but it was who televised is what's important: a satellite TV channel called Screensport.

Not many people could watch it, but it was a start.

On top of that, football had convinced itself that it was worth more than the £500,000 or so a year they were getting from the BBC and ITV, and were also unhappy that in the Football League, each of the 92 member clubs had an equal say and vote in matters of policy. The First Division clubs thought, that as the TV wanted to show them more than other clubs, they should have a bigger say in policy.

So, in order to placate them, the Football League gave First Division teams one and a half votes, and Forth Division clubs half a vote.

This still wasn't enough, and there was talk about a breakaway league.

In England there were, and still are, two governing bodies: The Football Association and the Football League. The League looked after the four divions, and the FA the rest.

The FA was jealous of the League in that that's where the money was. 46 games a week between the 92 games, 42 games each a season.

So, the FA agreed to be the body overseeing the new elite top division: The Premier League.

Of the FA Premier League as it was called at first.

In the summer of 1991, all 20 teams in the First Division, submitted letters of resignation that they would be joining the new League in the next summer.

Which is what happened.

The Premier League negotiated a bumper TV package with Sky TV worth £300m over three years, and one with the BBC for £6m for highlights. Sky would broadcast a game or two live per week.

But it was always about money. Big clubs getting more and more of it, to spend on players. Thus transfers and wages climbed, so the TV deals had to raise more and more money to match. Wages and transfers increased still further.

What the FA failed to do was put in controls on the League that had all the power and money in English football, and soon it set up its own Governing body, so lucky England now had three of them. Four if you include what was to become The National League.

So far, so bad.

But then along came Chelsea and newly monied owner and friend of Putin, Roman Arkadyevich Abramovich.

His money threw a rock in the transfer market, paying whatever it took to get the best players and create a PL and Eurpean winning team. Transfers and wages rose even steeper.

Clubs needed to raise even more money just to stand still.

Manchester City were taken over in 2008, and set about becoming one of the big six. Or seven. Or eight.

Cheslea on steroids.

But with regulations coming into force to limit spending, Citeh got busy with creative accounting.

Which brings us to today.

Or last Friday.

Guilty on 144 out of 115 charges, this news leaked after the PL wrote to other clubs informing them of the result of the Independent Panel's investigations.

Nothing official has been announced, but we have seen the hacked documents which show what Citeh did to hide payments to coaches and players, and to overstate advertising and naming rights.

City claim innocence.

If there is no verdict this season, then the bottom three go down, but then Citeh are expelled later, do one or all three sue the PL and/or Citeh?

Four clubs have reserved the right back in 2023 to take legal action against Citeh. I'm guessing it'll be for than four in the end.