Sunday 12th July 2026

Due to the late night previously, caused by football, I skipped phys this Sunday.

The plan had been to lay in.

I heard Jools get up at half five to feed the cats, would I go back to sleep?

Yes I would.

In fact I slept until quarter to nine.

Almost tea time!

And then lay in bed until my woolly head cleared.

No much to fill the day with, just go to see Jen as we had not seen her since she came back from Sylv's last weekend, mainly because she's been watching Wimbledon, and I have been watching Le Tour.

She was finishing painting her dining room, after the wallpaper didn't look good.

So, it smelt of wet paint as there was wet paint. Makes sense.

We talk, have a brew and so catch up.

But time was getting on. The depart was at half twelve, and we had to get back to have lunch and then retire to the sofa to enjoy a 185km race across the Massive Centrale. Up and down all afternoon long.

After the end of the stage, I went to the end of our road and to the bottom of Station Road to snap a fine clump of Common ragwort, which had caught my eye earlier.

That done we could think about supper of party food and tapas. And a beer, before weariness overcame us and we went to bed at half eight.

What would we do on Monday without football or Le Tour as it was the first rest day?

Memento mori

This week, a former Conservative MP and Minister, now a member of Farage's Reform died.

Not only that, it was announced that Anne Widdecombe was murdered.

A shocking event.

Now, I don't wish death or a violent one on anyone, and I wish she were still alive.

But. She was a dreadful racist and homophobe, who used her claimed faith as an excuse. She also spoke strongly against immigration and immigrants, and once asked a person who challenged her on thos views as to if the person was a communist. No she was the Chairman of the Association at which you were invited to speak.

As a general rule, if you don't want people to speak ill of you when you're dead, don't do bad things, or say bad things, when you're alive. Especially as miost on the right spend so much demonising those of us in the centre or on the left, what do you expect?

Margaret Thatcher's policies destroyed industries and communities accross the nation, sent generations onto the scrapheap. And yet Conservatives were surprised when many others celebrated her death: what did they expect.

I have heard many of Widdecombe's friends say what a straight talking person she was. Well, if your firend is racist, then it is time for your friendship to end. Demonising a minority is bad enough, but to use your religion and beliefs as an excuse. I am sure if there is a an afterlife and Heavan and Hell, then she will be on the escalator going down, St Peter having turned her away.

Should we pretend her views were those of a bigot? No, we should tell the truth.

I have always said that we all light up a room, either when we enter or when we leave. Be a person who lights up a room, or the world when you enter it, not have others be happy when you leave.

Sorry if any are offended by this, but it is what it is.

Saturday 11th July 2026

It was said during yesterday's coverage, that Le Tour is the best tourist advertisement that France has.

This is true.

In half an hour yesterday, I saw three places I think we should visit on our long drive back home after the eclipse.

Most impressive was the town and chateau of Beynac-et-Cazenac, which the coverage showed as a drone flight along the river.

I think this will be well worth a few hours of our time. If we can fit it in.

Before Le Tour there was morning.

And Saturday meant phys. So, up at six, drink coffee and all ready to leave at ten to six.

I do thirty five minutes, listening to The Bugle, but that was enough. Just so humid. And hot.

Afterwards we go to Tesco to top up the fridge, manage to spend a king's ransom on nothing much, other than another bottle of rum for more rumtopf action.

Back home to pack the shopping away, then make brews and have breakfast.

After a shower, I prepare the pineapple: half for the rumtopf and half for us, some for breakfast.

And so it was half twelve, and time to take my place on the sofa, Poppy sleeping on blankets nearby.

The day had began bright, but soon sea mist and low clouds swept in, egged on by a keen cool breeze. I won't lie, it was very refreshing, and it stayed like that most of the day into the evening, which should have meant a good night's sleep for once.

The cycling was steady, and the only excitement was whether the lone remaining breakaway rider could make it to the finish before the peloton caught him. Sadly, he was caught with 1.7km to go, swept up by the sprint teams all ready for the crazy technical finish.

We had warmed up focaccia and more Caprese for dinner, then had the radio on for some funk and soul, as the evening game wasn't due to kick off until ten.

And the game was Norway v England: Haarland v Kane. It was a tense game, with Norway the better team overall, and they scored the fist goal near the end of the first half, with England levelling a few minutes later.

A tense second half ended with no more goals, but Bellingham scored his and England's second three minutes into extra time, and England hung on.

A good game of football. No bookings, no simulations, just pure football, and all hugs and handshakes at the end of the game, with players and fans of England singing Wonderwall together.

It was nearly 01:00 and I was beyond tired.

Friday 10th July 2026

Friday.

And in a turn up for the books, I laid in until ten to six.

Jools was already ready for yoga, but made me a coffee, so I could sit and look at the usual sites while my brain woke up.

There was also the moth trap to check. Nothing really rare, but a few worth snapping.

After dismantling it, I put the bits in the shade so the moths could fly off when they wanted.

The recycle bins put out. And tasks for the day were done.

Outside it was another sunny and warm day, though not as hot as last week. I opened both doors for the breeze, then began the task of making a focaccia loaf.

This involves mixing the wet dough, then every hour folding it at least four times with oiled fingers. So that by one, the dough was full of bubbles and put into a baking tray for a final oiling and rise.

I also put in stuffed peppers into the dough, to add something to the flavours and when eating.

There was more Le Tour at half midday. The peloton has to go nine days until the first rest day, and so it was another fairly flat day with the breakaway kept on a short leash and a manic bunch finish.

Once the race was over for the day, I warm the bread again, and prepare Caprese, and we have a right feast once the music quiz is done for the day.

After that there was just enough time to clear up before the evening's game: Belgium v Spain, a proper top quality match, and the best match up of the quarter finals.

Spain win it after a goalkeeping mistake, 2-1, and so Belgium fall again on the biggest stage, and many of their best known players will be too old come the next finals in four years.

And so to bed.

Thursday 9th July 2026

Thursday again.

And temperatures were to be near thirty again, though for us on the cliffs there would be a little breeze, so be cooler.

As usual, we were up at ten past five, fed the cats, got dressed, had coffee, and were out of the house by ten to six to be at the gym, though as ever it was the pool that would be where most people waiting would be going.

Up the stairs and on the bike. I set up the latest Sound of Football pod, and got to work.

I did 35 minutes. I was hot enough, and near enough to my target.

Outside we pause to cool down, then back to the car to drive down to the seafront so Jools could go swimming, and me paddle for the benefit of my legs.

Before leaving home I noticed an accident on Townwall Street, but thought it would be cleared by the time it was time to return home.

The sea was cold and wet. And the shingle got under my feet. I didn't stay in long.

We drove down Union Street, and at the traffic lights there was a policeman directing traffic, making port-bound traffic go through red lights and onto the wrong side of the dual-carriageway.

We had to wait ten minutes before we were allowed to turn right, and as we went past the accident scene, all debris had been cleared up, but there was a forensics van with its doors open.

Later it emerged that a woman pedestrian had been struck by a truck at twenty to four, and had been airlifted to London with life-threatening injuries.

We made it home safe, if a little late.

We both had showers and changed, and had the rest of the day to ourselves. For me there was a long mountain stage in the Pyrenees, starting before midday, so I made sure I was ready.

We can have both the back and front doors open, so this creates a breeze, though by four in the afternoon, the sun has swung to the west so that it shines in the living room window and turns sitting on the sofa into being like being in an oven.

I close the curtains.

Meanwhile, Le Tour has cycled to the foothills of the Pyrenees and began to climb. The big climb was the Col du Tourmalet, which looked like cycling up a wall.

In extreme heat, the peloton was shattered when Tadej Pogačar took to the front and with Jonas Vingegaard in his wake. But despite being in the form of his live, Vingegaard slipped further back on the final 5km, then further again on the descent, and again on the climb to the finish.

Pogačar is a machine!

A four hour gap to the football, where France took on Morocco, and won 2-0 without really breaking sweat, so make it to the semi-finals.

Wednesday 8th July 2026

And again, we have reached the middle of the week.

Is it me or do the weeks roll round quicker and quicker, or is it just because we're retired?

On December 31st I will have completed my picture a day project for an entire decade, which will be some 3,650 or so days.

Quite the feat.

Several times this month we have remarked to each other, in a sarcastic manner, how shit retirement is.

It isn't, obviously.

In the past, I would take my laptop onto the sofa to watch the Le Tour live feed, pressing a random key to make it look like I was still online.

Now I can take up my seat ten minutes before the grande depart, and watch the whole race, only getting up to pull a cold beer from the fridge.

Life is, indeed, grand.

Wednesday started with a check on the moth trap, and was delighted to find two Elephant hawk-moths and a selection of the usual suspects, but best was a fine Scarlet tiger.

Having gone on walks the last two days, and with temperature rising and winds falling, I decided against it.

So, after breakfast and a brew, and with Jools in town on one of her keep fit classes, I went down to the shelter with a fresh brew and sat in the shade to admire the vista up to Chez Jelltex.

I sat there for some time. Jools returned, and came and joined me with a fresh brew in hand and with ice creams.

Pistachio ice creams.

As my Old Dad would have said: "Where do you thin you are, on your Father's yacht?" Still not sure what he meant, but it seems fitting.

Le Grande depart was just after one, so enough time to make lunch: garlic breaded chicken, boiled Jersey Royals, and creamed spinach. But no beer, just iced squash.

And then to the cycling, which was a standard "rest" day, in which the peloton cruised over the rolling farmland of Nouvelle-Aquitaine, the last piece of France tat was under English rule, and home of Elanor.

I was worn out just watching them, and the poor guy, Baptiste Veistroffer, who was ordered to make a break at the start and no one joined him, so was on his own. On his own for nearly 160Km until the remainder of the peloton caught him.

And for the evening, there was NO FOOTBALL! Just for one day, so we listened to music, and simmered in the evening humidity until it was gone eight and seemed late enough to go to bed.

Would sleep come quickly?

A resignation matter

Farage: (n): a large stool. As in, I needed to flush the toilet twice to get rid of that Farage.

Yesterday, Nigel Farage resigned as MP for Clacton.

His record of attending Parliament and voting is very poor indeed, I think at one point he had missed 76 consecutive votes in the House. And he has failed to hold any surgeries in Clacton for his constituents.

Farage is facing multiple investigations from Parliament and banks regarding gifts of millions of pounds from various people outside the UK.

Gifts he received in the year before he became an MP had to be declared. He failed to declare them.

He received £5 million from a crypto-billionaire, for reasons over time have changed.

Not only has he resigned, but intends to stand in the byelection that would trigger, and an anti-establishment ticket. Only all the other main parties have said they will not stand in the byelection, and so far the only other candidate it would seem is Count Binface.

It would seem that the ploy was to avoid scrutiny for the gifts received, but the inquiry would only be paused until he was an MP again.

So all rather pointless.

And on top of that, his electorate don't seem too happy with his performance as their MP.

Stange that.