The end is nigh

And so, we come to the end of many, many days of leisure spent at home, or either one of our homes. One is sold now of course, and we are settled into our dream house on the cliffs, as I like to call it.
It isn't really close to the edge of the cliffs; maybe in a few thousand years time, but for now we'll settle for being a mile away, and not having to put up with traffic nightmare as the High Street in the village is, doubly so at school run time. I had to go to the quacks this morning, and passed what must have been two dozen cars parked at the side of the narrow road that runs past the school; most of them Landrovers, Rangerovers or bigger gas-guzzlers. Weather is never that bad to warrant those round here.
But, I chose to walk, and hoorah for me!

The verdict is I am overweight; like this was news to me. Anyway, it's a cold and misty day here and not good for photography. I keep looking at the BBCs forecast for here, and it's for unbroken sunshine; seems like no-one told the fog.



I called in the village shop, a local shop for local people; they recognise me, or my odd purchases: No OK or Hello magazines, just some fresh rolls and the such. And a packet of fish and chips flavour crisps: very diappointing I have to say. Walkers must try harder.



And back here for packing. It's hard as we don't know how long we will b in Kazakhstan for, maybe four weeks, maybe eight It amounts to the same clothes really; it just has to weigh in under 23Kg, which I don't think with toiletries and workboots will happen. Oh well, excess baggage to claim back for me then.



I am, as ever, easily distracted, and involved in a great group of people on Flickr, and check messages every couple of minutes, which does not get the packing done. I am not taking the laptop, but some papery things bound together called books. I feel I have not read enough recently and so have raided Jools' Folio book collection, and I delve into Jayne Eyre and HV Morton's In Search of England, which looks cracking.

I also have an iPod thing with some tracks on and good headphones, so all is fine their. Our accomodation is in freight containers, so I don't think there will be plug sockets, or lights, maybe a bed if we're lucky!

We have to go to a cocktail party thing tonight, which is fine; the bar has the finest German beer in the world, Warsteiner, in bottles, so I'll be happy. And then we will find a place to eat before returning home for one last night together , for now.

And that really is that to be honest. I am finding it hard to concentrate on much right now, as I am thinking of tomorrow and actually having to work for a living. It was the 28th of December when I did anything that could be called work, and the long hoped for discovery as a photographer probably isn't going to happen, and so I had better earn a crust one way or another.

I have a feeling that there will not be internet facilities on the ship, in which case it's gonna be quiet around here for a while. I'll keep a diary and try to write that up when I get back.

OK guys, see you on the other side.

How times don't change, sadly.

Listening to an old John Peel mix tape yesterday, a billy Bragg session came on, and the lyrics of this struck me right between the eyes.

It shouldn't have been like under a 'Labour' government.

It says here that the unions will never learn
It says here that the economy is on the upturn
And it says here we should be proud
That we are free
And our free press reflects our democracy
Those braying voices on the right of the house
Are echoed down the street of shame

Where politics mix with bingo and tits
In a strictly money and numbers game
Where they offer you a feature
On stockings and suspenders
Next to a call for stiffer penalties for sex offenders

It says here that this years prince is born
It says here do you ever wish
That you were better informed
And it says here that we can only stop the rot
With a large dose of law and order
And a touch of the short sharp shock

If this does not reflect you view you should understand
That those who own the papers also own this land
And theyd rather you believeIn coronation street capers
In the war of circulation, it sells newspapers
Could it be an infringementOf the freedom of the press
To print pictures of women in states of undress

When you wake up to the fact
That you paper is tory
Just remember, there are two sides to every story

Music and lyric by Sir William of Bragg