So, in no particular order:
Nan is back home; she was discharged from the care home this morning, and is now back in the bungalow of no conversation, or that is what it should be called. Anyway, we are all so glad she is well enough to be allowed home, and now hopefully, she can get better and even be playing bowls in the near future.
Sulu is still with us; the vet's assurance that he was at death's door back in March now seems overly pessimistic to say the least. That he is obsessed with food, and anyone in the kitchen is pounced upon with fervour not seen since the Manic Street Preacher in Life of Brian. That he would rather beg us when we are cooking than eat the food in his dish seems odd to say the least. But, he seems full of life and happy enough.
Our 'Indian summer' has ended, although no frosts yet. The big blow that was forecast last weekend was not quite as bad as promised. The trees are losing their leaves, however, and soon enough they will be bare. The moon for the past few nights has been stunning, huge and yellow as it rises above the horizon, and then arcing high above our house as the night moves on towards morning.
So, back to the last weekend. Every now and again, the factory has a 'closed Friday'. And after a hectic summer where we worked all hours, the management agreed to close the factory once a month again. And last Friday was the first one in many months. Jools and I decided to head to France for the day for some wine shopping and sight-seeing, and maybe some scrummy food as well!
We rose at five, and were out of the house by six and heading the short drive to the Channel Tunnel terminal. The sunrise and dawn were stunning, the sky all pinks and reds, and awe-inspiring. Jools drove for a change, and so I could take in the show. Once at the terminal and queueing up to board the train, I took a series of shots through the windscreen; I hope you like them.
After we drove on, the doors closed. And after a short safety message we pulled away, and within 40 minutes were in Calais and ready to drive off.
We were greeted with thick fog, and the drive to the Belgian boarder was tricky, but at least the traffic was not too heavy. We went to get some tobacco for Jools' sister, as it so much cheaper there. And so we were asked if we could go there so Jools would not have to go with their Father, whose driving is legendary and frightening.
The tobacco shops were already open well before ten in the morning, and we got the carrier bag full of Golden Virginia and headed back towards Calais and the wine warehouses.
From my memory, there were more wine and beer warehouses than you could shake a dirty stick at. But we could not find one, we drove up and down the Euroroute through Calais a couple of times before spotting a French one, rather than one owned and run by cockney wideboys.
We bought some cheap red wine, buy the crate, for a couple of pounds a bottle, and headed out before I could spot something else lovely and fruity sounding.
We headed out to the coast and ended up at 'la plage'. We parked up and walked around a bit. It was then we realised we had to Euros, and so if we wanted breakfast we needed a place that took cards or some cash. We headed south into a village called Bleriot Plage, which, as you can imagine, is where the pilot took off on his cross-channel flight in 1909.
We parked up opposite a street market and got some cash from the hole in the wall machine and made for the local cafe-cum-betting shop. After a cup of Java, we wandered around and came across a war cemetary.
A few hundred simple stones lined up in neat rows, each with the fallen's brigade or regiment insignia carved upon it. I chocked back the tears as I cam eupon the row of those that fell in the week of 11th November 1918; I guess they thought they had done it; survived the great war only to be slain on the final day of the war. But the killing went on into December and indeed, into 1919 and 1920; victims we thought of UXBs whilst trying to defuse them.
At either end of the cemetery, Chinese and Arabic workers were buried, a little apart from the soldiers, sailors and airmen. Showing, I guess, that even navvies were victims; their graves were marked by mostly just a number and a proverb.
We drove on.
South of there and the town of Sangate, the land rose into huge rolling hills and stunning cliffs. We parked at Cap Blanc Nez, that's Cape White Nose to you, and walked to the cliff edge. England was lost in the mist on the channel. But the mist had cleared some and the sun shone.
Just across the road was a place to eat, and so hungry enough we went over and sat at a table in the big windows with views down to the cliff's edge and the ocean below. We had a beer and pork something with chips, sorry, fries. And they had wonderful creamy desserts. I had a cup of thick Java coffee, and we headed back towards Calais as the sun went down to catch our train back home.
Saturday, we headed to Ramsgate for another Flickr-meet. Not quite sure if any one would turn up, or whom either. The weather was not kind at all, all low grey cloud with a threat of rain, which did happen a couple of times. We walked around the harbour and snapped away and talked.
The clouds got darker and lower, and we went to a Belgian cafe for a beer and decide what to do. After a beer we decided to head back home and chill out, and for me to listen to the radio and catch the football.
Sunday, as promised, the heavens opened, and the rain did fall. And fall. We visited Nan and went to Tesco, and then baked a cake. A traditional Dundee cake, laced with lots of fruit and brandy. We cooked it on a low heat for a long time. Afterwards we cooked a huge bowl of stem to warm up each night once back from work.
Not a perfect Sunday, but we got lots done for sure. There was just enough time to settle down and watch some NFL on tv and the return of Brett Favre to Lando. All that was missing was the inches of snow on the field.
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