Wednesday 17th November 2010

And so on the 16th day of November 2010 on the day on which the president of the EU said that the potential bank failures in the Republic of Ireland, Greece and Portugal could not only bring down the EU but the Euro as well; hundreds more die of cholera on Haiti, an international arms smuggler was extradited to the US, the main story on all the BBC outlets was that a chivvy chinless wonder was going to marry his old student girlfriend, and that we should be happy, doubly so as it is we taxpayers who will be footing the bill.
This is a man, who is now employed as a search and rescue helicopter pilot, who could live in the officer’s mess at RAF Valley, secure behind several lots of barbed wire fencing, instead decided that being the same as his fellow officers was not good enough, and would rent a house which requires constant policing by special branch and anti-terrorism police. What, waste more money? Yes please. Can I have a wedding too?

Oh yes we should be so happy, a royal wedding; who cares if the country is broke? And there was talk that in these financially challenging times maybe a more austere ceremony might be arranged. Lets not forget that in 1981, Chaz and Di got married in full pomp; that dress and cake and all those soldiers must have cost a few shillings……



On the work front, things continue as before, with me making slow headway against the forces of sloth and complacency. In truth, most have had other things on their minds this week, as the first tranche of lay-offs announced, and people who I have been dealing with have now gone, and others step into their shoes and require more re-training to see my point of view. It’s hard work. But, of course it is sad when anyone loses their job, and it might be my turn soon enough when more meetings and groups decide on re-alignments. We shall see; we shall see.

A bit of drama on Monday when Mike’s car would not start, and so I had to drop Jools at work and then pick her up in the evening. After peering under the bonnet it seems a fuel pump problem could lay at the root cause, or not. And so we are back to one car now, and I drop off and pick up Jools, which adds about an hour to the day. Even more yesterday as there were meetings at the factory and she did not get out until half five. And so now I get the experience the thrill of Combe Valley Road with its lunatic scaffolding drivers, odd-placed roadworks and general pain in the ass getting through the parked cars and the idiots coming the other way no waiting. God, I sound like a grumpy old man. Maybe I am? Especially when driving.



So, once back home, I cook steak and ale pie with veg, roast potatoes and onion gravy; all done in about 40 minutes, which is not bad, we sit down to a fine meal, uninterrupted as we lock the kittens in the kitchen, tempted as they are by the smell of non-kitty food on the table. We now have proper door-stops in the bedroom so for the most part have uninterrupted night sleep; until last night, when Scully managed to put her weight against the door and get in. She climbed on the bed and burrowed between Jools and I; after about an hour of sleeping, she woke up and began playing.

Sigh.

As cute as this no doubt sounds, at half four in the morning it was not good, and meant more broken sleep for us and a rethink about how to keep the kittens out of the bedroom. Not that they are kittens any more; more like adolescent cats, full of energy and now much stronger and very little out of the way from their jumping powers.

We did try the sloe gin last night; and very good it was too. I was surprised, but shouldn’t have. Sloe Gin, or ours, tastes not unlike cherry liqueur, which I like. I tried a second one just in case I was mistaken with the first, but wasn’t. A third confirmed this assessment, and primed me to try the sloe and blackberry gin, which was just a little sharper, but very drinkable.

Chin chin.