Tuesday 26th July 2011

Sorry it has been so long since my last communication, but what with insomnia and the Tour de France there really has been no time to write.

But, before I detail insomnia and checking of Flickr in the wee small hours, lets go back to Friday and a surprising comment.

We had known all week that an 'very important MP', that's member of parliament to you, was coming to visit. We were kept on tenderhooks all week before discovering on Thursday rather than being the PM, or Nick, it was Justine Greening, otherwise known as (cue drum roll and fanfair)

Economic Secretary to the Treasury.



da da daaaaa!

In the end, she turned up, apparently, looked around, was followed by two TV crews and left. I was waiting in line (queueing) at the butty wagon and asked our client's secretary if Ms Greening was coming, I was told yes, but Mel Gibson had cancelled.

Mel.

Gibson.

I do know of a certain Filipino woman who would have just fainted at the thought of meeting 'Mel'. But not me, oh no.

Mel (pause) Gibson. The actor?

Yes.

(me) Wonder if he would have brought his beaver?

What?

You know. Beaver! Like his latest film? The Beaver??

No.

Honestly, I'm wasted there.



But he cancelled, and we just had a run of the mill treasury secretary asking if all their money was being used well. She didn't come into my office to ask me; I would have told her that yes, the money is being used fine. I have many fine photographs from shore and from boats of the windfarm, and is keeping me, Jools and the kittens in kibbles.



But she didn't.

And then I got thinking about Mel again.

You know; Mel Gibson; the actor. And Jew hater. (apparently)

And then my mind drifted to Star Wars. I never said it had to make sense, did I?

(Scene: Imperial HQ; Coruscant)

Lickspittle: My Lord Vader, I have the new, improved plans for the Death Star.

Lord Vader: New plans?

Lickspittle: Yes, my dark lard; we sent our loyal servant Agent Gibson to earth, to investigate wind power.

Lord Vader: Wind power?

Lickspittle: Yes, wind power my Lord. If we install 1.2 gigawatt of windpower, we could power the planet destruction beam thus reducing the Empire's carbon footprint by some 23%

Lord Vader: Carbon Footprint?

Lickspittle: Yes, carbon footprint my Lord. So to help make the Empire carbon neutral. Oh, and the plans have been printed on paper that is 75% recycled.

Lord Vader: But it looks like top quality paper!

Lickspittle: Yes, we could have gone 100%, but it looked too bloody good and our focus group didn't believe it was recycled at all.

Lord Vader: Focus group?

Lickspittle: Yes, before and after we make decisions, we poll our focus group as to how they see our leadership and how it will effect their house prices.

Lord Vader: Bloody Daily Express readers.

Lickspittle: In view of our carbon footprint, we have forested the desert second moon of the planet Endor with millions of trees.

Lord Vader: won't that make the caves there difficult to monitor?

Lickspittle: That may be; but our focus group loves the idea.

Lord Vader: You mentioned 'wind power?'

Lickspittle: Yes, 1,200,000,000,000 watts powered by 4 billion 3 MW turbines. And that equals almost zero carbon footprint!

Lord Vader: How much wind will be needed to power these 'turbines'?

Lickspittle: Not much, these are designed to work at medium wind velocities, I was convinced by their business case certainty argument.

Lord Vader: And how much wind is there in the black void of deep space?

Lickspittle: aaah.

(Vader kills Lickspittle with a brief gesture of his leather-gloved hand.)

Lickspittle #2: Now, my Lord Vader; fair trade carbonite.

No? I'll carry on working then.

So, Friday passed and I worked on. No, really. I missed the minister, the TV crews, the grovelling, and come four o'clock I packed up my desk and head home. Or I pack my computer and other stuff that could be carried out of the office under a sub-contractor's coat.

And so after a quick dinner, I sat down on the sofa, with Scully on my lap, to watch the final 'proper' stage of Le tour, a quick 109 km and a dash up the L'Alpe d'Huez. Some 400,000 people lined the 20 or more hairpin bends, and cheered and cheered the cyclists to the top. well, it was tiring just watching.



And then to bed, perchance to dream. No cheese for supper, then?

No.

And up the next morning, not quite with the larks, but early enough, and after breakfast, out in the car for the wonders of Whitstable. Whitstable, otherwise known as Camden-on-Sea, which would be even more packed for the oyster festival. Now, I don't like oysters. well, I say I don't like them, I have never tried them, but the thought of eating something raw that lives on nothing more simple than raw sewage does not fill me with feelings of hunger.

Anyway, less about the oysters and more about the dancers. I say dancer, these were Morris Dancers. Morris dancers? You ask.

Yes. Morris. Dancers.



A friend of mine, Frances, is now a musician in the local 'side', that is the Dead Horse Morris, of Whitstable. And it being their 25th anniversary, they had organised that very weekend. And I had made it be known I would like to photograph said Morris Dancers, er, dancing.

So, a plan was hatched, where I would watch and photograph the Morris Dancing, and Jools would go to Westwood Cross to buy slippers. It's all go in this house!

So, as we arrived in Whitstable, before the crowds, she dropped me off outside a barnet mangers, and I got out and went into the barber's to have a hair cut. And so by nine fifteen I was out, camera in hand with a nice spanking haircut and ready to snap the world.



Down then, to the harbour to where the dancing was to take place, and while I wait I snap the people coming and going, have a cup of coffee and a slice of fruit cake.

The world still passed by.

I snapped them.

Lots.

By a quarter to ten, the dancers were gathering, I met Frances and carried on snapping trying to take all the good information she was saying. And then at about ten ten, the dancing begun and one 'side' after another, they danced. And I photographed them all. In all I took 1045 shots, and captured all the different styles of dancing, and met many, many interesting people.



By half eleven, it was getting very crowded, and as I had received a message from Jools that she was in nearby Tankerton, I set off on the ten minute walk to meet up with her.
She walked out of the Royal as I arrived, and we got in the car and drove out of Dodge, via Preston, as I had forgotten to get something out of the fridge for dinner. Steak it was then, and some other nice stuff, and back home in time for lunch and the Tour on TV. I called Scully and we climbed onto the sofa, and I tried to stay awake during the time trial.

ando so another hectic day passes, and we sit down to prime rump steak, garlic mushrooms and fresh corn and Jools went into town to get some proper chip shop chips, and we relax further as the evening passes.



And Sunday comes round, and after breakfast, Jools and I walk to the cliffs, to Dover Patrol as I had been asked by the local paper to take shots for publication. Unpaid, but its a start, and maybe more paid stuff might come along...

Or not.



Already the old soldiers, sailors and airmen had gathered, and so I make myself known as a member of the press and snap away.

i have to say, especially as there were sub-mariners and one of only three surviving members of the Burma star association, that the service brought a lump to my throat. I snapped away, thinking that anyone one of those fine gentlemen could have been on the boat that rescued my Grandfather from Dunkirk.



The service at an end, and I meet back with Jools; we have a cuppa in Bluebirds tearooms, and then get a lift with my good friend Gary to our door, just in time for me to watch the last stage of Le Tour; the toughest part was trying to stay awake through what was really just a parade for the winner, but we did get to see a Brit, Mark Cavendish win the final stage and take the green jersey.

Hurrah.

Herb-encrusted lamb and fresh veg for dinner. and then snoozing.