Thursday 12th March 2015

And today I will ponder on how things change. Sometimes when we are in the eye of the storm, and all around sees like chaos and all is lost. We can't see the way forward, and at times life seems without hope. Then the events leave us, all alone, ready to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives, whilst all around us all has changed. And yet, with each step, with each day, things do get better, there is no clear plan, but we see a job that has to be done, and we do it. And we move on. And with each step forward be leave behind the terror and the tears of the past. And before we know it, we are walking across the sun-kissed meadows of summer, and all the pain and heartache is behind us.

I say this, because a year ago, Jools was without a job, having been let go, in how shall I say it, less than wonderful circumstances. And despite the tears and the anger that all brought, we, Jools moved on, at first to Brett, then back to the LFB for a few months, and now to Woodings. And all that seems a lifetime ago, but with this blog, reading it the other day, took me right back there. All in all, Jools had two weeks unemployed, before she moved to Bretts and discovered all the skills she always had, we transferable, and began to feel much better about herself, not that was ever a problem, but, we just assume that because we have been at a job for many years we are stuck in a dead end job with no prospects, there can be a bright new future out there for any of us.

And we have done up the house, started on the garden, got a new TV, thinking about decorating another room or two, the fountain from Footballer;s Wives is be installed in a couple of weeks. And then the spring proper will arrive, and all will feel shiny and sparkly again.

And for me, last month marked another anniversary for me, a year since I first met the customer, and got used to the dynamic, the words and my job. And how to do it. Thanks to my colleague, Anni, I grew into the job, and am pretty happy now, and quite frankly am a little bored being at home this week now the documents are up to date. Outside the sun has been shining, the cats have been contended having me around. Next week the travelling starts again, and my life will become a mix of waiting in airports, living in hotel rooms and inspections. Such is the life of an international playboy and quality expert.

Wednesday.

Back working at home.

We wake up to see that it looks like the sky is on fire, as the sun nears rising and the night gives way to day. I have taken so many dawn shots this year, I am happy to sit and watch it this time. Jools makes coffee, gets ready for work. I surf the net looking at the big news, which on this day seems to be a TV presenter, punched a colleague and was suspended. Now that this man was on a final warning, so seems an open and shut case. But what is this, he's a national treasure, a buffoon, but a lovable buffoon and friend of the Prime Minister, Mr Dishface, and writes a column for one of Murdoch's rags, so there is a campaign to get him reinstated already. Well, we happened to watch the latest edition on Sunday, and its OK, I mean, three men of a certain age acting like dicks for the camera, but its the same, and has been for a decade, reminding me of Last of the Summer Wine, but with better go carts.



All bread and circuses of course. Lets concentrate on the Dick in jeans when the the biggest lie was admitted to. Match Commander at Hillsborough, David Duckenfield admitted the fie which grew as official policy in blaming the fans for their own deaths, and allowing that to be the case for 22 long and painful years. Many relatives died without the truth being admitted to. But lets all concentrate on the Dick who punched a colleague, thats clearly far more important.



I work, but am in some pain, as my back is killing me. Late in the afternoon I think that maybe a walk will help. I walk down Station Road and into the village, then along the track leading away from Dover Road. In the end I give up as my back is hurting so much. However, nature is alive and well, plants and trees are growing or waking up everywhere. The countryside stretching over to Swingate is just rolling green countryside. It all looks wonderful.



I walk back home, past the gardens with their crowds of daffodils bobbing in the gentle breeze. All very springlike.

Jools returns to brighten the house and my life. We have crispy jacket potatoes for dinner, simple by lovely, full of over-buttered mash and crispy, crispy skins. Perfect.

Night falls, the badger comes calling. He seems so small, we think he cannot get a full fat ball in his mouth, so I crumble a couple up. He eats them both up. Sorted. Chelsea lose to PSG, in hilarious fashion, making me glad I don't pay for sky now, finding Alan Greene's desperate commentary funny enough on its own.

Time for bed, whilst above the house outside, the moon is already just half full, or just a week away from being new again.