2015: How was it for you?

Happy New Year, folks!

Hello and welcome to my review of the year, each year the format is different, as what I do changes bit by bit; so things like album of the year is won by Public Service Broadcasting due to the fact it was the only album we bought this year. And as for film of the year, we failed to cross the doorway of any cinema this year. At all. The idea of single of the year is a bit outdated now, I couldn't even begin to think of which track I heard this year I liked most, not to say that there wasn't any good music released in 2015, there is good music every year, just sometimes you have to hunt for it.

Looking back at my Faceache timeline, I see that Hookworms, Father John Misty, The Charlatans, FFS, Hooton Tennis Club, Albert Hammond JR, Drenge, Rat Boy, Public Service Broadcasting among others. Can't choose between them, so well done all.

As I said above, album of the year is Public Service Broadcasting and their Race for Space, the only album you needed this year. Apparently.

TV show, well, much good stuff to see, but I think Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell captured our attention as good as anything. However, as you may have noticed The Bridge is something we are catching up with on DVD.

For me, the highlights of the year: well, as a Norwich supporter, seeing City win at Wembley after defeating the Old Farm enemy over two legs in the semi takes some beating. Here is my blog post for the day:

25th May 2015 Monday

Bank Holiday Monday

Play Off Day.

I was fairly pan free: I took several drugs, used Deep Heat and I should be OK for the day ahead.

The big day arrived, with endless sunshine: was it a sign? Well, it was a sign that I thought I should take an hour or so to go to Pegwell Bay to look for some orchids. As you do. We had coffee, and I encouraged a reluctant Jools into the car; she thought me a little mad. Obsessed.

She had a point.

We drive to Richborough, find a place to park and go into the reserve, me with my orchid eyes peeled. I see Common Spotted spike, but that is it, as the reserve is already looking overgrown, well, not overgrown, but the foliage is well into spring, and growing strongly, hiding some less vigorous plants. I assume this is the case here.



It is a further shot drive to the other part of Pegwell where I hope to find the Bee and Yellow Man Orchids. I have seen no other reports from here, so it was just a guess that it would be worth it. It took some time to orient ourselves, I strode off to where I thought the Bees would be found, but I see nothing. Jools spots a spike, but is a week away from opening.

Further on I find many more spikes, so closer to opening, until right at the edge of the site, there was one spike, opening its first flower. A great find indeed. A dog walker eyes me warily as I lay down to get the shots.

A short distance away is the colony of 'lemon flavoured' Man Orchids. There are, if any thing, more robust than last year, and all are pretty much fully open, including one with elongated 'arms' and 'legs'. I snap that one good as well.



It was then a sprint to the car to drive back to get ready for the quarter to ten train.

Whilst I get ready, Jools makes breakfast; just a cuppa and a slice of toast. It is twenty past nine, I have a shirt I have never worn before, a camera, my phone and the ticket. Lets roll.

Norwich last made the play off final 13 years ago. I had worn a 'lucky' t short all through the season, and said I would wear it for the final. I bought a short marking the final, saying i would put it on for the journey back. City lost to Birmingham on penalties, and the shirt remained unworn. But I thought, what better way to break the 'curse'?



Standing on the station platform were two Boro fans, we made chat and wished each other the best. A young family in City colours looked nervous, but it was all good natured, they even posed for a photo. At least the train wasn't full, and I get a seat opposite the two Boro fans. We smile and I find from them a quicker way to the stadium. So, I said I would go that way.

At St Pancras there were many fans from both clubs about, eating or drinking: I had a date with some old friends at a pub near the ground, so I walk to the Tube station for a Metropolitan train towards Wembley. It is well used, but not crowded, so it was all pleasant, even the bunch of drunken City fans who spent the twenty minute trip bouncing up and down and singing.



At Wembley park, it is all so well organised, we are funneled up the stairs, through the exit and at the top of Wembley Way, where we all get our first view of the stadium: and it was true, we are here and it is real!



I head the other way to the pub, The Torch, to meet a friend. It is heaving, as you would expect, and I decide not to bother having a drink, just meet my friends and then walk to the ground, taking in the atmosphere and, hopefully, enjoy the day.



It is now packed, but there is no trouble walking down, we have 90 minutes before the game starts, and everyone is in good spirits, singing, taking photos and the such. Up the ramp to the outside of the stadium, the two sets of supports are parted, we to the east side, they to the west. The view back down Wembley Way is incredible, I take shots, as does others, but now I think it is time to go in take up my place.



There were no queues at the automatic turnstiles, and there was an escalator to take us up. And another. And another. And another. In the concourse there were bars, food outlets, plenty of toilets, and I could see the entrance to where my seat was. I have a beer and to my surprise get change from a fiver. Not a lot of change, 20p, but still.



Up the steps, I was directed to my seat, on the next to back row, but the view is sensational, the green of the pitch contrasting with the red of the seats. I guess there is less than 10k in the ground, no singing, but there is the sound of a thousand conversations. I get a tingle up my spine.

As time goes on, the ground fills up, the players come out onto the pitch to warm up, and the singing begins. By a quarter to three, the ground is full, we are all standing. And singing.

The teams are let out, there is more singing, we cheer and the players get ready for the game.

It kicks off, and is it tense stuff: we hit the bar, then Boro do too. And then the ball breaks in their penalty area, and Jerome scores in the near corner. We go mad.

We are still singing when the ball breaks to Redmond, who puts the ball into the far corner, and we are 2-0 up with 15 minutes gone, and in total control. Boro were rocking, and we could, should have scored a couple more, but the attitude of the teams change, City happy to contain, and Boro to huff and puff. Ruddy does not have to make a save.

Half time, and I am not concerned at all, it is all going to plan, and all seems set fair, and we have one foot back in the Premier League.



The second half goes much the same way, Boro probe, we defend, all pretty tame stuff, but City are in control. Boro get more desperate as time runs out, and with a couple of changes, we could have scroed more, but it wasn't needed. Time ran down; 15 to go. 10 to go. 5 to go. 2 to go. Then four minutes of injury time.



And it was all over. We had done it, promoted. I had a tear in my eye, which transferred to my glasses as the bloke behind me gave me a bear hug. There was more singing, dancing, the players celebrated. We celebrated. The Boro end emptied, as Norwich made to climb the stairs to collect the trophy. It seemed to take an age, but Russel Martin raised the cup, they cheer, we cheer, we all cheer. There was the usual team photo, popping champagne corks, fireworks all the usual stuff.



It was still going on as I left, we walk down an endless staircase, going down and round and down and round, until we come out on the side of the stadium, all City fans had huge smiles on their faces. The poor Boro fans had the opposite of course.

As we all walked down Wembley Way, there was some singing, which could have turned nasty, but didn't. At the station enough fans were allowed on to get onto a train, a train arrived and we all got on, six stops later I got off at St Pancras, with enough time for a beer at the Betjamin Arms. I meet up with a father and son Boro fan, we chat, they are very kind in defeat, said we were the better side and Boro hadn't been in it. They had to buy train tickets before they knew whether Boro would make the final, then had to allow for the chance it might got to penalties before booking a train back. They had to wait for the half eight train back north.

At half six, I walk to the platform, the train is waiting. I get a get and look at the photos. It wasn't a dream.

Back in Dover, Jools is waiting to take me home. The day was over, but the went well. And I was there.



And professionally, the successful execution and completion of the Luchterduinen Project was a major achievement for me, and for the team of course. My employer said thanks by treating us to three days out in Amsterdam:

10th September 2015

About a decade ago, I left the RAF and resumed my life in Civvy Street, that road, that path, was not always smooth, and friends dropped in and left along the way. That is friends in the usual sense and those I met online. For the best part of a year, I struggled to get motivated to find a job, but once I did, I found some online friends left me, maybe it was that they did not want me to move forward or be happy. I suppose, what I am trying to say here is that few of my first online friends stayed the course. Now, this may be partly down to Blogspot, as for the first few years I was on here there was no dashboard, and so I did not know about people's comments. So, maybe many friends thought I was ignoring them, when the truth was, I did not know.

In the period inbetween, I have moved forwards, sometimes back again, but for the past few years I think things have gone well. And this is what I would wish for everyone who reads my words, friends or not. So, when I heard this morning regarding two people who I know read this, well, I could not be more happy. One of them is my oldest online friend, who, has not always had things smooth, but is a talented writer, and I am proud to call her a friend. So, not wanting to sound to enigmatic, you know who you are, and I could not be more happy for both of you.

It may well be the modern way, that I have not met either of them, but the news is like that regarding oldest and dearest friends.

Monday.

Another week, and another week of travel. Or three days.

Monday, however, was another day at home, and trying to get ahead so the days when I was away things could not get too out of control.

For some reason, Monday was steak night, so I had to remember to get two out of the freezer and get them defrosted. The get down with work, wait on the cats, drink coffee, drink tea, pick raspberries. In short the usual things I do on a work day.

It was a glorious day, and so picking raspberries for a mid-afternoon snack was wonderful, as was watching ice cream melt on them. Then diving in and making the half pound of ripe fruit vanish. That was good.

The day fades, and the heat goes out of the day. With the coming of clouds and the wind turning north, it even was cold. So cold I broke and put the heating on. I mean I was shivering.

In fact it was so cold, and we were so hungry that when Jools came home, we bailed on the evening walked we planned, had coffee, then i cooked dinner. Steak and all the trimmings on a schoolday: nothing better. Even if in the evening, I did have to pack and get ready for another business trip the next day.

With Wales playing in the evening, I listen to the radio as an excited Robbie Savage nearly explodes each time Wales get near the goal. But it is to no avail as the game ends in a 0-0 draw, and so Wales still need a win to qualify.

Tuesday.

Whilst on the face of it, an eight thirty flight seems late enough not to cause problems, but then there is the getting up, drinking coffee, travel to the station, train to London, travel to the airport, security and so on. But it does mean I have to be on the first high speed service out of Dover, and then hope there is no holdups. I reckon I could still make it with an hour's delay, but it would be cutting it fine. Which is why it was still dark at night outside when the alarm went off at half four. Even the cats seemed reluctant to be fed at that hour.

I have coffee, then we pack my bags into the car and Jools takes me to the station. £85 for the ticket to London. And back. A few other bleary-eyed travelers were also waiting on the platform for the train, some hugging cups of coffee. I would wait until I got to the airport. The train arrived, I slumped into a seat, then stared out of the window as the train pulled out, with light growing in the east as dawn arrived. We pick up passengers en route of course, and it is not overly busy, until we stopped at Ebbsfleet, when the whole town got on, apparently. Standing room only once again. But then it is just 15 minutes into London from there, less if you, like me, get out at Stratford, and I have a seat!

Off at Stratford, across east London on the DLR, full of builders heading to work on various projects, most seemed to be nursing hangovers or at best in rather a bad mood, but then, hey, a long day at work ahead I suppose. The airport is quiet, I get a boarding pass, drop my case off and walk to security: I am through in ten minutes, which gave me an hour to have breakfast, which was just about perfect. Unlike the breakfast, which for an orange juice, two poached eggs on toast and a coffee: £13. A rip off really, but then everything is expensive there.

The flight is called, and unlike the flights I catch to Billund, this is a proper, if small jet, and being not fully booked we can spread out and have a double seat each, and there being enough room for all our bags. Perfect. Once we are in the air, London is lost from view, just a glimpse of the old Olympic stadium, now being made ready for the Rugby World Cup, wish I had had a camera, but then, can't snap everything. More's the pity.

We descend through thick cloud over Holland, only seeing the ground as we skim over the rooftops as we are on final approach. As far as hub airports are concerned, Amsterdam is not that bad, seems well designed and no queues until you get to a gate. But there is a long walk from the gate to immigration and then to baggage reclaim. Then there was the hardest thing, finding the rest of the team. Because we were all in Amsterdam for a celebration, the official team celebration for the end of the project. And there were cars booked, but not in my name, so I had to find them. And after agreeing on a place to meet, needless to say the others weren't there, instead waiting in a different place. My phone rings: we are you? Where we said we should be. We're somewhere else, come over to the car hire place.

They were not there either. But, I saw the project director standing near an exit, so I rush over, which was un-necessary, as there were more waiting to be done, as people's baldders were emptied at different times before it was decided we could leave.

The cars were found, sat nav programmed to the restaurant we were to have lunch at, followed by a closing meeting. What could go wrong?

Well, a water leak at the main hospital had turned streets to raging torrents, and the main ring road runs through the area, and that was closed. And as we tried to go round the blocked area, we realised that the restaurant was in the middle of the area. What could we do? A call was made and we were given the post code for a car park in a quiet area next to a country club. It was also beside a canal. We could see the restaurant on the other side of the canal, now what?

We saw a small boat leave the restaurant, and it came to us: get in said the manager! Making it sound as if this sort of thing happens every day. He takes us across, we climb out, and we are shown to the private dining area. We are served a fine three course meal, after which we have to have a closing meeting. Which we do fine, even if we were all a tad sleepy.

The manager takes us back to our cars, so we can then make our way to the hotel, which was not in the city centre, but a short tram ride away from it, I noted! OK, we are given an hour before we were to meet up again, this time for taxis to take us to another restaurant, this time for dinner. And drinks. And celebrating.

An hour and a half later, we met in the hotel lobby, and then went outside where our taxis were waiting, to take us to a most unusual place to eat. REM is inside a former helipad of an oil rig, and so is some 25m up in the air. And makes for a very unusual entrance, walking up the pierced metal stairway up to the main entrance.

After we had gone up to the helipad itself, we went back down to take our table, order drinks and food and wait to be served. Sadly, the food did not match the surroundings, or maybe it did. But it was free, or at least to us, helping the team celebrate the completion of the project. We drank strong Belgian beer, ate chewy steak, and then downed several desert wines. Before it was time to go back to the hotel, not before taking more shots of the view from the deck.

The taxis whisked us through the streets, running red lights and ignoring the speed limits. And say, should we really be driving along the tram tracks?



Wednesday

As you can see now, this trip to Holland was panned as one of celebration. For me, it was the end of 25 months of hard work, for others it was even longer, so to have achieved this was really quite something. And the main day of celebrating was the Wednesday, in which we, well, as you will see, we lived the life of Reilly. It was something we could all get used to.

We had bailed on the idea of finding a local bar the night before, so we all rose bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ready for for what the day had to throw at us. A few of us met for breakfast, the usual Dutch thing, and whilst in Holland, I had buttered rolls with sprinkles. You have to have sprinkles when in Holland. So I did.

We did all meet outside the hotel at half eight ready for the drive to IJmuiden, on paper a 20 minute trip or so, but after the chaos of yesterday, anything was possible. In the event, we had a trouble-free trip. Or was much of it being trouble free as it could be with all of Holland on the roads at the same time, jams seemed to be everywhere, but we managed to get through, and soon enough we were travelling along beside the canal into IJmuiden. But for a change from the norm, we were leaving from the marina in front of the Holiday Inn rather than the quay beside the offices we worked from. All we had to do was find which yacht was to take us out and contactt he master.

And thanks to mobile phone and with broken English we did, and soon we were let onto the pontoon on our way to to a fine trimaran yacht, our steed for the day. Waiting in the lounge was sugar cake and coffee, we were briefed. Outside the sun shone down from a clear blue sky, and a gentle breeze blew: it was a perfect day.

The mate cast off. I say mate, she was a woman, so it that a matess? I don't know. But with the engine chugging away, we moved out of the marina, into the main channel out of the harbour, between the lighthouses at the end of each arm of the sea defences and so out to sea. We cruised along, just enjoying being out on the sea, sipping coffee and sitting out on the deck soaking up the rays of the still warm sunshine. We did have to tell the master which of the windfarms to head towards, as there were three, but once we had been put right, we all settled down and waited for us to travel to the windfarm.

As we drew near, a couple of bottles of champagne were opened, and foaming glasses passed around, we toasted our success and each other and the farm and us again. Not being on a workboat meant we could not sail into the windfarm, so we cruised around, taking our time. The mate brought up plates of food for us to feast upon, told us there was beer in the fridge. We feasted.

As we turned for IJmuiden, we headed into the breeze that had begun to blow, making the yacht jump out of the water at time, Even more so once the sails and spinaker were set, so we set along at nearly six knots, powered just by the wind. Just like the windfarm. Some of the team were looking a little green, and I have to say the smell of the fish from lunch wasn't pleasant even for me. It took two hours to get back, but once we entered through the lighthouses, the breeze dropped, and all was smooth once again.

And just like, it was all over. I suppose I could have gone into great detail, but for the most part, we stood or sat, looking at the sea, the receding coastline or the approaching turbines. It was just bloody good, sitting on a yacht, drinking champagne, getting paid for it. These days happen very rarely.

We climb off the yacht and bid the crew, both of them, farewell. It had been a fine way to spend the day. We drove back into Amsterdam, little trouble with traffic this time, and with 90 minutes before wheels for another meal, I thought there little point in me going out exploring. So, retired to my room to freshen up and look at the shots I had taken.

We all met again at quarter to seven, where three more taxis were waiting for us, this time to take us to the very centre of the city, to where we were told they served the very best steak in the city. Lead on, McDuff.

The convoy headed off along broad roads, initially, then down narrow streets, dodging trams and other cars, over humped back bridges leaping over canals, sharp turns to the left and right. It seemed to take half an hour, but finally we were a few yards away from the sexiness of Dam Square. I can confirm, Rob, that we did flash past many of the fine churches I know you would love to have seen. I saw them flashing by, so now know how grand and wonderful they were. But they would have to wait another day.

The restaurant was called CAU, and part of a chain I have now found out, it is quite expensive, and getting a reservation for 12 is very hard. But they had our table, and a selection of fine strong beers. I order a 400g steak marinated in chorizo, paprika and garlic. Of course we have starters too, the sea life gave us fine appetites. THe beer flows, the food arrives in plates and dishes. Other also have deserts to follow their 1Kg steaks. I bail on those, and have a liqueur coffee, and as the other males look for a bar to retire to, I go with the director and a couple of the others into Dam Square where we negotiate with a taxi driver for the fare back to the hotel. I have to be out of it and on the road to the airport by half eight, so no extra beers for me.

We speed through the near empty streets of the city, running red lights and playing chicken with trams back towards the south part of the city where I would find safety back in my hotel room. Phew.

Photography and shit

This was the year I finally sold an image: £75 isn't a lot, but it paid for a trip to London I suppose. Makes it worthwhile. And I got to shoot inside St Paul's Cathedral in April, for a charity event. A once in a lifetime thing I suppose. I also visited cathedrals in Meissen, Dresden, Newcastle, Ripon, Canterbury and churches all over. I snapped a few railtours, as I do, although it was a thin year here in East Kent, I also photographed the final Vulcan flypast, but messed it up a bit, didn't get the shot I wanted, but got close to it.

In the world of orchids, I did get to see a new Kent species (for me) this year, the Early Marsh when a friend online showed me the site. Elsewhere, I saw the pure white variants of the Early Purple, Green Winged, Lady, Common Spotted, Chalk Fragrant and Southern Marsh. For the Greater Butterfly, it was a season when they tripled the flowering spikes seen the previous year. The Monkey seemed to have staged a revival after a poor 2014, but then not as good as the year before that. And then there was the wonderful mutant Late Spider seen up on the downs. But then there was the downside, the trampling, especially of the Late Spider site was very disappointing, and then there was the missing spikes too, which I don't think was all down to trampling.

Next year I look forward to trying to find the Burnt Tips and maybe the Sword Leafed Helleborines, but where I saw the one the previous year, all Helleborines failed this season. Very odd. But I can wait.

And then there was the trip to Northumberland where I finally got to fond the Lindisfarne and Tyne Helleborines, the mix of Northern Marsh and Early Marsh and Common Spotted and even a Early Marsh x Northern Marsh hybrid. Wonderful to see, even if I didn't realise it until I had gotten home and reviewed my shots.

And finally, to those 33 business trips and all the other places I went, looking rather like this:

January

6th to 9th Varde, Denmark
15th to 17th Lubeck, Germany
25th to 28th Lem, Denmark

February

1st to 6th Ringkobing, Denmark
9th to 10th Lauchhammer, Germany
17th to 19th Lauchhammer, Germany
23rd to 27th Various, Denmark

March

2nd to 6th Various, Denmark
16th to 18th Lauchhammer, Gemrnay
23th to 24th Ijmuiden, Holland
30th to April 2 Various, Denmark

April

13th to 16th Ringkobing, Denmark
20th to 23rd Ijmuiden, Holland

May

6th to 8th Arhus, Denmark
11 to 14th Arhus, Denmark
20th to 22nd Ijmuiden, Holland

June

2nd to 4th Arhus, Denmark 11th to 12th Copenhagen, Denmark
16th to 19th Ijmuiden, Holland

July

2nd to 17th Holiday
27th to 30th Arhus, Denmark

August

7th to 8th School reunion
11th to 13th Copenhagen, Denmark

September

1st to 4th Arhus, Denmark
8th to 19th Amsterdam, Holland
14th to 16th Ijmuiden, Holland
21st to 22nd Leuven, Belgium

October

1st to 2nd Newcastle/Durham
5th to 8th Arhus, Denmark
27th to 29th Norwich Beer Festival

November

2nd to 5th Lem, Denmark
9th to 12th Arhus, Denmark
17th to 19th Arhus, Denmark
27th to 29th Armourers reunion, Lincoln

December

7th to 11th Various, Denmark
14th to 16th Lubeck, Germany