Thursday 8th December 2016

Waking up on a gezome day is always good. Meand I can lay in bed and think I shall be home in a few hours. But that means I have to pack, check out and drive to the office for the last time. On this trip at least.

I had been told that if I wanted, a bbq was being planned for breakfast(!), so I might like to think about skipping eating at the hotel. The football fan concierge was on duty, and we swap stories how our teams are doing, and is optimistic about City's chances, even after the recent crash in form.

I think about going up to breakfast, but decide maybe I should have bbq for breakfast after all. This means I am at the office on time, but no time for work, I have to make sure there are enough sausages put on the barbie for me, that done it is time for a brew and talking about music and anything other than work. Of course. Strange red sausages, bacon, frits are grilled. I zap a jar of beans and there is bread and other food, so soon we are sitting round the tea bar table, munching away

A fine way to start the day, doubly so as some of the team are currently bobbing around waiting to get onto a turbine foundation whilst we eat.

I have to leave at midday, so to be home for the car to be collected. Which means squeezing in a day's work into a morning and a bit, which I just about manage to do, even with senior management on site. There are meetings and all the other stuff that the day requires.

I leave at quarter past twelve, driving to the start of the motorway, then putting my foot down as I made my way to the intersection where I would turn south towards France.

It is another glorious day, maybe with a bit more higher cloud, but thin enough to allow the sun to weakly shine through. Traffic is again light enough to make the drive pleasureable. A matrix sign over the carriageway as we cross into France tells us that due to pollution, the speed limit has been reduced to 110, which is still quick enough.

Down to Calais, through the roadworks and into the tunnel terminal, where there are no queues for the flexi ticket holders anyway. I get the boarding card, drive through French immigration, and for the first time ever there are no lines for British immigration. I am through to the lounge in less than 5 minutes, to find that one train had been cancelled, and having a 40 minute wait, but that meant enough time for lunch. I have a baguette, which was my favourite price, free. And a coffee, and that is enough for me. As I finish, we can proceed to the train, joining those in steerage in line to drive onto the train.

I have a copy of the Financial Times to read as we speed under the see back to Blighty, but my eyes soon droop, and I wake up as the low sunlight pours into the wagon from the left hand side. Back home.

For a change I come back via the Alkham Valley, at the end of a long line of cars driving at 40mph, but then I'm in no hurry and enjoy the countryside as we tootle along. There hasn't been enough rain yet to turn the land brown, in fact it still feels autumnal.

A quick blast long the A2 and then down the Deal road brings me home. At last.

I enjoy the drive along the road cross the top of the downs, past Wallett's Court to the top of Station Road, down that and then up the other side to home. No cats are about to greet me, but once Molly finds out I am back, sits on the table where I am having late lunch, meowing generally wanting attention.

I have some mails to fire off fr work, all the while listening to the wireless and stroking various cats. I prepare dinner; breaded pork and lentils. A fine dinner, and all ready for when Jools comes home.

There is TOTP on TV; all 1982; Kids from Fame, Sharon Redd, Shakin Stevens; but then Bauhaus doing Ziggy Stardust too. The wheat and chaff, right there.