Saturday 4th February 2017

Way back in the mists of time, the young Jelltex could be up to the wee small hours, drinking and tripping the light fantastic. Come home, have 12 hours sleep and be ready to do it all again.

Not any more.

I have never had great capacity for booze, and since leaving the RAF, practice in drinking has slipped, so I will rarely have more than a single beer if out. So, a beer festival, an event that involves hour after hour of drinking, was never going to leave me in a good state. I snoozed, and went to bed early on Friday. Trish at The Rack was surprised how drunk I was after just a couple of hours of drinking, and was reluctant to fill m y glass with beer at 8.8%.

So, when I woke up at three in the morning, it became clear that what with one thing and another, I wasn't going to go back to sleep, so I tossed and turned, fretted about a possible allergy attack, staying in bed until half five, when the sound of the start of the dawn chorus told me it was OK to get up.

I walked downstairs with cats scattering in all directions before me. I feed them, then make a coffee. I try to be quiet, but it seems the aroma of brewing coffee can wake a sleeping person, and so she comes down, mumbling, mmmm, coffee.

Once we have drunk, I get dressed and go to Tesco nice and early, then drive over to Preston to the butcher, to get steak and a joint for Sunday dinner. The drive over to Preston, especially once off the Canterbury road was interesting, as overnight rain had left the road partially flooded, and dodging cars coming in the opposite direction was needed to avoid going through a puddle that could have been too deep and flooded the engine.

I get the meat, and a consignment of Tunnock's caramel fingers, which oddly they also sell. I could have gone with some teacakes too, but that would have been greedy.

I drive back home, unload the car, then decide that we should have a fry up for brunch; I have not made one for years. So, once home I boiled some potatoes until mushy, mash them with lots of butter, pop them in a frying pan until all brown and crispy. I grill lots of streaky bacon, fry spicy sausages and finally mix up and cook some scrambled eggs. Its gone eleven once done, but is glorious.

At half twelve, there is football on the radio, Chelsea v Arse, and Arse get steamrollered, losing 3-1. Not a good day at the office, and almost certainly means they won't win the title this year either.

I bring the digital radio down from the bedroom, set it up beside the sofa so I could watch the rugby whilst listening to the football on 5 Live. And it worked very well indeed. The first game, Scotland v Ireland was a cracker, Scotland running out deserved winners. The came England v France, an altogether different game, with two good teams going toe to toe grinding out the game; England winning by having scored one more penalty, not a pretty game, mind.

And Norwich won. Away. And kept a clean sheet and so are up to 7th.

I cook steak for dinner, us eating at nearly eight, but with fried potatoes, sweetcorn and bacon and field mushrooms, its a great meal, if a little late, but that was due to brunch also being late.

Phew.

I can then watch the Championship highlights as City won, taking us to ten, and bed time.