Turns out that Brexit means Brexit after all

So today, the EU published the DRAFT withdrawal agreement, and it turned out that those who made the agreement back n December didn't realise what they agreed toto, not even our glorious leader Maybot 2.0. No Prime Minister will agree to sign away sovereignty she wailed, but then the fallback position is just that, if there is no other way of doing it, then NI will have to follow SM and CU rules. And if Britain wants to stay in the same union as NO, then, you know, will have to do the same.

This is what happens when rabid Brexiteers are allowed to claim unicorns for everyone without hardly anyone pointing out that making impossible promises was doomed. No, the press cheered them on, and the BBC just went along with it saying the arguments had already been won and lost.

The really odd thing is that despite both parties taking part in the negotiations, UK left the EU to type up the notes. As I now work in business, I can tell you that there is a long and drawn out process for something as simple as minutes of meeting, which have to be written, shared, agreed, updated, possible over and over again. That a text of such importance was left with the EU for 9 weeks, and the first time May or DD saw it was when it was leaked chapter by chapter this morning, revealing bit by bit what had been agreed in order to get the talks to the next stage.

Why didn't UK write their own version, and publish first?

Why didn't May and her Brexiteers realise what they signed up to?

Al the EU did was take May's red lines, statements and came up with a text to match that; Brexit meant Brexit. Who knew? Not May, not DD, not Johnson.

Ireland was always going to be the difficult part, ignoring the warnings meant that it just saved the issue until it became critical. Most Brexiteers still don't get it, how serious the Irish Border is, and how it will be perceived that all Ireland interests were so quickly sacrificed on the Brexit altar. the GFA brought nearly a century of unrest to an end, brought stability and prosperity to not just NI, but to the Republic and rest of Britain too. All thrown away on the Brexit pyre.

The text will change in many places between now and October. In some places massively change, but this is what happens when you put dullards in charge and let then do things for themselves without any grown ups. Fuck the country royally. DD couldn't win a debate with an empty crisp packet, and yet is being trusted to negotiate our and our children's futures, when his approach to the talks are like my 16 year old self's attitude to revising for my physics O level: hope to wing it and scape through.

And then we have the Disgraced former Defence Minister, Liam Fox, whose job seems to jet round the world achieving fuck all as Minister for International Trade, whilst knowing cock all about the subject.

Not knowing what it is your side wants to achieve means that the people on the other side of the table decide your destination for you, and you end up far from where you ought to be.

John Major this evening made an appeal to his former party to ignore their party whips, but to vote for the country and do what is right. Those of us who speak against Brexit do it not out of love for the EU but out of love and pride for our country and not wanting it or its people to be poorer.

Of course, JRM, DD and Johnson and all other Brexiteers claim to be patriots, but when it comes down to it, those at the bottom of society will be the ones worse off thanks to Brexit, who will we blame then?

Tuesday 27th February 2018

I lost my voice.

Coupled with chesty cough, sneezing, etc, I thought it best go to the local hospital to get checked out.

This meant I needed the car, so would have to take Jools to Hythe, then drive to Ashford afterwards. as that is where the A&E is now.

Amazingly, no further snow had fallen during the night, but it was cold. So cold, for the rest of the week we would leave the heating on all night. The thermostat seemed to suggest it was five degrees in the house.

At quarter to seven, after coffee and getting dressed we were off, very little show about in the village; maybe the forecast got it all wrong.

Soon became clear as we left Dover on the A20, as snow began to be seen, and by the time we got to Folkestone there was a good few inches. In fact, towards Hythe the road was barely passable, and we inched our way along the lane over the down and into the town. At the factory there was a group of people and it was decided to send all no critical staff home and work via VPN from home. All well, so we would just call into Ashford hospital get me checked out and all would be well?

No.

All was well until shortly after pulling onto the motorway, in fairly heavy snow showers all three lanes ground to a halt, and there we stayed for a good hour or two. At least we had the radio and the enough fuel to have the engine running. We got off at Ashford, and with traffic in all directions we fought our way round the roundabout and headed back on to the motorway back eastwards.

We got home at just before one, it took Jools and her IT manager half an hour to get her laptop going, but for me, I was pooped, laid on the sofa as I listened to Jools boss her suppliers round.

The days passes into evening. Despite all the white stuff everywhere else in the county, St Maggies had seen nary a flurry, and that was the case through the day. What little there had been had melted. Just before dusk another flurry made the garden and drive white again, I mean the depth was hardly measurable to be honest, but it was the thought that counted.

There was football on TV; Swansea v Sheffield Wednesday; two clubs playing weakened teams in front of a quarter full stadium covered on prime time national TV, not the best advert for the oldest football competition in the world, is it? And it was a poor game, Swansea running out 2-0 winners as I struggle to stay awake on the sofa, Jools had given up and gone to bed already.

Anyway, work on the morrow...

The day before

Tomorrow, Wednesday, the EU publishes the draft withdrawal agreement, and the fudge(s) that allowed may to claim just before Christmas that Brexit was going well will be shot down in flames, as the EU publishes what it thinks was agreed. The odd things therefore is why UK is not, or has not, published its own draft on what DD might have thought was agreed. THings is it means the EU decided over the course of two months what was agreed and what wasn't, two months in which Michael Barnier revealed that there had been almost no contact between he and the UK's teams, no meetings, no discussions. And he was concerned.

So, tomorrow the shit hits the fan when the draft states that unless something else is agreed then the fallback position is UK abiding by the SM and CU rules until something else is agreed. And locking not just NO, but all of UK into this deal too. Meaning that there is no chance of "Global" Liam Fox going out and signing trade deals with anyone else.

Which probably explains why Fox spent most of today rubbishing CUs in general and not what people voted for, realising that the EU had completely outflanked and outhought UK. And remember, this was the easiest deal to get, in the Brexiteers words and the fact these are our closest and oldest trading partners, through our membership of the EU over 60% of UK exports are controlled. And we are leaving the EU in 13 months, all those deals to do, exports to protect, but don't worry, David Davis is negotiating with the EU, and my negotiating we mean ignoring. And Liam Fox is travelling round the world drumming up support for trade deals, which he said two years agp, that by now he would have signed deals with a value of more than twice that of the EU.

He hasn't signed one, because it would be against WTO rules, and anyway, other countries want to know what relationship UK will have with the EU.

So, Liam Fox trying to rubbish CUs and Boris Johnson suggesting that the Irish border was a slight a problem as the border between Camden and Westminster, and could be solved with traffic cameras and numberplate recognition. You would have though that the Foreign Secretary would have a basic understanding of international trade laws and what it means to be inside or outside a CU, but apparently he is just a twat. Who knew?

Tomorrow is going to me mad, as the Cabinet and their friends in the press realise was the idiot savant, DD, signed up to in December.

And remember, if Britain does not accept this, all discussions stop here; no trade deal, talks about trade talks, transition. Anything. No deal Brexit or no Brexit.

Tuesday, Ryanair announced it was closing its maintenance facility in Glasgow over uncertainty over Brexit. And this in one of the parts of UK that voted remain, they must be delighted.

Former PPS to Liam Fox, Sir Martin Donnelly, came up with rather a super metaphor for Brexit on BBC's flagship early morning news show on Radio 4, that in voting for Brexit whilst being in the EU was rather like turning down a three course meal now over the possibility of a pack of crisps years in the future. He demolished all of Fox's arguments for Brexit, but that didn't really reach other news broadcasts.

Later in the evening, Sky News were leaked a memo from Johnson to the PM in which he outlines why a hardening of the Irish border might not be a bad things, other than break years of promises to NI and the British people. And the Tories friends in the DUP of course. A few hours later Number 10 had to issue a clarification in which it stated there would be no hard border in Ireland.

In which case there would be a CU, or the CU. Which May has already ruled out. Can you see the problem there?

Monday 26th

When I tell people that East Kent is particularly susceptible to snow, and heavy snow at that, they think I jest. But I don't. Although it is true we are on the extreme south east corner of Albion, when the wind and conditions are right, clouds can come up from France, pick up moisture from the Channel and then dump on the first land it then encounters. As recently as 2008 and before then, 1993, East Kent suffered, feet of snow, trans cancelled and the rest of the stuff. Since then, after we moved here to St Maggies we were stuck cut off from the rest of Kent for a morning due to heavy show. But for the most part, winters have been mild for a good two decades, and memories fade.

So when the BBC says there is a heavy snow forecast, we pay attention. And yet it said light snow showers, sunny intervals. I mean, could mean anything.

But that was for the last four days of the week, for now, there was Monday.

And then there was the flu I still have. For most of the day I am OK, but come the evening I feel my throat drying out and once I lay down, non stop coughing for half the night. So, once I had drunk a coffee I began to think about work, I started to get the flashing lights of a migraine attack, sending me back to bed to lay in the dark and wait for it to pass. Lack of sleep and working on the computer is the best recipe I know for migraines, so once one has started, I have to take care the rest of the day.

I call my boss to tell her I am now well enough, she is only back to work herself, so is fine with it.

I do have cats with me though; Scully on the bed, Mulder of the drawers and Molly on the stairs, although I can't see her.

Lunchtime had passed, outside the sun shone and birds sung, but I guess was also bitterly cold.

The afternoon drifts by, the sun begins to set and long shadows are cast in the golden rays. I am up and about now, feeling like meh.

Jools is feeling washed out too, when she comes home we cook boiled chicken and rice, eat that whilst listening to Huey, and then Jools has a shower and goes to bed. At like seven.

I watch Only Connect and University Challenge and I go to bed too, the wind howling outside and the first flakes of snow having already fallen.

The Brexit Illusion

Today, the Daily Telegraph accused Jeremy Corbyn of being a Brexit Snake Oil salesman, as today he was expected to raise the possibility of staying in "a" rather than "the" CU. That the Torygraph has been peddling its own brand of Brexit Snakeoil, it is all rather rich.

And then there is the basic problem: Brexit is going to happen in just over 13 months, and in seven months. talks between the EU and UK to a withdrawal agreement need to be concluded to allow for the ratification process. A failure of this would make any transition impossible, as there would be nothing to transit to. Britain would have to decide what it wanted more; stability or leave. Leaving the EU with no agreement in place would mean crashing out on WTO terms, and these would be bad enough, trade deals with other countries would be negotiated under the cloud that UK needed a deal, and would have to accept less than ideal terms, with the US pressing the most onerous terms.

The Brexiteers failed to realise not only the annoying technical details of Brexit, but that who the UK would be negotiating with would have their economy, people, businesses to protect first, and drive the best deal for them, not for the UK. This was always the case, and from the US alone the is chlorinated chicken, milk that fails the EU specifications, hormone injected beef. And so on, and with each of these UK allows, or is forced to accept, the EU will have to, by WTO and its own laws, to drastically increase paperwork on traceability to ensure tat EU standards are met. If not, the EU would have to apply the same rules to all those trading partners falling under their "most favoured nation" status.

Nothing is ever simple, let alone as simple as Brexiteers would make you believe. Britain has only got thus far with the phase 1 negotiations after capitulating on every EU demand. The clock was always against UK, and will be ever more so with each passing day. However, the issue of the Irish Border is something that cannot be fudged, in agreeing that the border should be frictionless, UK is accepting there be some kind of CU, and yet the headbangers decry this, but how else to avoid a hard border? The EU says, rightly, that as UK is leaving, it is up to Westminster to come up with a solution that is acceptable to NI parties, the Irish Government and the EU.

If Britain does leave the EU, then it will have to either accept EU agencies, or set up their own, in hundreds of policy areas, then agree with the rest of the world on standards, inspections regimes and dispute resolutions. This will be hugely expensive, eating more and more of the imaginary Brexit Bonus that was promised on the side of a bus. That, coupled with reduced employment, exports, productivity, reduced corporation tax means that the country will be much, much poorer, and having to find, train and pay for things the EU has done for us for the price of 37p per day for each man, woman and child.

But it isn't just Tory headbangers still talking about Brexit bonus, Corbyn is too, saying how he will spend the money saved not sending to Brussels, spending it on social services or privatising utilities. No matter who is in power, the costs above will have to be met and paid for by cuts elsewhere. Corbyn did suggest that we might join a CU. Is this the first step in a reversal of policy? Or just a befuddled man talking nonsense? I don't have any faith in him, nor would I any leader put in power by a party within a party like Momentum. Corbyn and Momentum are dreaming of a socialist utopia, free of imagined EU rules they think bans state ownership of industries and transport. He has also said, over and over again and as recently as last week that Britain could not leave the EU and stay in the SM or CU, no country can. Only Norway is not a member of the EU but in the SM.

We are 20 months since the referendum, and our useless leaders still don't know what they are talking about, or if they do would rather lie.

Sunday 25th February 2018

Sunday, usually a day of rest, and this week, even more so. In the end I don't get dressed.

There was some kind of relapse, coupled with another night of broken sleep, a mild allergy attack and still feeling crappy.

It was obviously colder this morning, as winds settled in the east and began to strengthen. We waiting wrapped in blankets for the heating to warm the house, and I had a decision to make. I was booked on the quarter to ten flight out of London on Monday, I needed to check in, or should I just forget about the trip. I could be feeling much better tomorrow, or I could be worse, the worry for me was from Saturday, walking up that slight hill in River leaving me breathless, although not hilly in Denmark, it was going to be cold. Very cold. Temperatures expected to drop to minus ten or lower. No matter how much I thought about it, that didn't thrill me. In fact, Jools changed her mind about me should go, to shouldn't.

I send an e mail to the office asking to cancel my travel.

And that was that.

I take to the sofa and watch MOTD.

We have breakfast, watch Altered Carbon. Have coffee. Wash up. Watch more Altered Carbon. Listen to Man Utd v Chelsea. Watch more Altered Carbon. Have dinner. Watch the final three Altered Carbon.

And by then it was gone ten.

A whole day had gone by. We had done very little. But were rested. And I didn't have to get up at half four in the morning. Neither of us needed to be up at half four. And i could have a week at home to recover.

Saturday 24th February 2018

I did sleep. And sleep well, though waking in a fit of coughing, and with each gasp for air, my very bones ached as though I had been run over by a bus. That this was an improvement on Friday, even if only a light one, showed how ill I had been and still was. And having seen nothing but the ceiling of my hotel room, or of the bedroom back home, except for the time I travelled back home on Friday, I was persuaded that maybe some fresh air might do me some good.

Outside it looked fabulous, but those looks were deceiving, it was bitterly cold with the wind set in the east, blowing in from The Steppes, it is unusual these days for the wind to blow this way, it used to every year back in Norfolk when I was growing up, the flat lands of East Anglia doing nothing to break the gales from the east. Granddad used to call it a lazy wind, it was too lazy to go round you, went through you instead. I can remember those vast East Anglian skies, full of leaden clouds, ready to snow, but usually, the wind just blew.

This week the wind is set in the east, and the eastern side of England from Humberside to Kent is expected to see some snow. Might be a few flurries, might be more. Almost certainly won't be as bad as the winters of 1963 and 1947, then both years had sex weeks of temperatures plunging to minus twenty, snow every day for weeks on end. Trans got stuck in drifts, crops could not be harvested and ferries were confined to port as the Channel was full of pack ice. It won't be that bad.

Denmark is going to be whiter and colder.

But for now, I will try to get some sunlight. Jools had been shopping, so no need to go out too early, but on my radar had been the source of the Nailbourne. For the last few weekends I have been revisiting churches which all happen to be in villages along the course of a winterbourne that eventually turns into the Little Stour. Having researched the river, I found that its source was under one of my favourite Kent churches at Lyminge. On the way I would see of Ss. Peter and Paul in River was open, what with it being a Saturday and I hoped that people would be in cleaning, the best chance to see inside a church all week, especially urban ones.

I drive us down to River, past the old flat on Crabble Hill and along Lewisham Road parking a street away from where Nan passed away, now nearly two years ago. I walk down the narrow street to the church gate, along the north side of the church, only to find the main door, and new entrance through the church centre, but that was locked too. All I had to do was walk back to the car up the short hill.

By the time I got back to the car, I was out of breath and unable to speak.

We drove to Folkestone then took the Elham Valley road, passing two places where lesser winterbournes had flowed down the road, pooling at the bottom of a dip, the passing traffic splashing the water over the hedges and branches now coated in nearly an inch of clear ice.

Lyminge is a large village, the church along a narrow lane from the valley road, and just to the south of it is a meadow. You can get to the meadow through a gap in an ancient stone wall, halfway along was an unusual timber-framed shelter, built up on a ten foot tall plinth, which, as it happens, the spring came out. This was the village pump, so locals did not have to climb down to the spring for fresh water. This is St Etheburga's Well, named after a 7th century English saint to whom the church was originally dedicated, and to this day, her relics are still housed.

And even in this dry winter; well, fairly dry winter, the spring bubbled clear and cold from the bank and weaved its way across the meadow. This is the infant Nailbourne, but within a mile the riverbed will be dry again, but the water still flows out of sight, underground, and would surface again the other side of Littlebourne.

I take shots, and I am done. It is cold, I ache and stupid for having come out.

We return home, and I take to the shower to warm up some, coughing all the time.

I take to the sofa, listening to the football laying on my back, then sitting up at five to watch the Scotland v England game. Egg chasing can be exciting, and it was for Scotland who run in three first half tries as England fail to find the intensity they had so far played with. There was no coming back, so another season ended with a defeat, though a win against Ireland next week could see England still crowned champions. Norwich played well, but could not score. The game petered out to a 0-0 draw, summing up the day for me.

We watch more Altered Carbon in the evening, which was for me a delaying of when I went to bed and I knew the coughing would start up again.

Your weekend Brexit

We are now nearly 11 months into the 2 year A50 process, and still, the UK Government cannot decide among Cabinter what it actually is that as a country, the trade deal and relationship we might want from Brexit. And until UK decides, then there can b no real negotiations, not that there are any real negotiations, as the deal that will be voted on by Parliament will be the one the EU offers; no more, no less.

But to understand how bad things are, you have to realise there are just four choices facing May and her cabinet:

1. Revoke A50 and remain. Politically impossible
2. Norway type Economic Area agreement. Almost politically impossible though minimum financial impact
3. Canada style FTA. Politically acceptable, but economically disastrous, but not as bad as
4. No deal and trade on WTO terms. Calamitous economically, would ruin the economy and force UK to accept any trade deals, on almost whatever terms, in order to be able to trade with anyone.

May can only pick one, and not take items from one choice and mix with another. There is no deal and special bespoke deal to be agreed or negotiated, the above is it. Always has been. There is no one wrecking, or trying to derail Brexit, only those who love our country who want to save itself from a decade, or longer, depression. Brexit is going to happen by action of international law at 23:00 on 29th March 2019. All talking must end by the end of September 2018, that is, OMG 7 months time, to allow for ratification by both the UK and EU.

The EU knows this is the situation, as do many in the Conservative Party and the Cabinet, keeping up the pretence means delaying the day when reality daws ever later in the Brexit process. If May has delayed all decisions until after Easter, that leaves 5 precious months in which come up with a trade framework, if we get that far. Because next week the EU will publish the legal text based on what was agreed with the UK back in December, it was a fudge on a grand scale, as it had to be, all things to everyone, but fudging can no longer be done, and precise legal language will take away any doubt. The fudge with the Irish border was the biggest one, and the reason Brexiteers have been attacking the GFA.

It is expected that tomorrow the Labour Party will change its position on SM membership. I say expected as Corbyn is well-known to wanting the UK to leave the EU, but many people voted for Labour at the snap election in the hope of anything other than May's Brexit leadership. As the opposition, Labour is in the position of being able to evolve its Brexit policy, whereas the Government staffed by many whose life work was Brexit, had not given any thought how to actually deliver their stillborn baby in the real world. Ignoring the problems or putting them off will only work for so long, and now time is running out, May will have to decide what Brexit actually means. If not, the EU will decide for ber, based on the A50 notification letter and her own red lines.

Friday 23rd February 2018

I won't lie to you all, but Wednesday through Friday were hard days, being away from home, under the thumb of flu, and on Friday I had to get myself to the plane to travel home, and waking up at five in the morning, I felt like death warmed up. Even with the heating off, the window open with the temperature being four below, I still woke up in a ball of sweat.

At half five I get my sorry ass out of bed, have a shower and pack my stuff, ready to leave when breakfast started at six. I pay the bill and then go for coffee. Mostly coffee. Oddly enough even with what must have been less than three hour's sleep, I didn't feel that bad.

It was already getting light outside, which meant I would be distracted by the sky and colours as I drove. But in the end it was the classic radio station that distracted me more, as they kept playing clips of Tarzan Boy by Baltimora and Our House by Madness. Turns out it was a battle, and listeners voted for their favourite. Somehow, Tarzan Boy won, which came something of a surprise. Now, whenever I say I'm going to Aarhus, people say to me, Aarhus, the middle of our street? And I laugh, it goes through my mind at least once when I'm over here. Wonder if Danes have that too?

Traffic is light, but with lorries in the distance, there was no point in rushing, so I settle down at 90, or just under and enjoy the drive. What I can say is that radio commercials in Danish is no less convincing than in English. I won't be shopping at the Circle K.

I arrive at the airport, drive the car to the drop off lot, and when I get out of the car, another driver smiles at me and seems to be waiting for me. Ian isn't it? he said. You may not remember me, he added, we went to a Chinese restaurant in Oostende last year with Soren. I remember going, I can have a stab at guessing what I had to eat, but this guy, no idea.

And he was a bloody cheerful morning person. And there's me. The opposite. With flu. And he walks with me to the terminal, and is behind me in the queue for security, and is chatting away about people I don't know. He is going to the lounge, would I like hom to sign me in? I wanted to be alone in my misery, so I decline saying I have just an hour to wait before my flight, and he leaves.

I get a table and look at my mails for the first time in 20 hours, and it seems that all of my contacts are bloody angry. At each other. I really don't care, but I try to put out a few fires, make a call, but as Katherina hears, I can barely speak between bouts of coughing and sneezing. I will be going straight to bed when I get home I tell her. She herself is recovering from a bout.

It is time to board the flight, so I walk down to the far end of the terminal, but what is unusual was that I was the only one walking down there. Turns out there were just six other passengers, and they were already waiting.

Outside the sun had risen, and it shone brightly through the slight mist drifting across the airfield. We could sit wherever we wanted, so I took a seat at the back on the other side of the plane, in case we landed from the west as I have been planning a shot of The Shard for three years.

The pressurised plane played havoc with my ears and sinuses. I decline breakfast and just concentrate of breathing. Outside the plane, the clear skies of Denmark gives way to fluffy clouds. My English teacher would hate me using that term for clouds, but they did look fluffy. So. Beneath them, the sea was flat calms, with boats and ships forging a path through it.

The plane dropped, and as we neared the Essex coast, I already knew we were going to skirt south London before turning along the river.

We do turn near to The Shard, not quite what I had seen once before when I did not have a camera on me, but I get a couple shots of the building, as ugly as it is, still is impressive.

Down we go, over Tower Bridge, and The Dome and down. Five of the seven other passengers still queue to get off.

We had landed 15 minutes ahead of schedule, so I am fairly confident I will catch the early train back to Dover meaning I could be home by 11.

Heck, we had even parked at gate 5, a two minute walk to immigration, my case was first on the belt, and after walking to the DLR station, within two minutes a train for Stratford pulled in. I had 15 minutes to spare, in the end, time for a coffee if I wanted. But I go down onto the platform to wait, call for a taxi to meet me at Dover.

I climb on the train, slump into a seat, and close my eyes. I am only briefly away of the train pulling out, dozing my way home.

I have to wait 5 minutes for the cab, and it is bitingly cold out in the wind. I shelter next to a ticket machine until I see the car pull in. At least in using the same firm for a few years now, all their drivers know where I live, so all I have to say to them is "take me home". He is another cheerful bastard, but I don't mind as he's taking me home, Be as happy as you want, I will be in bed in ten minutes I thought.

The cats are non-plussed about my return, but do enquire about lunch. I make a brew, have a sandwich and go to bed. I don't sleep, as when I lay down I begin to cough, sounding more like a dog barking, so I toss and turn until I find a position where I can just lay there and close my eyes.

Jools comes home at just gone three, makes me a brew and has brought sticky buns home. I am tempted out of bed.

And that was the day, really. We sit and talk, have the radio on, and I am even well enough to make chorizo hash for dinner, mainly for the wine I hope would knock me out enabling me to sleep the night through.

Lets hope tomorrow will bring me some good health!

Genius or idiot

In the past 20 months of the Brexit process, people have tried to pin the mechovalian pin on the PM, in the hope that there was some grand scheme behind the fog of incompetence. But all you have to do is look at her record as Home Secretary to see she was no good at that either. So, in order to decide what today's events mean, some might say that this is to delay, until the final minute, a decision as to what UK wants from brexit, and if that is single market membership, then it would be too late for the Brexiteers to do anything about it, as the fallback position is regulatory alignment with the EU.

It could be just as true the opposite, an endless delay in deciding to give the UK the excuse to walk out. But they would have to honour the phase 1 agreement. if not, would become untrustworthy on the international trade scene.

May has decided to delay all votes in her Brexit Cabinet until after Easter, in April, meaning that there would be just 5 months left to agree the framework of a trade deal, before the ratification process.

Tlak all day was of an agreement with managed divergence, but then that would be against EU laws, and WTO rules, as any fule no.

So the next few weeks we might know, but then if the phase 1 agreement is not implemented, then there can be no talks on any possible transition.

Oh dearie me.

Thursday 22nd February 2018

The last four posts were written with me coming down and suffering with flu. Yesterday was the worse day, but I still wrote in the evening, as I always do. So my point being, maybe they are short and to the point, but with reason.

I woke in the hotel at five, I bean to cough and was aching. So, the doubt in my mind as to whether it was flu of an allergy attack were clarified; flu it was.

I got up had a shower and after dressing went down for breakfast. Two hours had passed somehow

And then there was the short drive to the office, but all had changed; the old offices are gone, a new factory built, and everywhere huge turbine components lay everywhere. But these were much, much bigger than I was used to.

And with the factory and much more work being done, parking is at a premium, so I had to leave the car on the side of the road and walk to the main gate and then to the reception. Thing is this was as much a social visit, as meeting up with colleagues from previous projects, and me not having been here for 15 months. I am greeted with hugs and shrieks (yes) when they see me.

In the end the only real change is the turbines just get bigger. Asdo the problems.

I go to see the quality team, and nothing changed there either.

After a safety brief, I go on a tour of the site; 85m long blades, nacelles the size of two houses, and towers ready to be loaded. All on a grand scale.

But all the time the fl had me in its grip; I ached and sneezed and coughed. I felt shit.

I sit and cough my way until the second part of the day arrives, the tour round the new factory. Although not quite inspected, we are welcomed and shown round. Everything is huge. I am impressed. And at quarter to two, the day is done, and all I am fit for is heading back to the hotel waiting to take my aching bones to bed. Which is what I do, no radio on, the curtain drawn. And I sleep the afternoon through, waking up when it was dark. My head feels the size of a small planet. I realise now it was from a lack of fluids, but I could have gone back to bed. Instead I had made arrangements weeks ago to meet up with friends in the Dronning Louise for a beer.

Jesper calls me to say he is leaving the yard and will pick me up if I wanted. That sounded great.

So he whisked me the other side of the town, finding a free parking space, so we could walk to Dronning Louise, taking an empty table by the door, ordering drinks and burgers. I had a coke, and I have to say, more than the food, made me feel human again, the headache went at least.

Another colleague, Henrik Muller came in and sat with us. He is recovering from cancer, but we don't ask, just good to see him putting on weight and smiling again.

Jepser takes me back to the hotel, dropping me off at the door, but my plan for nine hour sleep is dashed when as soon as I lay down, I begin to cough, barking like a dog. The hours pass, midnight comes and goes, but sometime after one I do drop off, getting close to three hours sleep. I need rest, peeps.

Wednesday 21st February 2018

Another day, another training day. Part 2 of the legal training that is more interesting than it sounded, but then I found I was coming down with the flu, slept poorly and so struggled to stay awake Through the day.

And with a drive to Esbjerg in the evening, it was going to be a long day. I would also have to pack, check out, which is fine if you plan ahead, get down to the reception at half six when the breakfast bar opens, sort the bill out and go for breakfast, meaning I would leave for the office with plenty of time, and avoiding the manic cyclists.

As before, time to catch up on mails before the training starts, and never has three hours dragged like that. I did fall asleep a couple of times, waking myself up with a gentle snore.

To top matters off, there was a four meeting in the afternoon, via Skype, and even though it ended at four, an hour early, no point in trying to leave to drive south as the traffic was stacked right up.

I leave at quarter past five and to my surprise the motorway was pretty empty, it was snowing gently, so I took my time, but it was OK, watching the snow fall from an increasingly leaden sky.

On the road to Esbjerg, darkness fell, but I could put my foot down and put all those horses in the car to use, returning to familiar ground beside the sea. I got the last parking space outside the hotel, checked in, then walked along the main street to the square for dinner at Dronning Louise, I have a huge plate of nachos with tow half pints of something called Kinky Cowboy IPA.

By now the flu had taken hold, so I walked back down to the hotel, tried to watch the football on TV, and follow Norwich via Twitter. The BBC said the game at Wolves had ended up as a 2-1 defeat. I was only to find out in the morning that City got another equaliser with the last kick of the game, holding the league leaders, and showing more signs of forward progress.

Delaying the Brexit inevitable.

Today, as The Cabinet try to thrash out their differences at Chequers regarding what it is Britain wants from Brexit. A leaked memo yesterday was shown to be a bit premature, as several Brexiteers say that had not been agreed. Showing once again that if there is no agreement in Cabinet is not possible, then what chance is there to be an agreement of any kind with the EU, if half the Cabinet wouldn’t support any deal one way, the the other half the other way.

Madness, but par for the course.

It looks increasingly likely that other Global companies will relocate to Europe, the latest being Unilever who is deciding between London and Amsterdam for their new HQ.

And the House of Lords indicated today that it cannot support leaving Euratom, which is a surprise as it was in the A50 letter and that got passed. And apparently no one noticed that this could threated cancer treatment in a post-Brexit UK.

It is March next week and the phase 1 agreement has to be made into law, and each day Brexiteers realise what it means in terms of the Irish Border and if there is no agreement then the fallback position is, in effect, UK will abide by SM and CU rules, but having no input into any new rules. And this was seen as a triumph at the time, but some of us saw this fudge coming back to bite May on the bum.

I’m sure it’s all work out fine.

Tuesday 20th February 2018

And here I am at the Radisson Blu again, awake before the alarm, listening to the builders outside, prearing to start some building. There is a huge crane just outside my window, which I watched when I arrived yesterday, but it is silent and in darkness now, even the aviation lights are off. Is that right?

I go down for breakfast, meeting up with colleagues as usual, swapping news as they look at their mobile phones for messages. I have fruit and for a change, pancakes, syrup and bacon. Not maple though, but good enough.

I am out of the hotel at just gone seven, driving out of the carpark and onto the main road with no mad cyclists around, so I hit none.

Which was nice.

Down the hill past the art museum, over the canal and up the other side through what I guess is the university and onto the the main road to the office. All without drama and not hitting anyone. And it wasn’t snowing.

Yet.

I have an hour to get work done before another round of training begins. I wish I could explain why I have at least six lots of training before the end of March, but I can’t. Quite when we’re expected to actually do our real work is another matter. Training is all about the legal ramifications of the contracts we work with, and is due to last until midday Wednesday.

But before the course, I met up with Mariska from the Luchterduinen Project. She is now working for the same customer, and was in Aarhus to conduct an audit. She had messaged me hoping that I would be there. I know she loves our hot lemon drinks that we have in Britain; nowhere else in Europe has them, so as it had been a few years, I picked up three packs in the airport and waited outside their meeting room to say hello and give there the packs. Mariska was overjoyed to see me, hugged me like a long lost friend, which I suppose I am. She is looking well, and enjoying working again. Sadly, not enough time to really catch up, but better than nothing.

I won’t bore you, but I also won’t lie. I struggled to stay awake, even after eight hours or more of sleep. There seemed to be no end to it.

But it did end, so back down to the office to try to catch up on the mails before giving up at five and driving back to the hotel. Again no drama, even if it was getting dark and plenty of mad cyclists about, but I don’t hit any, and at the junction before the hotel, there is a green filter arrow so I can turn right before the cyclists are set free.

I go to the gym again, but a sore back cuts the session back after 20 minutes. And again, I won’t lie, it wasn’t much fun either.

After a shower, I get dressed and go to the café in the hotel again; its easy and it means not going outside. I have tagliatelle with shrimp, but the sauce is just tomatoes. And is none too good, but I eat the rest and follow up with some stinky Danish cheeses.

At the bar, Manu is there, and he pressures me to have a beer with him and a colleague, which I go. He had been drinking halves, but upped it to pints, in my honour I guess.

But after one, everyone has had enough, and we bid each other goodnight and we take ourselves in a convoy of three lifts to our floors.

Choices. Choices.

Today, a position paper was leaked which the Government is going to release tomorrow, saying that Britain is aiming for a transition period lasting as long as it takes. Those of you still with me will maybe not be surprised, as this is the reality of the situation. The 62 Brexiteers will be none too pleased, but then if they vote any deal down that does not give them what they think they want, it will broing May and her Government down, and an election, with the possibility of a Corbyn PM.

The fearless free press have been slinging mud at the Labour leader dragging up a long discredited story about him being a Czech spy in the cold war. There is no evidence for this, the Czech and East German archives offer no proof, and the single source of the story, among other things, claimed to have organised Live Aid. So can’t really be trusted.

That the Sun broke the story, then joined in by the usual suspects, Mail, Express and Torygraph, shows how rattled they are at a Labour Government reversing Brexit. I say that with the usual proviso, that although they do not have a position, they could switch to one if there is an election.

This comes as the latest sector to publish Brexit warnings was aviation, with the reality that with Brexit all arrangements allowing UK based airlines to operate in Europe, other than originating from a UK airport, and the same with the US too. Without a proven inspection regime, the US might just refuse to allow any UK flights to cross into their airspace.

Tomorrow is the big day, the big policy announcement from May, and expect chaos. I mean even more chaos than usual. We are getting near the endgame now, common sense would be to pause of halt Brexit, but the headbangers and press are screaming “the will of the people”.

Monday 19th February 2018

For some reason I slept very poorly Sunday night, being awake an hour before the alarm went off at half four, and what sleep I had grabbed up to that point was fractured. I felt like shit.

But, not shit enough not to call the trip off, worse case I could miss going to the office and go straight to the hotel once in DK. But for now, I just have to get up, have coffee, get dressed and be ready to leave.

In an hour.

This I manage, Jools taking me down to Martin Mill in the steady drizzle that had replaced the clear skies of the last three days. At the station, once I had bought a ticket, I wait in the dry until the train was due, seeing it approach from around the bend as its headlights reflected of the wet tracks. I have to sit on the other side of the train, which upset my OCD as I like to sit on the same side, but hey. I might see something new.

At least I have a seat, those getting on at Ashford and Stratford have to fight for the few remaining empty ones. But as it is now getting light, I can look at the passing countryside emerging from the gloom outside the train

I have breakfast as usual, and while I eat, I get a message that the flight is delayed. From the car hire people. This is confirmed by a colleague who has had an update from BA that we might be flying at half eleven. We are to go to the airport as normal.

What we don’t know is if the delays affect everyone and whether the airport will be in chaos when I get there, or will be as normal.

So I sit on the DLR looking out the window, looking at people and their shoes. As you do.

And at the airport, I get my boarding pass and find it quieter than normal, at least for BA passengers, no queue, so I leave my case and go through security and find a place to sit to wait for Tracie to arrive, when she does I join her in the restaurant for a coffee while she feats on poached eggs on toast.

Later, Big Jesper joins us too, sitting at the gate as we wait for the plane to arrive. We see it touch down through the drizzle and taxi over to the gate. Only about an hour late.

Once on board I force myself to stay awake, reading a magazine and taking breakfast which was now lunch but still rolls and cheese.

It is cold in Denmark, you won’t be surprised to hear. And when I tell the guys in the car hire office how warm it was at home over the weekend, they really don’t believe me. But delight in telling me of a cold front heading to Denmark over the weekend with temperatures down to minus 10.

Jesper, Tracie and I are given a 520 each, as we are going to travel home on different days. So we drive out of the car park in convoy, all in identical Beamers. As you do, And as it would be half three by the time we got to Aarhus, we all decide to give the office a miss and go straight to the hotel.

The drive is as it always is, except now with roadworks as the four lane road is going to be made into a six laner, with roadworks for the next two years or so. I drive at, or just above the speed limit and have a great time, my inner child is very happy.

At the hotel, I decide to stretch my legs, so go down to the fitness centre to do a half hour or so, listening to Brendan Benson and singing along as I work out.

And after showering, I could have gone for a wander find a little place to eat, but its too easy to eat in the hotel, have a beer and burger and fries as I finish WSC. But by this point, I am so tired. I call Jools, yawning all the time, and with there being no footy on TV, go to bed before nine.

On Ireland and Brexit

After four days of Brexiteers attacking the GFA, it having outlived its usefulness and so on, today, DD announced that the British Government was fully behind it and it was its policy to keep it in place.

Its funny, that when it became clear that the Irish Border, as it always would, define Brexit, it was Ireland and the GFA that would be wrong, not the perfect Brexit project.

Today, 60 MPs signed a letter from the ERG calling for many things, including full regulatory autonomy. Which is fine if you don’t want or need to trade with the EU. This would mean a hard border and just in time supply chains being unworkable. And as the EU said, nothing is more pressing that a dead fish in the back of a lorry, where every hour is vital. Frictionless trade comes at a price, and that price is being in the SM, CU and subject to the UCJ.

The timing of the letter is to put pressure on the cabinet as they stutter towards a final position on Brexit, let us not forget nearly ten and a half months into the A50 process.

If these 60 MPs were to vote against any deal the Government were to make with the EU, then ratification in Parliament is impossible, despite what the DUP were to do. In the end, having cake and eating it are impossible as promising every UK citizen their own unicorns.

Boris was still promising regulatory divergence today, and claiming that frictionless trade is possible. Quite how that would work within WTO rules, maybe on Boris knows. Boris Johnson, the tinpot Churchill.

Sunday 18th February 2018

Another glorious early spring day in the Garden of England. We thought it couldn’t be better than Saturday, but I think it was. Although, we had no churchcrawling planned. I could have, but there were chores to do.

We laid in until nearly eight, random cats came wandering round the bedroom, one suspects to check if we were alive.

But we did get up, have an emergency coffee, and go out to survey the work needed. The guys made a great job of the path, but their remit did not stretch to clearing up; so there was two piles of turf and a huge pile of top soil to be cleared from the grass.

It was frosty and chilly, but the sun was already up, noticeably now rising further east with each dawn as the year progresses.

We do the easy bit first, pick up the turf, lay it in the barrow and take it to the compost heap.

Come nine, we were hungry, so I go to grill bacon and make brews, the heat from the grill, coupled with the sunshine made it warm, nay hot, in the kitchen, making me turn the heating off lest I melt.

And once eaten, we go back out to clear the pile of topsoil, shovel it into tubs and transport those to the midden too. In an hour or so, it is done and so is my back. But there is still dead foliage to clear away from the beds, and it is done. Anyway, it is quite chilly once we stop and have a brew sitting on the patio.

At twelve, however, I stop work as there was a football match to listen to. Not a football match, but the football match; Norwich v Ipswich. The lustre has come off the fixture as both teams are in a bit of a slump, but saying that, if either teams put a run together, the play offs are a handful of points away.

Town dominate the first half, but don’t really trouble the Norwich goal. Second half roles are reversed, as City were on top, have two shots turned over, but looked like it was heading to a draw. But with a minute of normal time remaining, Town score.

Bugger.

All I can hear on the radio as the game slipped into injury time were the chants of their fans enjoying themselves. They had not beaten us since 2009, and nine games.

One last charge by City, and a cross is swing in, and Timm Klose heads it past their keeper. It was the 95th minute. Jools heard my shout of joy in the garden, with the back door closed.

A few seconds later and the game was over, honours shared and City unbeaten, Yay!

And then there was football on the telly; FA Cup, Rochdale v Spurs, and the game was excellent; Dal took the lead, then as they tired, Spurs scored twice and that was that. Until the last minute and a good cross was volleyed in to make it 2-2.

The crowd went wild.

The day was over by now, dark outside, so I make some potato bread to go with the insalata, which we wash down with a bottle of home made wine.

Time to catch another episode of Altered Carbon, and that was that. Weekend over.

Again.

Red, no pink, no rose lines.

The PM gave a speech on Saturday to the EU, reaching out and making conciliatory noises about the benefits of close cooperation between countries, and added that if it suited Britain’s interests, then it would stay in EU organisations, and also have no trouble in abiding by UCJ rules and judgements. Quite a change from only last week when this was still a red line.

Many people have been trying to tackle this change in tone, as it it was earth-shattering. Only problem is that May and other Brexiteers say things, make policy statements without thinking through the consequences of what they said. And until what is said by May and the British Government is pinned down into a legal framework, then what was said yesterday could be the opposite tomorrow.

What we should read into this was that, as ever, although said to an audience of people from the EU, the target audience was the Brexiteers in her cabinet and party, and see what the reaction was to the change in tone. So, as ever, party politics trumps what is good for the country and its people, perish the thought.

Elsewhere, Brexiteers have been waging war on the Good Friday Agreement, the document that brought peace to Ireland for 20 years, saying it had had its day and wasn’t fit for purpose. Which came as a surprise to most people living in Ireland. Peace and prosperity in Ireland must be sacrificed to preserve the illusion of Brexit. Regular readers will know that how the thorny issue of the Irish border is, or isn’t, sorted, will define whether Brexit is hard or soft or is a no deal or whether Northern Ireland and the rest of the UK have strict regulatory alignment with the EU. Or not.

Not only dies the GFA guarantee peace in Northern Ireland it does the same for Ireland too.

The Irish border will make or break Brexit, and failure to put into law or break the promises made in the first phase of the agreement with the EU in December, will make Britain a pariah in Global trade where our word cannot be trusted. And as it ever was, non-EU countries are waiting to see what kind of relationship the UK has with the EU before deciding what kind they want with the UK.

Finally, the US said a trade deal would have to be dependant on Britain accepting food and goods that are currently banned by the EU and in Britain by our membership. There might be good reason why some food and goods are not allowed in from the US, and that this will be the cost of a trade deal with the US should surprise no one, least of all, those who read my witterings.

Saturday 17th February 2018

Welcome to the weekend.

As Jools had done shopping, we had croissants and bacon in the house, no need to go shopping, so we could lay in bed snoozing. Or would have if our brains would let us. Mine was full of the possibilities of a day of churchcrawling. Heck, I had even made a list of targets, charged the camera batteries, formatted memory cards. I was all set.

We have croissants and a second coffee, this is because after my first coffee, I went up to the spare room to do another session on the cross trainer. We are both still at it, doing a session when we can. I have to say, the ip pods decision to play U2 for the workout brought repeated use of the skip button.

After breakfast, a shower, and we could go out. First up was a diversion to Preston to see the guys, to drop off some shoarma spice I bought for Mark, and while we were there, may as well have some lamb to shoarmaise that night for dinner.

It was a glorious day, the early morning frost gave way to clear blue skies and endless sunshine, which warmed the day until it got to double digits, and heck, could be almost described as warm.

From Preston we went north to the Thanet Way, and then along to Faversham before heading out into the boondocks to Doddington.

Doddington might be just a handful of miles from Faversham, but it seems remote; criss-crossed with narrow lanes, through fields and woods, up and down hills and downs. And all of it, in the warm golden glow of warm sunshine. Jools had been unsure about a day of churchcrawling, but I mean, who could not love being out and about in the Garden of England on a fine early spring morning?

Doddington sits in a lush valley, with the church up on the down among trees to the north. It is a 13th century building, largely untouched and "improved" by the Victorians. It has a freshly painted clapboard bellcots, and the nave and chancel are pretty much as was hundreds of years ago, but the walls lined with memorials to the local landed gentry.

It is a fine church, lots of interesting things to see or discover. It has the oldest image of St Francis in England, possibly painted by someone who was alive at the same time as the saint.

Even better is in the chuchyard, it has been turned "nature friendly", or at least she is encouraged. So, the grass was covered by a carpet of snowdrops, all looking wonderful in the bright sunshine, and mixed in were some Winter Aconites and a few Primroses already in flower too.

I also see a butterfly. I miss it at first, just a shadow flitting across my vision, but then it clicked: a BUTTERFLY! so I set off in chase, and it lands to feed on some snowdrops. It is flighty, but also hungry. I am hungry for shot, so I shoot at will. It is a female Red Admiral, looking in good nick.

On Friday I had followed the road out of the village out of the village, and found a series of churches, all apparently parish churches, and still in use. But, as we use the sat nav to find each church, I get the camera gear out, take the exterior shots, then go to the porch, try the door and all were locked. Damn and double damn.

One after the other we drive to, down narrow lanes that weaved through parkland of various once great country houses, to a small village scattered around a green, and a small lint church in the corner, only to find it locked. What made up for it at several of them was the snowdrops, aconites and other spring flowers, all looking amazing in the sunshine.

We had had enough, so began to look for a place for lunch. Village after lunch revealed pubs with overflowing car parks, with no spaces. We come to one in the end, in a small village in the fold of land in the down, the main road lead to a flint castle on the hill above, and down to Maidstone in the valley below. We took the last parking space and went inside, ordered ham sandwiches, which came with free cheese, chips and a side salad. We sat on milk churns at a table and make lunch and our drinks disappear.

And that was it, time to drive home, try to avoid the jams, listen to Huey on the radio, and generally enjoy the sunshine.

Norwich did not play until Sunday, more on that in the next post, bso once home I make coffee then sort through the shots, listen half-heartedly to the games on, FA Cup 5 round games, but it means far less now than it used to.

I make shoarma and chips for dinner, and we make that disappear too.

Jools had volunteered to sit with Betty whilst John and Jen went out to see a show, meaning I was home alone. She left at half seven, leaving me alone with Only Connect, the football highlights and a Bee Gees documentary, which was far more entertaining than it had the right to be. I also had all three cats, meaning I had to feed them when they demanded it, but they are all so marvelous, and Molly now looking like a healthy adult cat again, its hard to imagine that was has ever been anything different, let alone so recently.

Saturday Brexit

The PM spent Saturday in Germany, mansplaining to Europe how important a security deal would be for the EU to reach with the UK. Would all be very good, not playing politics with people's lives and all that, had May herslef not threatened to withdraw such cooperation in security in the early days of Brexit back in 2016.

So, security cooperation, another unintended or intended victim or consequence of Brexit.

I spent nearly an hour waiting at the Eastern Docks in Dover yesterday, watching traffic and truck in particular arriving. I am guessing there was about one every 5 seconds arriving. All with paperwork in order, just going to the right lane, checking in and then driving round to wait to board the ferry. Imagine if anything were to slow down, or complicate this process. If it takes 30 seconds to check each truck's paperwork, then probably will be OK. 2 minutes, then there will be problems. Ten minutes? 30 minutes? If the trucks at the front of the queue of Operation Stack are not processed quicker than those joining the back, the the queue will get longer and longer.

Trade bodies expect 20 mile queue to the normal without a deal, or in the event of Britain not being in the SM or CU. With the prospect of the queue getting ever longer.

Oh, deep joy. And if at the end of this, Britain were to be better off, stronger more together, then, fine. But the opposite will happen; poorer, weaker, less influential, bitter, shrunken.

Britain, through the Cabinet and PM, does not know what it wants from brexit, and time is running out. The clock has been running ten and a half months, and we are no further forward. The EU said the transition deal is not a given, in which case a no deal Brexit could be thirteen and a half months away; there is no infrastructure in place, no staff, no computer systems, no parking areas for truck. Nothing that a country about to crash out of the worlds largest free trade area, in the name of free trade, laughingly, would need to be able to trade, arrangel commercial flights, fight international crime or terrorism, obtain nuclear isotopes for medial research or cancer treatment. These and hundreds of other things all need to be in place, or fall back agreements in under 98000 hours.

That is the Brexit reality.

And the DUP caused the talks about restoring shared Governance in Northern Ireland to collapse this week. That's the DUP who are in a support deal for the PM and the Conservative Government, the only party to vote against the Good Friday Agreement, and now Tories openly saying that the GFA is dead int he water. What dangerous times we are living in, and the fact the Brexiteers failed to take into account the politics and needs of a part of the Union. And still don't see that the devolved Government or lack of it, is linked to Brexit and the border.

Ireland, the island, will make or break Brexit. And will break the careers of many Brexiteers. It needs to be settled before the next phase of talks can be concluded, and any time left talk about talks about trade.

Friday 16th February 2018

Path Day.

Oh man, despite not travelling back from Denmark, I guess the six hour drive and work the day before meant that I was running on empty again. Maybe not as bad as previous weeks, but still pooped.

Jools had the day off as Mulder needed to be taken to the vet, and I had an appointment with the doctor too, which did not need Jools having the morning off, but it did mean that getting the car back to the port could be done at about half seven, and the paperwork was done, and all was good, I just had to wait for Jools to finish in Tesco before coming to pick me up. But for some reason she was delayed, I still don't understand why, but I waited nearly 50 minutes at the port, in the warm sunshine, though it was still frosty, but it was Friday and the weekend was due to begin in about six hours or so.

Jools arrived just after half eight, we drive home for breakfast before I have my appointment.

And so by the time we get back, it is nearly lunch time, so we have lunch, left over KFC in rolls. As you do, and a brew, and then I can start work for the day. And as ever, there is a whole shitload of stuff to deal with. Mails, calls and the rest. And I have a very important document to get out. So all hands to the deck.

And all the while, three blokes were in the back garden, working hard, as they had for the two previous days, paying the path. The path we wanted laying, between the two new beds and winding its way from the patio to the shelter thing at the bottom of the garden.

They had dug out the path, laid the edging stones over the last two days, and now it was time to lay the ones on the middle. This required lots of bricks, all carried from the car port and stacked beside the shallow trench. A layer of sand was put down, then concrete, and finally the bricks. They also replaced the untidy borders of the other beds with laid bricks, and by two it was done. And looked spanking.

As the guys were banging and cutting stony things in the garden, the cats all did a vanishing act, so Mulder did not make his appointment again.

I offered them a beer, only one took up the offer as the others only liked "lager". Their loss.

It is a glorious afternoon, and we surveyed their good work and our planning, and for all the world it looked and felt like late spring. And I had done my work, so could wrap up. OK, travel expenses not done. At all. But we can't have everything. Why not wait until next week when they'll be another week's to do?

So the weekend can begin, and we really are as pleased as punch with the garden how it looks, and as the guys dug the path by hand, there was no deep ruts in the wild flower meadow. These things are important you know.

We have coffee. Chocolate. And listen to the radio.

And finally, we started to watch Altered Carbon on Netflix. Amazing where the evening went after that.....

Thursday 15th February 2018

I am awake before six again, listening to the traffic rumbling by on the main road outside my window. Probably if I listened hard enough I could it on the nearby M6 too. But the rain of yesterday had gone, and instead there was blue sky, or was once dawn and sunrise came. And so sunshine.

I am to travel home later, so have to pack again. I say pack, I only got my toothbrush out, really, so packed and ready to go. I check out downstairs, then go for breakfast; cereal and sausage butties (no sauce) and lots of coffee. Many high falutin' people are in, talking business strategy and the like. I listen but soon get bored. I only have to walk over the road, then along a short woodland path to the office. But as they have just just moved buildings, it means I won't be able to get in.

I do try the old keyfob to get in, but no dice. Someone working for Rolls Royce (!) lets me in when he enters, so I could go to the first floor and knock on the door so someone could let me in. SOmeone takes pity on me, points to an empty desk so I can log on and start work. Funny how, when motivated by the thought if I get the meetings over with, deal with the issues and such, I could be on the road by half one, if not before.

Only spot was the fact they had a vending machine, and I had change. So I treat myself to a pack of Cadburys Snacks and then some ridged crisps. I was out of cash, which was just as well and I could easily have more chocolate. A tea's too wet without some.

So, I am inspired; sorting through and filing mails like a thing possessed, and as soon as the final meeting ended I was packing up and planning my route south.

Back to the hotel, drive out onto the bypass, to the M6 and south into the early afternoon sunshine, driving south as quick as the traffic and speed limit would let me. I have the radio on, it is sunny and dry. Even the M6, notorious for being jammed up at regular intervals is fine.

I reach the M6 Toll, take that, worth six quid of my money to avoid going through Brum, where there was much delays according the matrix signs. I stop to fill up, also get a pasty and a coffee, and as soon back on the near deserted motorway heading south. Somewhere the sat nav decided to to take me down the M42, and instead had designs on taking me through Northampton. I was left to take the route I knew best, down the A14 from the bottom of the M6 to Cambridge hen down past Stanstead to London.

Seemed a long way to go, but there was no hold ups, I made it through Cambridge, onto the motorway as the day faded. There were some slow traffic on the M25, and on the ramp to the bridge, i watched as the sun sank in the west, casting long shadows and the sky turning darker and darker blue.

Only real incident was avoiding a rear end shunt just by Medway services, I edge round as the two drivers are both out looking at the damage.

It is now dark, and I am in the final 30 miles, just wanting to get home.

Even in the dark I could see the curves of our new path, just edging for now, but it looked stunning. I am early, and it is decided we would really like KFC for dinner, so I drive to Whitfield, get a dipping selction meal, more than enough for two meals. We eat well, and have enough chicken left over for lunch tomorrow. Te cats are unhappy with the work in the garden, but seem happy to see me, even Miss Molly who is like a kitten again, rolling over and over.

We listen to some radio, then I watch the football from Sunday, laughing at Man Utd who manage to lose to the Toon. Half a billion spent and still little improvement. Good work, Jose.

Friday Brexit

A takedown of the UK Government's Brexit plans and stategy, as it is, by Nina Schick via Twitter ('NinaDSchick)

1. In case it wasn’t already clear - Germany’s position on Brexit will not change. The U.K. has a history of over-relying in Germany in EU negotiations. (Cameron made this mistake too.)

2. This displays a misunderstanding of the vital political, strategic and economic importance of the EU to Germany.

3. Any suggestion that May can go over the heads of #Brexit negotiators to convince Merkel to ‘do a deal’ is simply incorrect. A) She can’t do that - and b) it wouldn’t be in her interests to do so.

4. Also on ‘the deal’ - Merkel and the rest of the EU is waiting for clarity from London as to what Britain wants on future trade. (And not the cake and unicorn model). The U.K. hasn’t decided, because the Cabinet can’t agree.

5. This brings us into serious trouble re:timing. The transition is meant to be agreed in March #EUCO - but even that might come down to the wire as it won’t be bespoke. That gives us only a few months to talk future trade.

6. But I’ll repeat - there will be no FTA agreed by leaving Day in March 2019. At best it will be a thin political statement framing the future direction of travel. So U.K. remains a rule taker - but loses its voice on how to make those rules through the transition.

7. As such, biggest risk to Brexit talks in my view is domestic political uncertainty. Can Brexiteers accept that the transition won’t be bespoke and that there will be many more years of negotiation after leaving to secure the future relationship? Will they pull WTO trigger?

8. Back to Germany: they are almost bemused by British approach to negotiations. When Merkel asks ‘what do you want?’ and May replies, ‘what will you give us?’ - this does not a good negotiation make. It’s not a game of ‘you give a little and we will give you something back.’

9. As far as Germany is concerned - there are a set of rules - the U.K. will have to decide which ones it will and won’t apply, which will determine the level of access to the market and the future relationship. But no cherry picking.

10. So please, let’s accept that there will be no 11th hour deliverance from Merkel or the German car manufacturers. Not because of ‘punishment’ - but because it’s not strategically in their interest to offer the unicorn and cake model.

11. What’s more - the UK can’t afford to lose anymore time. Aside from the economic & trading relationship - it needs to move quickly to discussing future security cooperation with the EU. As also pointed out by my boss @AndersFoghR at @rasmussenglobal & at #MSC2018.

12. There is a lot that U.K. needs to decide and move on, so interventions about liberal Brexit and open Brexit at this stage are utterly useless & white noise. Quite astounding that Cabinet ministers are making such low substance interventions - domestic optics aside.

13. And finally, the biggest exporter in the world after China is Germany. It sells its cars to China whilst being in the EU. So the Brexit suggestion that Britain needs to leave the world’s largest trading bloc to ‘go global’ makes zero sense to Germans.

Double down lies

Today, the first of the Cabinet speeches took place, Boris de Piffel Johnson trying to sound a conciliatory note, but failing to bring the two sides of Brexit together, mainly because he repeated lies and untruths, gave no details of the fundamental issues that confront he and the other Brexiteers. Blind faith will no longer do and real details and solutions are needed.

The PM appealed to Ireland for creative solutions to the border issue to avoid a hard border to strict alignment.

And a select committee issued a damning report on preparations for immigration controls post Brexit saying that the Border Force has been given no plans, no money, and especially at quiet east coast ports, there is not sufficient immigration coverage.

Reading between the lines of Boris’ speech which had been approved by Number 10, it seems that May is pushing for a Canada style FTA, meaning that it is hard to see how Parliament could support that, and maybe good to bring the issue of Parliamentary support for the deal as early as possible to enable a solution to be found. Johnson also ruled out a second referendum, and reversing Brexit. He tried to make the case for a Liberal Brexit, one that removes citizen’s rights, about as il-liberal as it is possible to get. It is also clear that there is still no agreement in Cabinet over Brexit, as the Chancellor and Amber Rudd are not being allowed to speak, and as they are in favour of SM and CU membership.

Anna Soubry, a Conservative MP, who is a remainer, has had several death threats, pointed out that two years ago, her views were Conservative Party policy, now the party has jumped to the right and she is being branded a traitor. Yes, these are grim times for those who love their country and want what’s best for it. In the face of amazing stupidity.

Wednesday 14th February 2018

What a day. Long periods of dullness followed by brief periods of scariness.

The dullness came from the course, and the excitement came from driving from Leeds to Manchester on the M62 in driving rain and sleet. In the dark. In heavy traffic. Could have been worse, but, you know.

I woke up this morning at half five, apparently rested. So I lay in bed listening to the traffic on the main road outside, and the wind blowing in the trees.

I made the mistake of going down to breakfast too early on Tuesday, so wait to quarter to seven before going down, pay the bill, but am surprised by a bill of £32 for a red wine and a pint of beer. Steep if it were in London. I question it, and there will be an investigation I was told.

I have cereal and a sausage sandwich for breakfast, a two cups of bitter coffee. But I feel human again.

Back upstairs to pack, throw my work stuff in the case, as I only need to carry my coursework. One final check of the room and I take the lift down and load up the car. This feels better, but I am not going home, at least not today.

The five of us on the course and the instructor gather between half eight and ten past nine, ready to begin with reviewing the homework done late last night after drinking the wine. But I do OK.

The day drags, but we can see the end of the course, working through to the morning break, then to lunch where we seem to be the only ones in to eat. One last lesson, some preparation and then we can do the final role play scenario, and we are done. If only Dave would stop talking. He talks for another 20 minutes where we try to look and sound interested as we also try to pack our stuff.

And at ten to four we can leave, meaning we would hit the roads at the start of rush hour. I program the sat nav and am away, out of the car park and onto the main road, turning onto the motorway, and into traffic. It had snowed on and off during the day, but now was just raining.

I get onto the M62, which goes from Hull to Liverpool, I am only going from Leeds to Manchester, but at each junction, traffic slows to walking pace, but we do keep moving. After Huddersfield the road climbs up onto the moors, rain falls heavy and there is snow on the tops of the hills, just visible as darkness falls.

It is just as bad in Manchester, we inch round the ring road as rain continues to fall. I turn onto the M6 south, according to the sat nav, I have 15 minutes to go, but that could still take an hour. Or two.

I arrive in Birchwood, turn off the motorway and along a good empty road through the business park, coming to the hotel. It was half six. And I was very happy to arrive.

The Pentahotel is a modern place; the reception and bar are the same place, it has low level lighting, music playing, and feels more like a pub than a hotel. But the rooms are typical of a business/travel hotel, the rooms comfortable and functional.

After dropping my case and bag, go down for dinner. I am weak, so order beer and burger and fries. It is simple, and OK. Comes quick meaning I am back in the room for quarter to eight, in time to hear the start of the Liverpool game at Porto.

Tuesday 13th February 2018

For all the driving in sunshine, visiting Huntingdon and Nottingham on Monday, there was a reason for the trip, and that is being here at a modern spa hotel on the edge of Leeds for some training.

Which is why I was up and about before dawn, despit in theory being able to lay in until eight. I am up and about, and down for breakfast at half six when I thought it began, but was told I was half an hour early, cooked food was not ready, but help yourself to cereal and toast. Which I did, anyway, would be enough as these places usually have food laying around for breaks in the course, which was true as it turned out.

I make some calls for work before the course started, but then there was no avoiding it, so I walk down two flights of stairs, grab a coffee and a smoothie and go into the room for the course, and find a former colleague, Steve, one of the other four delegates.

We were here for quality management system training, aka ISO 9001:201y conversion training, and yes, the name of it is the only exciting thing about it.

It is a dry subject, heavy on theory, and long on talking and acting out scenarios.

The best bit is the introductions, but after that it is down to the heavy stuff, and me trying to not clock watch, but it is there, and so I watched as the minute hand took about a year to go round to ten, at which point we had a break. A bank had taken all the other rooms as they were doing a mid-managers assessment day, and by the end some grown men would be in tears as their banking careers were brought to an early end.

Brutal.

But we have coffee, biscuits and go back for more quality until lunch.

Half an hour in which to catch up with work via our phones, have some lunch and go back again for more of the same.

By the end of the day our brains are mush, but are given homework. I go to my room, change and go to the gym downstairs and do a 40 minute session with a soundtrack by James and Big Audio Dynamite. My brain is clear, I have worked off some of the biscuit calories too.

I meet Shona, the only other delegate staying here, for dinner, and we chat over starters and the main course, each sipping for a large glass of red wine. They come in small and medium glasses, which was a surprise.

Back in my room, I find it quarter to nine. I have homework to do, so knuckle down and complete the multiple guess quiz. Job done

Monday 12th February 2018

This week I am away on a course. So have to pick up a hire car and drive north to Leeds. Leeds is where a previous Mrs Jelltex hailed from, so Leeds and I have history. But I still like the city, it is historical, has some nice architecture, and brews good beer too. And I am in a hotel spa on the company credit card again.

So, At least unlike when I have to fly it means getting up at half four, this Monday meant we could lie in until nearly six, but of course, my brain had other ideas and I was wide awake at half four, with an allergy attack building, so sniffing and sneezing my way to dawn.

Monday means that every second counts, getting breakfast made, getting dressed and making sure I have packed everything. So, Jools takes me to the town so I can wander round the St James development, round the outside of it, taking shots just before it is about to open. Buildings have logos on them, some are fitted out, but the cinema failed to open on time, and Frankie and Benny’s have pulled out. I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea. But we shall see.

I walk down under Townwall Street, over Newbridge to the promenade, where the sun has risen and the Regency buildings are glowing in the warm light. It is high tide, but what waves there are, just lap against the sea wall.

I wait while they get the paperwork done, then am given the keys to a Suzuki faux 4x4, I check it for damage and then drive out the port, up Jubilee Way to home, where I was expecting the path guy to be waiting, but he isn’t. And after calling him I find there has been a mix up and work will not start until Wednesday. So, all I have to do is have breakfast, wash up, load the car and leave.

That all done, I program to radio to 6 Music, and I pause, with that satisfied feeling of an open road ahead. I smile.

You know the route up to Dartford, all done whilst bathed in glorious winter sunshine, and in light traffic. It is most pleasurable. At the tunnel, one of the bores is closed, but not the one I drive into, under the river and up into Essex.

North I go into Essex, past the airport to Cambridge, then along the A14, which is now being widened, but for now is a 20 mile nightmare with narrow lanes and a 40mph speed limit. I remember when this road was built, now its not man enough, so lets build more, wider roads.

I need a comfort break, so stop in Huntingdon. I had seen an interesting ancient bridge and watermill from the main road before, and thought it might be worth checking out.

I drive over the bridge and past the mill, now converted into offices or something, looks nice but not enough to stop. So I drive on to the town centre, and after a loop of the one way system, I find a car park and a space.

Huntingdon is famous for being the birth place of Oliver Cromwell, so what with the mill, bridge, I though there might be some interesting buildings to see, churches to crawl round. And indeed there were two parish churches, both locked, and neither listing keyholders. I walk down the high street, it seems vibrant, and shops full. After I find the second church, All Saints, closed. I return to the car to continue the drive north.

I go up the A1, stopping off at a diner for lunch of a burger and curly fries.

My next idea is to go via Nottingham, as that would take me up the M1, and to Leeds right past the hotel. And allowing me to call into Nottingham for half an hour to find what is rumoured to be the oldest pub in Britain. Turns out its probably not the oldest pub in Nottingham, but built leaning against the rock that the castle is built upon, it looks ancient, but might be 17th century at oldest. I remind readers that the Mermaid in Rye dates at least to 1420, whereas Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem claims to date from the 12th century. The bar is partly built into the rocky hill, which makes for a great atmosphere.

So I have my pint and take shots. So I can return to the car and finish the last leg of the journey to Leeds up the Motorway.

Still in sunshine, and even with it being half term, traffic wasn’t too bad, so I made good time and arrived at the hotel just before half four, and once checked in I could answer my mails. Where I find that the only week between now and Easter I have at home now requires me to go to Hamburg. SO it goes, so it goes.

I do homework, listen to the radio, drink coffee one I work out how the coffee pod machine works.

In the restaurant, staffed mainly by school leavers, apparently, I have a good meal of what they claimed was mushroom soup, but they overdid the cream. So it was cream of cream soup. Followed by lamb.

And that is it, back in my room, listening to the football on the radio. Situation normal.