Friday 30th March 2018

Yesterday, despite being a holiday, I felt a little flat. So, apologies for the short but sweet posts written yesterday, but I really did not feel up to much to be honest. But nothing to worry about, just need to get my head straight, and it won't be until next week I will know if I am worrying over nothing.

East comes round every year, though on a different day each year. The actual date of Easter can vary by 27 days, from the 22nd March to 21st April. Or is that 30 days? Or 31 days? No, I think I was right, 27 days, the length of the solar month. Anyways, having Easter at the end of March isn't as early as it might be, but it feels early, and with the weather so chilly, it feels more like February.

When we looked at the forecast for the weekend on Thursday, it suggested much rain, wind very little sunshine. We look forward to time off for so long, and then the weather is like this. Well, it can change, and we hope so as Monday is supposed to be 24 hours of continuous rain. People still go away whatever date Easter is, and whatever the weather, and will have a great time whatever, goddammit.

No shops open, so no rushing out to go to Tesco, but instead, rushing around making saffron buns.

Growing up, Mum used to make saffron buns, but not like I make now, but made with saffron infused flour. I loved the flavour, and the saffron buns made were Dad's favourite. Little did I know that Lowestoft was for many years, England's second largest saffron producing areas, and this year someone has started up the saffron flour business again. I have to say, the ones I make, with yeast and bread flour are much better, much more flavoursome than what Mum used to make. Something about the way the saffron and yeast work together.

After coffee, I melt the butter on a low heat with milk and sugar, put the dry ingredients in a bow. And combine, knead and let to prove.

A few days ago, I had seen a small colony of Coltsfoot growing on Jubilee Way, and with rain forecast all afternoon and most of the morning, I go to investigate, parking on the road leading to RAF Swingate. I realise it is early, half eight, too early it seems for Coltsfoot, as once I had found them among the piles of trash thrown from traffic as it approaches the port, I find the all unopened, or closed, waiting for warmer weather and/or the sun. I will have to return another warmer day.

Back home and Jools is working in the garden, I help in weeding then dig huge holes for the dahlias we have been storing in the shed. These we plant in the lower bed, between the frits, and soon hope to see them shooting through the rich soil.

I go back inside, knead the dough down and make eight buns and place them on greased baking sheets, and leave them to rise again. At half eleven, I put the first batch in the oven and wait for the wonderful smells of baking yeast and saffron to fill the house.

One batch done, I put the second one in, and by the time they're golden brown, the first are cool enough to break open, smother with butter and eat with a huge brew. And you know, they were as good as that sounds.

Midway through the afternoon we have a reprise of another bun and another brew. By that time, Norwich had kicked off, and I listened as City struggled against Fulham. Over the years Norwich have had many "bogy" sides who we never seem to win against; Manchester City, Coventry and Fulham. I have seen us beat the other two, but our winless run against the Cottagers goes back several centuries, or seems like it. And yesterday was no different; second best in the first half, better in the 2nd, but concede two in two minutes from defensive lapses.

Bah.

I do a session on the cross trainer, then back downstairs to begin preparing dinner; chorizo hash, whilst Jools does her session.

I spend the evening in front of the TV; the final of Mastermind. Sorry, Grand Final. Then the Don in his garden.

Thursday 29th March 2018

Maundy Thursday

Bank Holiday (Denmark)

I mention the above as most of my colleagues were starting the long weekend, meaning I should have been able to get my head down and get work done.

Outside it was a glorious morning, meaning work was the last thing I wanted to do, but I had a stack of work to try to complete, so better have the first coffee of the day and some breakfast.

I do go out into the garden on Imperialis patrol, counting up how many spikes we have showing, I think its now 25 showing above ground, with some just about to open their flowers, whilst others are only just showing above ground.

Molly shadows me, as is normal, maybe thinking i am going to feed her. Birds sit in the trees and bushes all around, tweeting their frustration that I am in the garden when they want some seed action.

I had better go and do some work....

And the day passes as I try to work out answers to difficult questions, and I ave no one to ask for help. I plough on.

I am done by four, brain scrambled, and fed up to the point of anger. I switch the computer off, and think of having something to drink so to calm down. Instead I put some music on. Loud.

Jools was supposed to bring fish and chips back on her way home from work, but forgot. So she goes back outside into the heavy rain now falling to bring dinner home.

It is the start of a four day weekend. Again.

Nothing on TV to watch, so we listen to music as the evening grows old.

More lies

Yesterday the PM was in Wales, apparently on a tour meeting and talking to people about brexit. Odd then that the only people she seemed to meet was journalists, one at a time, and a shed full of cows. If any journalist wanted to ask the PM any questions, they had to submit them in advance. In other words she is so bad as a politician, she needs an hours notice of any questions. Even then, very little detain if any.

She also spoke about there being extra money after Brexit for use for the NHS or wherever. Even though the government's own figures show that with an FTA, we would be some 7% worse off in GDP, meaning less jobs, less taxes paid. Astonishing then this was not challenged.

And then Michael Gove claiming that the remain campaign overspent as bad at the Leave one did, so more whatabouter from Oiky then, although he offered no evidence for the claim, but then it seems an e mail leaked to a crap blogger, Guido Fawkes, showed that some questions he was expected to answer. So rather than face question on his own conduct, leak like hell. The Observer has files a complaint with the Parliamentary Standards Commissioner regarding his conduct in this matter.

The PM is now taking a month off(!) hill walking in Wales, where she says she will not think about Brexit. So, no real change there then.

Odd news though coming from the EU27, where there is talk of a major policy U turn in the offing by the UK. No news on what that could be, but one suspects one of those infamous red lines might be about to be rubbed out.

Wednesday 28th March 2018

To a lesser of greater extent, we all live in some kind of denial or another. And I am no different.

Four years of air travel, driving hire cars, sitting in meetings, living in hotels and eating and drinking in restaurants meant that no matter how hard I tried, rather than lose weight, I gained it. Over the years t shirts and trousers got bigger. I knew it, but you know, tomorrow.

We have started to change, and hopefully that change will accelerate; we have been on the cross trainer since the week before Christmas, and now that it is light in the evenings, we can go on walks. We just have to motivate ourselves, or get a dog, to do it. The first step outside the door is the hardest.

I say this as I had to go to the doctor; I needed a referral to the hospital for tests, following up on a procedure I had done eight years ago. I don't like my doctor, as he is inclined to make everything I used to go in for about my weight. But this time I would just have to accept it, and once I was weighed and my blood pressure taken, no more denials. Change is needed.

And I got my referral too. So, mostly good news.

But the day began, as ever, with coffee and checking the news online, outside it was dry, but not for long as rain was due to fall all day. And fall it did.

By eight it was hammering down, but as I had to walk to the doctors, I had remembered to get a brolly out of the car, so I would mostly be dry.

At half nine I don my walking boots and new work coat, unfurl the brolly and walk out of the drive, down the street to Station Road and walk down the hill. Work has stopped for the day on the new house at the bottom. The house seems to be done, now they need to build a garage, a drive and do something with the rest of the land. A retaining wall has been built, but this day it looked like a WWI battlefield with kneedeep mud everywhere.

Up the hill the other side, before turning down by The Red Lion, still closed and past the village pond before taking the footpath at the back of the school. Along the side of the paths all the way to the surgery and back, I searched for wild flowers, seeing very little growing, but then it wasn't the weather really for searching.

It was warm enough walking up, but in the surgery they had the heating turned all the way up and for me was like being in a sauna. I took off my coat and was still overheating.

Once I had seen the quack, I walked back into the village centre, going by the shop where I had to buy some butter for the saffron buns I am going to make for easter. And from there is was downhill, half the way, to home before I began the slog up the hill to our street.

I go indoors, glad to be home out of the rain. Funnily enough, I had been home for 5 minutes and the rain eased.

Typical.

I had been away two hours, which meant work was calling. Literally.

6 missed calls, Three messages. And a dozen e mails. Jeez.

So, I spend the afternoon putting out fires, instead of my planned work, which is the usual case if I'm honest.

Come four, and my brain is scrambled, so what better than a half hour on the cross trainer, with a Mood Elevator soundtrack? Nothing at all. And time flies, I enjoy it and come off the machine with the endorphins flowing.

I have a shower then begin dinner; well, egg and breadcrumbing the one remaining aubergine, and am cooking it when Jools comes home.

Wine?

Hell, yeah.

We eat well, tidy up and sit down to watch Deadpool. Oh yeah, Mr Pool. Darker than dark, and funny.

Where are we?

We are halfway through the A50 process, so a few pointers as to where we are. I have no idea where it will all end up, but will be a choice between no brexit, an FTA or crash out with no deal.

Thus far, all movement in order to move negotiations forward has come from UK. The EU has not moved on any of its guidelines published last April. Anyone can conduct trade negotiations and get agreement by capitulating to the other side over and over again, won't get you a good deal at the end of it.

The EU are our nearest and closet friends and trading partners. This is the easy part, or should be. If we can't deal with the EU then UK will get ripped to shreds by a really aggressive negotiating team. Trying to get deals that the EU said are red lines and contrary to the SM over and over again show that lessons are not being learned. This does not bode well if such lessons are not learned now, then how on earth will trade negotiations with other countries be handled, except badly.

Probably for political reasons, A50 was started before UK was ready. It is probably that UK would never be ready, but to start a two year process without identifying risks, issues, knowing UK wanted and having any solutions to the issues that experts in various fields would have to be dealt with, despite, in some cases, Brexiteers been banging on about leaving the EU for decades.

Splitting the Foreign Office into three, and creating two new start up ministries, so having to create and ramp up resources at the same time as doing a time limited job, three Ministers each with their own agenda and with different, if any, skill sets.

A year in, the Cabinet still not in agreement on anything, and May too weak to do anything to bring unity.

Calling a snap election three weeks into the A50 period, wasting 6 weeks of valuable time, and at the same time asking for an increased vote to strengthen her negotiating hand with the EU and losing her overall majority.

The signing a supply and confidence agreement with the DUP at the cost of one billion pounds, meaning May had to do the DUP's bidding on Brexit and Ireland lest lose their support. The DUP were the only major party in NI that voted against the Good Friday Agreement, so may not be the best bedfellows when trying to keep the Union together,

Failing to identify the NI/Ireland Border as an issue that could split the Union, cause the resumption of The Troubles, stop Brexit or severely limit what UK can do by having to agree the fallback position in the Decemeber agreement with the EU.

May possibly failing to understand what she signed up to in December.

DD trying to renege on that deal within a week, being bitch-slapped by the EU and having to issue a groveling clarification. This created a loss of faith in the UK by the EU, and the need to insert punishment clauses if UK did not keep to what it agreed to.

Appointing DD to lead negotiations. He clearly had no experience in trade negotiations. There is strong evidence he still doesn't.

Losing the head Civil Servant to the EU because May wouldn't listen to his warnings.

Treating the negotiations like it were a war, using warlike terminology. Almost like May thought that the EU could not use the internet.

Failing to deal with citizens rights, both EU citizens in UK and UK in the EU. A simple agreement to keep things as they are would have created a lot of goodwill, but instead using citizens rights as a bargaining chip has meant anger not just in the EU but by citizens, both UK and EU, in they being used as bargaining chips, going back on a promise to UK citizens living in the EU that nothing would change for them in the event of Brexit.

Already in the first year, there has been a massive drop in the number of EU citizens coming to work in the UK, with the farming sector reporting fruit last autumn being left to rot in the fields.

Apparently forgetting that as there are more jobs in the UK that ever before, or there were at the start of the A50 process, each job brings in tax. If there are less jobs, there will be less tax revenues, how is this going to affect future spending? Even if there are no jobs lost, there will not be enough people here to fill them.

The loss of an EU passport is not just its colour, but what else it brings; visa free travel and working in 27 other countries. No need for travel insurance, pet passports and now free data roaming with your phone. All will be lost.

Even now, May is saying there will be more money when we leave the EU for things like the NHS. This is just not true, all the agencies that are currently run and funded by the EU will have to be funded by the UK in setting up our own. You only have to look at how complicated and expensive this is for the aviation industry, getting other countries to accept our inspection and certification agency would be fit for purpose. If this is not fixed then UK based airlines might not be able to fly anywhere except inside UK airspace.

Over 750 trade deals will have to be negotiated, as the same time as the one with the EU.

UK hopes to rollover deals it currently enjoys as being in the EU and on the same terms. This is far from a given.

Many countries trade deals with the EU demand parts having a percentage of EU parts to quality, say 55&. No British manufactured car is currently 55% British.

Not knowing what the final deal will be makes transition difficult, in effect it is a standing still ploy while the Cabinet and Party work out what they can all live with.

Most of May's, and other Brexiteers, speeches have not been to the EU, but to her own party and the press to see what they would accept. Sadly, many of her speeches in the early days of her leadership where she created red lines out of thin air really limit what deal can now be struck. Although already some of her red lines have gone or moved from 2019 to 2021.

It appears that May confused ECHR with the ECJ early on, but in order to look strong, she has not admitted this mistake, so not accepting rulings by the UCJ is another of these red lines.

The Foreign Secretary seems unsackable, and at times has carried out his own Brexit policy against that of the Government.

There is the issue of Cambridge Analytica and who paid them and what effect they had on the referendum, and what the Vote Leave campaign spent 10% of their budget in paying a student in Ireland to pay a subsidiary of CA. The DUP also paid a huge amount, but May, for reasons you can see above, has been unwilling to widen investigations to include the period when the DUP made this payment. Also, one of the Leave campaigns paid the other a large sum of money, against election law, either with or without approval from the Electoral COmmission is still illegal. Had the remain campaign done this, there would have been hell to pay.

Almost every Brexiteer promise has been broken, the referendum sold on lies and damned lies, yet we are told that the result is a mandate despite being only advisory. As May does not know what she wants nor if she can get it, calls for a second referendum, or Parliamentary approval for any potential deal has been rebuffed as being antidemocratic. In denying either a second referendum or Parliamentary vote, this is as demographic as they come. Just how long does the mandate of the referendum last; 2 years, 5 years? And if the question was on leaving the EU, then if UK does leave the EU, and not the SM and CU, then has the mandate been fulfilled?

The roll of the press and media in enabling Brexit and the last year of clusterfuck needs to be looked at, becasue without the 4th estate holding the executive to account is how dictators and worse come to power and grab more.

But even after all this, UK will leave the EU at 23@00 on 29th March 2019, ready or not. Just how unready we are remains to be seen. Even the transition is not given, as the EU have said many times, nothing is agreed until all is agreed, so it can all still collapse like a house of cards, bringing down the Government, and then what; and election? In which case the main parties will have to decide are they still for or against Brexit.

Tuesday 27th March 2018

And here we are, day 4 of the long weekend. And the rain fell. In stairrods.

Did I want the car?

No.

Upon reflections I would revert to my 17 year old self and just spunk the day in generally doing nothing. Although unlike my 17 year old self, I have the internet.

Are you sure you don't want the car?

Yes, I'm sure.

Jools made coffee, I slumped in the chair at the table, checking online and find that my shot of the fields at Westcliffe had make Explore. I should be pleased, and actually I am this time as it was a reasonable shot for a change. Unlike that crap shot of the duck house that made it, and yet that still got 10k views. Ingrates all of them. Love your work they say. I wouldn't mind, but of the 25 shots I took on that walk, I can say the shot of the duck house was, without doubt, the worse.

But the field shot made it.

Yay.

Jools goes to work, Mooly is sleeping on the window sill, Mulder is snoring on the chest of drawers and Scully is back on the bed. Situation normal. I put on Danny Baker and make oatcakes with butter and extra special three orange marmalade, because I am worth it I tell myself. And outside the rain hammers down.

I don't know what I did exactly, but it took me all day to do it: I watch a show on Japanese housing through the centuries, learn about Ma and negative space and end up ordering an art book on tiny apartments that was in the show. I am cultured, I tell myself.

In the afternoon I spend with Lucy Worsley, she talks about the Regency period, of Kingly madness and corsets. Which is fine.

Heck, I even do another session on the cross trainer, with a Prince soundtrack. But it were hard, not enjoyable, and I was glad to finish. But then, I did it.

Late in the afternoon the rain stops and for a while, the sun comes out I lepa into action, run in the garden to take shots of raindrops on plants and of Mulder doing cat yoga. God I love them cats.

As the chairman of the aubergine marketing board, I prepare two of my finest, sexiest purple vegetables to be sliced, egg and breadcrumbed and then shallow fried to a near crisp, just ready in time for when Jools comes home. I made the pasta salad the day before, and both were kick ass.

Of course.

We drink wine. Or chider. Then tidy up and I then take to the sofa to watch England play Italy, and well, meh. Is meh still a thing? Not a good game, England sloppy, which show the high standards they have set for themselves. And then bedtime. Phew.

My dogma ran over my Brexit

Over a third of a century ago, the Labour Party had what was then know as a party withing a party. Militant had infiltrated the Party, and infighting nearly ripped the party apart. We were treated to the unedifying scene of then then Labour leader, Neil Kinnock calling Militant out, with the mantra that you can't play politics with people's lives.

That has stayed with me. You may have dogma, but the rest of us have real lives, you dogma has to live in the real world too.

Fast forward to the 21st century, and the Conservative Party has it's Brexit headbangers thanks to the ERG, and Labour has Momentum. Both ERG and Momentum are dogma driven, and care nothing for how their different dreams affect Joe Bloggs and his job and family.

That JRM is the leader of ERG, is a member of the landed gentry, once went to the hustings WITH HIS NANNY, owns a house with hundreds of rooms and a moat, and yet claims the elite are trying to sabotage Brexit. If he is not the elite then who is? He speaks for no one without a moat, and certainly not for white van man, and yet the Sun and the rest says he does. Everyone is a useful idiot in Brexitlalaland, whose support is needed and cultivated as long as its useful, but be cast aside and told the promises made, well, just can't me met.

And their billionaire backers will get the tax breaks and able to evade taxes that the rest of us have no choice in paying.

And Labour has been taken over by a party within a party, Momentum have mass-joined the Labour Party, mass voted for their chosen leader, Corbyn. He promises this and that, as undeliverable as Brexit's sunlit uplands. Take the railways. Clearly the railway industry isn't working, but Corbyn's matra of nationalising it ignores the fact that the Department of Transport (DOT) micromanages railways that never happened under British Railways when it was underfunded but was able to make its own decisions. Saying nationalising it will not magically make things better as privatisation didn't make it better either. Nor will it save money, Train Operating Companies (ToCs) make less than 3% profit on running services, so privatisation would deliver a one off saving of no more than 3%.

Corbyns seems to believe that EU rules stop him from mass re-nationalisation of industries, thus stopping him creating some kind of socialist utopia. Even when confronted with facts to the contrary, his still sticks to his guns. Labour under Corbyn is a pro-Brexit party, and if you are looking to stop Brexit or mitigate its effects, then don't vote Labour. Or Conservative.

Meaning the first past the post system UK has will not result in a Lib Dem victory even if masses vote for them to stop Brexit. Turkeys don't vote for Christmas, and the Tories in the coalition did not vote for proportional representation.

Anyway you look at it we're screwed, but two parties that are stuck on a crash course with the Brexit cliff edge, supported by a press run by tax avoiding billionaires that want Brexit so not to be subject to new tax avoidance laws. And many people still think Brexit is about taking back control, and yet we know that because of the Withdrawal Bill, the first casualty of Brexit will be Parliamentary Sovereignty, thanks to endless Henry VIIIth clauses allowing ministers to strike off laws and rights with a stroke of a pen.

Monday 26th March 2018

Pay day.

I mention the above as this month, the time between pay days, has been 5 weeks. Yay, money.

At the start of the year I looked at my work calendar with pretty much wall to wall training courses, with associated travel from week 4 right through until Easter. Had things worked out I would have had just one week at home in that time. It wouldn't be bad if the training was worth it and enable me to do my job better. No, most of these were box ticking exercise, and any suggestion that this might be a waste of time was met with surprise from the instructor that we might have such thoughts of their carefully prepared presentations.

Thanks to me contracting horrible Danish flu I missed out on one of the training, and with the week after being the week at home meant over two weeks in Chez Jelltex, but that most of that time was spent ill, coughing, sneezing, it didn't feel much like a break.

Which is why I booked these two days off. I know there are many people who work harder and longer hours than I do. I who live in hotels, eat in restaurants, travel across Europe all in the name of Quality. But even us Quality Managers get worn out from time to time. Anyway, with a four day weekend over Easter I probably could have managed a four day week this week, but truth is, I fancied a couple of days off. And why not?

Why not indeed, and from Friday night when I said the mantra, "four day weekend", it seemed an even better idea than ever.

Monday dawned grey and dull, bu there was promise of sunshine later, so, best head to the woods to see what's growing, and generally walk in peace and quiet, or to nature's soundtrack anyway.

After coffee I pack a couple of shortcakes on which to munch through the morning, as I got up late and did not have time for breakfast. This is because I had to take Jools to work, through dropping her off in Hythe meant I could be on my way up Stone Street and be in Denge before eight, and I might see deer, or red kites. Or anything.

Being Easter week, traffic was very light, even with a ferry disgorging lorries and cars, I drove us out of town up the A20 to Folkestone, then down a back way, down a narrow valley into Hythe, dropping Jools off along the seafront so she could walk into work and get some exercise. I could then drive back to the motorway and then up Stone Street. I will travel these roads to the usual sites many times in the next few months, and the anticipation of the new season is there in the pit of my stomach.

From Petham I take the road through the woods, then select the right turning along a narrow lane, past the old cricket club and to the parking space at the edge of the wood. From the boot I take my two cameras, a short cake and begin to walk down the broad pathway through the wood to the reserve.

All was still, and I could hear no sound at first, then the call of male pheasants crackled through the early morning air.Either side of the path was full of mostly last year's grass and other plants, all of a pale green, here and there, bright green shoots of new growth could be seen. We came down here last summer, and the foliage both sides was so lush it nearly covered the road. But not today.

Near to the reserve I see moss covered tree stumps, looking like they are covered with thick green carpet, but on one I see something red. Bright red. Although I had never seen a Scarlet Elf Cup fungi, I knew that's what it was thanks to the photos of friends like Mark and Jim, who snap fungi not just orchids. I get on my knees to snap the fungi, and marvel at how the fungi is so red, and so spherical.

I walk on to the reserve, looking for orchid rosettes, as I know there are a few Lady to be seen beside the track, but I saw none. And knowing that the steps down into the site is the best for Early Purples, I expected to see about a dozen heavily spotted rosettes, but saw none. No matter how hard I looked.

But further on I find the first Lady rosettes. I see hundreds. Maybe thousands, there will be a wonderful sight in about 6 weeks when they all are flowering and swaying in a warm spring breeze.

I walk the full circuit, so checking also on where the Duke of Burgundy will soon be on the wing. None today as expected, as it is still chilly as the sun had not yet broken through. On the way back to the car, I stop to snap the group of Coltsfoot I found, though with temperatures still below ten, none were open. I will be back.

From Denge I double back to Stone Street, then back down narrower and narrow lanes to a tiny parking space, I was at Yockletts.

It might have been my imagination, but it seemed brighter, could it be clearing?

I walk up the long path, climbing towards the upper meadow, checking on the hundreds, soon the be thousands of Common Twayblade emerging. Before the meadow there were also dozens of Early Purple rosettes, some still trying to grow in the middle of the path, where they had already be stood on many times.

The meadow is paused, waiting for spring to arrive, little sign of new growth, but it is there if you look close to the ground. I sit for a while after checking on the Fly rosettes behind the bench; and they're there already.

Down the slope I see more Fly, some large and juicy, which I hope will produce huge flowering spikes with many blooms. We live in hope.

On the other side of the Gogway I meet up again with John; an amateur botanist and great walking of the downs, valley and woods of Kent. We speak for half an hour of things we have found, things we wanted to see, and just the sheer joy of being out in the Kent woodlands. As if to make the point, the sun broke through and just like in the Wizard of Oz, everything went technicolor. We both said we wanted to see a Brimstone butterfly, and now with the sun out, we stood a chance.

The Brimstone is where the name butterfly comes from, as they are buttery yellow on the wing. Once settled they look like a leaf and are very hard to spt. I had been looking in bushes for roosting ones when John came along.

I walked up the path to the high meadow, looking for the Greater Butterfly, finding a rosette after a while. In the meadow, bathed in sunshine, I find lots of Lady rosettes, but there are no butterflies, but then there are few flowers about. After ten minutes I get up and begin to walk along the track into the woods, and a male Brimstone just flutters by. I think for a second that it is going to settle, but soon is flying into the tops of the trees and out of my sight. Still, a joyous vision of spring.

I walk back to the car, now hungry even after eating the short cake earlier. There is a shop in Stelling Minis, I will go there for supplies; a sausage roll and a banana milk shake I think. I drive round the reserve, up Gogway to Stone Street, then turning off to begin the journey home, going via the shop. I buy what I wanted, and am so hungry I eat in the car before driving off, going to Elham to go past PGD where there is a small wood, where I know is good for Wood Anemones, but there are none out yet.

From there back up to Barham, and to the final call; to check on the wood and bridleway. First up the bridleway to see how the EPO are going, I huff and puff my way out, now without coat as the sun is at midday, and it is nearly warm. I find the rosettes numerous, but some nibbled by the floppy-eared bastards (rabbits), who seem to really love the spikes, as I find many nipped off. No flowers from those this year.

No sign of the Lesser Butterflies though, but that might be just my poor eyesight.

Over the road to check on the wood, still recovering after the felling last winter, and its still not good, but many more rosettes of Lady and Fly to be seen, but the tractors and lorries have damaged the soil badly, and I fear the site will not recover. John spoke of it being filled with thousands of Lady two decades ago, now we are luck to have 200. Only a handful last year.

I am done, my feet ache, in a good way. But I need tea, and in industrial quantities, so go home, through Barham onto the A2, where a driver behind me fails to see the line of traffic with me at the back slowing down behind a tractor. She brakes at the last minute and has to half overtake me to avoid a shunt. I wan't looking to to find a Micra beside me brakes screeching was a surprise. She kept her distance after that.

I get home safe and sound. Put the kettle on, feed the cats so I can get some peace and quiet, then check the shots from the day.

Somehow it was three in the afternoon and I was pooped. I thought I took time off to relax?

I sit on the sofa to drink a second cuppa, already I could feel my eyes getting heavy. I wake up an hour later with Scully on my lap, apparently very happy.

But I need to go and pick up Jools from Hythe. At least with it being Easter, even in the evening the traffic was light, certainly getting there. And once I had collected Jools, traffic on the way back was fine, no madness the other side of the tunnels, and Dover port traffic was no trouble either.

Jools is tired, she is not well either. So I make insalata, it being quick and easy. And soon afterwards Jools went to bed, so I stay downstairs to potter around, write, edit shots and watch Only Connect.

Only one day of the long weekend left......

The Half Brexit

Thursday sees the midway point in the A50 process, and as things get ever more real, just a reminder as to why I am so opposed to Brexit.

I love my country.

I love its people.

I don't want to see it come to any harm.

I want the country to be stronger and better for generations to follow.

That Brexit will make the country poorer, devastate industry, weaken UK's influence across the globe, cut is off from our neighbours, make travel harder for Brits, deny our children and their children the right to live, work, study in one of 27 other countries.

And that the referendum was won on lies. And when facts or questions were raised, these were dismissed as "project fear". And project fear becomes project reality, it is funny, but in a tragic way, to see the Brexiteers come to term with reality.

British citizens living in the EU were assured nothing would change for them, and their rights would be protected by the Vienna Convention. Boris Johnson said this, and he is now the Foreign Secretary, this is not the case, and never was. But then who reads treaties and conventions? Not Brexiteers certainly.

Families with one parent being from the UK and the other being from the EU runs the risk if one were to accept a work post overseas not being able to return to the UK if they wanted. I don't remember saying we would be spitting up families, or that in doing so would be a good thing.

I will not lay down and accept a fraudulent vote won on lies by a tax avoiding establishment that will think nothing of promising the undeliverable to those who cannot afford to lose anything. As things get ever more difficult for May and the Brexiteers and they complain about how the EU does not offer solutions, I just say, you won, get over it, as surely thay had a plan. Although clearly they had no plan. Still don't. And the rest of us will pay the price for that for many, many years.

I have no idea what is going to happen in the next 6 months, but it will be both entertaining and frightening as the Brexiteers will throw anything onto the pyre to make Brexit happen; your rights, my rights, the Union, the economy.

It seems the Government are prioritising the fishing industry (0-05% of the economy) over that of financial services (13% of the economy). Or to put in simple terms, a father earning £66k a year deciding to give that up in order to live on his son's £5 a day paper round money. It is madness on stilts, clearly. But while the BBC don't challenge the madness, the madness get accepted.

Sunday 25th March 2018

British Summer Time begins.

Sunday, day two of the four day weekend, and the weather should be a little worse than Saturday, but good enough to venture out. Or so we hoped.

And begins the the annual problem of finding out what time it really is, as some clocks move forward by themselves, some don't, and so it could be quarter past seven, eight or nine. I was plumping for nine, as the DAB radio in the bedroom seemed to suggest it was quarter past eight, but then being an internet connect device, it was right.

I thought I had slept the whole morning through, but was an hour earlier than feared.

But it was still fairly early. Time for a coffee, look at the internet and then cook bacon. I cooked Jools' fine then put mine in, but got distracted and found eight black crisps where rashers of Canadian maple smoked Tesco finest bacon should have been. I salvaged four of the less buggered ones and slapped them in a butty, and retired to the living room to eat them.

The rashers shatter into hundreds of pieces, and each piece reminds me not to get distracted again.

We get dressed and mess about in the garden; count the fritillaries and do the jobs Monty set us on Friday. I trim the ferns, the raspberries and generally much in, then after about an hour I go in to make lunch. I bake a batch of Norfolk Short Cakes. We have a largeish one each for lunch, so not to be tempted later and ruin our appetite for dinner, which was rather special. Even if I say so myself.

After lunch, and once the light rain shower passed, I dragged Jools out on a walk round this end of the village to look for wild flowers. She said my obsession is just growing. And as ever, she is right.

The house at the end has a fine display of daffs and narcissus I snap a few. The we turn down Station Road, looking at the areas of scrub land where nature reclaims. Out of the village towards Westcliffe to see the daffs planted on the path, and see what was growing in the hedgerows; Dog's Mercury mostly.

And back to the village, past the Red Lion and out on Kingsdown Road to the top of the Dip, down the Dip and home.

It had started out sunny, but by the time we turned for home, it was cool and breezy so we stumbled down the steep side, weaved our way through the mud at the bottom and after stopping to snap more plants, back past the hens, the pig's copse and across the fields. Now that called for a cuppa.

For dinner I make, ahem, herb crusted rack of lamb, baby new potatoes, and a melody of baby sweet corn, mange tout, garlic and chilli. It was magnificent. Oh my word yes.

For the evening entertainment I had recommendations that Guardians of the Galaxy was worth watching. It was. Good. We laughed. We enjoyed it. A racoon with a mini gun; what's not to like?

Leaving the past behind

Vote Leave and Dominic Cummings in particular, are trying to leave their past behind then. In that they are deleting tweets, blogs, webpages that state, clearly, that they employed Cambridge Analytica to crunch numbers and target advertising on social media.

Last week it emerged that CA were willing to do anything to help the organisations that paid the right price, including hiring prostitutes to frame media figures.

Doubt had been cast on whether the Electoral Commission really had given Leave permission to part fund the other main leave group, despite repeated challenges to post the proof that the EC did give them permission has failed for Cummings to provide it. Now it seems there might be truth in that, in which case it is likely the referendum was being overseen by an organisation that did not uphold electoral law. But whether they did or didn't is yet to be revealed, but there are FOI requests and challenges towards Cummings to come clean.

You can imagine of the Remain campaign had partaken in these dark arts there would have been hell to pay, but as it's Leave, it is mostly deflection onto others, or a plain and simple, nothing to see here, move along please. Certainly Boris thinks so, and we all know his relationship to reality and truth.

This week sees the UK halfway through the A50 process, and Britain no nearer knowing what it wants other than something bespoke, and if such deal were even possible, it would take years to agree upon, not a year. Only there isn't a year. Whatever is agreed, it all has to be done by the end of October at the very latest to allow for ratification. Imagine the Brexiteers reaction when they find out about the ratification that is going to be done, and the price if ratification fails anywhere in the EU.

Brexiteers are mainly focussing on passports and who is making them, as is usual, rather than concentrating on the details that really matter. Or details in general to be honest.

And the Labour Party is, if anything, in worse shape that the Tories, with Keir Starmer yesterday saying the party would support Brexit in order to keep the party together, despite admitting that Brexit would make us all poorer, be a disaster and so on. So all those who voted for Corbyn in the last election in the hope he was playing some remain long game, should be facing reality in that he is keener on Brexit than the PM.

It has taken quite a series of unlikely events to bring us to this point in time, but here we are, up shit creek, outside the canoe being eaten by crocodiles. But it will be fair to all.

Apparently.

Saturday 24th March 2018

Some 33 years ago, I was at Wembley to see Norwich lift heir first ever major trophy. It should be a day that is forever etched in my memory, as nearly 50,000 City fans cheered the team on to a fine 1-0 win over Sundaerland. Every moment of that day, from getting up, going to board the coach and the long journey to London should be in my head, every detail crystal clear.

What I do remember, is arriving at Wembley, driving to the stadium and seeing every pub overflowing with Sunderland fans, all drinking. Next I remember walking up the steps to the upper standing paddock I had been allocated, the other side of the ground from my Dad, and seeing the sweep of the stadium, already filling up with flag waving fans. I could see the Olympic gallery above, and a TV showing liver coverage of the game, so I could see when the teams came out. We cheered.

A dull first half, maybe one of the worse in Wembley history, but the second began with a deflected goal for Norwich, down at the opposite end of the ground, about a million miles away. No idea then how the ball ended up in the net, but it did. A few minutes later, Sunderland got a penalty, down at our end. A penalty had never been missed in a Wembley final, could this be the first? Yes, it was; Gordon Chisholm failed to score, and we held on.

We reached the coach and were stunned. The coach was in silence. We had won, and would be in Europe next season. In the coaches around us, Sunderland fans were having a right old party, chanting "we lost the cup!" over and over again. It took longer to get out of the coach park that the game lasted, as is the case to this day at the "new" Wembley. But that is my memories of that day, and now a third of a century ago.

This blog helps me remember things that happened so much more recently. And I am glad to have started it, just wish I had done it years before to track my change form military life into civilian. Annie Nightingale wrote a book called Chase the Fade, a great book, but the title referred to not letting a record fade to silence, but she wanted to chase the fade, to write stuff down before it was forgotten.

Saturday, and the start of a four day weekend. And a football free day, and spring. Nearly.

You know the score; up at six, feed the cats, have coffee, go to Tesco at eight, shop until we drop, back home, put shopping away, have coffee and croissants, and finally get ready for the fun stuff.

Fun stuff which this particular day would, as has been the case all through this year, involve churches and churchyards. A couple of weeks back I had tried to see inside Ss. Peter and Paul in River, but was locked fast, which was unusual for a Saturday morning. So I sent mails, and during the week got a reply from the rockabilly loving vicar, inviting me to the church, with cameras, at ten.

So we arrived on the dot of ten to find the church open, and the vicar and wardens busy preparing the nave for whatever they were going to do on Sunday; it involved coffee apparently. Anyway, I was allowed to get on with my stuff, but the vicar pointing out that the black footballer and army officer, William Tull who had been in the news the previous day, as attempts were to get him awarded a medal he did not get a 100 years ago because of the colour of his skin, as he is on both the roll of honour and the war memorial of the church.

THe church sits at the end of Lewisham Road, near to where the trams used to terminate, and has been subjected to several rounds of "improvements". Somewhere under it there is an ancient church, but the signs are rare. The west doorway, now usually inaccessible as it lies beyond the door to the modern church centre was pretty much all I saw. Well, that and the Norman font, looking very out of place in the heavily Victorianised interior, which has been further brought up to date by the current parishioners.

In general, the church works, with its modern seating it can be used for many different types of events, concerts as well as services, and is clearly a lively and friendly place.

Many thanks to the vicar for allowing me to come along yesterday to take shots and add another church to the growing list of ones visited.

It is a modernised church, that suits it's location and parish.

We take our leave, and I tank all those present for allowing me in to take snaps.

I wanted to try Great Mongeham again, and from Dover it was a quick blast up the Sandwich road, then finding our way through the maze of side roads that criss-cross east Kent, along six foot sixers, roads that cut through the chalk leaving white banks at the edges, until we saw the tower of St Martin in the heart of the village. We had come two weeks back and found it locked, and the keyholder not answering their door. It was the same this week as both the church was locked and no one answered the door, but this time a dog barked from the depths of the large house.

So we returned home, driving along more back roads and the one mile straight; a lane one car wide with just two passing places. If there is no one about, you can hammer along it at sixty, but on this day a van was coming in the opposite direction, so I slow down so to time us meeting at the passing place at the same time.

There was little football on, just the two lower leagues and the non-league stuff, on, so we have lunch, listen to Huey, then I decide to bake short cakes in the afternoon, so we have a snack later on to tide us over before supper at nine when we're at Jen's.

I even do another session on the cross trainer, another half hour, although I really don't feel like it, but I get it done, thanks to a soundtrack of more David Bowie and Brendan Benson.

It is still nearly light by half six when we leave the house to dove to Jen's, dropping Jools off so I got o collect John from the bottom of Whitfield Hill, bringing him and his bucket of ice (don't ask) to Jen's and the cards can begin.

We play until quarter to midnight, have supper and make merry, which is the whole point. We come out even, but Jen scoops the last two jackpots to be quids in, even if we're playing for pennies a hand. So much fun.

Friday 23rd March 2018

Friday morning, and time to go home. Always a pleasant feeling to wake up with the alarm and think in less than three hours I would be taking off into the wide blue yonder.

I have to pack, try to remember everything. I had finished Jon's orchid book the night before, so with little to read now, but for the first part of the journey I would be driving, if I could find something to listen to on the drive to Billund.

Checking out is painless, well, once the computer system wakes up, and after loading the car the guy on reception opens the gate and I swing out pas the gas station and wait at the lights to take me onto the main road. I had found a "classic" station which was pumping out Abba hits. Could be worse.

It was already getting light, which seems to make the drive less fraught, driving out of the city and onto the motorway before dealing with the new sets of roadworks. I have loads of time, so no need to speed. No need at all.

Despite it being the end of March, there is little sign of spring in Denmark; the grass and land is all earth tones of old growth. I hoped to see a daffodil or something to brighten the way, but saw nothing. The banks that in a few months will be blue, white and purple with wild lupins are now just stunted grass.

At Billund it was oddly quiet; no lines of cars waiting to disgorge passengers. Not one in fact. After dropping the car off at the lot, walking back to the terminal in the frosty air, there was no queue at the BA desk, so I drop my case off quick, a few people were waiting at security, but probably the departure hall would be packed, so I take breakfast at the bistro; just a nutella roll and a coffee. Enough to tide me over as there would be another roll to be had on the plane.

By the time I had eaten, there was no queue at security, I go straight through, and upstairs there are couples and families all excited waiting for their flights to somewhere warmer and much further south. Most are eating their own food, some are quaffing from half litre glasses of beer. Everyone is smiling. I set up my computer underneath the lounge and leach off their high speed wifi as I still have the code. And get some work done.

THe flight is called, so I amble down to the gate, and find it will be full, mainly of Danes using the flight to link up with later flights to the US and beyond. I am just going home.

I am the last on the plane, I mean we all have our seats allocated, so what's the rush? Beats me.

I am in the usual 8A, settle down with the inflight magazine and my camera near to hand in case I see something interesting. But once in the air, I find my eyes getting heavy, and so snooze through most of the flight, my drooping head snapping me back to the waking world, only for the process to start again.

The pilot announces that we have left cruising height, and will be on the ground in 20 minutes, he ran through the conditions, and with the wind in the west, I knew it would be the short approach from the east over Dartford. Oh well.

Even then the cloud was so low, we did not see the ground until we were over Dartford, so I snap the bridge just because I can. The Danes are excited to be over London, and are eagerly looking out of windows both sides to see something they might recognise. Yes, there is Belmarsh Prison guys....

We are down, and looking at my watch, I see I have half an hour to get to Stratford for the earlier train, not enough time as we wait for the baggage handlers to come and unload the aircraft and a bus to take us to the terminal.

I reach Stratford 6 minutes after the train had left, so may as well go for 3rd breakfast in the cafe; sausage roll and a gingerbread latte. I can watch people rushing around, while I take is real easy.

I buy a book from Foyle's, so think i will go onto the platform to read and watch the Eurostars go by. But down on the platform there are dozens of people milling around, with signs saying that due to power supply problems trains were running late.

At quarter past ten, the ten fifteen train out of St Pancras crawls in. It had taken 5 minutes to get from the point we first saw it and come into the station. We squeeze on, and the train inches out. I read my book, so after this timings get a bit misty, but I think about an hour later we reach Ashford, and find a train to Dover waiting, but no drover, as the delays have staff in the wrong places.

So, I go to sit on the train and wait, read some more. A train from Dover pull in at about quarter to one, and a driver gets off, walks to the front of our train, and in a few minutes, we are off.

I am back home at just before two, the cats are quite pleased to see me: food?

I have a brew and then, gird my loins for a session on the cross trainer. I really didn't want to, but get it done. Do half an hour to a David Bowie soundtrack. And then get back to work, sending some important and not so important mails. And then, set the out of office message come half four, and so begins four days off. Yee, and indeed, ha.

Jools is back home too, we have insalata for dinner. I make some three cheese potato bread, all made with stuff found at the bottom of the empty fridge, and for what amounts to leftovers, it was pretty darn good.

There is no league football this weekend, but there is international games, and England were playing Holland in Amsterdam. But sadly, someone replaced the England team, as they played with assurance, passion, accuracy. The fought hard to win the few lost passes back. In short they were best all over the park, only drawback was they scored just the one goal, but that was enough to win in Holland for the first time in 49 years.

On Brexit passports

Yesterday it was announced the "new" blue UK passports would be made in France after the usual UK company failed to win the tender.

This has made a lot of Brexiteers and the Daily Mail angry, so this must be a good thing?

Well, public tenders come under WTO rules, so this had to be done, especially as those Brexiteers seem jolly keen on those WTO rules; could it be they don't really know what they're talking about? Heavens forbid. Anyway, the Frech bidder was either cheaper or better quality. Or both. That's the free market?

Unless all those Brexiteers who champion "Global Britain" only think that should apply when it favours UK, otherwise it is protectionist Little England?

It is funny, or would be if there were not so much at stake, seeing these Brexiteers and their backers finding out about global trade and its rules in real time, whilst driving the UK economy towards a cliff edge in the event no deal can be reached with the EU, or one of the EU27 or a dozen or so assemblies fail to ratify. I mean, that would never happen, would it? Oh year, but it did to the Canadian FTA, and there was no time constraint on that.

Meanwhile, DD and his department are posting tweets and videos trumpeting the deal reached, without admitting this is only because all movement and concessions has come from the UK, the EU has not budged an inch. We will get a trade deal, probably, but it will be on the EU's terms, as it was always going to be.

Thursday 22nd March 2018

I woke up at six only to find it had snowed again during the night, but a thaw had already set in. And it was already getting light; I had travelled an hour and 40 minutes and yet the sun seemed to be rising far earlier than at home. Yes, even with the time difference taken into account.

Anyway, time to get up and attem, even if all the day has in store is yet more 8D training.

Sigh.

At least there is breakfast, they always put the same stuff out at the Scandic, so bran flakes with yogurt followed by two buttered rusks. And coffee. Lots of sweet coffee. There are many other diners dressed as I am, in company t shirts, well, they're free, or that's how I looked at it.

Out to the car, clear the windows and off we go with My Rock radio station blasting out. Makes me drive quicker.

When I arrive at the office, Highway to Hell comes on, meaning I have to sit in the car park, turn up the volume real high, and shout along. Good job I wasn't driving when that came on!

But that was the end of the fun, as I walk to the offices, check in and have an hour's work before the course restarts, with more pen action. I lose patience really quickly, as our team argues among ourselves as we try to come up with root cause analysis on the scant information we have. My colleague, Glen, loses it just before lunch and has a shouting match with our instructor, Anna. Uncomfortable seeing someone so placid be so angry, but we all had important work to do, and yet, here we were, messing around with pens. And then Anna tried to blame us, rather than the training material, which just inflamed matters.

After lunch, we have the exam, and am allowed to use the course material through it, which explains my 100% mark. Or I could just be brilliant? A quality Quality Manager?

And then straight into meetings for the rest of the day, so come five, I am drained, and despite having lunch, really, really hungry. So I drive back to the hotel, book a table for six and while away the 45 minutes listening to the radio.

Anna had ordered steak the night before, and it looked great, so I risked it, and wasn't as good, and was a tad overcooked, but still, steak and a dark German beer, then back to the room for the rest of the Radcliffe and Maconie show before I fell asleep on the bed once again.

But I was going home in the morning....

Yay

Wednesday 21st March 2018

I suppose it should have come as no surprise, what with being in Denmark and all, that when I opened the curtains on Wednesday morning, I was greeted with a view of a proper winter wonderland. Not much snow, maybe 1cm in total, but it was fresh and the main roads were only partially cleared. It had been warm and sunny the day before.

Anyway, no time to ponder things, time to get dressed, go down for breakfast and brave the weather outside. I find that I had left the back window open of the Merc, and there was a small snow drift on the back seat. Oh dear.

Not only was it snowing, icy too, but fog had formed too. Just perfect driving conditions to go to work in, but then we are all sensible, I reach the tram lines, turn left and am at the office having encountered no trouble at all.

I am in the office because I have yet more training, problem solving this time, and that means getting no real work done for two days, and being submitted to death by powerpoint and trying to figure out the practical parts of the course, which was based on the manufacture of biro pens. We talked more about the design and quality issues of cheap biros all day, and not actual problems but contrived ones.

We are learning structed problem solving, 8D, and it is dry. Oh so dry. And as ever, I watch the second hand creep round the clock minute after minute as the day drags by.

We break for lunch, then do the same all afternoon until it is four, and with our fried brains we are free to go and do some actual work. The instructor is staying at the same hotel as me, so we arrange to have dinner, saves us both sitting alone.

Back to the hotel and 90 minutes in which to get any work done, listen to some music before going down for an early beer before Anna turns up.

She arrives and we go to eat, the restaurant is heaving and there seems to be just two servers, so, service is slow, so we have time to talk. Food comes after an hour, and is OK. I have schnitzel which is fine in that it is something other than burger and fries.

That done, we go to our rooms, I have a shower then climb into bed listening to the radio. Meaning I fall asleep.

Tuesday 20th March 2018

I was woken up by Scully landing on my feet after Jools had fed her. I had not heard the alarm or herd Jools get up. I must have need the extra 20 minutes. It was five in the morning, and light was showing on the horizon, it was still mighty cold, as the heating was yet to switch on, but spring would return later that day and temperatures nearly in double figures. But by then I would be in the air and flying to Denmark.

I get dressed, finish packing, feed the birds and wash up, all ready to go by quarter to six.

It is nearly light when Jools drops me off, I get the ticket from the machine on the platform, then stand in a steady drizzle as the grey clouds let go of their moisture.

I think about going to stand under the short roof, but decide against it as I only have 5 minutes to wait. So it rains harder. Darn it.

The train arrives, as do the passengers who had been waiting in their cars, we get on and slip into our seats, quickly warming up as the heating was on full, or so it seemed. It is your typical commute, lots of people getting on, drinking coffee and chatting to friends or looking at their phones or tablets.

At Stratford I stop for breakfast, just the usual, and I can read more of the orchid book as I eat and drink. I am in a good mood.

I join those walking to the DLR, get on a train just before it leaves, which then fills up at Stratford: I stand for a change, looking out of the window as we pass the usual landmarks.

It seems I am timing my arrival at LCY perfectly, as again there was no queue to drop my bag off, and upstairs just delayed by ten minutes going through security. I find a quiet place to sit which had a good view of the departure board, and get out the orchid book and read more.

I find I am sitting at the right gate, so no rush for me, and I find that the plane is just under half full; 14 of us, so we can sit where we want, two seats each if we want. I keep good old 8A of course, just in case I can take some shots.

We taxi and as soon as we straighten up, the engines roar and off we go, leaping into the air and straight into low cloud. Of course, if you go high enough, in time you will see blue sky and sunshine. We turn north east and are on our way. I continue to read, then have juice and breakfast, read some more. I look up finding that the clouds have ended, and the Frisian Islands are clear below us. I take photographs.

Denmark is sunny too, and once we have landed and I get my case, car key and outside the terminal, I find it pretty warm too. But not 14 degrees as the car’s dashboard readout claimed. I have a Mercedes A class, not the best of cars, but pretty darn good, and has plenty of horses under the bonnet. I roar off.

The countryside is yet to wake up here, but I see 6 buzzards on the way, some flying, but an almost pure white one landing on the verge as I go by. An amazing site, just wish I could have got a shot of two. But you’ll have to take my word for it.

I drive to the office, and arrive in time to take part in the bi-weekly meeting. It is my turn to speak as I walk through the door, all are amazed. But then I am quality.

I work to five, then drive to the hotel, the Scandic along the ring road. Not the best, but easy to get too, and a blast along the O2, trying to get through all the traffic lights before they turn red.

As I missed lunch, I eat early, and I have no worries about ordering burger and fries along with the onion soup as a starter. It is satisfying I have to say. I read more of the orchid book, and have a head full of plans to visit many of these places mentioned in the book. We shall see. I am full of good ideas, usually very expensive ones.

No football on TV this week, as it is an international weekend coming up, so I listen to the radio before turning in at half nine.

Phew.

Brexit blah blah blah

It is perhaps the supreme irony in Brexit, in that for many years, the brave Brexiteers have been complaining that membership of the EU menas being forced to accept rules without representation. Although this is, in a word, bollocks, as for the last 45 years Britain has been able as a full member of the EU to shape EU policy and laws. But by accepting what may be an open ended alignment in regulations, be subject to all laws and regulations without a say. So, in order to take back control we have to give up more control.

This is clearly madness on a stick, but where we are now.

As always, Britain accepted, in the end, the deal that the EU offered, as it was always going to be, and now May has to sell it to her party, Parliament and the country. Thing is, if there is no other solution, then the fallback position for the Irish/NI border on January 1st 2021 is that NI will, in effect still be in the SM and CU to avoid a hard border. And to avoid a border between NI and Britain then Britain would have to at all.

And this would be situation until something, anything was arranged to make that obsolete. However, that the solution to the frictionless border in Ireland is both sides being in our out of the SM and CU. But there is no chance Ireland leaving the SM and CU, so NI would have to remain.

So there is the ultimate irony of Brexit, having no representation on the rules that we would have to follow, let the Union itself would be broken apart. And is that what the Brexiteers wanted? Probably not, but that is what happens when you don’t plan, even with two decades in which to do it.

Today, Naughty Nigel was in a fishing boat on the Thames throwing rotting fish in to protest about UK staying in the Common Fisheries Policy for the 21 months of transition. That as a fishing commissioner, he attended one out of 72 fisheries meetings show how real his care for the fishing industry is. Anyway, throwing waste foodstuff in inshore waters is a crime, there are photos of the pillock doing this, so I expect the twat to be arrested.

Thing about the transition is that most of the difficult issues, including Ireland, is delayed until UK leaves the EU. Which is all well and good, but if that were to remain, then Britain would leave the EU and if there were no workable solution, be stuck in some kind of associate membership hell, taking rules and not having a say. In this, the EU gets rid of the UK as a member, but is able to trade with it, and have the four freedoms as normal, possibly forever.

And in a twist, it could be said the referendum was enacted as UK had indeed leaft the EU, as per the question, and that was that. Britain would probably bounce along for many years until it applied to rejoin.

Only fly in the ointment, would be that rejoining the EU is now under the Article 49 process, which takes many years, and Britain would have lost its op-outs and rebate. A version of the hard remain I have mentioned.

Some Brexiteers will not be happy until the UK has left all EU institutions, but many would be happy with having left the EU only, but in doing so have Britain become the thing they said it already is; a vassal state.

The national demographic is getting younger now, with more young voters outnumber the older ones who voted for Brexit, almost certainly in a decade or so, Britain will rejoin the EU, if it leaves, or maybe the terms it leaves on are good enough to remain in that state, well, forever.

Monday 19th March 2018

Over the weekend the point in the year was passed that the sun was above the horizon for more than 12 hours. Spring is coming, even if the weather saw a brief return to deepest mid winter, but then with nearly 13 hours of daylight. And even then, the Imperialism continued to grow through the snow and frost, but then they are the bastard children of triffids.

At least for a travelling week, I have Monday at home, meaning laying in to six, or nearly six, before getting up, making coffee, feeding the mogs and then sitting bleary-eyed in front of the computer to see what madness has happened in the eight hours we were asleep.

Jools is a blur of energy, and out of the house at quarter to seven. I am barely capable of speaking, so have another coffee, feed the birds and have oatcakes for breakfast with a third brew, and I am not quite such a bad mood.

The day begins slow, which is nice, with a trickle of mails. Molly sits beside me on the table, just staring at me. If she tries hard, she can lay down on the case I keep the electrical equipment and cables for the computer. It is some achievement. Nice that she wants to be close to me, but sometimes she just sits and stares.

Lunch comes at ten, I tell myself its eleven in Denmark meaning its nearly lunchtime. I must not eat now until dinner now, which I hope I can keep to.

Snow melts a little more in the face of a keen east wind, but its not as arctic as over the weekend.

Once work is done, I do a session on the cross trainer, I really don’t feel like it, but I know I must, as I am away for three days from Tuesday, and being at the Scandic there are just three fitness machines, and I can’t be arsed in waiting in line. I huff and puff to a David Bowie soundtrack, which is pretty good.

That done, I prepare potatoes and vegetables to go with the second roast with the left over beef and Yorkshire Puddings. All in all, takes 40 minutes to cook, and once Jools is back home, I dish up. We eat whilst listening to the latest instalment in the new HHGTTG series. Although it is nice to hear these familiar characters, and their original actors voicing them, pretty much, but the story is really not up to it if I’m honest.

Before I know it, the evening is slipping away, I have to pack, check my documents and all the other stuff that a three day trip requires. There is just time to catch the latest edition of Only Connect, and then it is nine, and the alarm goes off at half four, so, another early night I suppose.

The deal is done

So, at lunchtime today, DD and M. Barnier held a press conference at which it was announced that an agreement had been made.

Sure, it was full of fancy words, DD smiled, but then an idiot doesn't know when he's been shafted.

Britain will leave the EU, but there will be a transition period of 21 months, which for all purposes, Britain will be considered a member of the EU, but will have no say in new rules and laws, but must accept them.

UK will be able to conduct trade talks with 3rd countries after 29th March next year, but will need the EU approval to implement them.

The Common Fisheries Policy will apply until the end of 2020.

If there is no other solution, then NI will have strict regulatory alignment with the EU. THis could mean a border between N and Britain. The option is for all of UK to abide by the SM and CU.

UK has caved in on EU citizen's rights, which is good as this also protects UK citizen's rights in the EU, which the Government and Brexiteers have abandoned after breaking their pre-referendum promises.

Lots more analysis as to what it means will come out in the next few days, but rest assured that the EU has not given an inch, all movement, as ever, has come from Westminster. This deal could have been signed as it is in June last year, all that time and effort wasted. But at leas DD got his air miles, eh?

What does it all mean?

Who knows, depends on what happened in the next few months. But, and its a big but, each of the EU27, many regional assemblies, the EU Parliament as well as Westminster must ratify this and and the final deal. Without 100% ratification by all sides, the who things collapses, but UK leave the EU on the 29th March 2019. A huge gamble, one which is full of broken promises by the Leave Campaign, Brexiteers and the Government.

At best, Britain will be stuck in an endless EEA agreement, with no say in rules it must obey, least it be thrown out without notice and without recourse. Fucking hell, wasn't worth it, was it?

Sunday 18th March 2018

A third of a century today, I started work in the chicken factory. A third of a century; 33 years. In that time I saw my fair share of dead chickens, joined the RAF, drank my share of beer and port, liven in Germany for three years, deployed to Italy, did two exercises in Las Vegas, married twice, divorced twice, lived in Norfolk (twice) Wiltshire, learned to drive a truck, forklift, left, delivered beer, looked for oil in Indonesia, the North Sea, Kazakhstan, joined the wind industry, moved to Kent, met Jools and the rest. Phew.

And nearly ten years of it is recorded here. In these pages It has been quite a ride.

And the next part of the adventure is to arrange this year's adventure, which we had been putting of for a few weeks, for various reasons, but with snow on the ground and the land in the grip of permafrost, we were going nowhere that day, so best get busy with the internet.

But it is Sunday, and that means watching MOTD and eating bacon butties, possibly even at the same time. It looks mighty cold outside, but I put lots of seeds and food out for the birds, and they seem very happy indeed. Back indoors for coffee and then grilling bacon for Jools then me, so I can ten take myself to the sofa to watch the recording of the football. Maybe only four games, but all with lots resting on them. The bacon is cooked within an inch of being brined, so is perfect in fresh bread and melting butter.

OK, so the trip: this year we are going back to America, five days in New York, four days in Boston, and five north of Boston at location yet to be decided. Once the bones had been agreed, we pick the dates on the BA website, choose our flights, where in Manhattan we wanted to stay and click "book".

Done.

And that was that.

I did a session on the cross trainer. Then Julie did, and so with no plans to leave the house, we decide to have dinner for lunch, roast beef and all the trimmings, so at 11, I pop the seasoned joint in the oven and prepare the vegetables. Simple. As. That.

There is nothing like roast beef, Yorkshire Pudding, steamed veg. And gravy. We had bought a bottle of fizz to go with it, and it was all rather marvelous.

After washing up and tidying up, I take to the sofa and battle sleep all afternoon with the two cup games on. Seems a bit of a waste of an afternoon, watching football, when none of the teams are taking it 100% seriously, but then it was snowing outside.

And that was the weekend, ended up with Jools and I playing cribbage, I won by a single point, but I was battling sleep. So at nine we go to bed.

Phew.