Tuesday 30th October 2018

Winter is coming.

And this day it very much felt like it, as before dawn the rain started to fall, and it continued pretty much all day, causing it never to grow fully light, or seem like it, so I worked with the table lamp on.

This was also the day of the bird carnage, thanks to Mulder.

Jools decided that me moaning and walking like an old man complaining about my back meant that we should try to do something about it, so she brought her office chair downstairs for me to work from. I did not want it, my pride and stupidity said that if I just stiffened my upper lip, I could just grin and bear it. She was right, of course, and as the day went on, the pain that would build from my back pressing against the chair back that had happened the last few days, just didn't happen. Didn't get better, but didn't get worse.

And with the rain falling, usually the cats would spend the day inside, looking mournfully out of the window at the falling rain, but this day, Mulder decided that we would spend the day catching dinner for me. So, over the course of a couple hours,, he brought in a goldfinch (dead), robin (dead), goldfinch (alive), Goldfinch (dead) and robin (dead). And he announced his arrival through the catflap with his little meow that he saves for these presentations to us of feathered dinner.

But work carried on, sometimes me having to break off from meetings to scoop up the feathered corpses that Mulder left around the living room, or under the table, for me. I would pick them up, check for signs of life and deposit the body in the food bin. I have to say it is very rare for them mogs to bring in birds or mice now, so this was very unusual.

Sitting in the office chair was at least comfortable, and the morning and early lunchtime just flew by.

I booted the cats out in the afternoon, as if not bringing birds in, they are meowing for food. And that seems to keep them quiet. Mulder is not impressed that one his favourite ten places to sleep is now downstairs, not in the back room where it catches the morning sun. Oh well.

And so the afternoon fades into evening, with dusk coming before five, and outside the rain having just about stopped. I cook steak and ale pie for dinner, mainly because we have a pink of bestest beef gravy to use up, and there is now way we're throwing that away. We have steamed veg and roast potatoes with the pie. And wine. Always wine.

And very nice it is too.

Nowrich played in the evening, against Bournemouth in the League Cup, or whatever its called now And played very well, created a hatful of chances, but still lost 2-1, but impressed those reporters at the ground, apparently. But I missed the end, as I lay in bed with the radio on quietly, and dropped off at about twenty past nine.

Rock, and indeed, roll.

Mid-week Brexit

There are many ways to look at Brexit, and the unfolding disaster that it will be.

Listening to Parliament discussing it, to the layperson at home one would think it was some abstract concept, or something like discussing new packaging for cigarettes rather than a process that has the possibility of wrecking most people's lives for decades. Take the discussion regarding Monday's budget; no one knows with any certainty how badly any flavour of Brexit will make the country and economy poorer, we don't know how much. But the Chancellor gave tax cuts and breaks, mostly to the richer parts of society, but increased public sector spending, which he heralded as being the end of austerity.

But the Government's own figures show that even with a WA, TA and final agreement on trade, we will be something like 8% poorer, and without 16% poorer. And yet spending was increased, and there was the promise of jam tomorrow, irrespective of how bad Brexit might be. In fact he said the word "brexit" just once in his speech.

One would have hoped for some scrutiny from the Opposition, but they support the tax cuts and are mainly for Brexit, at least the front bench is.

I see the people on Twitter from whose tweets I base these posts on, pulling their hair out at the madness of it, business leaders screaming how mad it all is and how Ministers know nothing, but the press carry on their cheerleading.

A Belgian Minister said today, that in the event of there being a WA and TA, and things went badly, UK could rejoin in as little as 18 months as we would already be aligned. This is the first crumb of comfort I have heard from the EU side, and not sure if it would be in compliance with EU law. The EU is at the end of a day, a political beast and sometimes those solutions will work regardless.

But back home, Brexiteers just don't get that not only must the WA be ratified by Parliament, but by each of the EU27 too, and the EU Parliament, and failure of ratification would mean that both would fail, in particular if time ran out and 23:00 on 23rd March 2019 came and went.

It seems increasingly probable that May cannot get any WA though her current Cabinet. If she did she would then have to get her party to back it, and Westminster to ratify it. The EU thought it best to set aside 6 mnths from the two year A50 period for notification, UK has already burned through a month of that, and it seems both sides are no nearer agreement on the WA. Raab and Barnier have not met this week because Raab has been in Westmister for the Budget debates, and so another week slips by, and we are seven days nearer the cliff edge.

Monday 29th October 2018

Back to work.

But, working from home.

Jools tried to set her alarm for six, but Mulder had us up twenty minutes before then.

And it was getting light, already. This was the bonus of the clocks going back.

Now, it may seem there is always something wrong with me, and on this day a combination of things, ailments, made it a very miserable second half of the day. But, first, my bad back, a muscle strain or something was really getting me down, and being at the top of my glutes, just sitting on the dining room chairs was painful. I take some painkillers and hope it will get better.

Jools has made coffee, and I drink that whilst watching MOTD2, but the though of hearing Jose taking the credit for Utd's win means I stop the video before that game comes on.

Time for breakfast and a second coffee before setting up the office on the dining room table, and off we go, like I'd never been away.

But my back was really causing me some discomfort, so I am up and down all morning, ending up on the sofa with my lap top on my lap, as this is the least painful option.

I carry on working.

Now, allergies.

As you know I have had a long time problem with allergies that seem to range from too much shower gel to a Southeastern class 395 Javelin, and much inbetween. Sometimes I don't have a shower so I don't un-neccessary shower gel or shampoo on. But sometimes, for no reason, and attack begins.

To be honest, sometimes telling an allergy attack from flu is tricky, but as a rule, an allergy attack as snot setting like concrete in my nose, and a cold/flu means there is an endless supply of the stuff, usually flowing freely. It begins with sneezing fits, which in itself is another allergy warning, and then my nose clogs up, and even swallowing and breathing is an effort.

And this, coupled with my back makes this boy very miserable indeed.

What does light up my day is the delivery of a photographic book I had been searching for all over New England, but found a copy of I Winston Link's best work for twenty quid, and that arrived late in the afternoon.

By the time evening comes, I am feeling very down indeed, painful to get up, walk and my nose blocked solid.

So fed up.

I do make insalata and garlic bread for dinner, which I wash down with some wine.

Through the evening the allergies range from bad to dreadful, and I am concerned sleep will be impossible, so before bed I take more drugs and the "last resort" nasal spay, which I don't think will work, but does, I lay in bed and one nostril clears, enough for me to relax and sleep soon comes.

Roll on, roll off Brexit

It seems that over the weekend, someone on Government briefed piss poor ex-blogger and certainly not a journalist, Harry Cole, that the Government had a plan to chater ferries to bring in food and supplies if those dastardly French staged a go-slow at Calais, or things were as bad as feared, and that other European ports would only be too happy to facilitate trade with the UK.

Only, there was a problem.

Several problems.

First, all Belgian, Dutch and Danish ports are in the same EU that Calais and France is in, and if they hadn't noticed, the one thing that has united Europe has been Brexit.

Next is that UK seafarers qualifications would not be recognised in a no deal, so would not be able to man a ship into a EU port.

Nor would the registration of the ship, were it UK.

Almost as though the Brexiteers have no idea what they are doing or talking about.

It also emerged that Chris Grayling's Department of Transport has not even started to talk to the EU about what would happen to UK planes and technicians, as those talks are the gift of the EU to begin. I mean, wasn't Brext supposed to bring back control? But don't worry, Grayling doesn't think there is anything to worry about, though he clearly has no idea what he's talking about.

The PM is holding firm on her line that there will be no second referendum, she told the Norwegian Parliament that today, though, in the end, with chaos looming, that would be a decision for Parliament to make, not the Government, but then that is a constitutional fight that we have to look forward to in the New Year.

Sunday 28th October 2018

First day of winter.

Not really, but it feels like it

It being light at seven in the morning is nice. Being dark at five isn't. But that would come later.

We do actually sleep through our extra hour in bed, and waking up I am not sure if my internet radio that sits beside the bed had updated or not, so it could be six, seven or eight. It was seven, and just about light.

And the only two things on the agenda were: 1. Snap a train. 2. Get a haircut.

I checked and double checked the timetable for the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway, and was certain that one of the doubleheaded non-stop services would pass through St Mary's Bay at about half nine, meaning we had lots of time to get ready and get over there to eb standing at a level crossing waiting for the train to pass by.

I make bacon butties, of course. Jools has a shower, get dressed and we leave at half eight, giving us an hour to get to the other side of Hythe.

We leave the house with the breeze getting up and yellow and golden leaves being blown hither and thither.

We dive up the M2o past Folkestone, and then into Hythe, taking the coast road out of town until we came to the edge of Dymchurch, then turn inland to a small level crossing where there is a station, two platorms separated by two small tracks laid side by side. Standing on the far side I could look all the way up the line to Dymchurch, and I could see no train approaching.

So begins the waiting.

A walker came up to ask me what time the train was due, and was happy enough with my answer. And in the distance I could see a small white plume of smoke and steam marking the approaching train, though still a mile away.

It approached slowly, two scale model steam locomotives hauling a long rake of carriages, rattling along the uneven track.

I could hear the engines now, working hard pulling into the headwind, so I let the camera fire in bursts. Suddenly it was nearly upon us, so I switch to the other camera with the nifty fifty, and the train passed us, over the crossing and round the bend in the track beyond. I waved to people in the train, then we packed out cameras away and drove to Folkestone through Hythe and Sandgate to park at the top of the Old High Street so I could get a haircut.

The shop had just opened, and so I was first, the bloke chatted as he cut, meaning he took 45 minutes to complete the masterpiece. Jools said she pays fifteen for ten minutes, and I pay a tenner for 45 minutes; something wrong.

Once I am shawn, we can go home, and do, getting back as soon as possible, and then me preparing for Sunday lunch/dinner.

For both Jools and I, Sunday lunchtimes meant Sunday roasts. My Dad used to go tot he pub for 90 minutes, come home and eat dinner, then fall asleep for a few hours. This used to happen 52 weeks a year, no matter how hot the kitchen was for Mum, and somehow she made the preparation of said Sunday lunch last all Sunday morning and into the afternoon.

I have a way of doing it, meaning the joint is cooked in an hour and a quarter, the veg all steamed and the roast spuds done in the fryer. Takes less than two hours from start to finish, and tastes darn good too.

The reason for eating early is that we are to resume card hostilities in the evening.

So, at six we go over to Whitfield where there is no John, but Jen and Sylv are there. And Jools and I clear up, in two hours, winning it all, just about. So we make good our escape and come home under the hall full waning silvery moon, ready to be home at a sensible time so we can be bright and fresh for work in the morning.

Spending the Brexit 50p

Today, the Chancellor announced there would be a commemorative coin minted to celebrate Brexit, a 50p piece.

Words fail me at this point.

And for the rest of the day, he pretended that Brexit would not affect the country's finances, unlike yesterday when he said in the event of a no deal there would have to be another Budget. The PM bitch-slapped him in saying that today's budget was costed for all flavours of Brexit.

Not that I believe her of course, but at this point, I am getting past caring and that we maybe should just let it happen and so I can scream at the world, what the fucking fuck did you fucking think would happen you fucking fucks!

It has been suggested that UK should temporarily join the EFTA, or the Norway for Now proposal. Only thing is that membership of that can't be temporary and negotiations could not begin until we left the EU and there would still be the cliff edge and the NI Border backstop would be needed. And anyway, other members might not be too welcoming of a country several times the population of their, combined, coming in and swinging its weight about. I mean, we wouldn't be happy with the wallpaper or anything, just like when we were in the EU.

The possibility of extending A50 yo know about why that is a non goer, however it has been suggested that in the case it were needed, rather than have EU Elections, then UK MPs could sit in both Westminster and Brussels. This sounds sane in the fog of Brexit, but is really just madness on stilts.

So, five months today, time ticking down on having an actual WA to ratify, anywhere. No hurry, really.

Brexit reality

Today, the Chancellor announced that on the eve of his 2018 budget, there would have to be another in the event of a no deal Brexit.

Hammond is the bete noir of the Brexiteers as he won't tow their line, instead of belief, he relies on facts on which to base his actions.

Under a Freedom of Information request (FOI) it was revealed that the NHS would suffer great shortages of doctors, nurses and drugs. Which is about everything the NHS does, nd as anyone with a brain would tell you that even if the £350 million claim written on the side of a bus, training nurses takes something like 5 years, and doctors 7; you can't just magic these out of thin air, unless you allow immigration of course.

This week sees more meetings between Raab and Barnier as desperation sets in as the clock ticks down.

Don't say I didn't tell you so, but I told you so!

Good night.

Saturday 26th September 2018

We wake up after 9 hours sleep, and I feel, if not well, but better than I did on Friday, but still rather under the weather.

Despite having some food and stuff in the house, we decide to go to Tesco for some more stuff for the week ahead.

We had got up after seven, which meant to get back on schedule we had to rush our first coffee, then get dressed so we could leave at eight. That done, we drive to Preston for some meat.

We don't eat as much meat as we used to, but when we do, we like it to be decent and actually feel like it should, which it doesn't always when we get it from Tesco.

Although it is sunny, it feels like autumn, trees are being stripped of their leaves, the fields of brassica that proliferate west of Sandwich look just about ready to harvest, and once in the shop, the Christmas book is open. Meaning, I had to decide what we're going to eat for our meal; turkey crown, salt beef and sausage rolls it seems.

We chat about football and our holiday, but there are more customers, so I leave with some beef for roasting on Sunday, and pork pies for lunch.

We drive back home, back along the main road, taking our time, as we have all day.

We get back just before ten, time then to put Huey on the radio, just like old times. Jools puts the shopping away and I make breakfast, or warming the croissants and making a fresh pot of coffee as it is in reality.

And there were are; just whiling my time, writing, editing, listening to the radio. I slice the pork pies for lunch, make more brews, then settle down for the serious business of listening to the football. I do struggle to stay awake, but just about manage it, and so am awake when Norwich score the only goal of the game in the first half, they never really seemed under pressure. So, that's three wins from three games in the week, and our rivals have just nine points from all their games this season, which explains why they sacked their manager on Thursday, and on Saturday morning appointed for Norwich boss, Paul Lambert.

Like finding you ex is going out with the school bully or something.

And that is it for Saturday. We have a selection of party food for dinner, eaten whilst we listen to Liverpool on the radio, followed up by watching the last Gardeners World of the year. Yes, autumn is here, and now is about harvesting or preparation for next year.

We had quite a year with our garden, starting off with the new bath and beds, planting it bit by bit and seeing what thrived and what didn't. The long hot summer put a strain on everything, we had to water most evenings, and each day seemed hotter than the previous. But the late sunflowers have been wonderful, and still going. Nest year we hope to have a better than ever display of wildflowers in what I hope I can refer to as the ex-lawn.

Weekend Brexit

There are only so many ways you can describe the madness that is Brexit. Since coming back from holiday, I really have not got back in with the latest updates, but the basic facts or choices have not changed.

At all.

Chief idiot, IDS, tried to claim that the death of the automotive industry wouldn't matter, as it took up only 1% of the economy. Let that sink in for a minute. Thatcher persuaded the Japanese car makers to come to UK because of the single market, what does twats like IDS think will happen when we leave?

And one of the younger royal couples, don't ask me which ones, are heading to Tonga to drum up a potential trade deal.

Tonga.

Fucking Tonga.

We are ripping up trade with the EU so we can trade with Tonga?

I mean this is clearly insanity, but insanity that cannot be questioned?

I have nothing against Tonga, I can remember Princess Anne's (I think it was) tour there in the early 1970s, looks a cool place, fat is cool, the weather is great. But as a trading partner?

The end is coming, the end for Brexit, whether its a happy ending or not has yet to be decided.

Who knows, and many Brexiteers just don't care.

Friday 26th October 2018

Pay day.

Time to go home.

It is three weeks since we left for the US, and since then I have spent three nights at home. I was still jet-lagged and tired, and coughing like I had been on cigars all my life.

And that night had not been much better, work at two after four hour's sleep, I pottered around online for a while before going to bed, and it felt that I had just dropped off again when the alarm went off at twenty past five. Twenty past four, UK time.

I feel really very poorly indeed, but the thought of going back home meant that I got out of bed and began to pack.

It wasn't getting light outside, looked and felt like the middle of the night still. But the traffic was building on the ringroad outside, so I paid my bill, loaded the van and was off.

At least traffic was light enough, along the ring road and onto the motorway, and the work to add a new lane on each side had been completed since my last visit, so was able to speed up to 130 kmh and slip past the slower traffic.

I turn off at exit 57, from there it was 20 minutes of single carriageway, then a short blast along another motorway before finally turning towards Billund. I arrived at seven, just as the rain began to fall, so I scrambled to get my case out of the back, then walked briskly to the terminal to check in, drop the case off and go to security. Passengers for a budget carrier were milling around looking for their boarding cards, so I weave between them to jump to the front of otherwise would have been a long queue.

Once through, I go straight for the cafe and have a fruit bowl, sandwich and a large coffee while I check mails, and I am feeling OK again.

I look around and see those heading south for the sun are now of an older generation than a month ago, retirees and elderly people are not drinking half litres of Carlsberg like their younger countrymen do, instead they have a coffee, or eat the packed breakfasts they had brought.

THe flight is called, so I go to wait at the gate, then board with the other passengers, taking a shot as I leave the terminal of our tiny plane.

I settle into 8A, and end up starting to read another cop of Rail as the flight is made ready, and take off. My eyes grew heavy soon after as we turned south so I nodded off thus missing second breakfast and coffee.

I wake up as we near the English coast. The clouds too thick to see anything, and like the outgoing trip, the plane was leaping about as we dropped through the thick clouds, and then the plane was being lashed with heavy rain, and it was like flying through a washing machine.

Less than a minute before landing, the ground comes into view, just as we cross the river and skim over a dock before touching down on the runway.

Once we had arrived at the terminal and the plane negotiated its 180 degree turn, we were allowed to get off the plane, walk through the rain to the terminal and so onto the UK border.

A short wait for our bags, then up to the DLR to wait for a train back to Stratford. I look at my watch and I realise that I wasn't going to make the early train, which means going for a coffee or shopping. Or both.

I walk into Westfield, and see that Foyles was open, so I go in to look for the railroad book I had been chasing in the US< but not available here either. I do buy Jools a book on Edward Hopper and the Bruce Springsteen autobiography for myself, though I have no idea when I will get time to read the thing.

I sit and wait for the train in the concourse, then go down with ten minutes to go before it was due, just to feel the cool breeze, and try to stop my coughing which was now making my chest hurt.

Dearie me.

The train arrives, so I sit down and begin to read the Rail magazine, so engrossed in it I was that I don't look out of the window until I had read it, and we were through Ashford and on our way to Folkestone.

I manage to grab the last taxi on the rank, but leave a family from New Jersey waiting; the driver asks if they want to go to the castle? No, the cliffs. As he had a van, there was room, can we take them and drop them off he asks me? I have no problem meaning he can charge double.

I talk to them the whole trip, advising them where to go, places of interest and that we were in NJ two weeks back.

We drop them off, then continue along Reach Road to St Maggies, me saying to the driver to let me out on Station Road she he didn't need to turn round.

I walk along to the house, and a little black and white cat hears me cough and comes out to say hello. Or ask for food.

Meow.

I was home, and so bushed that I put the computer away, turn off the work phone and go for a lay down once I had fed Scully. She still wants something, maybe me....

I lay on the sofa until Jools comes home at half three, she had come back from work via Tesco, just so we had something to eat were we to decide not to go out in the morning.

We watch Gardeners World on the i player, I then cook steak and ale pie for dinner, during which I drain the box of wine, and outside, it was dark again. But it was the weekend. Another dose of Monty at eight, and bed time, so tired, so aching all over. I take drugs and have more beside the bed, just in case.....

Thursday 25th October 2018

I awake with it still being dark outside, but the traffic is rumbling by. Odd really, that a town you might not have heard of, Allabourg, is choked with traffic, all people going to work from the outlying villages, and already up here in northern Denmark, the working day is well under way before dawn arrives.

I still have some jetlag, and the cough refuses to go, so together they make for poor night sleeps and me with a woolly head in the mornings. When I told my boss I wasn't going to set an alarm and she had to call me, she thought I was joking. But its true, I wanted as much sleep, every second of it, that I could. But I was in shower when she called. Twice. And the phone was on silent too.

Yes, I will met the rest at breakfast once dressed I tell her. Good we are to leave at half seven I am told.

I dress, pack and go down for a quick breakfast of a nutella roll and coffee before the others are ready to go, so we can load up the van, and I manoeuvre it out of the garage, with Mads telling me there was even less clearance on the roof this time. He put the areal back on the van, gets in, and we jump into the rush hour traffic.

The main road out of town, and in, is messed about with roadworks; it took some time for us to get to the motorway, but traffic coming into town was solid for miles.

Away in the west the full moon was just above the horizon, bright at first, but fading fast as sunrise approached.

My boss was concerned that we should not miss a meeting at nine, so that is why we left early, and I pressed on taking us back south to Aarhus, where once we arrived, the rush hour had ended, and there was no jams leading to where we turn off the main road to the office. Just no parking spaces. Or a couple. I manage to squeeze the bus into the space, and we go to the main entrance and our desks, just on time for the meeting.

And so there we are, all back from pretending to selling drugs and now back doing our day jobs, as it should be.

I have loads to do, still do, I have cleared one week's mails, but two are left unread from our holiday. If they're important, they'll write again, or ring. I suppose that's true.

I stay until 5, no point in going earlier as the roads will be jammed And at five it is a simple drive down to the ring road and along to the Scandic, where I have a room for the night.

We have upgraded you she tells me.

When I go to the room, I can only see that the room is slightly larger, being on a corner and has a second window. So, daylight, what there is of it in Denmark in October, is a luxury. Which I suppose is right.

I have no energy for working in the evening, I find some TV to watch, nothing interesting, before I go down for dinner at half five.

I order burger with cheese and onion rings without looking at the menu: I know it by heart. I do start with leek soup, which was souper. Super. And no beer, just a diet Coke.

Back in my room I watch the FC Copenhagen v Prague game, and it is awful, I mean worse than watching Norwich! There was lots of play acting and protests, so my interest waned somewhat. But Prague win 1-0 with a good goal, and like Copenhagen, my race is run, so I go to bed to cough myself to sleep.

Brexit update

There is little more to be said regarding Brexit that I haven’t already said.

May survived her appearance before the 1922 committee, sounds of table tops being banged could be heard by the gathered press outside. But this cannot mask the fact she is leader still only because there is no one else who can take her place, no one with cross-party support. None of the ERGs leader can gather enough party support to even think about submitting a vote of no confidence, let alone one of them become a stalking horse.

Nor can the ERG hope that Parliament would pass a “no deal” Brexit, probably even a bad one either is out of the question, and the reality for the PM is the only viable option is for the whole of the UK remain in some kind of CU and SM at least for 21 months after Brexit, and probably many years after that.

Plans are afoot for a flotilla of old ferries to be charted to bring emergency supplies of food and medicine into the UK from other port other than Calais in the even that is blockaded. Although the others would probably be blockaded too. This is something that would have happened in the dark days on 1940 when it seemed that Nazi Germany would be triumphant, that this planning is needed in 21st Century UK, to what was once the 5th largest economy in the world shows the totally folly and stupidity of Brexit.

So, time is running out, there needs to be closure on the WA in the next few days, if not week at the latest, or another month will be lost before the ratification process can begin.

And one final thing, Russia has formally objected to UK rolling over it’s EU based tariff schedules, meaning Liam Fox and his department might have to negotiate 750 pus deals just to stand still, at the same time, and with far more hostile opponents than the EU.

Wednesday 24th October 2018

Another night of not enough sleep, and the sound of traffic outside brings me back into the world of the woken, and despite it being my first night in the hotel, I have to pack and leave, as I will be in a different city by dark. By lunchtime, in fact.

I throw everything in my case, dress and check out, stopping for quick breakfast of fruit followed by Nutella rolls and coffee. Sweet coffee.

I drive to the office, park outside and wait for my three colleagues to arrive so we could set off north to Aalborg.

They arrive, with the Project manager laid low with flu, so she agrees to sit at the back of the bus so not to infect us, but then again I still haven’t shifted the cough I picked up in New York.

It is a 90 minute drive north to Aalborg, through identical Danish countryside, it all looks the same. I am warmed by the fact I see signs to t village called Aars.

Aalborg is a large town, and seems attractive enough, even if the roads into town were being rebuilt and sudden lane closures taking the new visitor by surprise.

We arrived at the hotel, but I find that parking is in an underground garage, and careful measurement and inching down the ramp reveals there to be less than an inch clearance for the bus. In fact the radio antenna had to be removed to make it possible, then there was the parking of a bus that steered like a bus in a restrictive space.

But it is done, we had arrived, and let the fun and games begin. Literally.

Once we had all arrived, we played a game called Outbreak or something, designed to show how cooperation can win the day. But we fail and the world is lost in two hours.

And after lunch, the real fun begins, as we are introduced to two actors who had arranged a role playing afternoon for us. We were to be drug dealers, and take part in three scenarios and learn whether to negotiate or not on a matter of dealing in harder drugs. To make it real, the role playing too place in the city with more actors, and having to arrive within two minutes of an agreed time.

We soon got into it, and in our small group I was to play a hopeless gambler who needed money, and I developed the character into quickly threatening casual violence to a former friend who was trying to set up a new deal. That happened beside an old railway roundhouse, and I was more interested in that than the game, but the whole afternoon was great fun, our turn being rounded off by visiting a Russian mobster who tried to pressure us into dealing in cocaine.

Once we were all back in the hotel, we had a debrief, then a route march across town to a micropub for a couple of hours of beer tasting!

And no, this was not arranged by me.

We had a half dozen small glasses of different beers, some better than others. We all talk, getting louder and louder, before we are lead down cobbled streets and past timber framed houses to a posh restaurant where we could order what steak we wanted. And a bottle of wine for yours truly.

By the time we had eaten, and a crème brulee for me to round off for me, it was gone half ten again and I was seriously tired. So I walked back to the hotel, up to my room to crash out, too late to call home again.

Tuesday 23rd October 2018

It is now the time of year when getting up to travel to Denmark means getting up in the dark, driving to the station in the dark, and getting almost all the way to London in the dark, meaning that looking out of the window only reveals my own reflection staring back.

I had been home only just over two days, but here I was on my way to another airport for another flight, just as well I don’t mind my restless feet, but then I am looking forward to next week at home. Just have to get through this week first.

I had packed sand prepared the day before, meaning all I had to do was remember to pack my pills from beside the bed. This I failed to do, just as well I am not life dependant on them, then.

Jools makes coffee, feeds the cats, and I stumble downstairs are another night of fractured sleep.

We leave the house at quarter to six, a gentle drizzle is falling which matches my mood. After buying my ticket, I sit under the station canopy, enjoying the cool temperatures and silence surrounding the station.

By the time the train arrives, there is a dozen of us waiting, so we get on, spread ourselves around the train before it pulls out again. And being half term week, the train wasn’t full until we reached Ebbsfleet, and by then it was just light enough to see dawn creeping over south Essex and East London before the train went down into the tunnel to Stratford.

Breakfast as normal in the café above the platforms, then catch the DLR to the airport to drop my bag off. I had checked in and e mailed myself an e ticket, but turns out that the barcode cannot be ready by the scanners for either the automatic bag drop off and the security gates, meaning they are no use whatsoever. Does not improve my mood to be waiting in line to have my case checked in.

But I am done and through security with no trouble, and find a place to sit and read while I wait for the gate to be called.

That happens twenty minutes before departure time, with the plane just over half full, I slip into my usual seat in 8A and settle down to read as the plane is made ready to take off.

I even have lunch, or 2nd breakfast as it turns out, but it would mean that I should not too hungry through the afternoon once at work.

The flight was a little different, in that the plane crossed the coast directly above Lowestoft, and looking down I could see my hometown laid out like a map, and even see where my old house in Hall Road still is.

So, over the sea to Denmark, and the dark clouds roll in and the wind blows, so as the plane drops to land, it is buffeted and leaps around like a frisky Shetland pony. But we land safe and sound, and walking out of the aircraft to cross to the terminal it feels very much like the end of October.

I am asked to take a mini bus for the week by the car hire people, which I accept as there is a demand from the boss to care share on the drive up to Aalborg, and so this will kill the “who has the biggest car” debate stone dead. And I would be driving.

The drive to the office is as it always is, with added wind and rain this time.

And at the office I am once again confronted by an inbox with 550 unread mails, and the task seeming too big to know where to start, but I know that mails from Monday onwards need to be dealt with, so I do that.

At five, I drive to the hotel, and am confronted by the car park in front of it full, usually this would not be an issue as there is a large underground car park to use, but this has a height restriction, and the bus too high. I do spy an empty space and so take a ticket and get that final spot so I can at least get to the hotel.

After checking in, I go to my room, and just about stay awake listening to some music before I leave to walk down to the Smokehouse where I am to meet a colleague and her boyfriend for dinner.

It is just a ten minute walk down the backstreets to the side of the canal were the restaurant is, and they were waiting for me, waiving from the table next to the kitchen. We were told, it is ribs night, a full rack for the price of half. I’m not that hungry, but the full rack arrives anyway, and we all three plough through a small mountain of meat. Heck, the cooks even give us extra portions of fries too, just make us that little bit fuller.

I don’t finish all the ribs, as I had the idea to wander down to the Highlander, Selma and her boyfriend join me, and we are rewarded by finding Chimay Blue Grande Reserve on tap. And it only comes in pints!

Just as well he bails after just the one, as my head is still scrambled by some mild jetlag and lack of sleep, so after drowning our beers we all walk back up the hill to the art museum where we part ways and I walk to the hotel, finding it to be half ten already and well past my bedtime.

Monday 22nd October 2018

And here I am catching up on blogs before I go off on me travels this week. I have to travel on Wednesday the project team is being called to a hotel in northern Jutland for some team building action. As many of us have been on the team for four years one might ask how much team building is really necessary.

But before travel, there is a full day at work and the chilling thought of that overflowing inbox.

We both slept badly to be honest, so it was some relief when it was time to get up and have some coffee. The cats were overjoyed to be home, and told us this regularly through the night, but once fed were happy enough to clear off for hours.

Jools is off to work, and I watch the Football League highlights online, seeing as Norwich won at the weekend.

That watched and breakfast prepared and eaten, it was time to get dressed and start work. As I had been off 19 days, there were a number of Windows updates to download and install, all of which meant my computer was just about unusable for three hours.

Which was nice.

But it settled down, and there were meetings, more meetings and news to gather and work out what it all means.

I have jam and crisp sandwiches at ten, as I was hungry, and by the early afternoon I could hear the pork pie in the fridge calling me. I had seen it in Tesco on Saturday, and thought I could really go for a pork pie But only being home for two days before going away, there is only so much food you can eat in that time, but I could make half the pie disappear.

The day fades as does my enthusiasm, I mean I was feeling pooped' So, I potter in the garden a bit before one final check on work mails and signing off and than starting preparing dinner. The boiled chicken and rice is just ready as Jools arrives how, just as the sun is setting and trees on the other side of the dip glow in the warm light.

And that was my first day back at work, like I was never away, really.

See you again at the weekend.

American Notes

I don't claim to write like Mr Dickens, but here are some thoughts on the trip to the US these past two weeks or so.

1. I tried to write about what we did each day, the day it happened, so nothing, or as little as possible was not forgotten. All good in theory, but factor in jeg lag, flu and allergies and some nights my accounts, especially in New York were sparse to say the least. So, it is my intention, as I did with the Japan trip, to go back and add some flesh to the bones to these posts in the weeks ahead, as I edit shots from each day, and more memories are triggered.

Most people we met were very friendly and open minded. We no one who were openly Trump supports, though I am sure there were some, but we did meet many who were very anti-Trump, including the guy pumping gas who asked us to take Trump with us.

The quality of the beer was very high, like in Wyoming last year, very few drinking the traditional big brand beers like Bud and the rest, with "craft beers" being really really popular.

Food portions were either large or huge, meaning that just one and a bit meals was usually needed, but into the second week we were up to the full three, will do us good to come home and get away from burger, ribs and maple syrup.

Road signs were sometimes confusing, at worse; useless. As we sailed by poorly marked junctions time and time again.

Travelling by rail between NY and Boston was fine, although a mad scramble to get on the train in the two minutes it was in the station. Seats lined up with the windows, and announcements for stations were clear and broadcast in time.

Petrol is cheap and plentiful as ever, with gas stations apparently every few miles, marking it out, like Denmark, in stark contrast to UK where mostly fuel only available in supermarkets.

Tipping is getting out of control, with most credit card terminals offering a 25% tip as a minimum option unless you put in your own figure, though on some machines that was difficult to do. My friend Marcy once told me; 5% for breakfast, 10% for lunch and 15% for dinner. For tipping a taxi driver 25% for doing his job, not speaking to us the whole trip, seems that 25% tip for not being involved in an accident seems a bit rich.

The price of food seemed to have increased much more than we had expected, a simple breakfast of fruit, bagel and coffees for two came to roughly twenty five bucks, with lunch and inner costing up to seventy. I know we could have eaten at Subway of Burger King, but sometimes you just want to sit at a table and be waited on.

Mostly, people were warm, friendly and helpful, nothing was too much trouble to help s simple Brits out, making the whole experience so very enjoyable.

The moment of truth

This afternoon, the PM made a statement to Parliament stating that, in effect, the UK and EU would be together in a CU and SM, though she did not quite use those words or course.

Those who read these pointless posts will not be surprised at this turn of events, only that it took so long for reality to defeat Brexit. Only, it hasn't, not yet.

May has to get this through Parliament, and for the EU Parliament and all of the EU 27 to ratify it. If she gets it through Parliament, then a future Government reneging on this deal would mean splitting NO off from the rest of Britain in just about every meaningful way.

Anyone who is surprised by this clearly hasn't been paying attention.

But this is not over, the ERG has to decide what to do, will they try to topple the PM and force one of their own, DD, to be PM? Or an election which might gift Number 10 to Uncle Jeremy, though there is every indication he would press ahead with Brexit.

A second referendum is a non-starter for reasons I have said a few times, but also the fact that Parliament voted on triggering the A50 after the people's case which helped crowd-fund gave them a meaningful vote, which MPs chose to fritter away. And then there was a snap election which the two main parties, both of which pushed pro-Brexit policies won the vast majority of the votes, even if the Tories slump meant that in normal times the PM would have softened her policies, not continue towards the cliff edge at top speed.

The main problem for May is that the backstop would be so politically disastrous that anything, even BINO is better than triggering it. And it would be triggered as she and her Cabinet agreed to this last December.

Views differ on whether the TA can be extended indefinitely. Because if all else fails and no other solution can be found, the backstop comes into force and NI stays in the SM for goods, at least, and the UK doesn't.

So, we will see how the shitstorm plays out this week. I would be surprised if May survives as PM until Friday, but then I have been expecting a coup since March and it didn't come. So, time to see if the ERG and Brexiteers have the bollocks to see this out, bugger the consequences for the country.

Sunday 21st October 2018

We both woke up some time after eight, meaning nearly 12 hours sleep. And I suffered with a wooly head the rest of the day, but we did both feel better.

It was like we had never been away in that there was football to watch, bacon butties to cook. And as I cleared up after those, Jools went to collect the cats. And I have to report that Mulder bowels did nearly last until she got home. Nearly, but not quite. So, Mulder emerged from his box half drenched in wee, and a pile of poo left behind. He didn't seem to mind, but Jools and I chased after him trying to towel him down to get the worse of the wee off him.

For the rest of the day we both had feline shadows following us about; Mulder followed Jools and Scully followed me, with Scully sitting in the stairs mewing for me to go to bed, at midday. Nice thought, lady, but not now.

I posted bogs, edited shots, listened to the radio and generally frittered the day away.

I did call Mum, I mean nearly four weeks since we last spoke and a holiday in the US to chat about, and yet there was nothing there, no spark of interest. He only news was that she had had an eye test and needed new glasses. She asked no questions about New York or Boston, and the only bit of interest was when she said that Autumnwatch was from New Hampshire this year, and that we had driven through there on Friday.

I made carbonara for lunch, we worked in the garden whilst the sun shone, and the day faded.

Heck, it was even warm into evening, we were jaded, but was still good to be home with each other and the cats. In addition none of our plants had wilted whilst we were away, only blot on the horizon was that work was looming in the morning. So, Jools ironed the washing, put stuff away, and I packed my case ready for travel on Tuesday. Planning ahead for a change.

We have steak and ale pie for dinner, quite lat for us at half seven, eaten whilst listening to Desert Island Discs. As we are now that age.

And that is it, other than we were not that tired, and only realised how late it was quarter past ten, meaning the holiday was now very nearly over.

Oh well.

A quick Brexit round up

If you want to have the summary them, nothing has really changed other than another two and a half weeks has been pissed up the wall by May and Raab, and we are no further forward.

I stayed off Twitter for the holiday, so had to watch Brexit through the BBC, but knowing what was being said was rubbish or lies and the BBC failed time and time to point these out shows just how e got into this mess.

DD now wants to be Prime Minister, and there seems to be the possibility of a coup by some on the COnservative Party this week. That no matter who is PM will change the position, maybe only by making it worse if Boris, DD or JRM are leaders, then you see very quickly this for the side show that it is.

As Europe carries on ripping the Conservative Party apart as it has done since the late 80s, and will do no matter what happens in the next few months, the whole exercise is pretty pointless. DD wanting to be PM in order to deliver a proper Brexit, whatever that is, when for over two years he was literally the Minister for Brexit leading the negotiations with the EU. It would be funny were not so tragic.

MPs and Ministers carry on claiming that black is white; that there is no border between Switzerland and the EU, despite that there is, that there are hundreds, thousands of pictures on the web of the miles of queuing lorries at the border. There is no boarder for private cars, as the Swizz are in the single travel area. I spoke to a German lady, now living in Switzerland, about Brexit and the Swiss border. Her job is to arrange freight across that very border. Why are UK politicians not called out for lying about this, she asked? Why indeed.

As ever, there are simple ways to avoid a hard border in Ireland. Yes, that again. But these simple solutions involve single markets, customs unions and tax equivalence. Or the ability to know how much tax to levy on good coming in. Without these, there has to be a hard border. No amount of technological solutions will ever replace simple WTO rules and the status of third countries,, which the UK will come in relation to the EU when it leaves.

These are simple concepts, which even I have grasped, so knowing these things I can demolish and Brexiteer argument on cross border trade, shame then BBC journalists seem unable to.

If anything, remain is in worse shape than leave, in that there is a growing demand for a 2nd referendum, 3rd if you count the 1975 one, with a march in London yesterday which attracted over half a million participants. A second referendum cannot be an affront to democracy, nor should should the people's voice be silenced by a previous people's voice, and I believe the only way that Brexit could be stopped is a second referendum. But a win for remain is not guaranteed, the Government of the day would set the question and the rules as set out in the primary and secondary legislation. But we know from the 2016 one that the clear labeling of it as an "advisory" referendum, and Parliament not needing to act on the result, and look where that got us.

Worse than that, none of the Labour front bench took part in the march yesterday, meaning that even if there were a change in Government there wouldn't be a change in Brexit policy.

Brexit will be decided by the Irish border, as it was always going to be, and any movement will be by the UK. We are now at the point where fudging an issue is no longer possible, only clarity will win through, and legal clarity at that, fudging the meaning of the December agreement meant that all was well until what had been agreed, or what the EU said had been agreed, was written in legal clarity, that it all fell down. Which is why I can't see there being any fudging of the border now to be kicked into the long grass of the trade negotiations, no matter how long the TA is.

Saturday 20th October 2018

We now switch to BST as the blogs and yours truly return to Blighty.

Jools suggested we could have paid to go in the BA lounge, but for the two hour wait we had, there seemed little point. Instead we walked down to gate 12 to wait it to open, find a seat and read. Or in my case, try the free wi-fi.

I had said there is no point its almost impossible to register and then slow as heck. JUst to prove me wrong, Logan wi-fi needs no registering, just log on and use. And as quick enough to upload shots.

I take it all back.

The flight started to board at nine, and we were all on board by twenty past, the overhead bins bulging from overfilled cabin bags, and my camera bag.

I had somehow booked us in coach class again, meaning we were jammed in with another passenger on our row. But at the least the in-flight entertainment would distract me, right? Wrong. The video for our rwo was not working, even switching the system off and on again did not work! THis did mean nothing to take my mind off the flight, but turns out after two (small) bottles of wine and a chicken curry, I would actually sleep. Once I told the guy behind me that his knee was resting in the small of my back.

I awake as the plane crosses the Irish coast, with an hour left on the flight. For some reason the flight was less than six hours, meaning the lack of video wasn't that bad a deal.

I have a morning cuppa, then look out of the window as the plane drops height to admire the mist in the Welsh valleys, lit by the rays of the rising sun.

We are served a cuppa, the first tea I have supped since leaving home 15 days before, and it tasted darn good.

We landed and taxied to terminal 5, soon we were all getting off, the tired and sleepy, stumbling off like an army of the undead. We had to catch a shuttle to the main part of the terminal, meaning squeezing on the tiny train for the 30 second ride, but from the station it was a few steps to the passport gates, and we were back home.

Just the bags to wait for now. I am spoiled in that when I go to Denmark, there are only the 30 of us at most on the flight, not all have bags, and most times the bags are waiting for us in the terminal, not the other way round. But at LHR there is a wait, a long wait. But they do come, and we set off to find Ricky who has a new plan to avoid paying car park charges. We meet up outside departures, throw the bags in the back of his cab, and we are away.

Last leg.

Ricky is always in a good mood, but does share some of the issues he has with the long hours, mostly driving to Heathrow, Gatwick or one of the other airports. He has little savings, but does own his own place, with a mortgage, but says he has no pension. I'll just have the Government one he says. Only the Government will phase them out by the time your retire!

Eek.

He didn't know.

So, we try to guide him, and fill in the 90 minute trip with financial advice.

But we arrive home, to find it warm in the lunchtime sunshine, heck, nearly hot. I open the house, write a shopping list, so I go shopping while Jools unpacks and loads up the washing machine.

Teso is mad as ever, but we need just about everything, so I get stuff for the weekend, but the crowds in the shop, just standing about talking and blocking aisles is just dumbfounding. Just glad to leave and go back home, and load the fridge with food, slice the tomatoes and cheese for insalata. As we feel we have pretty much lived of fried food and BBQ this last week at least.

We were both shattered, and once we had eaten, I lay on the sofa to listen to the footy, as being home I get to switch back to footy from baseball. As you do.

And Norwich win, coming from behind to beat Forest 2-1. Which was nice.

Needless to say, come eight in the evening, a combination of jelag and wine meant I could not keep my eyes open, so we called it a day.

Phew.

Friday 19th October 2018

Woke up to find the Sox ran out winner and AL champions after folding on to win 4-1 last night.

Yay.

It was a warmer morning at least, just, and the sky was clearing of clouds, all we had to do was find some foliage. Jools’ idea was to check online, and turns out there was good reports from the far east of the state beside Lake Champlain. And as that was the way I planned to get us to leave the state; perfect.

We had a simple breakfast, but with coffee. I even tried my hand at the waffle machine, and so got half done waffles, but still pretty good.

We throw our stuff n the back of the car, deciding to pack “later”, and with the bill paid, we could leave. Jools set the sat nav, and it took us down rolling roads, down deep shadowed valleys and up over sunbathed passes until we passed under I-87, and the land flattened out.

And here was the foliage we had dreamed of. Not majestic views of foliage filled valleys reflected in lakes, but stunning in their own way. We took the lakeside road that wound its way along the shores of Lake Champlain, rolling with the landscape, with views and vistas opening up and closing of in metres.

We stop a couple of times near the shore to snap the scene, but not quite what we had in mind, but as we had the places to ourselves, still good.

We made our way to the first bridge over the lake, near to Port Henry. I had been this way before and remembered a diner made from an old railroad coach, but we could not find it.

Instead, once over the bridge and in Vermont, there was a place to eat, so we stop and find the staff stressed and in a very sarcastic mood, but being Brits we lapped it up. We ate well, good honest foo. A Ruben for me and fried clam sandwich for Jools.

We drove into Vermont, stunned by its beauty; rolling countryside, red farm buildings, and tree-topped hills. We followed the sat nav as it directed us south through small towns, some with colleges until we hit the interstate, and from then it was a race to see if we would reach the airport in time, as the traffic around Boston would be dreadful.

Down through Vermont, into New Hampshire and finally into Massachusetts nearing Boston all the time. Traffic got heavier and heavier, but we made good time. Road signs suggested a 45 minute delay, but we made it to the airport at six after battling through traffic to the new tunnels created during the “Big Dig”.

We dropped the hire car off, packed the cases and walked to the shuttle bus to take us to the terminal.

A short wait at check in, another at security, but we were through and in the bar by half six, with three hours to kll. So, here I am writing on last time of our travels in the US, tomorrow we will be back home, and on Sunday we get the cats back

So, the world turns….

Thursday 19th October 2018 (updated)

We woke up to find there had been a light snow shower, and all cars and most vegetation was covered in a sugar coating of snow. Need I have to say it was cold?

After yesterday when it seemed we had ran out things to do in the Catskills, as our legs screamed no more trails, Jools asked if we should head north to the Adirondacks. I hadn't given it any thoughts, but seemed like a good idea to me, so I found a hotel in Lake Placid, routes were planned, and we looked at fall folliage websites, and it claimed around the Lake it was still at peak.

Anyway, the time had come for us to move on, we had exhausted things in the Catskills, and now further north the Adirondacks were calling.

We had breakfast, then packed the cases and an overnight bag for our last night, I paid the bill and it was time to go. The car was loaded, the windscreen swept clear of snow, the sat nav programmed, and off we went.

We drive north to Grand Gorge, then instead of turning east to Prattsville, we continue north. The road twisted lazily down a wide valley, lined with tree covered hills, nearly mountains, which slowly flattened out. Out of the Catskills heading due north to the interstate, through lush farmland laying in valleys skirted by heavily wooded hills, people were going to work or school, and we had a couple of hundred miles to put under our belts. It might have been a cold day, but the sun shone bright, and we made good time on the interstate. And the snow on the bonnet and back window slowly melted.

We go up to Saratoga, passing mile after mile of strip malls and then through the contre of the city, all universities and libraries and swanky looking shops. We stop for coffee. I have a large cup of vanilla chai, which I am not sure bears any resemblance to tea at all, and is now sweeter than I take coffee now, but nice to have once in a while, or once in a decade or so. And again, people in Dunkin Donuts are so friendly, or could it be that it is our voice that is so darned charming?

In truth I could do this every day of my life, travel somewhere new with the intent of getting shots. We take the wrong road out of the city, so have to travel for miles beside the interstate before turning onto it.

We joined I-87 and headed north to Canada. Or that is where the road ended up, we would turn off before then, if we remembered, traffic was amazingly light, and the empty road and twisty nature of it set my eyes drooping, so bad that I had to ask Jools to take over. We stopped at was supposed to be an information centre, wanting just a map of the Adirondacks, but found none, and little other than ads for hotels and summer activities.

We turn off the interstate, and before us were the mountains!

She drove us into the mountains, along a two lane blacktop, alongside tumbling young rivers which flowed down deep narrow valleys. But good shots were hard to come by, and soon enough we arrived in Lake Placid, where we were to spend the night.

Lake Placid is currently between seasons, the summer has ended and the skiing has yet to begin, so places are empty or closed.

We cruised through the town and out the other side, it is a lot more commercial than I remember for sure.

I saw there was a railroad, and about 5 miles out of town there was a level crossing, so I went hoping to see some train action, but only found that the rails were rusty and looking like no trains had run for years. Jools said she was hungry, so we turn round and go back to Lake Placid and see a place called the Redneck Grill.

As you can imagine, it was bbq; I had a sample platter and Jools had a burger. And I can tell you it was rather good. On TV was sports news, on three different channels, but the news all appeared to be the same, with the same clips used on all three.

We found a place to park in the centre of town, do some window shopping, but find nothing to tickle our fancy to be honest. So, we go not a bar for a swifter, think about what to do. We could check into the hotel, and with the temperature already at zero, that’s what we decided to do.

Out room was at the Best Western, nothing fancy but nothing wrong either. But outside it was parky to say the least, and apart form a quick walk before sunset to the lake, we saw no monsters in it, round to a shop that looked interesting, but wasn’t, it was back to the room to listen to the radio.

We go back out at eight, just to the next building down, a pub called the Pickled Pig, and although we were not too hungry, the fact they season, spice and smoke their own meat I could not resist. Heck, they even made their own ketchup, I had ribs, again. And it was better than good, washed down with a pint or two of vanilla porter, which was almost as good as the ribs.

And finally, to watch some baseball action, Red Sox up 4-0 in the 5th innings and by 3-1 games.

Wednesday 17th October 2018 (updated)

We woke up to another glorious morning, but very chilly indeed. A sign that the seasons are changing.

We lay in bed while deciding what to do, and with nothing agreed or suggested even, Jools goes to investigate in the lobby of the hotel. Apparently the Baseball Hall of Fame and museum was about an hour away, and there was a brewery too in the town.

One of them win/win situations.

So, after breakfast we get in the car and program the sat nav to take us to Cooperstown.

The sat nav clearly is getting bored, so takes us via side roads and mountain tracks the 60 miles until we enter the quiet town. We start on wide main roads that sweep through picturesque villages strung out along the highway, fields with attractive red barns set in the grass. All nicey nicey.

The onto smaller and smaller side roads, under an interstate and across railroad tracks, that had no trains running, and none in sight no matter how slowly I drove over the crossing.

Over one final hill, and down a steep tree-lined road into Cooperstown, which seemed too small to have something so grand as the Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, some mistake? But no, on the wide main street, there was the museum.

And thanks to a mistake Cooperstown is now baseball central, as not only is the hall of Fame Museum there, but there are two or three bat shops, many mechanising shops and other related places.

I like baseball, and know little of its history, so it was an eye opener for me, but three floors was perhaps a little too much. I watched the game first whilst on det in the US in 1996 and 1999, and the first aim was to see an actual home run. Fast forward to 2003, and I was on holiday in New England, walk into a restaurant in Rockport to find all the staff running out to look at the TV as the Red Sox and Yankee’s bullpens were fighting with each other in their league playoff game.

I was in Boston that trip too, as the Red Sox fought to level the series to three games each, and in order to watch the seventh game, I had to get a taxi to Gloucester to a bar as Rockport was a dry town back then. The Red Sox lost that game, but would prevail the next year.

Thing is I thought that football (soccer) had the monopoly in being passionate about sport, but to be in Boston during playoffs against the Yankees it was easy to get caught up in the excitement.

I also learned then about the infamous “curse of the bambino”, said upon his trade from the Red Sox to the Yankees, Babe Ruth said the Sox would never win another World Series, and indeed they didn’t. I learned the Sox had come close a few times to winning, sometimes managing to lose the World Series from apparently impossible positions. They did triumph in 2004, coming back from 3-0 down in the ALCS series to win 4-3, then win the World series 4-0, thus becoming the first team to win eight post season games in a row.

That’s the way to beat the curse!

Ruth is an interesting character and story, and a story lost in legend. But he did most of what was claimed, and I learned today he wasn’t just a slugger, but a great pitcher too. Just not a nice guy.

The museum is great, I mean really well done, and a shrine to America’s Pastime, with a window on a lost world of wooden stadium, spitballers, sluggers and racially segregated sport.

I looked at the Babe Ruth display and left. On the ground floor is the Hall of Fame, where the greats of the game have a plaque and a brass representation of their face. It was like a church, and people went to worship. I appreciated it, but most of the names meant nothing to me, so I left.

We go to a corner café to have lunch, a bowl of chili for me, which might have been the best chili I have ever tasted.

I snap the Main Street, and with the rain starting to fall, we decide to head home. And the sat nav took us down even more obscure roads and tracks, taking us over the tops of wooded hills and mountains rather than round them. We were going to go to the “world’s largest kaleidoscope” but really this was an excuse for something to do, and something we probably could do with not going to see. So we go back to the hotel for a coffee, and a relaxing afternoon. While outside hail and then wet snow began to fall.

Seriously.

We feasted on frozen pizza and Boston beans that night, and tried to reduce the stock of booze we had accumulated, whilst outside there was a lot of weather, with rain hammering down for a while.