Tuesday 18th December 2018

I wake up each morning with the pain in my back and side a little less. Which is nice.

Better than nice. It mean I can walk without looking like an old man who has cacked his pants, and can climb stairs without giving deep signs with each step.

And being in Cowes to work, I have to live by their timetable, in that breakfast was not served until Half seven, meaning despite being awake at just after six, I can lay in bed listening to the radio whilst the room warms up and dawn shows round the curtains.

At half seven I go down for some fruit and yoghurt followed by poached eggs on toast and sausages. Because sausages.

Even that was a huge breakfast, I could have had a full English, but knew that would be too much.

I had foolishly agreed to give the auditor a lift from the Red Jet terminal to the factory, and he told me he should arrive by twenty past eight, so I get my skates on, pack my bag for work, and go down to the car. All I had to do was find the way to the hotel I stayed at last July.

Simples.

Thing is, Cowes is bolt round the ancient nretts, nay lanes, and so they twist and turn, doubling back on themselves. I am swearing to myself as on the third time I make it through the arch at the Fountain, and find a place to park beside the road as the jet foil had just arrived.

Peter slouched up, taking deep drags on a dog end, he climbs in the car and we shake hands.

I get us to the factory with no trouble, we are met at the lobby, and Peter knows everybody. It takes 20 minutes to get him signed in as the world and his wife comes over to say hello.

We are taken down to the meeting room where I have to say because of my back problems, I can't really do the factory tour. All are cool with that, and after introductions, they three of them go out, inspectering.

I am alone all day except when they come back at lunch, where in the cafeteria, Peter knows dozens more people so that takes an hour for him to eat and have a gasper outside.

At half three, they were done, so we wrap up and I take Peter back down to the ferry terminal, then battle my way down the narrow lanes to the hotel. It was heaving down, rain bouncing off the roads, causing it be dark by four. So much for me walking into town for dinner, or even to take a few snaps of the Christmas lights.

I go up to my room, put the TV on and watch crap for three hours until it is seven and dinner time.

I meet a colleague, I have a work t shirt on so she strikes up conversation. So we sit at a table and talk shop whilst we eat. She works at the blade factory in Denmark, and is a bit confused by England. Aren't we all. It is very pleasant, so Bruce's book went unread that night as we swapped stories.

But come nine, I am pooped, and I have to call Jools, so I say goodnight and go back to my room to call Jools and to read and laugh about Jose and Man Utd. Made my day that one.