2010s: The decade, how was it for you?

How do you even begin to review a decade? I have no idea. I mean, 20% of my life, or something close to it, all gone, never to be recovered, and mostly remembered through these posts. I have written over 3500 posts this decade, and taken what must be millions of photographs. We have travelled, we have seen and experienced things. Many things. How do you put all that in perspective?

Jools lost her Dad, I lost my Mum, she lost her Nan and niece too. I lost friends and colleagues, taken mostly too soon. A warning to us all to be careful and take heed of our bodies when they tell us things. None of us are as young we were, and just because we used to be able to do something, doesn’t mean you can now. Or as quickly.

In the course of our jobs, adventures and obsessions, we have met mostly fabulous people, and many folks who we got to know online we met in real life. And things that were important to me a decade ago, are not any longer.

Ten years ago, I was let go from the box factory, and I thought I was unemployable, then a lead, an interview lead to a temporary job. And then circumstances lead to a full time job. And I’m still with the same company nine years eight months later. Next year sees me a decade there and an extra month’s pay and three day’s extra holiday as a reward.

But that is in the next decade, which very well might end with me and Jools being all old and retired. If our meagre pension pots can support our lavish lifestyle of international travel and cheese collecting. Who knows.

But here I am, nearly a decade with the company, in a new role. A new old rile. And a year, or years of travel ahead.

Rumbling along in the background through the decade has been Mum’s health. From a minor heart attack in 2011, a major one in 2017 and the final one a few months ago. Inbetween there have been numerous hospital visit and ambulance call outs. But nothing changed. Really. As I remarked before, maybe we are doomed to become the adult in the relationship with our parents I know I heard myself telling Mum what she had said to her Mother a decade or so before.

But in one ear and out the other, as me old Dad would say.

And so it went on.

Apart from Mum, work, there was other stuff. I got into the so-called Kent Church Project. I think I have visited 325 churches, many inside and out, and taken nearly 13,000 pictures, met many fine people and I hope many more to come. I have plans already for September next year, and probably the year after to on Heritage weekend.

I also got into orchids; you might have noticed.

From dipping my toes into the water in 2013 and 2014, to being over my head from the year after. There are plans for several non-Kent trips to see some of the rarer species. Always something new to see and discover.

Jools and I have visited many interesting places and seen some wonderful things. Including our dream trip to Japan, seeing the eclipse in Wyoming in 2017, New York and Boston last year and then Chicago and New Orleans this year. We also went to Germany a few times, as well as loads of places up and down the country, sometimes not on an orchid hunt, but mostly so.

We changed as people, slowly. Went from people who frequented the Rack of Ale on a regular basis, to hardly going out now. We used to eat out most weekends, now we hardly eat out at all.

Oh yes, The Rack of Ale: I noticed it one year when we went to the Chinese round the corner, I went to investigate, and ended up writing their entry in the Good Beer Guide, made friends with the owner, Trish, and sampled many, many different beer there, as well had taken part in many drunken conversations. The premises is still empty, no one having taken up the rent, and the letting of The Rack can be seen on the shop sign.

All things mush change.

Of course.

Music is still a huge part of our life, but we don’t really buy that much, except for the new PSB album when it comes out. We listen to a lot of radio. A lot. Different shows now, and there is/was always great new music to discover.

We went to see Bellowhead on their final tour and saw PSB finally on their most recent tour. Apart from that, a few trips to see bands in Dover at the new Booking Hall venue. I went with Pete to see The Stranglers, who played 90 minutes longer than when I last saw them at the UEA in 1981.

Norwich began the decade in the 3rd division, four promotions and two relegations mean that we see the decade out back in the Premier League, though currently bottom of the table, but at times still playing the best football I have seen any team the club has put out play. I saw Norwich promoted at Wembley one fine May afternoon in 2015 and have seen them when I can. Not as often as I’d like, but I can’t give them up. I fear I’ll still write about them for another ten years.

And we still have the ugly house on the cliffs. It is our home. It was falling down, so we had it repaired. We did the garden up, in two goes, and now I am trying to transform the lawn into a meadow. And doing OK about it.

We have had a falling out with our neighbours, and five years on, relations are still frosty. So it goes, so it goes.

We play cards with Jen and John most weekends. It gets us out of the house and not become such unsocial slobs. Though we do that on the other six weeks a year.

And here we are.

So, best sporting moment: seeing Norwich promoted at Wembley. Sorry Middlesbrough, but we were the better team on the day. Sir Bradley of Wiggins winning Le Tour in 2012 comes close, especially his winner’s speech. Seeing the Paralympics the same year was special, everyone was just smiling and proud of our country, how different from now.

Single of the decade: “Spitfire” by Public Service Broadcasting.

Album of the decade: “The Race for Space” also by Public Service Broadcasting.

Gig: Bellowhead at the Royal Albert Hall.

Moment of the decade: the 2017 eclipse. Standing in the Wyoming desert watching the sun go out.

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SUNDAY, 18 APRIL 2010

Welcome to the working week. Again. reprise.

And so, Sunday evening; we have had dinner, the sun has gone down in a glorious red mist and now a crescent moon is over our house. And the butterflies have begun in my stomach.

Although it's not quite like starting at a new, bigger school, the feeling is the same. I know I shouldn't, I have the knowledge and the experience they wanted, otherwise they wouldn't have offered me the job. I know this, but it is also a big step, a foot in the door of a new industry, one that will grow and could be a good one to join.

People say that I must have been bored or depressed these past four months unemployed. I didn't think I was, but the wave of relief that swept over me when i was told I got the job was overwhelming. I do know that I had begun to be able to fill my days with nothing, listening to radio shows, playing with photography, and other ways to fritter my time away. I did, of course, look for jobs, write mails and apply online. Let me say that I am glad to have work now, and a bright new future for us lies ahead.

We have some work to do on our house, the coating has come off an outside wall where the rain got in, and althought he damage is superficial, it needs sorting. Which means a builder, scaffolding, painters, etc.

Just glad that we can plan that to be repaired now. Beyond that we have dreams of holidays of simple to exotic location in our heads, a new television (although that is not really needed, the one we have now I have had for 10 years), new clothes, a new bathroom, a granite worktop for the kitchen, redecorate the house, garden furniture.

And so on. None of it needed, per se, but you know, good to fantasise about. Work will mean me being online much less, I can't guarantee how often I will be able to write here, but I will update when I can.

MONDAY, 19 APRIL 2010

Back on the chain gang!

Phew, first day at work is over, and I'm home after cooking a roast chicken dinner and having washed up and reflecting on a day in which I earned some money. I say earned, my day was mostly spent in front of a computer screen waiting for things to happen or for updates to load or install.

Anyway, being my first day, I got to start an hour later than everyone else so they could sort out the IT out for me.

Ha!

That was so funny. Anyway, I turn up and a desk had been cleared for me, a laptop provided, attached to a dock thing, an printed e mail told me my screen name and password.

Two problems; one being the most complicated password ever created in the whole history of IT. It went something like this; 236#mYmaAq, all the swapping between upper and lower case and all that. Anyway after typing it in 50 or 60 times I got the hang of it. Seems like each laptop, which acts like a mini server, de-registers itself if it has not been on the network for 3 months. This I find out from the IT guy in Denmark. It took and hour to get to that stage, swapping leads, docks and the such, with the result that we decided the laptop was the problem.

So, the local IT guy got the message to register the laptop and configured it, remotley from the next room, probably. Quite why he couldn't come in and sort it out, maybe he was on a beach in Jamaica, possibly.

The second problem is that my screen name, and as I learned later, my e mail account, is i hard, as somehow they managed to insert an extra 'r' into my name. So, to the whole rest of the company and the world, I am now I Hard. Oh, how Jools laughed when I mailed her.

Just as I got the computer working and in a position to do something, it was lunchtime, and my boss went round asking, 'who wants a fat boys breakfast; I'm paying?' And who was I to say no? So, we walked into town and took our seats in a harbourside cafe and ordered a full breakfast with mugs of tea. And I was getting paid!

The afternoon I had to do the company induction, which seemed to be aimed at four year olds. So, I learned the parts of a wind turbine, and how the company is structured. And was doing well, and then the server crashed.

And so at half three I was told to go home and come back in the morning. Yay! So, back home, beating the traffic, and able to prepare dinner so it's ready before dark and be home before Jools.

So, first day went well, day two promises an avalanche of paperwork, but that might have to wait until the end of the week.

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Monday

Bank Holiday Monday

Play Off Day.

I was fairly pan free: I took several drugs, used Deep Heat and I should be OK for the day ahead.

The big day arrived, with endless sunshine: was it a sign? Well, it was a sign that I thought I should take an hour or so to go to Pegwell Bay to look for some orchids. As you do. We had coffee, and I encouraged a reluctant Jools into the car; she thought me a little mad. Obsessed.

She had a point.

We drive to Richborough, find a place to park and go into the reserve, me with my orchid eyes peeled. I see Common Spotted spike, but that is it, as the reserve is already looking overgrown, well, not overgrown, but the foliage is well into spring, and growing strongly, hiding some less vigorous plants. I assume this is the case here.



It is a further shot drive to the other part of Pegwell where I hope to find the Bee and Yellow Man Orchids. I have seen no other reports from here, so it was just a guess that it would be worth it. It took some time to orient ourselves, I strode off to where I thought the Bees would be found, but I see nothing. Jools spots a spike, but is a week away from opening.

Further on I find many more spikes, so closer to opening, until right at the edge of the site, there was one spike, opening its first flower. A great find indeed. A dog walker eyes me warily as I lay down to get the shots.

A short distance away is the colony of 'lemon flavoured' Man Orchids. There are, if any thing, more robust than last year, and all are pretty much fully open, including one with elongated 'arms' and 'legs'. I snap that one good as well.



It was then a sprint to the car to drive back to get ready for the quarter to ten train.

Whilst I get ready, Jools makes breakfast; just a cuppa and a slice of toast. It is twenty past nine, I have a shirt I have never worn before, a camera, my phone and the ticket. Lets roll.

Norwich last made the play off final 13 years ago. I had worn a 'lucky' t short all through the season, and said I would wear it for the final. I bought a short marking the final, saying i would put it on for the journey back. City lost to Birmingham on penalties, and the shirt remained unworn. But I thought, what better way to break the 'curse'?



Standing on the station platform were two Boro fans, we made chat and wished each other the best. A young family in City colours looked nervous, but it was all good natured, they even posed for a photo. At least the train wasn't full, and I get a seat opposite the two Boro fans. We smile and I find from them a quicker way to the stadium. So, I said I would go that way.

At St Pancras there were many fans from both clubs about, eating or drinking: I had a date with some old friends at a pub near the ground, so I walk to the Tube station for a Metropolitan train towards Wembley. It is well used, but not crowded, so it was all pleasant, even the bunch of drunken City fans who spent the twenty minute trip bouncing up and down and singing.



At Wembley park, it is all so well organised, we are funneled up the stairs, through the exit and at the top of Wembley Way, where we all get our first view of the stadium: and it was true, we are here and it is real!



I head the other way to the pub, The Torch, to meet a friend. It is heaving, as you would expect, and I decide not to bother having a drink, just meet my friends and then walk to the ground, taking in the atmosphere and, hopefully, enjoy the day.



It is now packed, but there is no trouble walking down, we have 90 minutes before the game starts, and everyone is in good spirits, singing, taking photos and the such. Up the ramp to the outside of the stadium, the two sets of supports are parted, we to the east side, they to the west. The view back down Wembley Way is incredible, I take shots, as does others, but now I think it is time to go in take up my place.



There were no queues at the automatic turnstiles, and there was an escalator to take us up. And another. And another. And another. In the concourse there were bars, food outlets, plenty of toilets, and I could see the entrance to where my seat was. I have a beer and to my surprise get change from a fiver. Not a lot of change, 20p, but still.



Up the steps, I was directed to my seat, on the next to back row, but the view is sensational, the green of the pitch contrasting with the red of the seats. I guess there is less than 10k in the ground, no singing, but there is the sound of a thousand conversations. I get a tingle up my spine.

As time goes on, the ground fills up, the players come out onto the pitch to warm up, and the singing begins. By a quarter to three, the ground is full, we are all standing. And singing.

The teams are let out, there is more singing, we cheer and the players get ready for the game.

It kicks off, and is it tense stuff: we hit the bar, then Boro do too. And then the ball breaks in their penalty area, and Jerome scores in the near corner. We go mad.

We are still singing when the ball breaks to Redmond, who puts the ball into the far corner, and we are 2-0 up with 15 minutes gone, and in total control. Boro were rocking, and we could, should have scored a couple more, but the attitude of the teams change, City happy to contain, and Boro to huff and puff. Ruddy does not have to make a save.

Half time, and I am not concerned at all, it is all going to plan, and all seems set fair, and we have one foot back in the Premier League.



The second half goes much the same way, Boro probe, we defend, all pretty tame stuff, but City are in control. Boro get more desperate as time runs out, and with a couple of changes, we could have scroed more, but it wasn't needed. Time ran down; 15 to go. 10 to go. 5 to go. 2 to go. Then four minutes of injury time.



And it was all over. We had done it, promoted. I had a tear in my eye, which transferred to my glasses as the bloke behind me gave me a bear hug. There was more singing, dancing, the players celebrated. We celebrated. The Boro end emptied, as Norwich made to climb the stairs to collect the trophy. It seemed to take an age, but Russel Martin raised the cup, they cheer, we cheer, we all cheer. There was the usual team photo, popping champagne corks, fireworks all the usual stuff.



It was still going on as I left, we walk down an endless staircase, going down and round and down and round, until we come out on the side of the stadium, all City fans had huge smiles on their faces. The poor Boro fans had the opposite of course.

As we all walked down Wembley Way, there was some singing, which could have turned nasty, but didn't. At the station enough fans were allowed on to get onto a train, a train arrived and we all got on, six stops later I got off at St Pancras, with enough time for a beer at the Betjamin Arms. I meet up with a father and son Boro fan, we chat, they are very kind in defeat, said we were the better side and Boro hadn't been in it. They had to buy train tickets before they knew whether Boro would make the final, then had to allow for the chance it might got to penalties before booking a train back. They had to wait for the half eight train back north.

At half six, I walk to the platform, the train is waiting. I get a get and look at the photos. It wasn't a dream.

Back in Dover, Jools is waiting to take me home. The day was over, but the went well. And I was there.

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Eclipse day.

The reason we were here, after all. All we needed was the weather to play ball. After the alarm went off, I got up to open the curtains, only to find almost total cloud cover. Oh no! I check the weather online and there seems to be no need to worry, with clear skies from ten, and a high of 32 or so by early afternoon.

We quickly get ready, check camera gear one last time, before going down to the lobby to hunt out breakfast. The choice seemed to be granola and fruit, as we have had enough of “sausage” and poorly cooked scrambled eggs. Anyway, they had the world’s worst granola dispenser, that deposited half a pound of serial in a bowl before the container fell off its stand. Oh well, in for a penny, in for half a pound.

And into the car, and off down the road. We had an almost full tank of gas, should be enough. Before us was a drive to Thermopolis, some 83 miles down the road, across the badlands, it was right on the edge of the eclipse, but would only receive 52 seconds of totality, so another half hour drive down the river gorge to the state park was needed to bring us near to the greatest amount of totality.

Traffic was pretty thick, but we traveled at 70mph all the way down to Thermopolis; there was an air of expectation and worry in case our progress would grind to a halt at any moment. Above us the clouds thinned, and soon weak sunshine broke though.

Thermopolis was pretty busy, but we get through, now knowing that no matter what we would see the eclipse as we had traveled far enough south. Down through the gorge, still making good time, until we came to the state park. We queue to get in, and then only to be told that all parking was already taken, but if we pay $6 we could park beside the road wherever we wanted, as long as not on or beside the road.

A few miles on, the land opens up, and so we pull off and park just off a dirt track, and we have our spot.

Perfect.

It is just after nine and we have two and a half hours to wait. I check and re-check my camera equipment, put on the teleconverter, the 1/1000000 filter, and rattle off a few shots of the now visible sun. The camera did not like the converter, jamming every 20 shots or so, and the autofocus and IS did not work, but I would get shots.

Traffic along the road got heavier, and some of the cats joined us at our spot, or went on. At half ten, I looked at the sun through the camera, only to find it had begun, a bite had already been taken out of the sun, so I try to take a shot every five minutes.

Around us, a Mom tried to keep her tribe entertained, and did pretty well. They all, like us, had the eclipse glasses and made pinhole cameras for each of the children, which they used to pretend to be robots.

But all the time, the sun was being eaten, and yet, it got no darker. By eleven, a third of the sun was gone, and quarter past, a half. Traffic had faded to a trickle and stopped on the road, and, apart from the children, all was quiet.

At half past, nine minutes from totality, the light changed; it was still daylight, but different, flatter, and what traffic there was had headlights on. Only a thin sliver remained, and the final moments saw the light fade to dusk almost instantly.

Above us, the sun suddenly vanished, and a black disk of the moon revealed the sun’s corona and magnetosphere. It was breathtaking. I began to well up, I don’t think I have seen anything so beautiful. All around us were also enthralled.

I rattled off shots, as did Jools with the compact. To the south and south west and south east, sunset had appeared, and to the right of the eclipse, Venus could be seen

And then it was over, the diamond ring effect happened, and blinded all who were not prepared, like me. And it was over.

The show would go on for another hour, as the moon cleared the sun. We decided to move on, to try to get to Riverton to have lunch, then cruise back and look for butterflies.

After packing the camera gear away, we pulled onto the main road, which was still pretty empty, and motored south, passing by hundreds and hundreds of vehicles and people on verges and down service roads still looking at the eclipse.

On the outskirts of Riverton, traffic ground to a crawl, but in about half an hour, we reach the Speedway Cafe, pulled off, and most surprisingly, they had tables, so we could sit down and be served, and be recognised by two of the servers. They were pleased we had taken to time to return.

After eating, we make to return north to Cody, and all went well until we had to take the frk off the main road to Thermopolis, and the queue of traffic we thought would be just for the junction, went in mile after mile, creeping north at a walking pace.

In an hour we moved maybe a mile, the road climbed into the badlands again, and we could admire the weathered rock formations that stretched from the road to the horizon on both sides. And then for no reason, traffic started moving, and we were going at fifty, making good time.

We reached the gorge again, and as last time we stopped here, we had seen so many butterflies, we thought we would try our luck again. We stopped at the same lay by, climbed over the barrier, and at forst could see nothing on the wing. But as we stood and watched, I saw a couple of Buckeyes again, although they hardly had their wings open as before.

A female blue, mostly brown in colour, but with bright orange flashes on the aft wing. Certainly a different species from the one seen in Yellowstone. On a branch above I see another blue; a hairstreak, I would say a White Letter if I was back home, but here, will have to do some research.

And finally, the male of the first blue lands, almost as blue as an Adonis, and partly opened his wings for me, but I also get good shots of the underwings too. A good haul for fifteen minutes.

And finally, Jools spots a moth, a moth so big it seems like a bird. We chase it around for ten minutes, but when it lands it is well camouflaged, so we have no chance of seeing it until we nearly step on it, at which point it flies off again. We give up.

Back to the car for the last leg back to the hotel, up the rest of the gorge and then through Thermopolis; we saw no freight trains this time, sadly, but still saw many butterflies.

All that was left was the 82 miles over the high lands to Cody, cruising at 70 in the light traffic, and reflecting on a stunning day. We get back into Cody just after six, back to the hotel to chill out and for me to [ost a shot of the eclipse on Faceache, and then thoughts turn to dinner.

First I wanted to photograph the main street in the blue hour, just after sunset and with the neon signs shining brightly, but apart from Irma’s Hotel, the signs were poor, and mostly were just shops and bars. So I take a few shots and we hightail it back down to Bubba’s, hoping for some more Bar-b-Cue. There was a line outside, and seemed we would have to wait an hour or so. Instead we drive back through town to the Rib and Chop Shop; they said they would have a table in 20 minutes, so we wait.

There was yet more football on TV, the Browns actually winning, and is distracting in a way. I have not watched NFL in at least 5 years, so I have no idea which are good and bad teams these days.

Our table was ready, so we go into the busting restaurant, and choose what to eat. I could have chosen a dozen things, they did some amazing food, some of it good smelling cajun. I plump for jambalia, which when it comes was fabulous, with spicy sausage and seasoned shrimp. Jools has BBQ shrimp, a New Orleans classic the menu said, and was wonderful too, so Jools said.

But it was ten by then, time to go back to the hotel for a nightcap, but the hotel has no bar! But we have two bottles of hard cider in the fridge back in the room; one each and just enough to make us proper sleepy heads.

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We landed at 07:00, bouncing on Japanese tarmac, taxiing to a Japanese terminal for a Japanese airbridge connected to the plane controlled by an actual Japanese person. In short, we had arrived in Japan.

We were through immigration, collected the bags and through customs in less than an hour and walking though the exit door, there was a smart gentleman with our name on a board, ready to sweep us to his car and then into the city to our first hotel.

He spoke no English, or little, and he laughed as I got my camera out ready to snap at anything and everything as we made our way to the hotel.

In the end we had an hour's drive to the hotel, along dual carriageways and then onto an elevated road for the final part to the hotel, twisting and turning through the skyscrapers, making it seem to me that we were travelling through a real life Sim City. What really surprised me is that the traffic didn't seem as crazy as i had expected. But in Bladerunner style, there were huge neon signs and video screens everywhere.

At one point I saw a police car turn down a side street, and I tried to snap it. "Police Car"! our driver laughed.

I wanted to tell him "but it's a JAPANESE police car!"

We arrived at the hotel, in the shadow of the Sky Tree, more of that later, and once we had our cases we entered the building, and rode the lift to the top floor where the lobby was. We handed over the voucher for the rooms, were given our keys, and so at nine in the morning, we were in our rooms, with three days in one of the world's biggest cities to fill.

I had noticed that there was a branch of Denny's nearby, so wanting coffee and breakfast, I thought that would be an easy place to have our first meal in Japan.

We took the lift down to the street then ventured out into the hectic world of Tokyo to walk to the end of the block then turned right, crossed the road and went up the stairs, to be confronted by Denny's, but the Japanese version. But they spoke English, and after looking at the pictures in the menu, I chose a Japanese Brunch with a soda, which turned out to be liquid sugar it was so sweet.

Opposite the hotel was a place called The Thunder Gate, which seemed to be a popular tourist destination, but one we never seemed to find time to visit. I think it was a large temple complex, and it was outside that we saw the first of the rickshaws with their, er, puller, dressed in traditional costume, with calves like tree trunks, and as Jen remarked, buns of steel!

We were heavily jetlagged, tired and confused. We walk to the nearby bridge over the river, just looking at people, traffic and trains which filled the cityscape scene, it was all new, foreign and wonderful. I snapped everything that moved. And stuff that didn't.

We walked to a what looked like a shopping centre, but was the offices of a brewery, but along the lower floors were bars and restaurants. And surround this were the everyday Japanese urban sprawl; narrow streets, small houses, vending machines and all of this dominated by the massive Sky Tree a few city blocks away.

But, in the end, tiredness overwhelmed us, so we walked back to the bridge, and back down the busy street past the Thunder Gate to the hotel to try to get some sleep.

I could have walked and snapped all day, but it was suggested that we should try to nap. And so with a heavy heart I walked with Jools and Jen back to the hotel, where we all snoozed until late in the afternoon, by which time it had clouded over and a steady rain had begun to fall, bringing the neon-rich night early, and creating a wonderfully photogentic scene right outside my window, I sat at the window and took shots of it as soon as I was up.

It looked so other-worldly to be honest. Each side street had lanterns emblazoned with Japanese writing, meaning I had no idea. Below a taxi waited for business at the end of one of those streets, and the whole scene was greatly improved by the neon lights reflecting off the wet roads and pavements.

A while later we met in the lobby and decided, or rather I decided that we would go for a walk down the street so I could snap the lights, people and traffic in the rain. I was so exited I thought I might explode. The air was full of the smells of exotic cooking, it all smelt wonderful. But what to choose?

I knew that a doorway with what looked like a flag hanging down indicated somewhere to eat, but all the menus were in Japanese.

We walked on to the end of the road, looked at the traffic speeding through the intersection before turning round to walk back.

We still had no where to eat.

A way down the street was a small chain steak restaurant, they had seats, so we thought we would be brave and go in.

In fact, I was unsure, but Jen said we have to eat somewhere, so why not try it. So I went reluctantly in, and this turned to be the moment when we got a handle on the country and its people.

We were met by much bowing, and shown to three seats at a counter. We order steaks by type and weight, as well as a bottle of house red. Before being cooked, the chef cut the steaks from a larger piece and presented each one to us for inspection before being cooked.

All this was done with them not speaking any English and us not speaking any Japanese. But we made ourselves understood, even ordering a bottle of cheep sweet red wine.

The steaks were serves on metal skillets, so hot it made the corn the steak was served with pop. It was one of the best steaks I have ever had, wonderfully tender and seasoned. We weren't the centre of attention as I thought, people just came in, ordered and ate, just as we did. I got the chef and servers to pose before we left, doing the whole tourist thing.

The hotel had a rooftop bar and garden, so after walking back, we go up order beers and sit in the shelter of an overhanging roof, drinking and looking at the Sky Tree all lit up about a mile away, it's top lost in clouds. It was all so alien and wonderful. I have another beer and take yet more shots.

We had the garden to ourselves, sheltered by a roof overhang. We drank Japanese beer or gin and tonics, played cards all with the backdrop of the naked city, all it up.

And this wasn't our first full day, this was a Brucie Bonus day. It would begin for real in the morning.

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I spoke to Mum last on Tuesday night.

I thought I had better. I mean I had been putting it off since the 19th when I should have called to say thanks for the anniversary card.

Mum had neither written on the envelope nor inside the card, getting a carer to do it, I guess.

We spoke of her health and my work. She said she was fed up and in pain. We know now that was the truth.

We spoke for about 5 minutes, then that was it. I rang off.

Wednesday evening, Jools called at quarter to seven and she told me there was a message from the care agency that Mum had been admitted to hospital. Nothing more.

This is not an unusual event, but when Jools called the hospital, she found that Mum was in Intensive Care, and once through she was told Mum was in a critical condition.

What we know now is that she had collapsed at some point and her carer found her. But it took a while to get Mum onto the floor to give CPR. This meant many minutes went by when there was no oxygen getting to Mum's brain. I am not blaming anyone here, just saying what happened.

Therefore it was strongly suspected Mum had severe brain damage at best, and so with a bleak outlook. The family were advised to attend if they could. She was fitting constantly, and she was on strong medication to stop that too.

I could have gone. I was on the Isle of Wight, I could have dashed, but they said Mum was so deeply unconscious, she was probably in a coma, and had been before the carer found her. From that point on she was in no pain.

I called the ICU on Thursday morning, and was told by the senior nurse that, in her experience, there was only going to be one outcome. But, they were going to take her for a scan to see brain activity and see if there were any bleeds. I would be called at lunchtime, but was told that I would be asked to make the difficult decision.

The morning passed and the senior doctor called me. He said there was no hope, and they wanted to stop treatment. She was only being kept alive my the machines. Jools said she wanted to be there, I said I didn't, not because I don't care, but she would know nothing. So, the doctor said they would keep treatment going until Jools arrived, but if Mum had another cardiac event, then there would be nothing they could do.

Accepting that, Jools set off from Hythe, and I got back to the last part of work for the day.

I spoke to Jools just as the final meeting was ending, she said she was an hour away from the hospital, and would let me know.

I was on the ferry, just coming into Southampton when I received the message from Julie, Mum passed away at 18:45.

They had stopped treatment, he breathing got slower, her heart slowed, then quickened briefly, before the lines on the readout slowly flattened.

She was gone.

Julie found out Mum had had another significant heart attack fairly recently, and that according to her blood work her kidneys were hardly working. Her circulation had been very poor too.

The doctor said she was in such poor physical condition, she could not fight the final cardiac arrest. Over two decades of living on shortbread biscuits, Pringles and cigarettes took their toll, as did sitting in the armchair for 23 hours a day.

And now, none of it matters, all too late. It will be interesting, and very, very bumpy.

2019: How was it for you

Before we get into the detail, there are three events which I need to speak out. Maybe four.

In January, one Friday morning, we were rocked by a call from Mike that Meg had died. This was traumatic enough, but we were to find that she had killed herself, killed herself by throwing herself under an express train.

Mike knew that she was troubled, but those troubles had been kept as a family secret, so for the rest of us, that the bright shining star of the family had chosen to end her life came as a bigger shock than it would have otherwise have been.

The next day we went to London to clear her room out, under the tearful eyes of the two other she shared the terraced house with. We then went to the station to collect her car, then drive in convoy back to Dover. It was a surreal day.

A bad day made all the worse because of the words and actions of her birth Mother. I won’t do Julie the honour of calling her Meg’s Mother, as Julie is the closest thing I have seen to evil. And I have two ex-wives to compare to, and in comparison, are just amateurs. Julie is selfish, self-centred, egotistical bitch without empathy. Telling that in Meg’s room, lots of pictures of Mike, and not one of Julie.

Two weeks later and we and half the town gathered to say farewell to Meg. It turned out that all the cars in the car park were not there for a previous funeral, but all there for Meg. She was loved and cared for more than she knew.

Julie carried on being evil and manipulative through the year, failing to tell Mike about a charity swim being undertaken in Meg’s name, and trying to get Mike’s current partner, Jane, from going to the inquest.

She didn’t get her way, so Julie didn’t go. So it goes, so it goes.

Life returned to something close to normal, though for Mike and Meg’s brother, George, life would never be the same, every thought is in relation to Meg; before Meg and post Meg. Not a day goes by when we don’t think about Meg, and what her last hours, her last desperate hours, must have been like. Could we have done something? Probably not.

It is shocking how life returns to normal. We went back to work, I travelled, Jools went back to the factory. We look in on Mike from time to time, and although talking about Meg is hard for us, for Mike it is essential, so we listen and are there, when we can.

Now some ten months later, eleven months, we look back at how normal things are once again. But I think of the poor train driver who was in the cab that day, and I contacted Southeastern to let them know we in no way hold him responsible. I hope he has healed.

We found that Meg picked that station as it was near where she and her first boyfriend had their home, not because trains sometimes pass through fast, as we thought, though that may have also been a factor. Meg’s life had been complicated one way or another, and many of those who should have been a rock for her, let her down, in some cases very badly indeed. Mike never did, it goes without saying. And still it happened.

There are no words.

There are no words to describe what I found out about a friend in July. Neil had left the RAF soon after I did and went to work for British Aerospace in the Middle East, and had forged a new life and apparently a new partner in it. We talked on an off on FB, but not too close. This year he posted details as his beachside dream house was being built among palm trees on some Far Eastern island.

https://youtu.be/_K67sRNLi4Q?t=2 Neil lived life to the full I knew that, but little did know how much he brined the candles at both ends. He more than liked a drink, he had a problem, and caused him on occasion to become something of a monster.

He left his wife, Jill, and daughter, Alex, without a penny, homeless, left to fend for themselves. This we found out at the funeral. Jill put up with a lot, and I saw her look on alarmed as he got rounds in before games when we followed Norwich. Little did we know how much of a problem he had.

And then there were old colleagues and friends who called him the “gentleman armourer”. Which might be true, but then no gentleman leaves his wife and kid like that. I knew Neil but didn’t know him.

With the internet and old comrades’ groups on FB, we found out about the funeral and decided to go. Julie had met Neil and Jill and Alex at our wedding, and at football matches, but we had no idea what to expect. What we found was Jill and Alex sidelined to the extent they sat in a row in front of us, whilst Neil’s family were in the front row. They did not speak to either of them.

Jill spoke with such emotion and clarity, about Neil how wonderful he was and about his demons. We all have them, of course, just not all our will finish us off. Neil suffered multiple organ failure and never regained consciousness. He was less than a year older than me. As Andy, whose funeral I went to a couple of years back was also a few months older than me, too.

Jill and Alex were hoping we would attend, and it was a sad but warming meeting after the service.

I miss Neil, and I remember the joyful and full of life character, tempered with the memory of what he did to Jill and Alex.

In May, I had a breakdown. I can put it no better than that. It had been coming for a while, but you kid yourself all is well. When in truth all at work was falling apart, and I was just trying to get to the end of each day, of each week. At the end, the only thing that got me up was the thought of having two weeks off for some orchiding. Then the project suggested I cancel the holiday.

I couldn’t go on, and in a chaotic day, I admitted I had lost the overview and later that I wanted to be taken off the project. Off all projects, as I did not have the emotional reserves to do all this shot again.

I burst into tears at a meeting and was told to finish at the end of the day as planned and take the time off, and not to worry. But of course, I did worry. But after three days, I began to sleep better.

When I returned, I had no idea what I would go back to. A colleague had been placed on the project, and I was asked to assist, to clear the backlog of work, and to be taken off contact with the customer. If was just what I needed, and I did that, and in a few weeks was back in control, but I knew deep down I had let folks down. They said I hadn’t, but you feel that you have.

I had already applied for a new job, and soon I had an interview and was offered the position. I take to take two tests, and pass the interview, which I did. I got the job and would be working with old friends. In the end, the best result for me, the project and the company, really.

I got a call from my former project manager a couple of months later. I thought he had been promoted and moved on to better and greater things. But he told me he also had had an event, he called it “burn out”, and said that people can’t work under stress like that endlessly. It was a great act of kindness by Jesper to reach out to me, and more than anything else, made me feel better about the whole situation and myself. Things are rarely quite what they seem.

I am now throwing myself into the new role, and who knows where I will be in a year’s time? Something to be positive about.

And then there is Mum. Or was Mum.

We had thought many times over the last decade or more that Mum would not survive. But she bounced back. Well, recovered enough to go home, but never having learned her lesson and actually changing her lifestyle.

I knew she wouldn’t last forever, and as I said, there were times when we thought it was the end, but it never was. 2019 was the year she ended up in hospital more times than I can count. That she was never honest with us about when she was ill, and sometimes found out through her cleaner, Sheila, rather from her own mouth, meant we were in the dark.

But falls, collapses and situations that sometimes resulted in needing a paramedic or the fire brigade to help her up or into the waiting ambulance.

She would go in hospital, be assessed and then released to go back doing what it was that got her back in the trouble that got in hospital last time. So, the circle was completed, but after each visit, Mum’s world got smaller and smaller until she could not walk to the toilet in her house, let alone go outside.

She gave up smoking, started and gave up again. Only to start a few months later. And with her two previous heart attacks, she never learned. A minor heart attack in 2011 lead to four stints being inserted. Before she had her assessment, I gave her the “its me of the fags” choice, and she chose fags. After the procedure to insert the stints, she changed her tune and said she never wanted to go through that pain again. But a few months later, she was back on the weed.

And lying about it. Lying to Jools and myself, lying to her friend, Pat, saying that it wasn’t her that smoked, but her friend who had just left, even though it was half eight in the morning. It was the lying that hurt, that she thought we were so stupid, she could lie and get away with it, and even when found out, would not apologise.

After he major attach two years ago, she had to make promises to change before they did the operation. I was told by the ward sister at Papworth that the bypass had the possibility of vastly improving Mum’s life if she survived.

She did survive, but only did the minimum exercise required by the nurses, and once home when had more help than ever, meaning she loved less than ever before, the final downward spiral began.

When I went to see her last June (2018) I said I wasn’t going t play games any more. Our weekly phone calls rarely went over two minutes. And there were so many elephants in the room that we had to avoid, we had little to say.

So our regular conversations began monthly, if that. And I did not go to see her last Christmas, first time ever. I was hoping to show her that her choices had real consequences. And she began to smoke again, begging a gasper from her so-called friend who did try to dissuade her. But to no avail.

And the end came. We expected it, but not then. And not so quick.

One day I called her from the Isle of Wight where I was working, and we had a long talk and cleared the air a little. She said she was feeling ill, and I glibly said she should move more, its still not too late. But it was too late. It seemed that already her kidneys has stopped working, as Sheila said Mum had told her that Mum hadn’t been to the toilet in 18 hours.

The next day she had a massive heart attack, and knew no more. Once in hospital, they did tests, but there was no hope. Mum was kept alive for 24 hours, the final six to allow Jools to get up to Great Yarmouth to be with her when they turned the machines off.

She arrived, they switched the machines off, and Mum faded away. And that was that. The rest you know, through my posts. I went up, sorted out her affairs, or appointed someone to do that. Cleared the house or got someone to do that too. I wrote or called to those I could to let them know.

As for me, I am fine. Honestly. I was fine the day after. I was fine on the day of the funeral, a did shed a tear when she was brought in, but that was it. I stood in her home that Sunday afternoon I went up, looking at a lifetime’s hoarding and people’s gifts to her, and saw stuff everywhere.

The house was cleared, I kept the photographs I could find, I kept a few nicknacks, but the rest went. I let friends take what they wanted, as we have our own house full of stuff. And so now, pretty much all that is left of her is half an album of photographs, starting with a bouncing baby through to being a laughing child and a studious young woman to become my Mother.

I wish that she could have found whatever she felt it was that her life was missing, and lead to her addictions to food, tobacco, shopping and sex. I always thought it was the love of her Mother she felt she never had. Maybe she was right. She had no one to share her parent’s love with, her Father loved her totally, and you can see in the photos he was always holding Mum. Nana never seemed to.

There was no stilted call over Christmas, nor a grudging journey to Suffolk and back. Just Jools, me and the cats.

The wheels of bureaucracy are turning slowly, and will finish turning at some point in the new year, but for me, the end has already come and gone.

So it goes, so it goes.

In other news this year. Well, Norwich got promoted. You might have heard about it. It was in the papers and I wrote at least three blog posts about it. I went to Wigan for a drunken weekend getting to see them play one last time before they went up, though it seemed to be a million miles away after just drawing at Wigan. Promotion even then seemed a dream too far. And yes, in two weeks, Leeds fell apart and we went up with games to spare. As Champions in the end.

Who saw that coming? Not many, not even in January. I was in Denmark when Liverpool won the European Cup, and celebrations did not end until after dawn the next day. England got to the finals of the whatever this new European inbetween competition is called; Nations League? Much hope for the future as more and more young players come through at their clubs, and at Norwich too.

The orchid season I covered in another post, and the churches project continued, with many more churches visited or revisited. Highlight was finally being able to see inside Bicknor and Throwley, as well as Hinxhill and Thannington on Heritage weekend.

I drive to Hertfordshire to look for a flower. Several flowers. Pasque Flowers in fact, and found hundred on an early spring morning in March.

We went to see the William Blake Exhibition in November, which was fantastic, and also saw Nighthawks in Chicago. Because we went to the US for the third year in a row, visiting Chicago, New Orleans and Houston. All were wonderful, but the gap between the haves and have-nots gets ever wider. I saw hundreds of people on the streets, including a family of four.

We had a wonderful time in the US, meeting long time Flickr-friend and all-round good egg, Photons and his wife. They took us round Chicago for three days, taking us to some of the better places to eat.

New Orleans was a little crazy, but we had good food there, and went on a swamp tour seeing wild boar, alligators and a raccoon. It was near the end of October and over 80 degrees in the shade. Like going back to high summer.

Back in January, we went to Whittlesea for the Straw Bear Festival. I have always wanted to go, just to see what it was about. Well, now we know, there an back in a day, and getting back before dark too, with a camera full of shots and head full of memories.

In the summer, during the Tour de France, we had another heatwave, with it being nearly 100 degrees at breakfast.

Jools and I went to Liverpool so I could attend the first game of the season, and we could visit the Keith Haring exhibition at The Tate and meet up with some fellow GWUKers for a wander the damp streets of the city and take photographs.

I also went back to Norwich earlier this month for a game at The Home of Football, sadly we lost. Again. But I met up with my friends Sarah and Richard who kindly put me up and put up with me. They were very kind, as always.

Finally, we did not go to the cinema this year. Again. This, despite there being a new multiplex in town, at ten minute drive from here. Just nothing takes our fancy, and we no long listen to Mark Kermode on the radio box or take Empire Magazine anymore either. And I don’t think I bought a new record or CD, just reissues. So I can’t tell you what my favorite album or single was.

Monday 30th December 2019

The next to last day of Twixmas.

The period between Christmas and New Year.

Shall we go back to normal or carry on festive eating, Ian asked as he spread Nutella on his Kit Kat at breakfast?

Not quite that bad, but with the house still full of cold cuts, sausage meat, Christmas Cake, cheese and crackers, normal is some time away. And yet it comes soon.

But before then we carry on.

There is football to watch as I only saw half an hour of the three games on Sunday when live. So, after first coffee and putting out the bird seed I watch that.

Outside it was a glorious day, and even with my bad back grumbling before we went out, it only seemed right to have a walk. We were going to go to London to see the lights on Oxford and Regent Streets, but the thought of the crowds put me off. Like many things, the thought of it would always be better than the actual experience.

So we will go for a walk, and a New Year plant hunt for @BSBI, and for me.

On with the boots, and a thin coat, as it really was that warm, at least until we left the shelter of the back garden and the keen westerly bit. But that was at our backs on the way out, and so we were warm.

Not much to report really, mud everywhere, so we did not go across the fields or down to look at The Dip, instead we followed the cinder track up to Collingwood and along to Fleet House so I could check on the local patch of Winter Heliotrope, which was just starting to flower.

I also saw Red Dead Nettle, Annual Mercury and Ivy all in flower, not bad for the end of December.

Along the road to the Pig's Copse, no piglets there for now, and then down the hill past the farm, through the mud bath at the bottom, and I then take the next left for a short cut to home, Jools carries on the Windy Ridge.

My back grumbles all the way up the long lane, which is gradually climbing. I walk along with head down, miserable, as my back had stopped me from doing what I wanted. Again. But I press on, finally getting back to Collingwood and from there its pretty much downhill all the way.

My back is happier at that.

B the time I got home, the mail had arrived, and a redirected card from Mum's place from distant relations meant that I had a letter to write to them, as they had put in their address into the card; always helps.

For lunch we have bread, cold salt beef, pickles and beer. That's pretty normal Christmas food.

And mid-afternoon we have coffee and yet more Christmas cake, though there isn't much left of this, the second cake we have munched our way through this month.

We have more warmed up cold cuts for dinner, making another roast dinner, the third in 5 days, because, you know, Christmas.

Meaning that is was then dark, music on the radio and more writing to be done as the year gets ever older.

And there was just time for an episode of The Expanse before bedtime.

Friend or foe

I would quote at length from the front page of the Sunday Express, but I can't be arsed in looking for it, but it is the jingoistic shite you would imagine. Something along the lines of trade battle, blah, blah, blah.

Thing is, trade deals are conducted between countries that are friends, trading partners, that normally want to trade moe and more efficiently.

Using war terminology for a process that should cement relations is worrying, though not new in Brexit of course.

Trade negotiations or something leading to an FTA or something similar must be conducted in open terms, with trust on both sides that the other will honour what is agreed, and has the political backing in their respective Parliaments.

Using the idea, still, that they need us more than we need them, and that in going for no deal because they'll blink first, is the most stupid way to conduct trade negotiations, and is a tactic that has already been used and failed once before, and will fail again. German car makers and Italian Prosecco manufacturers did not force the EU to back down, quite the opposite.

But Johnson now has a majority in Westminster, and so should be able to pass any FTA that is agreed, or get legislation passed to extend the WA if needed, which it will be. But that is not a given, and there may be many bumps in the road. But by that time, the UK will be out of the EU and economically fucked, so we're all fucked.

But saying something is going to happen, over and over again, makes it happen like summoning the Candyman. And will has the same happy ending as summoning the Candyman.

So that's nice.

Sunday 29th December 2019

It is still the weekend. Apparently. We only have the calendar's word for this. There is football. Lots of football on, but that could mean anything.

But it is Sunday, and I have an episode of MOTD to watch, and Norwich did not lose, so I could watch it even if the manner of Spur's first goal and Pukki's disallowed goal very suspicious. Anyway. We did no lose, which is something.

Just.

It was hair cut day. And we had arranged to meet with a friend, Mary, in Folkestone, as well. 100 minutes of football, getting dressed with only just enough time to get to Folkestone to meet Mary, a have a chat before i go to queue to be first in the chair at the barbers. But it seems most people don't want a haircut on the Sunday between Crimbo and New Year. In fact it seems most don't want to leave the house. So the roads were pretty empty, we found a parking space with no trouble.

A walk up Rendevouz Street, past the closed records shop, up the hill, and there was Mary, already waiting for us.

We hug and chat, before I walk further up the hill and find the barbers open, and I am waved into an empty chair, and the guy quickly gets going shearing my locks off. He clips my hair, buffs my scalp, cuts my ear hair, trims my eyebrows. All done.

Lovely.

Back outside it was colder, at least round my ears. I walk back down to the cafe, order coffee and a slice of poppy seed strudel, which was rather nice.

There was much news to catch up on, but we are all through our tough times, and looking forward to the new year and our adventures to the northern latitudes. All exciting stuff.

At eleven, we hare all fed and watered, so we all need to get home to do other stuff. So, Jools and I walk to the car, and I drive us home, back along the cliffs to Dover and so home. Back home we have cheese and crackers for lunch. And wine. We are running low on cheese supplies, which is worrying, and we have over half a tin of crackers to use.

Afterwards, we bottle the sloe gin, which had been maturing for three and a half months, then top up the jars and bottles with red wine and sugar to make port. Or of a kind. Once filled with shake them well to get the sugar absorbed.

Now comes for more months of waiting before we bottle that, but last year's is perfect for drinking now.

And then it was back to Folkestone again, to meet with another friend and to do some "stuff" swapping. Steve and his partner, Charlie had made a batch, a large batch, of quince jelly and asked if we wanted some. We did, so we offered a bottle of Sloe Port in return, which they accepted.

We parked down at the harbour and walked up the Old High Street, all alive with electric light and full of people out enjoying the last of the daylight. At the top of the street is Kipp's Alehouse, and they were already waiting for us inside.

Back home for dinner, when chorizo hash is chosen above another roast, and soon the smell of spiced meats frying fills the house.

And for the evening, we watch more of The Expanse.

So another day at the end of the year draws to an end.

I buy Steve a tripel, and we sit at their table and talk. And we carry on talking for the best part of two hours.

They had a bus to catch, and we could not have another drink, as one of us had to drive. So we part and hopefully it'll be a shorter period of time before we all meet up again.

We drive home, and the roads are quieter than ever.