And this is the post where the two stands of narrative are brought back together.
I hope.
It is July 2006, and I had just got off the train from Norwich, and Jools is waiting for me at the end of platform 9. I was the last person ambling down the platform, looking at the wrought iron roof, admiring the workmanship put into the station and its roof.
Jools knew it was me.
We, well, I suppose shook hands and walked to the Underground Station to go to the station nearest the Eye.
Now, I had bought tickets to avoid all the queuing up malarkey, as that was for plebs, but i was told that we just joined the line like everyone else, putting me in a bad mood. But in half an hour we got on, were put in a pd with some others and I took lots of pictures.
At least Jools knew from the start what I was like. I just got worse.
After that we travelled across London to Pimlico, no passport was needed, to visit the Tate. There was a major Constable Exhibition on, where for the first time you could see all his major works and the preparations for each as he got the composition right. What you don't see from the lid of a box of bisuits, is how big the originals are. I mean they were hoooge.
We left the Tate, and went to the pub opposite for a swifter and something to eat.
And then Jools suggested we catch the bus back to Liverpool Street. And a bus in London was something I had only ridden on once before, so, we sat on the top deck looking at London pass us by at eye level rather than go under them on the Tube.
At Liverpool Street we had another pint before Jools put me on the train back to Suffolk, and she went back to get the train back to Kent.
A few weeks later, Jools suggested we meet up somewhere between Lowestoft and Dover; a top secret nuclear bunker in Essex.
So, we did, at Kelvedon Hatch we met in the car park, toured the musem below ground, me pointing out things I knew about: S10 respirator, SLR rifle L1A1. And so on. Afterwards, we drove to Epping Forest for lunch at a carvery and then a walk through the autumnal leaves carpeting the ground.
I went to Kent to visit Dover, see around East Kent, and in October she came to Suffolk to see where I lived.
It was all rather nice I have to say, and would have went pretty well no matter what, but then I lost my job.
So, for a weekend I acted like it was perfectly normal, but in reality I probably had enough money to get me to Christmas. But I wouldn't be at home by then, I would be on the high seas.
I hear about a job. Well, I was asked by an agency I had registered with, if I knew anything about guns. Well, now you come to mention it, I do. So, I was asked to attend an interview, where I was told that I would be talked to for several hours and then be offered a job.
Which is what happened, Kevin Mould had me in for an interview where he talked, 95% of the time, no much made sense, but my background and the answers I gave must have been OK, as I was offered a job.
The job was a geophysical mechanic, looking after sonar gear on survey boats. Only downside was that I would be away from home for weeks on end, and that means something would have to be done about Molly.
Jools said she would look after her, and if things didn't pan out, I could take Molly back to Suffolk.
So, I had to go on a sea survival course near Portsmouth, meaning I could drop Molly off in Dover on the way down.
10th November 2006
Well, I guess I am getting used to the idea of a new job, and being away from home for long periods. I can't believe that something good has actually happened, and if I had not got sacked from the chemical company, I would not have found this job, and I would be as depressed as I ever was; and judging from what I hear, working maybe 18 hours a day! Well, I guess I fell on my feet this time, and I get to travel around the world to boot!
Life will certainly change over the upcoming months, and i guess that is something to be pleased about. Jools is coming up to celebrate with me, and to discuss the future; but at the moment I know little more than I did this morning; in an infinite universe, anything is possible. Including a trip to Japan and maybe later, Peru, and just being happy. Not too much to ask for, is it?
I just wish I could share this joy to everyone I know, 'cos it's a great feeling!
Monday November 13th 2006
Well, firm news on what the job may entail; it seems like I being training in two weeks time; some kind of course. What that means is that I will have to take Miss Molly, my kitty, to stay with Jools this weekend. Up to now it has just been the idea of the job, not what it actually means. Now this means that I have to make real choices, and the reality is really hitting home. Saying that, I am sure she will settle down, and from then on it should all be positive things in our lives, with hopefully time and money to be able to travel. What is clear, is that it is going to be very different from the chemical company, which is not a bad thing.
So, for most of the day, just been enjoying a life of leisure, and watching last nights Steelers game, and then the Giants/Bears game on tape.
Oh, and drinking plenty of coffee made with the egg nog I made over the weekend; man, that is damn good coffee!
Tuesday November 14th 2006
I guess today is the day in which the reality of the whole new job and life kinda hit home. And it is more than a little scary. And although it is the great unknown, and I thought more than once not to do it; I would always be thinking what if...? So, I now have details of the course, or the first course I have to do; a week away in Southampton, learning about the basics of life on ship, which mainly seems to be putting out fires and first aid; well, I am so trained in that already; so no fears there.
My main concern is the cat; my cat, Molly. I know when you weigh up everything, to think of the wellbeing of one small kitty, it should not make much difference. But, I look at it like this; I chose her in the pound, gave her a home, and she is so very happy here, especially when I’m not working; that to uproot her from all this seems cruel. But, if there were an alternative; another job offer, better prospects around here, then it would be a no brainer. But, Lowestoft is a dying town, of the three big employers left; one is closing down for good by next March, another, Birds Eye has been taken over, and there are dark rumours about it's future, and the last makes accommodation modules for gas rigs, an industry which is shrinking as the supplies in the north sea run out. Where does that leave the rest of us? Working in shops?
Although it is a job I have done before, and like; the average wage for a shop assistant is around £6 an hour; the average house price around here is well into six figures; hell, even my little terraced house would fetch £100,000, and my wage at the chemical place would not get a mortgage for half that. What chance does anyone have of getting on the housing ladder? Or even being able to survive?
What it comes down to is a choice without a choice. Take the job, or face an unknown period of unemployment, and no way to pay the mortgage or the bills, and losing the house, maybe moving back with Mother; or even worse.
So, I take Molly down to Jools's on Saturday, and stay there for a few days until she hopefully settles in, and then onto the course. From then on, I guess I will be spending most of my time either at work or at Jools's, which means less and less time at home; and it will feel strange. I guess I had gotten used to my little house, with my kitty, and as i said before, my travelling day were long gone; as George says 'Shows what I know!'
I guess the future is unknown, and we go forward with at least our eyes open, and embrace the chances it gives us. I was just not prepared for so many big changes so soon.
Thursday November 16th 2006
As time draws near for my life to change, my thoughts have turned to those who for some reason I have written to over the years, and they have drifted away. I am sure I have done this to other people, but not to those i thought I had made a connection with.
I went online in March 2001, and first of all registered with E-Pals.com, and made several friends around the world; in fact a couple of them i still write to now. But most, drifted away. One, the first was someone living in upstate New York, in the Adirondacks, and for a few months, we wrote, and then, nothing. She would not be the last.
Kate lived in the Carolinas, and we even met when she came over; all seemed fine. Now, I know there are reasons for her not writing now; she met a sailor some years her junior, and they married within a couple of weeks, so she does have a new life in Norfolk.
In the past year, I made friends, or thought I did, with people from Prince Edward Island, the Deep South as well as from England and Holland. Most of them would write several times a week; they had all gone through messy separations, and wanted someone to talk to. But, it seems when their lives got back on track, the needed online friends no more, and just stopped. I find it hard to accept that people would just use someone else just as an emotional crutch, and at times it has hurt, when in my mind I did nothing wrong.
Maybe it was me? I have led a fairly dull life these few years; well, with the exception of waiting to go to Iraq, and the trip last year across the States, and this adventure in the post-military world.
This in no way is a reflection on those I still write to; but even some of those, from Denver, France just write occasionally, and the gaps are getting longer. Maybe it's the fact that my life is moving on; I have a long term partner now, hopefully have a great job. I know that one has her own problems, with an unemployed husband and difficult home life. And another has had a life I thought only existed in fiction, drunken, drug addicted husband, drug addicted children, looking after their children whilst their parents got through countless programs. And still she is the most upbeat person I ever talked to.
I guess the net gives us an insight into others’ lives, and that is something we would never have gotten anywhere else. After September 11, the survivors stories swept around the web, with friends of friends stories being forwarded on, and for those thousands of miles away, being able to get a grasp on how big it was. I mean, I saw the pictures on TV, but it still looks like a movie. But it those words I will always remember.
I can't promise how good an internet friend I will be from this point on; I have thought seriously about cancelling my account, as I thought I did not need to go online any more. Well, I think too much of my friends, and their lives; and i could not stop wondering if her husband found a job, or another did leave her husband and meet up with her on line best friend and make the move; or any of the other stories and the people behind them.
Thanks to all those I have written to, and to those I still do. Having met a few of my online friends; I know that they are more than e mail addys and buddies, and that there are real lives behind them, and to be without them my life would be far duller. To those that stopped writing, just to know why would be nice, even if I was told, like I was, that I was opinionated and had a closed mind, and no wonder I did not keep my friends; maybe she was right?
I wish nobody ill, and I hope that those I have lost contact with, or have moved on, that they found the happiness they were looking for. To those with whom i still write; I will try to be as good a friend as time allows, and hopefully we can move to the future still as friends. It's an infinite universe out there, with limitless possibilities, and as long as you can stand my bad spelling and grammar, we'll do fine.
Thursday, 31 January 2019
Wednesday 30th January 2019
It is now getting quite light in the mornings, now getting light when Jools leaves for work. Although this week, if feels very much like midwinter with temperatures hovering around freezing and there being a breeze making it feel colder. Though its not Midwest cold, mind. Thank goodness. Still no getting the cats out of the house though.
Jools gets ready to go to work, at least with no snow she could get the car up the drive with no bother.
And so to work.
Work is, well work, and it gets ever harder sometimes to find the enthusiasm for it. But there you go, it pays for our life here. So best get on with it.
Come early afternoon, and my colleagues in DK all struck down by some strong flu, a double bout of cancelled meetings suggested to me I should go out for a walk.
With my back still complaining, not far, just out of the house, then up to Collingwood, along that to the path crossing back over the fields to our street.
Twenty minutes, but in the glorious sunshine, with no breeze, even though cold, you could almost imagine the heat of the afternoon sun.
I was hunting for flowers, and shots for the day, but I found a Shepherd's Purse in the verge beside Station Road, and a new colony of Winter Heliotrope, which I was happy with.
By the time I turned back for home, my back was grumbling quite loudly, so it was good to reach the top of the drive and slither down to the back door.
And that is that. Another hour at work, but my back really wanted a lay down, so I lay on the bed and was joined by Scully who didn't miss the chance to remind me it was nearly dinner time.
After dinner, I go to lay in bed to listen to the football, but miss most of the second halves as I fall asleep.
It is the time of the year, I tells you!
Jools gets ready to go to work, at least with no snow she could get the car up the drive with no bother.And so to work.
Work is, well work, and it gets ever harder sometimes to find the enthusiasm for it. But there you go, it pays for our life here. So best get on with it.Come early afternoon, and my colleagues in DK all struck down by some strong flu, a double bout of cancelled meetings suggested to me I should go out for a walk.
With my back still complaining, not far, just out of the house, then up to Collingwood, along that to the path crossing back over the fields to our street.Twenty minutes, but in the glorious sunshine, with no breeze, even though cold, you could almost imagine the heat of the afternoon sun.
I was hunting for flowers, and shots for the day, but I found a Shepherd's Purse in the verge beside Station Road, and a new colony of Winter Heliotrope, which I was happy with.By the time I turned back for home, my back was grumbling quite loudly, so it was good to reach the top of the drive and slither down to the back door.
And that is that. Another hour at work, but my back really wanted a lay down, so I lay on the bed and was joined by Scully who didn't miss the chance to remind me it was nearly dinner time.After dinner, I go to lay in bed to listen to the football, but miss most of the second halves as I fall asleep.
It is the time of the year, I tells you!
3145
I was stuffed. I had no money, and was so far overdrawn that I could not aks for a payment "holiday" because in Lloyds words, I had not asked the question for it in the right way!
I was livid.
But also had to find work quickly.
Luck came calling, as a job fell into my lap.
In truth, it was a crappy job, delivering chemicals for a company in Yarmouth. But it paid well enough to keep my head above water, even if it would lead to all kinds of stress. I was to be a delivery driver, transporting dangerous chemicals across East Anglia. Mostly it was 1 gallon containers, but there were large tanks of liquid that had to be pumped into tanks.
Each morning I had to load up the truck, keeping those chemicals that would react badly if mixed, apart, and for the route. And arrange the paperwork to be provided if there was an accident.
The company wasn't well organised, and the truck I had was a wreck: it was called Animal, and would suffer loss of power at inconvenient moments. But it was my home for six months, trucking up and down the highways and byways. Some of the places were so out of the way, I had to by A-Z maps of Suffolk, Norfolk and Cambridgeshire in order to find where to deliver them, and no sat nav was provided.
I had the radio, and I got on with it. But i made an enemy of the sales manager and the owners son, which would do for me. Having to dress in a rubber protection suit in the height of summer was a real pain, but that and lugging the containers about got me fit. And I had no relapse of the bad back, which I found amazing.
But all us ordinary workers were treated badly, by the time our time came to having been there two years and getting full rights, an excuse would be found to get rid of us.
Not that I lasted two years, I lasted barely six months.
The sales guy used to complain about the route I took as the truck had a tracker, but I was the driver and it was up to me. And I used to complain.
A lot.
Mainly about smoking, as it was still allowed to take place, but I said to them one day that that would have to stop. Why, the boss' son asked. Because of the law, I replied. Who would tell them. I would.
See, but I was right.
It was at the beginning of November, just after they had laid off one of the guys who did the mixing in the yard and they were struggling to get an order out, I sneaked off after coming back from my run instead of mucking in. Strictly speaking, I had not been asked, but, you know.
Next day, I was laid off, not sacked, but I know why. And they knew I knew why.
How dare they sack me from their crappy job?
I was happy and scared. Scared about losing my house.
And Molly.
I would look for a job first thing Monday morning! I spent the weekend drinking and watching more sport.
I was livid.
But also had to find work quickly.
Luck came calling, as a job fell into my lap.
In truth, it was a crappy job, delivering chemicals for a company in Yarmouth. But it paid well enough to keep my head above water, even if it would lead to all kinds of stress. I was to be a delivery driver, transporting dangerous chemicals across East Anglia. Mostly it was 1 gallon containers, but there were large tanks of liquid that had to be pumped into tanks.
Each morning I had to load up the truck, keeping those chemicals that would react badly if mixed, apart, and for the route. And arrange the paperwork to be provided if there was an accident.
The company wasn't well organised, and the truck I had was a wreck: it was called Animal, and would suffer loss of power at inconvenient moments. But it was my home for six months, trucking up and down the highways and byways. Some of the places were so out of the way, I had to by A-Z maps of Suffolk, Norfolk and Cambridgeshire in order to find where to deliver them, and no sat nav was provided.
I had the radio, and I got on with it. But i made an enemy of the sales manager and the owners son, which would do for me. Having to dress in a rubber protection suit in the height of summer was a real pain, but that and lugging the containers about got me fit. And I had no relapse of the bad back, which I found amazing.
But all us ordinary workers were treated badly, by the time our time came to having been there two years and getting full rights, an excuse would be found to get rid of us.
Not that I lasted two years, I lasted barely six months.
The sales guy used to complain about the route I took as the truck had a tracker, but I was the driver and it was up to me. And I used to complain.
A lot.
Mainly about smoking, as it was still allowed to take place, but I said to them one day that that would have to stop. Why, the boss' son asked. Because of the law, I replied. Who would tell them. I would.
See, but I was right.
It was at the beginning of November, just after they had laid off one of the guys who did the mixing in the yard and they were struggling to get an order out, I sneaked off after coming back from my run instead of mucking in. Strictly speaking, I had not been asked, but, you know.
Next day, I was laid off, not sacked, but I know why. And they knew I knew why.
How dare they sack me from their crappy job?
I was happy and scared. Scared about losing my house.
And Molly.
I would look for a job first thing Monday morning! I spent the weekend drinking and watching more sport.
More Brexit madness
If I could, I would find something new to write about Brexit. But each day is some kind of Kafkaesque hell, or maybe its Prometheus instead of having his liver pecked out, he has to listen to the same arguments for avoiding a hard border in Ireland.
Round and round we go, regurgitating arguments that were debunked months if not years ago.
There is no magic that can be waved to make the backstop go away, if there were solutions, technological or otherwise, they would have been found by now.
Instead, all that the UK and the PM has show is a huge dose of bad faith to the EU and all other traders.
And even if there was a way, the UK still has to decide what relationship it wants with the EU, this does not affect that, it means that the arguments will only get worse and more heated.
Brexiteers and their cheerleaders have shown themselves to be unable to compromise, so why should anyone else? Negotiations mean compromise. And anyway, the UK wade backstop was put in at the UK’s request to ensure there was no hard border in the Irish sea, so the alternative is a NI only solution that puts that back! Is that what they want? I seriously doubt that.
And with so much legislation to pass before the 29th March, it came as a surprise this morning to find that the Government had not scheduled one minute of Brexit business in the Commons for next week!
Mind you, Andrea Leadsome is in charge of that, so, maybe not so surprising its all messed up.
Round and round we go, regurgitating arguments that were debunked months if not years ago.
There is no magic that can be waved to make the backstop go away, if there were solutions, technological or otherwise, they would have been found by now.
Instead, all that the UK and the PM has show is a huge dose of bad faith to the EU and all other traders.
And even if there was a way, the UK still has to decide what relationship it wants with the EU, this does not affect that, it means that the arguments will only get worse and more heated.
Brexiteers and their cheerleaders have shown themselves to be unable to compromise, so why should anyone else? Negotiations mean compromise. And anyway, the UK wade backstop was put in at the UK’s request to ensure there was no hard border in the Irish sea, so the alternative is a NI only solution that puts that back! Is that what they want? I seriously doubt that.
And with so much legislation to pass before the 29th March, it came as a surprise this morning to find that the Government had not scheduled one minute of Brexit business in the Commons for next week!
Mind you, Andrea Leadsome is in charge of that, so, maybe not so surprising its all messed up.
Wednesday, 30 January 2019
Tuesday 29th January 2019
Tuesday morning.
And life goes one.
Already we have forgotten the pain and tears from Friday and Saturday. But it is not gone, its still there, waiting to catch us both unawares. But for the most part, life goes on, and we get on with the rest our lives.
We feel guilty about that. About laughing, going out for a meal, laughing at a comedy radio show.
But its what we do.
We wake up and it is mighty cold in the house, but the heating switches on, and soon the new boiler is making the house warmer, much quicker than the old one.
And after I have coffee and Jools leaves for work, I do a session on the cross trainer. Just 20 minutes, but it is a start and I feel much better about that. Outside its a much more overcast than on Monday. And it is cold.
In the garden, birds are about before it is fully light, looking for food, and singing about the hunt. I fill up the feeders and then watch as the birds come from all over the neighbourhood.
Its a big day, as I'm waiting for a new computer to be delivered. The big all in one widescreen thing I had gave up the ghost two weeks back, and this new one has been sent from China as our paid replacement. This means trying to remember the passwords for the websites I use, so when the time comes, I can carry on posting or blogging.
But I wait for the call from the delivery bloke, which surely will come when I'm in a meeting for work, no?
Indeed it does. The door goes and a happy Pole stands there wanting me to sign for the box that has Dell plastered all over it.
I go back to the meeting.
But the day passes, clouds sweep over and dusk comes a good two hours earlier than on Monday. The cats want feeding, and so I prepare and cook dinner.
We have bangers and mash along with the last can of Boston beans we brought back from the US, and sausages we got from Tesco, which were underwhelming, but hey, sausages.
And the day turns to evening, I put on the radio to listen to the evening Prem games before going to lay in bed for the second half, and how, somehow Newcastle come from a goal down to beat Citeh with a last minute goal.
Who saw that coming?
And life goes one.
Already we have forgotten the pain and tears from Friday and Saturday. But it is not gone, its still there, waiting to catch us both unawares. But for the most part, life goes on, and we get on with the rest our lives.
We feel guilty about that. About laughing, going out for a meal, laughing at a comedy radio show.
But its what we do.
We wake up and it is mighty cold in the house, but the heating switches on, and soon the new boiler is making the house warmer, much quicker than the old one.
And after I have coffee and Jools leaves for work, I do a session on the cross trainer. Just 20 minutes, but it is a start and I feel much better about that. Outside its a much more overcast than on Monday. And it is cold.
In the garden, birds are about before it is fully light, looking for food, and singing about the hunt. I fill up the feeders and then watch as the birds come from all over the neighbourhood.
Its a big day, as I'm waiting for a new computer to be delivered. The big all in one widescreen thing I had gave up the ghost two weeks back, and this new one has been sent from China as our paid replacement. This means trying to remember the passwords for the websites I use, so when the time comes, I can carry on posting or blogging.
But I wait for the call from the delivery bloke, which surely will come when I'm in a meeting for work, no?
Indeed it does. The door goes and a happy Pole stands there wanting me to sign for the box that has Dell plastered all over it.I go back to the meeting.
But the day passes, clouds sweep over and dusk comes a good two hours earlier than on Monday. The cats want feeding, and so I prepare and cook dinner.
We have bangers and mash along with the last can of Boston beans we brought back from the US, and sausages we got from Tesco, which were underwhelming, but hey, sausages.
And the day turns to evening, I put on the radio to listen to the evening Prem games before going to lay in bed for the second half, and how, somehow Newcastle come from a goal down to beat Citeh with a last minute goal.
Who saw that coming?
3142
I arrived back from holiday in America with still nearly two weeks of paid time left on my contract with the RAF. On top of that I got a fine financial settlement from the RAF too, meaning that when my final pay cheque was paid into my account at the end of September 2005, I had thousands of pounds. I also had no one to answer to, I had the account of my trip to write up, and there was music to listen to, baseball to watch. I took months off.
Each day would start with me having a late breakfast, walking to the corner store to get some milk of biscuits, then sitting at my desk in the front room, writing, listening to music, then spending the night watching sport, drinking wine, beer or whisky, eating Pringles. It was far from perfect, but it was my life.
The house was leftover from the divorce. We had a tenant, and I got Debbie to move out, had it furnished and lived there for the last year I was in the mob.
Now it was mine.
I had given up on my season ticket at Norwich. I was sensible enough to realise how going to Carrow Road and following them could eat through my money, but I was spending loads on Sky and the rest of my lifestyle.
I did realise I needed to work. All I wanted was a job in town I could walk to, or cycle to. Paid enough so I could pay the mortgage and support my wine and Pringle habit. But I could find nothing.
I took a job at an agency, doing all sorts of driving jobs, but I was spending as much on fuel to get to the depot than I made. That sucked.
Then I got a gig driving for the Cotswold Company, delivery mail order goods around London. Three days from the depot near Swaffham.
We drove down the A11 to London, through the middle and over Tower Bridge to the south east, where we delivered until it was dark. We parked up on a quiet road and slep in the cab. Yes, it was grim, and got worse as the week went on as we did not shower. Or wash, really.
After another day delivering, we parked up near to Selhurst Park where Norwich were playing, and it was on TV, so I went to a pub, drank ate the money I made that day.
By Thursday the van was empty, and we drove back to the depot where I then drove back home to Oulton Broad.
I went home to the house, to the empty house.
I needed something to come back to.
I needed a cat.
I called the RSPCA, and they came round and I passed their test, so on Friday I went to one of their catteries, where there was just one kitty cat.
Topaz was so scared, so tiny, so young, that she would only eat when stroked.
If you are patient I was told, she will be a wonderful cat.
So, I took Molly home. When I opened the kitty box, she ran and hid in my sofa for a day. Coming out only to snatch food and lay huge cats eggs in the litter tray that smelt like nothing on earth. I disposed of them down the loo.
But in time, little by little, she came out of her shell, and turned out to be the best darned cat I ever met. Topaz was a poor name, so I looked at her and said, you look like a Molly. She seemed to agree, so she became Molly.
So, we made a home with each other. She was a house cat, and we used to watch the football, baseball and gridiron together. I fed her, played with her, and tried not to gag when I emptied the litter tray.
I had something to come home to, though I had no job.
After Christmas, I got a job delivering beer. Yes, beer. So for a month I learned the routes and customers, delivering barrels, kegs, bottles and the such all over north Suffolk and south Norfolk.
It paid a pittance, but it felt good to work, and the manual work meant I would lose weight.
But it paid so poorly, and they expected to do overtime for free. It only paid 34 hours, and then having to do up to eight hours a week for free, I refused, and said that unless overtime was paid, I would leave.
So, they handbagged me for a week saying the contract was coming, and I would be paid, allow as well. Until the Thursday night of my 5th week when I was given a draft of the contract; no paid overtime.
I left the next morning, keeping the contract to show the DHSS why I had left.
That night I began t get a pain in my leg, a pain that bu the next morning felt like I was walking with a broken bone. I went to the doctor and he told me I has sciatica. I could not walk, let alone work. The treatment at the time was drugs and rest. So I drugged up and rested, burning further through my savings.
I began not opening my mail, and hoping that my credit car would be OK when I used it. I was coming to a crunch, it was just as a matter of when.
In June, I got a letter that I opened, it said there was insufficient funds to pay the mortgage, so I was now in default. I had no job, no money.
Mum bailed me out, but it was clear I had to get a job.
This was my lowest point, borrowing thousands from Mum, her only doing it as the alternative was me moving back in with her.
Each day would start with me having a late breakfast, walking to the corner store to get some milk of biscuits, then sitting at my desk in the front room, writing, listening to music, then spending the night watching sport, drinking wine, beer or whisky, eating Pringles. It was far from perfect, but it was my life.
The house was leftover from the divorce. We had a tenant, and I got Debbie to move out, had it furnished and lived there for the last year I was in the mob.
Now it was mine.
I had given up on my season ticket at Norwich. I was sensible enough to realise how going to Carrow Road and following them could eat through my money, but I was spending loads on Sky and the rest of my lifestyle.
I did realise I needed to work. All I wanted was a job in town I could walk to, or cycle to. Paid enough so I could pay the mortgage and support my wine and Pringle habit. But I could find nothing.
I took a job at an agency, doing all sorts of driving jobs, but I was spending as much on fuel to get to the depot than I made. That sucked.
Then I got a gig driving for the Cotswold Company, delivery mail order goods around London. Three days from the depot near Swaffham.
We drove down the A11 to London, through the middle and over Tower Bridge to the south east, where we delivered until it was dark. We parked up on a quiet road and slep in the cab. Yes, it was grim, and got worse as the week went on as we did not shower. Or wash, really.
After another day delivering, we parked up near to Selhurst Park where Norwich were playing, and it was on TV, so I went to a pub, drank ate the money I made that day.
By Thursday the van was empty, and we drove back to the depot where I then drove back home to Oulton Broad.
I went home to the house, to the empty house.
I needed something to come back to.
I needed a cat.
I called the RSPCA, and they came round and I passed their test, so on Friday I went to one of their catteries, where there was just one kitty cat.
Topaz was so scared, so tiny, so young, that she would only eat when stroked.
If you are patient I was told, she will be a wonderful cat.
So, I took Molly home. When I opened the kitty box, she ran and hid in my sofa for a day. Coming out only to snatch food and lay huge cats eggs in the litter tray that smelt like nothing on earth. I disposed of them down the loo.
But in time, little by little, she came out of her shell, and turned out to be the best darned cat I ever met. Topaz was a poor name, so I looked at her and said, you look like a Molly. She seemed to agree, so she became Molly.
So, we made a home with each other. She was a house cat, and we used to watch the football, baseball and gridiron together. I fed her, played with her, and tried not to gag when I emptied the litter tray.
I had something to come home to, though I had no job.
After Christmas, I got a job delivering beer. Yes, beer. So for a month I learned the routes and customers, delivering barrels, kegs, bottles and the such all over north Suffolk and south Norfolk.
It paid a pittance, but it felt good to work, and the manual work meant I would lose weight.
But it paid so poorly, and they expected to do overtime for free. It only paid 34 hours, and then having to do up to eight hours a week for free, I refused, and said that unless overtime was paid, I would leave.
So, they handbagged me for a week saying the contract was coming, and I would be paid, allow as well. Until the Thursday night of my 5th week when I was given a draft of the contract; no paid overtime.
I left the next morning, keeping the contract to show the DHSS why I had left.
That night I began t get a pain in my leg, a pain that bu the next morning felt like I was walking with a broken bone. I went to the doctor and he told me I has sciatica. I could not walk, let alone work. The treatment at the time was drugs and rest. So I drugged up and rested, burning further through my savings.
I began not opening my mail, and hoping that my credit car would be OK when I used it. I was coming to a crunch, it was just as a matter of when.
In June, I got a letter that I opened, it said there was insufficient funds to pay the mortgage, so I was now in default. I had no job, no money.
Mum bailed me out, but it was clear I had to get a job.
This was my lowest point, borrowing thousands from Mum, her only doing it as the alternative was me moving back in with her.
Up a creek without a paddle or clue
So, today's papers allowed for May to bathe in triumph, a battle victory over. Well, over what? Oh yeah, reality.
What May has succeeded in doing was showing the EU and every other country a UK ripped out of the EU cannot be trusted, and any deals agreed will have to be watertight. And to the EU that the backstop is every bit as vital as before, but then, even more so. And if that don't make sense, its because Brexit doesn't.
UK will be a pariah on the global trade stage, a complete basket case, willing to gamble with its own prosperity, and one that a country that cannot be trusted.
It is madness, and until Parliament starts to face up to the clusterfuck of a situation it has gotten into, that if it really does reject no deal, and May's deal, then it must come up with a viable alternative that over half of the 650 MPs can get behind and actually vote for, because if not, then Brexit is gonna happen, and all they have done is give May two more weeks to faff around, two weeks that the country does not have.
I have no confidence that someone will ride in to save the day, I think that when push comes to shove, Parliament will freeze.
And even if Brexit is delayed or stopped, its already too late.
The country is already 2.6% poorer that it would be had it voted to remain, and businesses and EU agencies are leaving. Last week the European Medicines Agency closed its door and moved to Amsterdam. 600 jobs went. All fine, except that because that was there, dozens of the world's largest pharmaceutical companies had their European offices in London too. Their obs and investments will go too. And the UK's role in certifying drugs for Europe through NICE.
All gone, and pointless, thrown on the funeral pye in the name of ending freedom of movement, that the country benefits from.
All mad.
Make it stop.
What May has succeeded in doing was showing the EU and every other country a UK ripped out of the EU cannot be trusted, and any deals agreed will have to be watertight. And to the EU that the backstop is every bit as vital as before, but then, even more so. And if that don't make sense, its because Brexit doesn't.
UK will be a pariah on the global trade stage, a complete basket case, willing to gamble with its own prosperity, and one that a country that cannot be trusted.
It is madness, and until Parliament starts to face up to the clusterfuck of a situation it has gotten into, that if it really does reject no deal, and May's deal, then it must come up with a viable alternative that over half of the 650 MPs can get behind and actually vote for, because if not, then Brexit is gonna happen, and all they have done is give May two more weeks to faff around, two weeks that the country does not have.
I have no confidence that someone will ride in to save the day, I think that when push comes to shove, Parliament will freeze.
And even if Brexit is delayed or stopped, its already too late.
The country is already 2.6% poorer that it would be had it voted to remain, and businesses and EU agencies are leaving. Last week the European Medicines Agency closed its door and moved to Amsterdam. 600 jobs went. All fine, except that because that was there, dozens of the world's largest pharmaceutical companies had their European offices in London too. Their obs and investments will go too. And the UK's role in certifying drugs for Europe through NICE.
All gone, and pointless, thrown on the funeral pye in the name of ending freedom of movement, that the country benefits from.
All mad.
Make it stop.
Tuesday, 29 January 2019
3140
The trip to the Amalfi coast was a seven-hour bus drive, and we were not looking forward to it. But, in the end, with frequent stops for coffee it whizzed by. We went past places that had been fiercely fought over during the war, especial Monte Casino, which we bombed to the ground. But has now been re-built. It overlooks the valley, and I guess you could se the sea from its terraces. As we neared Naples, the dark shape of Vesuvius loomed large. Naples is built around the foot of the volcano, and up it’s slopes. The thought of an eruption fills me with dread. One suburb of Naples is the most densely populated part of Europe. And it is that part which surrounds Herculaneum, which of course was covered along with Pompeii in AD 79. If it can happen once, it can happen again.
We left Naples, turned off the Autostrada, and headed off into the hills. We tuned off the main road, and the road soon became steep, with many sharp turns and hairpin bends. All along the increasingly high cliff, small villages clinged on to the earth. And over our shoulders, the bay of Naples, along with the volcano stretched out into the haze of the horizon. After about 45 minutes, we entered a short tunnel, as the road gave up trying to get over the summit of the hill. We came out in a typical Italian village, small houses, all with blinds firmly down, a few children on the way home from school, a white church. And then, the most amazing few came into sight. We were perched at the top of a cliff, some two thousand feet high, and it fell away very steeply to the Mediterranean below.
Scattered along the cliff, were small villages, along with the white churches. And the knowledge that we were going to have to get down the cliff on what constituted the road. At one point, we counted 12 levels of the road below us. Churches that were ten minutes ago, were hundreds of feet below us, appeared around the hairpin bends. Only to be towering above us a few minutes later. Sitting at the window seat, to see the sea below, and only a thin metal fence separating the bus from tumbling down the cliff was sobering. The driver was brilliant, and dealt with oncoming vehicles by stopping the bus right next to the railings. It took the best part of an hour to negotiate the road down to sea level.
And unfortunately, there were no parking places big enough for a bus, so I have no pictures of that trip. But it will live in my memory for a long time. One woman was so scared; she did not leave the town with the hotel for the whole week. And tried very hard to find another way to get to the airport when we came to leave. As we drove along the main Amalfi coast road, we realised it was no wider than the one we came down on. So, progress was very slow at time. But, after passing through the main town of the coastline, Amalfi itself, we came to our base for the next week, Minori. Minori is a small fishing village, with a harbour, a few shops, mainly for locals, a large church, and a small square with a couple of bars. The town is built into a cleft in the cliff, with narrow streets. Too narrow for busses, so we stopped on the main road, and walked up to our hotel.
The hotel was very nice, all staff in white coast and ties, and nothing was too much trouble. They even brought our cases up from the harbour, and delivered them right up to our rooms, something I don’t think would have happened in England. My room was much bigger than the one in Tuscany. In that one I could have a shower, shave, clean my teeth, and use the bidet and toilet, without moving. My room here, we big, though strangely, the bathroom was bigger than the bedroom. But, it was good, and there was a mini bar, with the typical overpriced stuff.
That night, we met in the bar, and had a welcome drink provided by the hotel, and once again divided into our little cliques to sit at our various tables. I sat with a couple from Swindon, John and his wife, the two sisters, and a lone lady called Vicky, who was 80, and on her own, having recovered from a minor stroke. John and I had very similar sense of humour, which spelt trouble for others, as we could be found doubled up in laughter at someone else’s slip of the tongue. There was a separate wine waiter, and John and I decided to take turns in buying a bottle of wine, one each day. Which worked out quite well.
The next day was a gentle one, beginning with a guided walking tour around the town. We went to a coffee shop, to try the locally made pastries, and sample the traditional expresso. From there we went to a ceramic workshop, majolica is made all along the coast, and is decorated with fruits. A popular figure was that of Bacchus, the Roman God of wine and feasting, we were to see his grinning face all along the coast. Finally, we went to a pasta shop, where pasta is made by hand. And there, as everywhere else, they had their own local shaped pasta, which was made by wrapping the pasta around a wire, and rolling the pasta along the work surface. It was very expensive, as each piece was hand made, and could not be machine made. The shops and workshops were found along narrow alleyways that criss-crossed the town. And at the end of the alleys, the sides of the cliffs could be seen reaching to the heavens.
That afternoon, we met at the harbour for the afternoon’s excursion, a boat trip to Positano.
Positano is a town about 15 miles along the coast to Naples, and is built on a steep cliff. All the houses and shops are either pastel coloured of whitewashed, and linked by steep alleyways.
We agreed to split up for lunch, my group to the bar we had visited the night before for salad and iced tea, which had introduced the group to. Just before one, we met up on the quay for the arrival of our boat to take us to Positano. It was a converted fishing boat, with seating around the sides. And the guide gave us a commentary all along the coast as to what interesting places we could see. It turned out to be either 5 star hotels whose prices we could not dream of affording, or the summer homes of the rich and famous. At the midway point, we stopped off at the azure grotto. The grotto is a cave, with an underwater entrance, which when the sun shines has the most wonderful colour. It is reached from a small jetty, and along a narrow passageway, to a small quay, where small rowing boats were waiting to take us into the cave. It was wonderful, and even better, as we returned to the quay, the rower splashed with his oar, and the surface sparkled as if suddenly covered with jewels. All an optical effect, but wonderful none the less.
Positano is he most famous place on the Amalfi coast, it was crowded, until we learned what crowds really were later in the week. Our group split up, with most going with the tour guide who promised them the best patisserie on the Naples Rivera. In the end, we all ended up there, sampling the homemade apricot tea and ice cram. There were narrow passageways, all with shops built into the walls. And the clothes shop had their wares hanging on the side of the walls outside, forcing passing people to force their way through the dresses and t-shirts. It reminded me of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, expecting to come out in an arctic wood at some point.
There is noting quite like sitting in the shade of an Italian coffee shop, eating Pistachio Ice Cream, and watching the world go by. So good in fact, we soon had coffee to go with the ice cream too. The journey back was wonderful, as the cliffs caught the setting sun, and the air was full of the smell of burning leaves as the farmers burnt that days rubbish from the groves and vineyards. As we headed away from Positano, Capri was just viable as we looked into the setting sun, silhouetted against the bright sky. It looked wonderful, and we would be going there at the weekend.
Next day was an extended half-day trip to Paestum. We were wondering what the difference between a half-day, extended half day and a full day trip. In the end it seemed to be about half an hour each. Paestum is away from the Amalfi coast, beyond Solerno. The drive along the coast was spectacular to say the least. The road was never more than two cars width, and we were in a big bus. So, other traffic had to get out the way, unless two busses met, in which case it was interesting. At times the road was level with the sea, and others it climbed hundreds of feet above the ocean. We passed through small fishing villages, around gorges cut into the face of the cliffs. The last town before Solerno made ceramics as its speciality. And all the churches along the coast had tiled domes that caught the sun. All the shops on the main street had tiled fronts, depicting what could be bought inside.
Paestum was built on the plains south of Solerno, between what were swamps in antiquity. As the towns got poorer as went slowly south, the beachside shops slowly falling into decay. We turned inland, over lazy rivers meandering through reed banks. We came upon massive walls. This was Paestum. Inside was a Roman town, but even better, three classic Greek temples from half a millennia before Christ. The temples towered over what was left of the town, and wonderfully, they we in remarkable condition. Two of the temples were next to each other, and even the inner sanctum of one was still there. All that were missing were the roofs.
Nearby, was a museum, were the marble facing was still preserved. It seemed that the Romans left previous civilisation’s religious buildings along, even incorporating them into their own beliefs. Christian church builders however, cannibalised anything they could get their hands on to build the early churches. Paestum survived because it was in the middle of a swap, and remained undiscovered for over 1500 years. What was even more wonderful about it, was that it is relatively unknown, and we had the site almost to ourselves. Once we had toured the site and museum, we had lunch in a nearby taverna, more local soft cheese and tomato salad.
It had been a hot day, so I thought I would treat myself to a proper Italian haircut. There was a barber on the walk up to the hotel from the harbour, so I thought I would give it a try.
Good luck was that he was open, and no one was waiting. We got on really well, I spoke no Italian, and unlike everyone else in Italy, he spoke no English. He guessed I wanted a haircut, and soon he was cutting away, and hair was flying off in all directions. He finished, and I motioned to get up, he said to wait. And snipped away at my eyebrows. Once again I went to get up, and he motioned to stay sitting. What happened next was not what I expected, he changed the grip on the scissors, and put them up my nose, a quick snip to get rid of any hairs, up the other nostril, and snip. And, it was all over. Oh how I laughed, and so did my friends in the bar when I told them.
Friday was a trip to Herculaneum, famous of course, for being one of the other towns to be destroyed by the ad 79 eruption of Vesuvius. The entrance to the site is among the busiest part of Naples, with the clouded shadow of the volcano towering above us. The locals dislike the visiting tourists, as the tour busses whisk to visitors to the site, and away again after the visit. So, almost no tourist money is spent in the area. We were warned of pickpockets, and worse, so to keep together on the walk to the pick up place for the bus. In reality, we saw a slice of normal Italian life, shops, garages, workshops that would have been great to look around, and maybe snap pictures of. But, it was not to be. Traffic was doubly bad, as the local government had organised a protest march of tow aid workers captured in Iraq, so thousands of schoolchildren with banners brought the city to a standstill. By the end of the week, the workers would be freed, at least some good news for the city.
We approach the site along a shallow sloping ramp; with views overlooking what has been explored so far. So we had views over the whole site, which is not very big, about the same size a 8 city blocks, as the rest is under the city of Naples. Straight narrow streets led to what was once the waterfront, but is now 200 feet above sea level, and over a mile from the current shoreline. Once again, a guide was waiting for us, and he told us a little about what is know of the town. It was a much smaller place than Pompeii, but still much has been learned from the finds there.
Most wonderful, was that due to the way the town was covered, a lot of organic material survived, as well as hundreds of mosaics. The mosaics looked as if they were laid yesterday, and it was odd to be able to walk over them. One villa had wonderful mosaics on the wall, with full perspective views of building. Such art would not be done again in mainland Europe until the Renaissance. Due to the fact, so much ash over 30 metres high. And above that, sides of blocks of flats towered even higher. Organic material had survived, it was possible to tell what plants had grown in the gardens of the villas, and new plants had been planted, making the impression that the owners of the villas had just left. A very odd feeling indeed. At the side of the site, walls of and above it all, Vesuvius, green and serene. The highlight of the tour, was a villa of a rich merchant, and hidden away at the back, was the most wonderful mosaic on the wall, and a tiled alter to the local Gods. All looking like they were brand new.
Saturday should have been a trip to the Island of Capri, but bad weather with strong winds had kept all boats in harbour Friday and Saturday, so the final trip to Pompeii was brought forward a day, and Capri would be on Sunday. So, once more we set out on the bus along the twisty coast road to Solerno. By now we were so used to passing other coaches and lorries, that we hardly paid any attention. It turns out that for most Italian bus drivers, a trip along this road is the last part of their driving test, as the logic goes, if you can drive along there, you can drive on any road. Stories, whether true or not, abound of inexperienced drivers abandoning their vehicles along with passengers, as their nerves are frayed. Our guide told us of a driver having a mental breakdown whilst driving along it a couple of years ago. He was only able to continue after some wine, and taking most of his clothes off. Well, nothing like that happened to us, though some of the German coach drivers were looking none to happy, and had to be told how two busses could really pass each other on a hairpin bend, and yes, that does mean the end of your bus will be hanging over a 500 foot cliff, but yes, it is safe.
Pompeii is quite near to Herculaneum, and it was pointed out by some of the more tired members of our party that maybe we could have done both trips in the same day. Although Vicky was so tired after the climb back up from the site yesterday, she barely made it back to the bus. We were assured that Pompeii is much flatter than Herculaneum, so that should not be a problem. Although there was a quite steep walk to the entrance, we did not have to exit the site that way. By the time we reached the site, it was raining, and the climb that was mentioned was indeed steep.
And worse than that, up stone steps without non-slip mats, or handrails to grip onto. So, we made our way slowly up the slope, through the town gates, and into the city itself. Pompeii has been excavated completely, and stretches for miles in all directions. It is also the most popular tourist site in Southern Italy, and most people go there at some point of their stay. We were told that it was the quietest our guides had ever seen it. But still, there were times when there were people jams, and it was impossible to gain entry to buildings. Most people travel around as a group with a guides, and there are places that just HAVE to be visited. I eventually left our group after waiting outside what used to be a brothel, as there were tow groups waiting to get in at the same time. Sorry, is it just me, but queuing up to see 2000 year old dirty pictures did not seem worth it.
So, I headed off to quieter places in the site. And I found myself at a pair of theatres, and I had them just about to myself. As I sat in the upper row of seats, behind me, still shrouded in clouds was the ever-present shape of Vesuvius. I wish I could sound more enthusiastic about Pompeii, but the crowds meant that my memories are a little soured. The city fathers had a clever idea. All Roman carts had standard axle widths. But the streets in Pompeii had stepping stones to allow people to cross the streets. But they were positioned in such a way so that standard carts could not get passed.
So all visiting merchants had to hire a local cart to deliver their goods. The stepping-stones were necessary as the street were used as sewers and full of animal dung. It was interesting to note, that although Romans were famous for their straight road, the road to the brothel was in fact curved, so that the great and the good would not be seen entering from the main street. When I met up with the others from the party, I found out that they had been to the Amphitheatre, and impressive it was to, by all accounts.
After we left Pompeii, we took a short bus ride to a local restaurant that our guide knew, and for a reasonable price, etc. So, we sat down to a pleasant light meal of, my first Italian pizza. Was it better than Domino’s or Pizza Hut? Well, it was made fresh, and the cheese was better, I guess.
In the afternoon, we were to travel the other part of the Amalfi Coast Road, from Sorrento all the way to Amalfi and ten to where our hotel was in Minori. We were to have a stop in Sorrento as well, with chance to have a wander about, and do some shopping. Sorrento is situated on a peninsular at the southern end of the Bay of Naples, with stunning views across it. And as luck would have it, the sun came out, and it was pleasantly warm too.
Sorrento is a fairly large town, and is a popular destination for English tourists. So, there was the usual scattering of English Pubs, and bars that did English Food, with brown sauce! After visiting so many out of the way places, and out of the package tour world, it was a shock. People were wandering around in vests, and had kin the colour of boiled lobster. However, the streets were narrow, but the shops were the usual tourist traps, selling the usual tat. So, I struck out to find a good view to photograph. I walked passed the Foreigners’ Club, where you could get a ‘proper’ cup of tea, and the usual English food. Quite why people go to a culinary rich country and want to eat fish fingers and baked beans is any ones guess.
So, after passing the Foreigners Club, I continued down a curved road, until I saw what I had come looking for, a view to die for. Below me, was the harbour, with ferries either docking or just leaving, and a stream of busses carrying the tourists up the steep hill to the town. And beyond the harbour, the Bay of Naples, with Naples itself some 10 miles distant. And above Naples, Vesuvius, at last, out from it’s shroud of clouds, looking for all the world as though it was turfed all the way to the crater. It was not the middle of the afternoon, and it was quite warm. So, it was good to have the breeze coming in from the bay. Away to the left, was and the island of Capri, looking small and very hilly.
There was just enough time to find a nice café for an expresso and a glass of Sambuca, an aniseed flavoured liqueur that is very popular. And when if in Rome? I met up with Sue and Denise, who were now firm fans of iced tea. The drive back to the hotel was spectacular. Once again the road dipped and dived around the headlands of the Amalfi coast, twisted and turned along narrow gullies. We were able to stop at a parking area overlooking Positano. The views were breathtaking. There are times when words are not enough, and this was one of those times. We all leaned on the railings and just looked. There was a vegetable stall there as well, and we all stocked up on herbs and spices again, I was beginning to get very concerned that there was no way that all the wonderful things I bought was ever going to fit in my suitcase. We arrived back in Minori just as the sun was setting; the fairy lights had come on along the promenade. So, a couple of us stopped off at our favourite bar for a fortifying coffee and more Sambuca. That night, the menu in the hotel was not very inviting, so most of us decided to try a taverna a short way from the hotel. We had a wonderful meal, and the owners made us very welcome, giving us a bottle of the two liqueurs made in the town to finish the meal with. Much better than the fish they had at the hotel, apparently.
We had to be up early to get the boat to Capri. So, we met up, bleary eyed at breakfast. And then made our way to the quay. I was excited to be going to Capri, even it’s name sounded so glamorous. And, one of my favourite people, Spike Milligan had visited it during the war, finding it a delightful rural island, with quaint towns and chic cafes where it was possible to watch the world pass by. The world dressed up in their very best clothes of course. So, I was looking forward to the trip, a lot. As we once again made our way along the coast, the island came into view, and soon it was towering over us.
Sheer cliffs surround the island, apart from two places where it was possible to build a harbour. As I said before, visiting Capri had been impossible the past two days, and being a Sunday, it seemed that all of Naples, and all tourists had the same idea of going to Capri. To call the scenes on the harbour side chaos would be a gross understatement. Every five minutes another ferry would deposit hundreds of visitors, and the supply of mini busses were over-stretched. Mini busses have to be used, as the roads on the island are even narrower than those on the coast road.
There seems to be no limits on how many people can visit the island on any day, so more and more people poured onto the island. Capri itself is small. About 10 square miles, and rises to over 2300 feet tall. There are three towns on the island, all of them geared to tourists and their apparent desire to buy even more tat. But being Capri, it was very over priced tat. The first town we visited was Ana Capri, built on a hill, narrow streets, full of touristy shops, and FULL of people. We were taken to a place the guide recommended, as always. And we had a lovely stone cold meal of what they decided to give us. And then charged us double what it would have cost on the mainland. The one saving grace that the town had is stunning views. Along from the main square, along the narrow street with its tourist shops, you come to a lookout. A sheer drop of over 1500 feet, overlooking the main harbour, across to the Sorrento peninsular, and across the bay to Naples and the volcano. But as the weather was so bad, a steady rain was falling, the volcano was almost obscured, and we could see the sheets of rain from the next rain cloud coming towards us. It made for a dramatic picture, though.
We left Naples, turned off the Autostrada, and headed off into the hills. We tuned off the main road, and the road soon became steep, with many sharp turns and hairpin bends. All along the increasingly high cliff, small villages clinged on to the earth. And over our shoulders, the bay of Naples, along with the volcano stretched out into the haze of the horizon. After about 45 minutes, we entered a short tunnel, as the road gave up trying to get over the summit of the hill. We came out in a typical Italian village, small houses, all with blinds firmly down, a few children on the way home from school, a white church. And then, the most amazing few came into sight. We were perched at the top of a cliff, some two thousand feet high, and it fell away very steeply to the Mediterranean below.
Scattered along the cliff, were small villages, along with the white churches. And the knowledge that we were going to have to get down the cliff on what constituted the road. At one point, we counted 12 levels of the road below us. Churches that were ten minutes ago, were hundreds of feet below us, appeared around the hairpin bends. Only to be towering above us a few minutes later. Sitting at the window seat, to see the sea below, and only a thin metal fence separating the bus from tumbling down the cliff was sobering. The driver was brilliant, and dealt with oncoming vehicles by stopping the bus right next to the railings. It took the best part of an hour to negotiate the road down to sea level.
And unfortunately, there were no parking places big enough for a bus, so I have no pictures of that trip. But it will live in my memory for a long time. One woman was so scared; she did not leave the town with the hotel for the whole week. And tried very hard to find another way to get to the airport when we came to leave. As we drove along the main Amalfi coast road, we realised it was no wider than the one we came down on. So, progress was very slow at time. But, after passing through the main town of the coastline, Amalfi itself, we came to our base for the next week, Minori. Minori is a small fishing village, with a harbour, a few shops, mainly for locals, a large church, and a small square with a couple of bars. The town is built into a cleft in the cliff, with narrow streets. Too narrow for busses, so we stopped on the main road, and walked up to our hotel.
The hotel was very nice, all staff in white coast and ties, and nothing was too much trouble. They even brought our cases up from the harbour, and delivered them right up to our rooms, something I don’t think would have happened in England. My room was much bigger than the one in Tuscany. In that one I could have a shower, shave, clean my teeth, and use the bidet and toilet, without moving. My room here, we big, though strangely, the bathroom was bigger than the bedroom. But, it was good, and there was a mini bar, with the typical overpriced stuff.
That night, we met in the bar, and had a welcome drink provided by the hotel, and once again divided into our little cliques to sit at our various tables. I sat with a couple from Swindon, John and his wife, the two sisters, and a lone lady called Vicky, who was 80, and on her own, having recovered from a minor stroke. John and I had very similar sense of humour, which spelt trouble for others, as we could be found doubled up in laughter at someone else’s slip of the tongue. There was a separate wine waiter, and John and I decided to take turns in buying a bottle of wine, one each day. Which worked out quite well.
The next day was a gentle one, beginning with a guided walking tour around the town. We went to a coffee shop, to try the locally made pastries, and sample the traditional expresso. From there we went to a ceramic workshop, majolica is made all along the coast, and is decorated with fruits. A popular figure was that of Bacchus, the Roman God of wine and feasting, we were to see his grinning face all along the coast. Finally, we went to a pasta shop, where pasta is made by hand. And there, as everywhere else, they had their own local shaped pasta, which was made by wrapping the pasta around a wire, and rolling the pasta along the work surface. It was very expensive, as each piece was hand made, and could not be machine made. The shops and workshops were found along narrow alleyways that criss-crossed the town. And at the end of the alleys, the sides of the cliffs could be seen reaching to the heavens.That afternoon, we met at the harbour for the afternoon’s excursion, a boat trip to Positano.
Positano is a town about 15 miles along the coast to Naples, and is built on a steep cliff. All the houses and shops are either pastel coloured of whitewashed, and linked by steep alleyways.
We agreed to split up for lunch, my group to the bar we had visited the night before for salad and iced tea, which had introduced the group to. Just before one, we met up on the quay for the arrival of our boat to take us to Positano. It was a converted fishing boat, with seating around the sides. And the guide gave us a commentary all along the coast as to what interesting places we could see. It turned out to be either 5 star hotels whose prices we could not dream of affording, or the summer homes of the rich and famous. At the midway point, we stopped off at the azure grotto. The grotto is a cave, with an underwater entrance, which when the sun shines has the most wonderful colour. It is reached from a small jetty, and along a narrow passageway, to a small quay, where small rowing boats were waiting to take us into the cave. It was wonderful, and even better, as we returned to the quay, the rower splashed with his oar, and the surface sparkled as if suddenly covered with jewels. All an optical effect, but wonderful none the less.
Positano is he most famous place on the Amalfi coast, it was crowded, until we learned what crowds really were later in the week. Our group split up, with most going with the tour guide who promised them the best patisserie on the Naples Rivera. In the end, we all ended up there, sampling the homemade apricot tea and ice cram. There were narrow passageways, all with shops built into the walls. And the clothes shop had their wares hanging on the side of the walls outside, forcing passing people to force their way through the dresses and t-shirts. It reminded me of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, expecting to come out in an arctic wood at some point.
There is noting quite like sitting in the shade of an Italian coffee shop, eating Pistachio Ice Cream, and watching the world go by. So good in fact, we soon had coffee to go with the ice cream too. The journey back was wonderful, as the cliffs caught the setting sun, and the air was full of the smell of burning leaves as the farmers burnt that days rubbish from the groves and vineyards. As we headed away from Positano, Capri was just viable as we looked into the setting sun, silhouetted against the bright sky. It looked wonderful, and we would be going there at the weekend.
Next day was an extended half-day trip to Paestum. We were wondering what the difference between a half-day, extended half day and a full day trip. In the end it seemed to be about half an hour each. Paestum is away from the Amalfi coast, beyond Solerno. The drive along the coast was spectacular to say the least. The road was never more than two cars width, and we were in a big bus. So, other traffic had to get out the way, unless two busses met, in which case it was interesting. At times the road was level with the sea, and others it climbed hundreds of feet above the ocean. We passed through small fishing villages, around gorges cut into the face of the cliffs. The last town before Solerno made ceramics as its speciality. And all the churches along the coast had tiled domes that caught the sun. All the shops on the main street had tiled fronts, depicting what could be bought inside.
Paestum was built on the plains south of Solerno, between what were swamps in antiquity. As the towns got poorer as went slowly south, the beachside shops slowly falling into decay. We turned inland, over lazy rivers meandering through reed banks. We came upon massive walls. This was Paestum. Inside was a Roman town, but even better, three classic Greek temples from half a millennia before Christ. The temples towered over what was left of the town, and wonderfully, they we in remarkable condition. Two of the temples were next to each other, and even the inner sanctum of one was still there. All that were missing were the roofs.
Nearby, was a museum, were the marble facing was still preserved. It seemed that the Romans left previous civilisation’s religious buildings along, even incorporating them into their own beliefs. Christian church builders however, cannibalised anything they could get their hands on to build the early churches. Paestum survived because it was in the middle of a swap, and remained undiscovered for over 1500 years. What was even more wonderful about it, was that it is relatively unknown, and we had the site almost to ourselves. Once we had toured the site and museum, we had lunch in a nearby taverna, more local soft cheese and tomato salad.
It had been a hot day, so I thought I would treat myself to a proper Italian haircut. There was a barber on the walk up to the hotel from the harbour, so I thought I would give it a try.
Good luck was that he was open, and no one was waiting. We got on really well, I spoke no Italian, and unlike everyone else in Italy, he spoke no English. He guessed I wanted a haircut, and soon he was cutting away, and hair was flying off in all directions. He finished, and I motioned to get up, he said to wait. And snipped away at my eyebrows. Once again I went to get up, and he motioned to stay sitting. What happened next was not what I expected, he changed the grip on the scissors, and put them up my nose, a quick snip to get rid of any hairs, up the other nostril, and snip. And, it was all over. Oh how I laughed, and so did my friends in the bar when I told them.
Friday was a trip to Herculaneum, famous of course, for being one of the other towns to be destroyed by the ad 79 eruption of Vesuvius. The entrance to the site is among the busiest part of Naples, with the clouded shadow of the volcano towering above us. The locals dislike the visiting tourists, as the tour busses whisk to visitors to the site, and away again after the visit. So, almost no tourist money is spent in the area. We were warned of pickpockets, and worse, so to keep together on the walk to the pick up place for the bus. In reality, we saw a slice of normal Italian life, shops, garages, workshops that would have been great to look around, and maybe snap pictures of. But, it was not to be. Traffic was doubly bad, as the local government had organised a protest march of tow aid workers captured in Iraq, so thousands of schoolchildren with banners brought the city to a standstill. By the end of the week, the workers would be freed, at least some good news for the city.
We approach the site along a shallow sloping ramp; with views overlooking what has been explored so far. So we had views over the whole site, which is not very big, about the same size a 8 city blocks, as the rest is under the city of Naples. Straight narrow streets led to what was once the waterfront, but is now 200 feet above sea level, and over a mile from the current shoreline. Once again, a guide was waiting for us, and he told us a little about what is know of the town. It was a much smaller place than Pompeii, but still much has been learned from the finds there.
Most wonderful, was that due to the way the town was covered, a lot of organic material survived, as well as hundreds of mosaics. The mosaics looked as if they were laid yesterday, and it was odd to be able to walk over them. One villa had wonderful mosaics on the wall, with full perspective views of building. Such art would not be done again in mainland Europe until the Renaissance. Due to the fact, so much ash over 30 metres high. And above that, sides of blocks of flats towered even higher. Organic material had survived, it was possible to tell what plants had grown in the gardens of the villas, and new plants had been planted, making the impression that the owners of the villas had just left. A very odd feeling indeed. At the side of the site, walls of and above it all, Vesuvius, green and serene. The highlight of the tour, was a villa of a rich merchant, and hidden away at the back, was the most wonderful mosaic on the wall, and a tiled alter to the local Gods. All looking like they were brand new.
Saturday should have been a trip to the Island of Capri, but bad weather with strong winds had kept all boats in harbour Friday and Saturday, so the final trip to Pompeii was brought forward a day, and Capri would be on Sunday. So, once more we set out on the bus along the twisty coast road to Solerno. By now we were so used to passing other coaches and lorries, that we hardly paid any attention. It turns out that for most Italian bus drivers, a trip along this road is the last part of their driving test, as the logic goes, if you can drive along there, you can drive on any road. Stories, whether true or not, abound of inexperienced drivers abandoning their vehicles along with passengers, as their nerves are frayed. Our guide told us of a driver having a mental breakdown whilst driving along it a couple of years ago. He was only able to continue after some wine, and taking most of his clothes off. Well, nothing like that happened to us, though some of the German coach drivers were looking none to happy, and had to be told how two busses could really pass each other on a hairpin bend, and yes, that does mean the end of your bus will be hanging over a 500 foot cliff, but yes, it is safe.
Pompeii is quite near to Herculaneum, and it was pointed out by some of the more tired members of our party that maybe we could have done both trips in the same day. Although Vicky was so tired after the climb back up from the site yesterday, she barely made it back to the bus. We were assured that Pompeii is much flatter than Herculaneum, so that should not be a problem. Although there was a quite steep walk to the entrance, we did not have to exit the site that way. By the time we reached the site, it was raining, and the climb that was mentioned was indeed steep.
And worse than that, up stone steps without non-slip mats, or handrails to grip onto. So, we made our way slowly up the slope, through the town gates, and into the city itself. Pompeii has been excavated completely, and stretches for miles in all directions. It is also the most popular tourist site in Southern Italy, and most people go there at some point of their stay. We were told that it was the quietest our guides had ever seen it. But still, there were times when there were people jams, and it was impossible to gain entry to buildings. Most people travel around as a group with a guides, and there are places that just HAVE to be visited. I eventually left our group after waiting outside what used to be a brothel, as there were tow groups waiting to get in at the same time. Sorry, is it just me, but queuing up to see 2000 year old dirty pictures did not seem worth it.
So, I headed off to quieter places in the site. And I found myself at a pair of theatres, and I had them just about to myself. As I sat in the upper row of seats, behind me, still shrouded in clouds was the ever-present shape of Vesuvius. I wish I could sound more enthusiastic about Pompeii, but the crowds meant that my memories are a little soured. The city fathers had a clever idea. All Roman carts had standard axle widths. But the streets in Pompeii had stepping stones to allow people to cross the streets. But they were positioned in such a way so that standard carts could not get passed.
So all visiting merchants had to hire a local cart to deliver their goods. The stepping-stones were necessary as the street were used as sewers and full of animal dung. It was interesting to note, that although Romans were famous for their straight road, the road to the brothel was in fact curved, so that the great and the good would not be seen entering from the main street. When I met up with the others from the party, I found out that they had been to the Amphitheatre, and impressive it was to, by all accounts.
After we left Pompeii, we took a short bus ride to a local restaurant that our guide knew, and for a reasonable price, etc. So, we sat down to a pleasant light meal of, my first Italian pizza. Was it better than Domino’s or Pizza Hut? Well, it was made fresh, and the cheese was better, I guess.
In the afternoon, we were to travel the other part of the Amalfi Coast Road, from Sorrento all the way to Amalfi and ten to where our hotel was in Minori. We were to have a stop in Sorrento as well, with chance to have a wander about, and do some shopping. Sorrento is situated on a peninsular at the southern end of the Bay of Naples, with stunning views across it. And as luck would have it, the sun came out, and it was pleasantly warm too.
Sorrento is a fairly large town, and is a popular destination for English tourists. So, there was the usual scattering of English Pubs, and bars that did English Food, with brown sauce! After visiting so many out of the way places, and out of the package tour world, it was a shock. People were wandering around in vests, and had kin the colour of boiled lobster. However, the streets were narrow, but the shops were the usual tourist traps, selling the usual tat. So, I struck out to find a good view to photograph. I walked passed the Foreigners’ Club, where you could get a ‘proper’ cup of tea, and the usual English food. Quite why people go to a culinary rich country and want to eat fish fingers and baked beans is any ones guess.
So, after passing the Foreigners Club, I continued down a curved road, until I saw what I had come looking for, a view to die for. Below me, was the harbour, with ferries either docking or just leaving, and a stream of busses carrying the tourists up the steep hill to the town. And beyond the harbour, the Bay of Naples, with Naples itself some 10 miles distant. And above Naples, Vesuvius, at last, out from it’s shroud of clouds, looking for all the world as though it was turfed all the way to the crater. It was not the middle of the afternoon, and it was quite warm. So, it was good to have the breeze coming in from the bay. Away to the left, was and the island of Capri, looking small and very hilly.
There was just enough time to find a nice café for an expresso and a glass of Sambuca, an aniseed flavoured liqueur that is very popular. And when if in Rome? I met up with Sue and Denise, who were now firm fans of iced tea. The drive back to the hotel was spectacular. Once again the road dipped and dived around the headlands of the Amalfi coast, twisted and turned along narrow gullies. We were able to stop at a parking area overlooking Positano. The views were breathtaking. There are times when words are not enough, and this was one of those times. We all leaned on the railings and just looked. There was a vegetable stall there as well, and we all stocked up on herbs and spices again, I was beginning to get very concerned that there was no way that all the wonderful things I bought was ever going to fit in my suitcase. We arrived back in Minori just as the sun was setting; the fairy lights had come on along the promenade. So, a couple of us stopped off at our favourite bar for a fortifying coffee and more Sambuca. That night, the menu in the hotel was not very inviting, so most of us decided to try a taverna a short way from the hotel. We had a wonderful meal, and the owners made us very welcome, giving us a bottle of the two liqueurs made in the town to finish the meal with. Much better than the fish they had at the hotel, apparently.
We had to be up early to get the boat to Capri. So, we met up, bleary eyed at breakfast. And then made our way to the quay. I was excited to be going to Capri, even it’s name sounded so glamorous. And, one of my favourite people, Spike Milligan had visited it during the war, finding it a delightful rural island, with quaint towns and chic cafes where it was possible to watch the world pass by. The world dressed up in their very best clothes of course. So, I was looking forward to the trip, a lot. As we once again made our way along the coast, the island came into view, and soon it was towering over us.
Sheer cliffs surround the island, apart from two places where it was possible to build a harbour. As I said before, visiting Capri had been impossible the past two days, and being a Sunday, it seemed that all of Naples, and all tourists had the same idea of going to Capri. To call the scenes on the harbour side chaos would be a gross understatement. Every five minutes another ferry would deposit hundreds of visitors, and the supply of mini busses were over-stretched. Mini busses have to be used, as the roads on the island are even narrower than those on the coast road.
There seems to be no limits on how many people can visit the island on any day, so more and more people poured onto the island. Capri itself is small. About 10 square miles, and rises to over 2300 feet tall. There are three towns on the island, all of them geared to tourists and their apparent desire to buy even more tat. But being Capri, it was very over priced tat. The first town we visited was Ana Capri, built on a hill, narrow streets, full of touristy shops, and FULL of people. We were taken to a place the guide recommended, as always. And we had a lovely stone cold meal of what they decided to give us. And then charged us double what it would have cost on the mainland. The one saving grace that the town had is stunning views. Along from the main square, along the narrow street with its tourist shops, you come to a lookout. A sheer drop of over 1500 feet, overlooking the main harbour, across to the Sorrento peninsular, and across the bay to Naples and the volcano. But as the weather was so bad, a steady rain was falling, the volcano was almost obscured, and we could see the sheets of rain from the next rain cloud coming towards us. It made for a dramatic picture, though.
Be careful for what you wish for
Yesterday, Parliament voted against a hard Brexit, but at the same time voted against giving themselves the power to do anything about it.
On top of that, it voted to support an amendment to removed the backstop.
This is the backstop that the PM had negotiated and agreed to. Twice.
Cabinet agreed to. Twice.
The DUP agreed to.
Parliament agreed to.
All of this up to 13 and a half months ago.
The backstop applies, at the UK's request, to all of the UK, or the rest of Britain. If Parliament doesn't like the all UK solution, then they are not going to like plan B from the EU which is the NI only solution.
Coupled with the fact that Spain wants Gibraltar put into the text, this will open a can of worms.
And all for the sake of Conservative arty unity. More cakeism.
And meanwhile, the rest of the world has looked on as the UK has reneged on a deal with a future trading partner, negotiated in good faith.
Not a good look when there are dozens of trade deals to be done in the near future.
And for the EU, the need for a legally enforceable backstop is now even more important.
Yes, what a wonderful victory for the PM.
On top of that, it voted to support an amendment to removed the backstop.
This is the backstop that the PM had negotiated and agreed to. Twice.
Cabinet agreed to. Twice.
The DUP agreed to.
Parliament agreed to.
All of this up to 13 and a half months ago.
The backstop applies, at the UK's request, to all of the UK, or the rest of Britain. If Parliament doesn't like the all UK solution, then they are not going to like plan B from the EU which is the NI only solution.
Coupled with the fact that Spain wants Gibraltar put into the text, this will open a can of worms.
And all for the sake of Conservative arty unity. More cakeism.
And meanwhile, the rest of the world has looked on as the UK has reneged on a deal with a future trading partner, negotiated in good faith.
Not a good look when there are dozens of trade deals to be done in the near future.
And for the EU, the need for a legally enforceable backstop is now even more important.
Yes, what a wonderful victory for the PM.
3138
On Saturday, we headed off to Florence. We had an early start, as to get there before the rush, which we failed to do. First stop was a place called Pizza Leonardo a Vinci, with wonderful views over the river to the city. We were lucky as the weather was wonderful, so the terracotta tiles showed up brilliantly against the azure sky. What a sight Florence was, all the wonderful renaissance buildings and churches seemingly untouched by the modern world. After a short stop for photographs, we headed on the bus into the centre of the city, to meet up with a guide.
I am not one to criticise, but the guide did know her stuff, but it made for a slow tour, and with just 6 hours in the city, I was aching to head off and take pictures alone. We looked into two wonderful churches. They would have been stunning, if it had not been for the damage caused by a serious flood in 1966, which damaged many of the works of art in many of the buildings. We saw tombs for Leonardo, and Michelangelo, Goethe, and Machiavelli. All of which stunning, but the one to Galileo, which was carved with the stars. To be so close to history was really awe inspiring.
After ending up at the doma, the cathedral, we parted company with our guide at a copy of the statue of Michael. The original is in a museum, much too precious to be left outside. The area around the cathedral is renound as a haunt for pick pockets. And so elaborate precautions were needed to be made. Which, it has to say, took something of the shine away from the city. Gangs of what were quite obviously foreigners hung around the popular places, looking for unguarded bags and wallets. In most public places, people had set up towels of cardboard boxes selling what would best be described as tat. That they sold only about four different types of goods, and the fact there were hundreds of them all over the city was disappointing. That they took up many of the best vantage points, as a photographer was annoying.
I headed off to the Ponte Vecchio, and the coolness of the river. Only to find just about every tourist had the same idea as I. The bridge is similar to the old London Bridge, in that it has houses, or rather did, and now shops. Lots of shops. And pigeons. Looking at my map, I could see there were some ornamental gardens a short walk away, and so I headed off through the throngs in the narrow streets in what I hoped was the right direction.
The Boboli gardens go all the way up the valley side, and at was a tough walk in the heat of midday to get up there. There was a fountain, as ever. But at the top, the city had preserved an idealised Tuscan valley, with olive groves, vines and the ever-present Cyprus trees. All mixed in with terracotta-tiled villages and ruined castles. Very picturesque, and unexpected in a city.
Afterwards, after what was probably the most expensive salad I have ever had, I wandered the streets, and the street markets, people watching. At times it was a worrying place, with more gangs hanging around, apparently looking for victims. I found my way to the Church of San Lorenzo, and the Medici Chapels. I think by this time, I was getting immune to works of architectural wonder. All very wonderful, but feeling more like art galleries than places of worship, though they can be both, I guess?
It was some relief to get away from the crowds, and find a back street bar, cool with even colder beer. I know drinking whilst hot and tired was not a good idea, but I did feel better. So, it was a relief to rendezvous with the bus, and that we all made it back in time was also good. And so, we said goodbye to Florence, and I promised myself to go back someday, if only to the Uffizi Gallery to see all the wonders of renaissance art.
Sunday was supposed to be a quiet day; we headed off to the town of Montalcino. Another hilltop, fortified town, with imposing, if not stunning views across the Tuscan countryside. We discovered that Sundays was the day for cycle racing and vintage car runs. The result was that all the roads to a small spar we were to visit were closed and we headed off to the Monastery of Sant’Antimo. I can’t tell how old it was, but it was overshadowed by a massive Cyprus tree, which itself must have been hundreds of years old. Inside, through the open doors, we could hear the service, lots of Latin chanting form the monks. We were free to either go inside, or stay outside. I did the latter, and was intrigued to see a monk being shown the wonders of modern digital photography. The monastery was overshadowed by another town on a hill, with a winding road, lined with more Cyprus trees, leading up to it.
When the service, or Mass as I guess it was, was over, we boarded the bus to head off to Montalcino. As usual, the tour guide knew of a cheap place, and you know the rest. So once there, we found that the cycle race ended there as well. We fought our way through the crowds of cyclists sweating in their tight fitting Lycra to the taverna she knew. Around the town, they grow a special wine, where they only allow the grapes on the lower limbs of the vines to grow. Thus the grapes are sweeter than usual, and the wine stronger. It is called Brunello, and is wonderful; needless to say, we sought out a wine shop as soon as we could. The views from this town were really special, and I think I did probably take a few too many pictures. It was good to wander away from the tourist areas, to where the houses are, and see how they live in a town with such narrow streets. Lunch as ever, was wonderful, a salad, a pasta dish. Very light, but tasty. I did a bit of exploring on my own, and to my surprise the town was bigger than I thought, and I managed to be late for the bus back. It was not to be the last time I would mess up a trip back to the hotel. But, more of that later. On my walk, I did find a nice wine shop, and treated myself to a bottle of the Brunello wine.
Our last full day in Tuscany, was a trip to Sienna. A trip of just over an hour, once again through the Tuscan countryside, all ploughed fields, vines and olive groves, with above us, hilltop towns looking down. Words cannot do justice to this place, and I know mine do not.
Anyway, Sienna is another Tuscan city, hundreds of years old, with the centre apparently unchanged sine the days of Da Vinci. Once again, a guide met us at the bus, and took us through the historic old town, describing to us the buildings and the stories behind them. At the centre of Sienna is Piazza Del Campo, a huge piazza, around which, twice a year, horse races take place, with the honour of boroughs of the city at stake. Around the piazza, are many tall houses and palaces.
In between, are narrow alleyways, linking with the narrow streets behind. We again visited churches. And for the cathedral, I was all churched out, and being thirsty, retired to a café for a double expresso.
As it turned out, I missed the wonder of renaissance gothic architecture, inside was all black and white marble, without doubt, I was told, the best church we visited. Or rather THEY visited. Oh well, I went exploring again, and took many photos. I found a quiet taverna to have lunch, and had a nice meal of gnocchi and onion soup, and more local wine. It was crowded, but not as bad as Florence. But, by about three, I had had enough of wandering, and went to the meeting place, and people watched for an hour. People of apparently every nation on Earth getting off buses, meeting up with guides, and the now ubiquitous digital camera snapping away.
The last night at the hotel in Tuscany was a quiet affair. Most of the other opting for an early night, as we had an early start next day. To our surprise, the bar bill was much less than we thought; we put it down to the moody bar tender getting back at the owners.
I am not one to criticise, but the guide did know her stuff, but it made for a slow tour, and with just 6 hours in the city, I was aching to head off and take pictures alone. We looked into two wonderful churches. They would have been stunning, if it had not been for the damage caused by a serious flood in 1966, which damaged many of the works of art in many of the buildings. We saw tombs for Leonardo, and Michelangelo, Goethe, and Machiavelli. All of which stunning, but the one to Galileo, which was carved with the stars. To be so close to history was really awe inspiring.
After ending up at the doma, the cathedral, we parted company with our guide at a copy of the statue of Michael. The original is in a museum, much too precious to be left outside. The area around the cathedral is renound as a haunt for pick pockets. And so elaborate precautions were needed to be made. Which, it has to say, took something of the shine away from the city. Gangs of what were quite obviously foreigners hung around the popular places, looking for unguarded bags and wallets. In most public places, people had set up towels of cardboard boxes selling what would best be described as tat. That they sold only about four different types of goods, and the fact there were hundreds of them all over the city was disappointing. That they took up many of the best vantage points, as a photographer was annoying.
I headed off to the Ponte Vecchio, and the coolness of the river. Only to find just about every tourist had the same idea as I. The bridge is similar to the old London Bridge, in that it has houses, or rather did, and now shops. Lots of shops. And pigeons. Looking at my map, I could see there were some ornamental gardens a short walk away, and so I headed off through the throngs in the narrow streets in what I hoped was the right direction.The Boboli gardens go all the way up the valley side, and at was a tough walk in the heat of midday to get up there. There was a fountain, as ever. But at the top, the city had preserved an idealised Tuscan valley, with olive groves, vines and the ever-present Cyprus trees. All mixed in with terracotta-tiled villages and ruined castles. Very picturesque, and unexpected in a city.
Afterwards, after what was probably the most expensive salad I have ever had, I wandered the streets, and the street markets, people watching. At times it was a worrying place, with more gangs hanging around, apparently looking for victims. I found my way to the Church of San Lorenzo, and the Medici Chapels. I think by this time, I was getting immune to works of architectural wonder. All very wonderful, but feeling more like art galleries than places of worship, though they can be both, I guess?
It was some relief to get away from the crowds, and find a back street bar, cool with even colder beer. I know drinking whilst hot and tired was not a good idea, but I did feel better. So, it was a relief to rendezvous with the bus, and that we all made it back in time was also good. And so, we said goodbye to Florence, and I promised myself to go back someday, if only to the Uffizi Gallery to see all the wonders of renaissance art.
Sunday was supposed to be a quiet day; we headed off to the town of Montalcino. Another hilltop, fortified town, with imposing, if not stunning views across the Tuscan countryside. We discovered that Sundays was the day for cycle racing and vintage car runs. The result was that all the roads to a small spar we were to visit were closed and we headed off to the Monastery of Sant’Antimo. I can’t tell how old it was, but it was overshadowed by a massive Cyprus tree, which itself must have been hundreds of years old. Inside, through the open doors, we could hear the service, lots of Latin chanting form the monks. We were free to either go inside, or stay outside. I did the latter, and was intrigued to see a monk being shown the wonders of modern digital photography. The monastery was overshadowed by another town on a hill, with a winding road, lined with more Cyprus trees, leading up to it.
When the service, or Mass as I guess it was, was over, we boarded the bus to head off to Montalcino. As usual, the tour guide knew of a cheap place, and you know the rest. So once there, we found that the cycle race ended there as well. We fought our way through the crowds of cyclists sweating in their tight fitting Lycra to the taverna she knew. Around the town, they grow a special wine, where they only allow the grapes on the lower limbs of the vines to grow. Thus the grapes are sweeter than usual, and the wine stronger. It is called Brunello, and is wonderful; needless to say, we sought out a wine shop as soon as we could. The views from this town were really special, and I think I did probably take a few too many pictures. It was good to wander away from the tourist areas, to where the houses are, and see how they live in a town with such narrow streets. Lunch as ever, was wonderful, a salad, a pasta dish. Very light, but tasty. I did a bit of exploring on my own, and to my surprise the town was bigger than I thought, and I managed to be late for the bus back. It was not to be the last time I would mess up a trip back to the hotel. But, more of that later. On my walk, I did find a nice wine shop, and treated myself to a bottle of the Brunello wine.
Our last full day in Tuscany, was a trip to Sienna. A trip of just over an hour, once again through the Tuscan countryside, all ploughed fields, vines and olive groves, with above us, hilltop towns looking down. Words cannot do justice to this place, and I know mine do not.
Anyway, Sienna is another Tuscan city, hundreds of years old, with the centre apparently unchanged sine the days of Da Vinci. Once again, a guide met us at the bus, and took us through the historic old town, describing to us the buildings and the stories behind them. At the centre of Sienna is Piazza Del Campo, a huge piazza, around which, twice a year, horse races take place, with the honour of boroughs of the city at stake. Around the piazza, are many tall houses and palaces.
In between, are narrow alleyways, linking with the narrow streets behind. We again visited churches. And for the cathedral, I was all churched out, and being thirsty, retired to a café for a double expresso.
As it turned out, I missed the wonder of renaissance gothic architecture, inside was all black and white marble, without doubt, I was told, the best church we visited. Or rather THEY visited. Oh well, I went exploring again, and took many photos. I found a quiet taverna to have lunch, and had a nice meal of gnocchi and onion soup, and more local wine. It was crowded, but not as bad as Florence. But, by about three, I had had enough of wandering, and went to the meeting place, and people watched for an hour. People of apparently every nation on Earth getting off buses, meeting up with guides, and the now ubiquitous digital camera snapping away.
The last night at the hotel in Tuscany was a quiet affair. Most of the other opting for an early night, as we had an early start next day. To our surprise, the bar bill was much less than we thought; we put it down to the moody bar tender getting back at the owners. 3137
Part 1
Tuscany
After yet another hectic day at work, which meant that my chances of getting off early were just about nil. I left base as usual at just before 5. I had at least packed the night before, and so, just needed a shower, get my bags together, and head off to Mum’s as she was cooking for me tonight. She spoilt me by cooking roast beef and all the usual stuff. And then, it was me, and the open road. I was flying from Heathrow, which if you don’t know is on the M25, which is the circular road that rings London, and needless to say, it was very busy indeed. But the trip down was fine, I had the big game on the radio, and the miles flew by. I was staying at a hotel that Wednesday night, and after eventually finding a parking space, dumping my bags in one of the hundreds of identical rooms, I thought I should have a beer. Or two. As fitting a hotel near an airport, the bar was very cosmopolitan, with Aussie accents being the loudest. As usual. So, off to bed early. No, really. And an early start on the morrow.
After recent experiences at the airport of queues from hell. The average on the American and British Airways desks was well over an hour. So, imagine my surprise of the queue at the AlItalia desk. One person. So, being there three hours early, plenty of time for retail therapy. I picked up a couple of books, a Bill Bryson one, and one by a Brit called Tom Sharpe. So, Bill Bryson and I whiled the hours away until the flight was called to board. One thing that never ceases to amaze me is the stampede in which everyone tries to get on board at the same time, and be first to sit.
I had an aisle seat, so no hurry. So, carried on reading. I also knew that it was against FAA rules for a plane to fly with the luggage of someone who was not on the plane. In other words, it was going nowhere without me. Walking on the plane, I noticed the two women in front of me were on the same tour as I, and so I struck up conversation with them.
There were both in their late 50’s, sisters, and both widowed within four months of each other. One, Anne, was from Leeds, where they both grew up, and the other, Denise, had moved down to Buckingham. So, we chatted throughout the flight, and marvelled at the in flight catering: One stale ham roll, and a boiled sweet. And the in-flight staff did not look happy. The reason, we found out, was that the airline had gone bust, and they were all out of a job the next day. And we were without an airline to get home in 12 days time. Still, stuck in Italy, not all bad news, is it?
There was chaos at Rome airport, as we could not find the guide, and people from the tour wandered around looking confused. Seems like we came out the wrong door from customs. So, we were directed to the coach, loaded up the bags and took our seats. Not much to tell of the trip to Tuscany, just traffic jams around Rome, clear blue skies, fields filled with olives and vines. And fields and fields of sunflowers. But, they were all gone to seed, but it did not take much imagination to see them all in bloom, in the sun. And a lot of the local art featured these sunflowers.
Tuscany started as soon as we left the autostrada, green fields, Cyprus trees, and terracotta tiled houses everywhere. And topping hills, were walled villages and towns, whilst the valleys were newly ploughed. The hillsides were filled with olive trees and vines, all full of ripe grapes, just about ready to harvest.
We were staying in a town called Chianciano Terme, a spar town, spit into two, and old part, walled and on a promontory, and a new part, where all the hotels were. Which is where we were, of course. The hotel was fine, and friendly. With the exception of the barmaid/tender, who was a Romanian who had been told she had to leave as the holiday season was coming to an end. With the result she was trying her best to bring everyone down to her level of sadness. She also failed to add half our drinks to our room bills, we guessed as a way of getting back at the owners.
Mealtimes were a little canteen-like. With the aim of getting us through as soon as possible, but the food was very good, always hot, and we were always offered more. Which was a difference to the supposedly better hotel on the Amalfi coast where we were to spend the second week. But, a few of decided to stay in the bar, and brave the frostiness form behind the bar. But it was hard, and she glared at any laughter of fun.
The Wednesday, a short trip was planned to two local towns, Pienza and Montepulciano. Only 14 of us decided to go on the trip, and we left at a relaxed time of half ten, in a heavy drizzle. Pienza was a small town, walled and on a hill, rebuilt by Pope Pious the second to be a utopia on earth. A palace there was modelled on one in Florence, on a piazza next to an imposing white church. The town itself was quite small, but the ramparts had imposing views across the countryside, and over the winding road leading up to it. The 500-year-old houses held coffee shops, salami and cheese shops, along with wonderful herb shops. All giving the town a wonderful smell. I bought several bags of herbs, and headed off to record the town with my camera. They were filming an historic program for Italian TV when we were there, and there were banners and flags hanging everywhere, adding to the atmosphere of the town.
Once were back on the coach, the guide said she knew of a place, that did tastings of local salamis, cheeses and wines, and for a small price, would we like to go there? Of course we did. It was next to a wonderful church, under the town walls of Montepulciano. When I say it was next to the church, it was in fact under it, in the crypt, or next to it. And it had views over the valley, which added to the feel of the place. The food was wonderful, as so was the wine. And the speciality was a desert wine called Vino Santo. Into which, one dipped biscuits.
Not as bad as it sounds, very good in fact. So good we all bought a bottle, and dipping biscuits. The town itself was a large place; with a winding road leading from the town gates, and twisting it’s way up to the town piazza. Once again, the shops were of the Tuscan mix of cheese, salami, wine and art galleries. The weather was still grey, but it did not detract from the town at all. One thing I will mention here is that Italy is such a chic place, full of style. Which makes the state of Italian plumbing all the more of a surprise, and the visit to a coffee shop here a real adventure. The toilet itself was just two enamel footprints over a hole in the floor. I will draw a discreet veil over the mechanics of using this, but, if nothing else, it was an experience. Note to self; go before leaving hotel. Twice.
We had an uneventful trip back to the hotel, in plenty of time to get ready for the evening meal. As the atmosphere in the bar was so bad, a few of us decided to head into the town, to what else there was to do. We found a bar, which spread out onto the side of the road. And they had a karaoke going on. What struck us, was that there were very few young people there, but those that were, were sat with their families. Something that would be unheard of in England. We had a good time, people watching, and trying to guess what songs they were singing. But, what was clear, was that they were singing folk songs, in a traditional manor, or as traditional as it could be with a synthesiser and a computer.
Tuscany
After yet another hectic day at work, which meant that my chances of getting off early were just about nil. I left base as usual at just before 5. I had at least packed the night before, and so, just needed a shower, get my bags together, and head off to Mum’s as she was cooking for me tonight. She spoilt me by cooking roast beef and all the usual stuff. And then, it was me, and the open road. I was flying from Heathrow, which if you don’t know is on the M25, which is the circular road that rings London, and needless to say, it was very busy indeed. But the trip down was fine, I had the big game on the radio, and the miles flew by. I was staying at a hotel that Wednesday night, and after eventually finding a parking space, dumping my bags in one of the hundreds of identical rooms, I thought I should have a beer. Or two. As fitting a hotel near an airport, the bar was very cosmopolitan, with Aussie accents being the loudest. As usual. So, off to bed early. No, really. And an early start on the morrow.
After recent experiences at the airport of queues from hell. The average on the American and British Airways desks was well over an hour. So, imagine my surprise of the queue at the AlItalia desk. One person. So, being there three hours early, plenty of time for retail therapy. I picked up a couple of books, a Bill Bryson one, and one by a Brit called Tom Sharpe. So, Bill Bryson and I whiled the hours away until the flight was called to board. One thing that never ceases to amaze me is the stampede in which everyone tries to get on board at the same time, and be first to sit.
I had an aisle seat, so no hurry. So, carried on reading. I also knew that it was against FAA rules for a plane to fly with the luggage of someone who was not on the plane. In other words, it was going nowhere without me. Walking on the plane, I noticed the two women in front of me were on the same tour as I, and so I struck up conversation with them.
There were both in their late 50’s, sisters, and both widowed within four months of each other. One, Anne, was from Leeds, where they both grew up, and the other, Denise, had moved down to Buckingham. So, we chatted throughout the flight, and marvelled at the in flight catering: One stale ham roll, and a boiled sweet. And the in-flight staff did not look happy. The reason, we found out, was that the airline had gone bust, and they were all out of a job the next day. And we were without an airline to get home in 12 days time. Still, stuck in Italy, not all bad news, is it?There was chaos at Rome airport, as we could not find the guide, and people from the tour wandered around looking confused. Seems like we came out the wrong door from customs. So, we were directed to the coach, loaded up the bags and took our seats. Not much to tell of the trip to Tuscany, just traffic jams around Rome, clear blue skies, fields filled with olives and vines. And fields and fields of sunflowers. But, they were all gone to seed, but it did not take much imagination to see them all in bloom, in the sun. And a lot of the local art featured these sunflowers.
Tuscany started as soon as we left the autostrada, green fields, Cyprus trees, and terracotta tiled houses everywhere. And topping hills, were walled villages and towns, whilst the valleys were newly ploughed. The hillsides were filled with olive trees and vines, all full of ripe grapes, just about ready to harvest.We were staying in a town called Chianciano Terme, a spar town, spit into two, and old part, walled and on a promontory, and a new part, where all the hotels were. Which is where we were, of course. The hotel was fine, and friendly. With the exception of the barmaid/tender, who was a Romanian who had been told she had to leave as the holiday season was coming to an end. With the result she was trying her best to bring everyone down to her level of sadness. She also failed to add half our drinks to our room bills, we guessed as a way of getting back at the owners.
Mealtimes were a little canteen-like. With the aim of getting us through as soon as possible, but the food was very good, always hot, and we were always offered more. Which was a difference to the supposedly better hotel on the Amalfi coast where we were to spend the second week. But, a few of decided to stay in the bar, and brave the frostiness form behind the bar. But it was hard, and she glared at any laughter of fun.
The Wednesday, a short trip was planned to two local towns, Pienza and Montepulciano. Only 14 of us decided to go on the trip, and we left at a relaxed time of half ten, in a heavy drizzle. Pienza was a small town, walled and on a hill, rebuilt by Pope Pious the second to be a utopia on earth. A palace there was modelled on one in Florence, on a piazza next to an imposing white church. The town itself was quite small, but the ramparts had imposing views across the countryside, and over the winding road leading up to it. The 500-year-old houses held coffee shops, salami and cheese shops, along with wonderful herb shops. All giving the town a wonderful smell. I bought several bags of herbs, and headed off to record the town with my camera. They were filming an historic program for Italian TV when we were there, and there were banners and flags hanging everywhere, adding to the atmosphere of the town.
Once were back on the coach, the guide said she knew of a place, that did tastings of local salamis, cheeses and wines, and for a small price, would we like to go there? Of course we did. It was next to a wonderful church, under the town walls of Montepulciano. When I say it was next to the church, it was in fact under it, in the crypt, or next to it. And it had views over the valley, which added to the feel of the place. The food was wonderful, as so was the wine. And the speciality was a desert wine called Vino Santo. Into which, one dipped biscuits. Not as bad as it sounds, very good in fact. So good we all bought a bottle, and dipping biscuits. The town itself was a large place; with a winding road leading from the town gates, and twisting it’s way up to the town piazza. Once again, the shops were of the Tuscan mix of cheese, salami, wine and art galleries. The weather was still grey, but it did not detract from the town at all. One thing I will mention here is that Italy is such a chic place, full of style. Which makes the state of Italian plumbing all the more of a surprise, and the visit to a coffee shop here a real adventure. The toilet itself was just two enamel footprints over a hole in the floor. I will draw a discreet veil over the mechanics of using this, but, if nothing else, it was an experience. Note to self; go before leaving hotel. Twice.
We had an uneventful trip back to the hotel, in plenty of time to get ready for the evening meal. As the atmosphere in the bar was so bad, a few of us decided to head into the town, to what else there was to do. We found a bar, which spread out onto the side of the road. And they had a karaoke going on. What struck us, was that there were very few young people there, but those that were, were sat with their families. Something that would be unheard of in England. We had a good time, people watching, and trying to guess what songs they were singing. But, what was clear, was that they were singing folk songs, in a traditional manor, or as traditional as it could be with a synthesiser and a computer.
Monday 28th January 2019
If you would have told me that by today I would have posted 101 blogs this month, I wouldn't have thought it possible. But I hope you enjoyed the tour through America and I know Brexit is getting boring, got boring, but we are nearly at the end game now. Or are we? So, for the time being, its how I plan to go on, blogging, writing, the usual stuff. Some weeks will be quieter, like when we go away, but others. Lots of posts.
Monday again, and Jools says she is fine to go back to work, which means I will too.
And it is bitterly col in the house until the new heating kicks in, but outside there are clear skies, and the promise of a bright day. Indeed, Venus shines down still from the sky which is rapidly getting lighter. It is already lighter half an hour earlier, or more on a bright day. Light is winning.
She has coffee, gets ready for work and leaves. I should have done a session on the cross trainer, but my back says no. So I don't. Tomorrow, I tell it.
We shall see.
Work is a round of calls asking how things are and what happened. Its hard, but as well as what has happened here, there are responsibilities I have for work too, and first of all to think about, is a four and a half day trip to DK next week. I say I will make a decision on Tuesday.
But for now, there is a bursting inbox to deal with. And meetings to attend.
And then there is Southeastern.
Southeastern run the trains between here and Kent, and it was one of their trains that Meg stepped in front of. So I called them up, and spoke to one of their customer care officers to say that even now, we are thinking about the poor driver, and that we do not hold him to blame. Its not much, but the best I could do. As I was speaking, grief came over me and I began to cry.
And that is how the day panned out: work, emotional, take a break, and back to work.
So it goes, so it goes.
I wrap up at half four, outside it is still light, light enough to go for a quick walk. If I wanted. I know I should have. There is a glorious sunset, all wonderful warm light, though the day was bitterly cold, and due to get colder.
Dinner is the old carbonara, garlic bread and wine. Lots of wine.
Jools comes home, opens the pink fizz and we toast Meg before we eat.
Monday again, and Jools says she is fine to go back to work, which means I will too.
And it is bitterly col in the house until the new heating kicks in, but outside there are clear skies, and the promise of a bright day. Indeed, Venus shines down still from the sky which is rapidly getting lighter. It is already lighter half an hour earlier, or more on a bright day. Light is winning.
She has coffee, gets ready for work and leaves. I should have done a session on the cross trainer, but my back says no. So I don't. Tomorrow, I tell it.
We shall see.
Work is a round of calls asking how things are and what happened. Its hard, but as well as what has happened here, there are responsibilities I have for work too, and first of all to think about, is a four and a half day trip to DK next week. I say I will make a decision on Tuesday.
But for now, there is a bursting inbox to deal with. And meetings to attend.
And then there is Southeastern.
Southeastern run the trains between here and Kent, and it was one of their trains that Meg stepped in front of. So I called them up, and spoke to one of their customer care officers to say that even now, we are thinking about the poor driver, and that we do not hold him to blame. Its not much, but the best I could do. As I was speaking, grief came over me and I began to cry.
And that is how the day panned out: work, emotional, take a break, and back to work.So it goes, so it goes.
I wrap up at half four, outside it is still light, light enough to go for a quick walk. If I wanted. I know I should have. There is a glorious sunset, all wonderful warm light, though the day was bitterly cold, and due to get colder.
Dinner is the old carbonara, garlic bread and wine. Lots of wine.
Jools comes home, opens the pink fizz and we toast Meg before we eat.
3135
When I was posted to Coltishall in the autumn of 2000, I stayed at my Mother's weekends. Mostly it was OK, but the truth of it is, I began to see the way she was living her life, and that she was causing her own heath problems. And that really was the start of our downward spiralling relationship.
In early 2001, I arranged to have her phone line connected to the internet. I joined AOL, and was sent a modem. I connected it up and opened the browser, clicked connect.
And, well, nothing for ages. The modem bleeped and squeaked as it connected until I was online, and with the sign on screen, I was presented with the sum of all human knowledge at my fingertips, and I saw I had no idea what to do.
After searching for Brendan Benson and a few other things, I saw I had an e mail address, so how would anyone know how to write to me? Well, I thought that back in the day there were pen pal clubs and magazines, maybe there was something similar online? There was, and I joined a couple, and wrote to loads of people. So many at first that it was hard to keep track of who was who, where they lived and so on. Many dropped off, were replaced, and so on, until there was probably a dozen or so people I wrote to.
And I am proud to say some I still write to today. And some of those, I have met too! (hello Dawn!)
One of the people I wrote to was Marcy in New Hampshire. I am using her real name here because she appeared in my bogs about my US trip of 2005. We began writing as we had a shared love of history, and Bible history in particular. Yes, you read that correctly.
We wrote, and I began to call.
I won't lie, I was an angry man when I was divorced the second time. I promised myself not to love again, not to trust my heart with someone again. But thanks to time and her kind heart, I learned to love and trust again.
I did visit her on a number of occasions, and for a while it seemed I might go to live over there, and if that had happened my life would have turned out very differently indeed. But, I think it is good we found out quickly things were not going to work out, so we went back to being friends.
I visited New Hampshire all times of the year between 2002 and 2005, staying with Marcy, celebrating fall, Christmas and high summer with her. Sadly, I have not heard from her since about 2008, when I left a blogging site, which I will come to in another post.
But by then, I had made friends with Jason and Cheryl in Arkansas. Mum got jealous of the internet and the friends I was making, so I had to put up an add for her. One of the more sensible friends she got was Linda, and one day she said I should go over and visit next time I went over to the US.
And me being someone who never refuses something free, took her up on the offer. I flew over in the autumn of 2002 or 2003. Jason was Linda's son, and the brother I never had. We were soon firm friends, so next time I went to Arkansas I went to stay with Jason and Cheryl. And they had a friend; Laine.
We got on well enough, but seemed that, like me, had baggage and did not want to really enjoy herself too much, and a misunderstanding over a holiday I went by myself to Italy, meant that we split up, if you can cal what we had as a relationship.
I saw Laine on my last visit to Arkansas in 2005, but it was frosty (on my art), and anyway, I didn't go back, and that's that.
I had written to Jools before I met Laine, and when it seemed that we might be an item, she backed off. But when Laine and I drifted apart, I put up a new ad, and Jools remembered me, and recognised me from the ad I put up on the same e pal site. What can I say?
We wrote and wrote, on and off, nothing major. And then, well, I had made several other friends in the meantime, and once you got to know each other via mail, you called on mobiles, so that set up a relationship. Anyway, one of these ladies lived in London, and had made a big thing about her parents being rich, having a holiday home on Malta and I was welcome to use it. Nice, but not that reason.
That I can't remember her name now shows how little effect this had on me, but anyway, we had decided to meet, and to meet at the Constable Exhibition at the Tate and go on the Eye. Three days before, I got an phone call from someone claiming to be a friend of hers. I had to send something to the Canadian Embassy, and the whole thing stunk of month old fish guts.
I spoke to Jools of this and the fact I had a spare ticket for the exhibition and to ride on the Eye. I'll come Jools said trying not to sound to eager.
So, it was set, she would meet me off the train at Liverpool Street where I was very much the hick from the sticks.
More of that next time, but for now, A blog of my trip to Italy in September 2004.
In early 2001, I arranged to have her phone line connected to the internet. I joined AOL, and was sent a modem. I connected it up and opened the browser, clicked connect.
And, well, nothing for ages. The modem bleeped and squeaked as it connected until I was online, and with the sign on screen, I was presented with the sum of all human knowledge at my fingertips, and I saw I had no idea what to do.
After searching for Brendan Benson and a few other things, I saw I had an e mail address, so how would anyone know how to write to me? Well, I thought that back in the day there were pen pal clubs and magazines, maybe there was something similar online? There was, and I joined a couple, and wrote to loads of people. So many at first that it was hard to keep track of who was who, where they lived and so on. Many dropped off, were replaced, and so on, until there was probably a dozen or so people I wrote to.
And I am proud to say some I still write to today. And some of those, I have met too! (hello Dawn!)
One of the people I wrote to was Marcy in New Hampshire. I am using her real name here because she appeared in my bogs about my US trip of 2005. We began writing as we had a shared love of history, and Bible history in particular. Yes, you read that correctly.
We wrote, and I began to call.
I won't lie, I was an angry man when I was divorced the second time. I promised myself not to love again, not to trust my heart with someone again. But thanks to time and her kind heart, I learned to love and trust again.
I did visit her on a number of occasions, and for a while it seemed I might go to live over there, and if that had happened my life would have turned out very differently indeed. But, I think it is good we found out quickly things were not going to work out, so we went back to being friends.
I visited New Hampshire all times of the year between 2002 and 2005, staying with Marcy, celebrating fall, Christmas and high summer with her. Sadly, I have not heard from her since about 2008, when I left a blogging site, which I will come to in another post.
But by then, I had made friends with Jason and Cheryl in Arkansas. Mum got jealous of the internet and the friends I was making, so I had to put up an add for her. One of the more sensible friends she got was Linda, and one day she said I should go over and visit next time I went over to the US.
And me being someone who never refuses something free, took her up on the offer. I flew over in the autumn of 2002 or 2003. Jason was Linda's son, and the brother I never had. We were soon firm friends, so next time I went to Arkansas I went to stay with Jason and Cheryl. And they had a friend; Laine.
We got on well enough, but seemed that, like me, had baggage and did not want to really enjoy herself too much, and a misunderstanding over a holiday I went by myself to Italy, meant that we split up, if you can cal what we had as a relationship.
I saw Laine on my last visit to Arkansas in 2005, but it was frosty (on my art), and anyway, I didn't go back, and that's that.
I had written to Jools before I met Laine, and when it seemed that we might be an item, she backed off. But when Laine and I drifted apart, I put up a new ad, and Jools remembered me, and recognised me from the ad I put up on the same e pal site. What can I say?
We wrote and wrote, on and off, nothing major. And then, well, I had made several other friends in the meantime, and once you got to know each other via mail, you called on mobiles, so that set up a relationship. Anyway, one of these ladies lived in London, and had made a big thing about her parents being rich, having a holiday home on Malta and I was welcome to use it. Nice, but not that reason.
That I can't remember her name now shows how little effect this had on me, but anyway, we had decided to meet, and to meet at the Constable Exhibition at the Tate and go on the Eye. Three days before, I got an phone call from someone claiming to be a friend of hers. I had to send something to the Canadian Embassy, and the whole thing stunk of month old fish guts.
I spoke to Jools of this and the fact I had a spare ticket for the exhibition and to ride on the Eye. I'll come Jools said trying not to sound to eager.
So, it was set, she would meet me off the train at Liverpool Street where I was very much the hick from the sticks.
More of that next time, but for now, A blog of my trip to Italy in September 2004.
Some thoughts on Brexit
Here we go.
The UK has been negotiating with the EU for two and a half years, nearly 18 of those on the WA alone, on the way the UK is to leave the EU. AKA, Brexit.
The question is, of course, is how.
For better or worse, the country, when offered the chance by David Cameron, voted to leave the EU. No other details, but the referendum was sold on things only getting better, being better off and having better trade deals with the EU and other countries that we had as a member state.
That that was impossible is her nor there.
But, the real question should be, who owns Brexit?
Ultimately, Parliament does, because thanks to Gina Miller, they got to vote on A50 notification, and could have amended the bill to include all the provisos and clauses needed to meet whatever criteria they decided. The House of Lords did, but through procedural chicanery and sheer cowardice, they allowed the bill to pass, like the electorate did with the referendum, by giving May a blank cheque on how to deliver Brexit.
She then did all she could to keep all details secret, failed to reach out to other parties, and if given the chance would have failed to give Parliament a MV on what was agreed.
What I mean by this can best be explained by the EU's methods; the EU27 giving Michael Barnier terms of reference, their red lines. And then getting regular updates and changing the terms as and when needed. The EU27 was then able to have a united front, despite being 27 different countries, a huge triumph, and keeping that for the whole of the Brexit process.
Parliament has hardly been informed of all but the most basic details of the Brexit negotiations and preparations. And only stepped in when the die was cast. hat Parliamant gave ownership of Brexit to May and her Government was their fault, and is why we are here. But the failure is also May's, as she tried to railroad a dreadful WA through the House, having not consulted with the broad spectrum of parties and interests, just those of the ERG and the DUP.
So we got an extreme Brexit.
So, Parliament gave Brexit to May to execute, and she tasked a start up department, DExEU under Minister DD to carry it out. He agreed to the sequencing of the WA on the very first morning of talks with the EU, capitulating on what he said was the row of the summer, into a something agreed before the first cup of coffee got cold.
But as it seems he was given free reign to do so, he agreed. And so the three issues of the WA were set in stone, as was the sufficient progress needed at certain points before talks could continue.
Which brings us to the December joint statement where the backstop was first agreed.
Agreed.
Agreed by DD.
Agreed by May.
Agreed by the Cabinet, including Johnson, Grayling, etc.
Agreed by the DUP too.
Did none of them realise what they had agreed to? Or that by agreeing to it then, meant trying to reopen it later, hoping the EU would agree? If so they miscalculated badly.
The EU said that the last 6 months of the A50 period was for ratification. By the EU27, the EU Parliament and by the UK to its constitutional requirements.
The WA took longer to agree, but the three Brexit ministers, DD, Raab and the new guy all helped negotiate. That both DD and Raab both conducted negotiations, concluded them, then resigned in protest shows their poor qualities as ministers and MPs. The ran away for the very things they had agreed on.
They failed to take ownership. As did May. As did Parliament.
And they also failed to write their own conclusions regarding the December statement, happy that they could go on fudging things forever. The EU thought otherwise, and published the legal text. No fudge. No can kicking.
But that is what the backstop is, to operate when all other things fail.
So, any plan to change any part of the backstop stops it being a backstop, and something the EU, unless it is very stupid, which it isn't, will reject.
As they have.
Has May been more open with Parliament, honest about the "plan", the costs, the risks, progress and got cross-party agreement, then the WA might have passed. But she chose to be a tin pot iron lady, so failed. She failed even to carry half her own party. She might do better tonight, but then again.
The new amendment, the so-called Malthouse Plan, has been endorsed by the DUP, some Brexiteers, but will be 100% unacceptable to the EU, and have said so again this morning, indicating it thinks the UK is now gone beyond mad.
Parliament has to take ownership of Brexit, and decide where it wants to go. There are just three choices open: no deal, the WA or no Brexit.
If there can be no agreement, there would have to be an election or a 2nd (3rd) referendum, but one or the other might not clarify things. And both need an extension of the A50, the referendum nearly a year's extension, and the UK would have to request it, and the EU might reject the request. Time is short. There isn't enough time to pass the legislation needed for any Brexit, including no deal. There is no time for preparation for any Brexit in the country either, and a large proportion of the country is telling itself there is no need to worry. Let alone panic.
The UK has been negotiating with the EU for two and a half years, nearly 18 of those on the WA alone, on the way the UK is to leave the EU. AKA, Brexit.
The question is, of course, is how.
For better or worse, the country, when offered the chance by David Cameron, voted to leave the EU. No other details, but the referendum was sold on things only getting better, being better off and having better trade deals with the EU and other countries that we had as a member state.
That that was impossible is her nor there.
But, the real question should be, who owns Brexit?
Ultimately, Parliament does, because thanks to Gina Miller, they got to vote on A50 notification, and could have amended the bill to include all the provisos and clauses needed to meet whatever criteria they decided. The House of Lords did, but through procedural chicanery and sheer cowardice, they allowed the bill to pass, like the electorate did with the referendum, by giving May a blank cheque on how to deliver Brexit.
She then did all she could to keep all details secret, failed to reach out to other parties, and if given the chance would have failed to give Parliament a MV on what was agreed.
What I mean by this can best be explained by the EU's methods; the EU27 giving Michael Barnier terms of reference, their red lines. And then getting regular updates and changing the terms as and when needed. The EU27 was then able to have a united front, despite being 27 different countries, a huge triumph, and keeping that for the whole of the Brexit process.
Parliament has hardly been informed of all but the most basic details of the Brexit negotiations and preparations. And only stepped in when the die was cast. hat Parliamant gave ownership of Brexit to May and her Government was their fault, and is why we are here. But the failure is also May's, as she tried to railroad a dreadful WA through the House, having not consulted with the broad spectrum of parties and interests, just those of the ERG and the DUP.
So we got an extreme Brexit.
So, Parliament gave Brexit to May to execute, and she tasked a start up department, DExEU under Minister DD to carry it out. He agreed to the sequencing of the WA on the very first morning of talks with the EU, capitulating on what he said was the row of the summer, into a something agreed before the first cup of coffee got cold.
But as it seems he was given free reign to do so, he agreed. And so the three issues of the WA were set in stone, as was the sufficient progress needed at certain points before talks could continue.
Which brings us to the December joint statement where the backstop was first agreed.
Agreed.
Agreed by DD.
Agreed by May.
Agreed by the Cabinet, including Johnson, Grayling, etc.
Agreed by the DUP too.
Did none of them realise what they had agreed to? Or that by agreeing to it then, meant trying to reopen it later, hoping the EU would agree? If so they miscalculated badly.
The EU said that the last 6 months of the A50 period was for ratification. By the EU27, the EU Parliament and by the UK to its constitutional requirements.
The WA took longer to agree, but the three Brexit ministers, DD, Raab and the new guy all helped negotiate. That both DD and Raab both conducted negotiations, concluded them, then resigned in protest shows their poor qualities as ministers and MPs. The ran away for the very things they had agreed on.
They failed to take ownership. As did May. As did Parliament.
And they also failed to write their own conclusions regarding the December statement, happy that they could go on fudging things forever. The EU thought otherwise, and published the legal text. No fudge. No can kicking.
But that is what the backstop is, to operate when all other things fail.
So, any plan to change any part of the backstop stops it being a backstop, and something the EU, unless it is very stupid, which it isn't, will reject.
As they have.
Has May been more open with Parliament, honest about the "plan", the costs, the risks, progress and got cross-party agreement, then the WA might have passed. But she chose to be a tin pot iron lady, so failed. She failed even to carry half her own party. She might do better tonight, but then again.
The new amendment, the so-called Malthouse Plan, has been endorsed by the DUP, some Brexiteers, but will be 100% unacceptable to the EU, and have said so again this morning, indicating it thinks the UK is now gone beyond mad.
Parliament has to take ownership of Brexit, and decide where it wants to go. There are just three choices open: no deal, the WA or no Brexit.
If there can be no agreement, there would have to be an election or a 2nd (3rd) referendum, but one or the other might not clarify things. And both need an extension of the A50, the referendum nearly a year's extension, and the UK would have to request it, and the EU might reject the request. Time is short. There isn't enough time to pass the legislation needed for any Brexit, including no deal. There is no time for preparation for any Brexit in the country either, and a large proportion of the country is telling itself there is no need to worry. Let alone panic.
3133
Saturday August 27
We awoke after less than two hours sleep; when I booked the tickets, I did not check the flight times, and we were on the seven o’clock flight back to Dallas. We checked out, walking past the dregs of those still having a great night out, which did not make us feel any more awake.
We climbed into a taxi, though not dead it was about to breath its last any minute. We watched the driver fasten the trunk with a bungee cord. When I checked in, I was selected to have special security checks; such a shame that I had no carry on luggage to check, and the security guard looked at me and asked, is that it? And then waved me through where I could meet up with Jason and Cheryl again.
We had a long wait before boarding; and once aboard the plane broke. The computer would not boot, and so all the displays in the cockpit were blank. After an hour of waiting, we got off, and most of the other passengers queued to get on other flights. We three got something to eat, whilst the queue died down. In time, they fixed the problem, and then we had to wait for the others to queue up again to recheck-in and get back on our flight. And once aboard they had to be directed to their new seats, not the old ones with their friends. I think that we alone were relaxed about the whole thing. To make up to us, the flight had free video, which unfortunately was bloody Monster-in-Law again. And it was not better the second time around. Thankfully, I slept most of the way back, and was feeling a little better once we touched down.
We had missed our connection, but were told we were booked on a half five flight. Looking at the departure board, I noticed that an earlier flight had not yet left; and suggested we walk to that gate. It was a good job I did; as it turned out we were booked on that flight; in the end, it left over an hour late in which we had time to grab drinks of water.
Once back in Arkansas, we were running very late; and still we had not eaten. We went into Fayetteville to a place we knew. The food tasted wonderful, as did the beer. On the drive back to Altus, we were so tired, I really don’t know how Cheryl managed to keep awake; once back, we picked up the girls from Cheryl’s Mom’s, and headed back to the house. Back inside, the case was left unpacked, as we all crashed out.
Sunday August 28
Got woken up at ten; with the news that Mum was on the phone. After ten hours sleep I felt better. Cheryl made breakfast; and that was really all we achieved that morning. The news broadcasts are dominated by Hurricane Katrina, which is threatening the gulf coast of Louisiana and Mississippi; it is due to make landfall at some point tomorrow. Arkansas is expected to miss it, which is good news. New Orleans is only 400 miles away; to think that we are so close to the hurricane is a weird feeling.
Jason and I called in to the store to get burgers as we were to have a cookout that afternoon.
In the end, as it so damned humid, Jason cooked outside, and brought the cooked food inside, which meant he got hot, and we didn’t.
Monday August 29
We all still felt really tired, but Jason had to go back to work; Cheryl still had a day off. So we spent the day watching the weather channel; film reports of anchors standing ankle deep in water telling us it was windy. Just before it hit lad it was downgraded to a cat 4 and later a cat 3; and by dusk it was just a tropical storm halfway up the Mississippi/ Louisiana border. Looking out we can see the edge of the hurricane way above us; at this distance from the centre there is no wind or rain; but we were that close. What the storm has done is take all the moisture out of the air; so it is noticeably cooler now.
Tuesday August 30
We woke up this morning to the news that New Orleans is flooded. At some point last night the levees failed, sending Lake Pontchartrain into the city. The pumps that keep the city dry have also failed; so parts of the city are now more than 20 feet under water. Further along the coast towns like Biloxi and Mobil have been hit hard. The news channels report that looting is widespread in the Big Easy, and the water levels are rising. Pictures of one of the levees show a 300 feet hole with water still pouring through.
I say at home to do some writing, while the others go to work. After I finish, apart from the storm coverage, there is noting on TV. Their house, being in the woods is way too far to walk into town.
Wednesday August 31
I went out with Jason on his gas route today; as expected it was much cooler this morning, in the 70’s; so cool in fact, we put the heater on in the truck. We went past huge houses, mansions really, each one with huge lawns, apparently each one trying to be bigger than their neighbour. We had some kind of fried Mexican food for lunch; what was impressive was the huge list of ingredients which they contained: apparently keeping the American petro-chemical industry going.
Meanwhile, in New Orleans, the full scale of what has happened is emerging. Hundreds of thousands of people did not leave the city, and now they have to be rescued and then fed and watered. What is clear to me is that in the days before we left for Vegas, the weather channel was already warning that Katrina had the potential to be a huge storm; that was more than 5 days before it hit the Gulf coast. Some parts of the Florida Panhandle are clearing up for the third time in recent years; what clearer notice do these people need to tell them that they live in a dangerous place. The news channels are blaming the poor for not getting out of the city; and they are now looting stores and empty homes.
Thursday September 1
Main item on the news channels is that looters have now armed themselves with guns stolen from stores; and are now taking pot shots at rescue workers and helicopters. Mike Brown, the head of FEMA was on TV this morning saying he was only told of the people at the Superdome yesterday morning; and yet it had been on the TV news. During the aftermath of the Tsunami last year, aid was on the ground within 24 hours, and yet here in America, three days after the storm hit, there is still no food or water.
People are still stuck on the roofs of their houses, waiting for rescue by helicopter or boat. There is no food or water at the Superdome or the Convention centre, where the refugees were told to go. And the reason why so many people stayed behind is becoming clear; they are so poor they have no transport of their own; and no busses were laid on to get them out.
I went out with Jason on his route again; he has almost caught up with the backlog the Vegas trip caused.
Rumours of possible fuel shortages have been heard. I don’t think that they really understand what that could mean. When we return home, Jason discovers that we have been blessed with the patter of tiny feet; one of the feral cats has had kittens; the kittens are so small that their eyes have yet to open.
Friday September 2
Local news this morning says that gas prices are going up again today, and a friend of Jason’s’ says that gas in Memphis have hit $3.60 a gallon. But that was yesterday, and gas stations are all out today. The President said in an interview this morning that he is ‘disappointed’ with the response to the disaster. Fox news blames the city and state officials for what happened. The New Orleans mayor says that officials are more concerned with stopping looters than helping the sick and dying.
We had a long wait before boarding; and once aboard the plane broke. The computer would not boot, and so all the displays in the cockpit were blank. After an hour of waiting, we got off, and most of the other passengers queued to get on other flights. We three got something to eat, whilst the queue died down. In time, they fixed the problem, and then we had to wait for the others to queue up again to recheck-in and get back on our flight. And once aboard they had to be directed to their new seats, not the old ones with their friends. I think that we alone were relaxed about the whole thing. To make up to us, the flight had free video, which unfortunately was bloody Monster-in-Law again. And it was not better the second time around. Thankfully, I slept most of the way back, and was feeling a little better once we touched down.
We had missed our connection, but were told we were booked on a half five flight. Looking at the departure board, I noticed that an earlier flight had not yet left; and suggested we walk to that gate. It was a good job I did; as it turned out we were booked on that flight; in the end, it left over an hour late in which we had time to grab drinks of water.
Once back in Arkansas, we were running very late; and still we had not eaten. We went into Fayetteville to a place we knew. The food tasted wonderful, as did the beer. On the drive back to Altus, we were so tired, I really don’t know how Cheryl managed to keep awake; once back, we picked up the girls from Cheryl’s Mom’s, and headed back to the house. Back inside, the case was left unpacked, as we all crashed out.
Sunday August 28
Got woken up at ten; with the news that Mum was on the phone. After ten hours sleep I felt better. Cheryl made breakfast; and that was really all we achieved that morning. The news broadcasts are dominated by Hurricane Katrina, which is threatening the gulf coast of Louisiana and Mississippi; it is due to make landfall at some point tomorrow. Arkansas is expected to miss it, which is good news. New Orleans is only 400 miles away; to think that we are so close to the hurricane is a weird feeling.
Jason and I called in to the store to get burgers as we were to have a cookout that afternoon.
In the end, as it so damned humid, Jason cooked outside, and brought the cooked food inside, which meant he got hot, and we didn’t.
Monday August 29
We all still felt really tired, but Jason had to go back to work; Cheryl still had a day off. So we spent the day watching the weather channel; film reports of anchors standing ankle deep in water telling us it was windy. Just before it hit lad it was downgraded to a cat 4 and later a cat 3; and by dusk it was just a tropical storm halfway up the Mississippi/ Louisiana border. Looking out we can see the edge of the hurricane way above us; at this distance from the centre there is no wind or rain; but we were that close. What the storm has done is take all the moisture out of the air; so it is noticeably cooler now.
Tuesday August 30
We woke up this morning to the news that New Orleans is flooded. At some point last night the levees failed, sending Lake Pontchartrain into the city. The pumps that keep the city dry have also failed; so parts of the city are now more than 20 feet under water. Further along the coast towns like Biloxi and Mobil have been hit hard. The news channels report that looting is widespread in the Big Easy, and the water levels are rising. Pictures of one of the levees show a 300 feet hole with water still pouring through.
I say at home to do some writing, while the others go to work. After I finish, apart from the storm coverage, there is noting on TV. Their house, being in the woods is way too far to walk into town.
Wednesday August 31
I went out with Jason on his gas route today; as expected it was much cooler this morning, in the 70’s; so cool in fact, we put the heater on in the truck. We went past huge houses, mansions really, each one with huge lawns, apparently each one trying to be bigger than their neighbour. We had some kind of fried Mexican food for lunch; what was impressive was the huge list of ingredients which they contained: apparently keeping the American petro-chemical industry going.
Meanwhile, in New Orleans, the full scale of what has happened is emerging. Hundreds of thousands of people did not leave the city, and now they have to be rescued and then fed and watered. What is clear to me is that in the days before we left for Vegas, the weather channel was already warning that Katrina had the potential to be a huge storm; that was more than 5 days before it hit the Gulf coast. Some parts of the Florida Panhandle are clearing up for the third time in recent years; what clearer notice do these people need to tell them that they live in a dangerous place. The news channels are blaming the poor for not getting out of the city; and they are now looting stores and empty homes.
Thursday September 1
Main item on the news channels is that looters have now armed themselves with guns stolen from stores; and are now taking pot shots at rescue workers and helicopters. Mike Brown, the head of FEMA was on TV this morning saying he was only told of the people at the Superdome yesterday morning; and yet it had been on the TV news. During the aftermath of the Tsunami last year, aid was on the ground within 24 hours, and yet here in America, three days after the storm hit, there is still no food or water.
People are still stuck on the roofs of their houses, waiting for rescue by helicopter or boat. There is no food or water at the Superdome or the Convention centre, where the refugees were told to go. And the reason why so many people stayed behind is becoming clear; they are so poor they have no transport of their own; and no busses were laid on to get them out.
I went out with Jason on his route again; he has almost caught up with the backlog the Vegas trip caused.
Rumours of possible fuel shortages have been heard. I don’t think that they really understand what that could mean. When we return home, Jason discovers that we have been blessed with the patter of tiny feet; one of the feral cats has had kittens; the kittens are so small that their eyes have yet to open.
Friday September 2
Local news this morning says that gas prices are going up again today, and a friend of Jason’s’ says that gas in Memphis have hit $3.60 a gallon. But that was yesterday, and gas stations are all out today. The President said in an interview this morning that he is ‘disappointed’ with the response to the disaster. Fox news blames the city and state officials for what happened. The New Orleans mayor says that officials are more concerned with stopping looters than helping the sick and dying.
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