Monday 29th April 2019

One of the best things about catching up on work, there is not the dread fear when you open Outlook on a Monday morning.

There must be a lesson to be learned there somewhere....

Anyway, Monday. Meetings, meetings and more meetings.

But first, coffee. And catch up on Saturdays MOTD, as my life is so packed with orchids and haircuts, and no bacon butties, meaning Sundays are not long enough any more to squeeze football and orchids in. At least next week will be a three day one.

But, Monday.

Coffee. Football. Work.

And repeat.

It is at least a sunny day outside. And in order to battle allergies, which I still get, although a squirt of nasal spray soon sorts that out, it is good to get fresh air and some warm sunshine.

I go out and spy a Holly Blue on the brassica in the lawn. I creep up, raise the camera, creep closer. And it flies off. I get a shot of the yellow flowers.

Butt here are other flowers out to snap, and the wisteria, or one of them, is full of buds and will burst forth in the next few days.

In the lawn, three poppies are in flower, flowers open with a rakish frilly flurry.

But there is always work to go back to.

Later in the afternoon, the wind shifts to the north and it gets cooler. Too cool to be in the garden, without a coat.

So I listen to the radio, put the work stuff away, and get ready to prepare dinner; caprese with garlic bread.

There is the cats to feed to, though mostly they seem to want to know there is fresh food in their bowls, and they go back outside apparently happy enough.

For a change, there is no football to watch, but there is the grand final of Only Connect.

Which when that finishes at nine,we are pooped so we away to our beds and sleep.

Phew.

The Labour position

Today, the Labour walked out of a Shadow Cabinet meeting, it has been reported, after the daft text of the party's EU election literature wasn't shown.

At some point, Labour has to have a position and stick to it. It should be the party of remain, as in remaining, human and worker's rights will be protected from erosion by the state.

But as stated on numerous occasions, Corbyn wants Brexit, as he seems to believe EU rules forbid stat intervention in industry. Which is not the case. In fact WTO rules are stricter about this, but hey.

Corbyn was supposed to campaign for Remain, as it was the party policy, but did go on holiday, and wasn't exactly enthusiastic when he did appear.

There are 23 days until the EU election, so time is sticking. Again.

And the Conservative Party have formed a new working group looking into alternative arrangements for the border. One hopes that this will be different, and better thought out than the previous attempts. Its not a high bar to get over, but I'm not hopeful.

And with so much to do, The Commons rose at 16:19 today having completed its business for the day.

And still no sign of the Queen's speech, or a suggestion of when, or if, it might happen.

No Queen's speech, no new policies. Same old Brexit.

A former leaver writes

Taken from https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7399106954711835253#editor

This says the mess the country is in, pretty well.

I have always been a eurosceptic. In fact, I still am. Even now, I feel that many of the reasons for Leave are sound. The concerns around accountability are valid, as are worries about political integration, the creep of direct effect, and the lack of a sense of emotional connection with Europe for many Brits. As powers have been taken from national and local governments and centralised on a pan-EU basis, the quality of those domestic legislative bodies declined while their capacity for aimless bureaucracy rose.

All of that is as true today as it was in 2016. It's why I voted Leave. But not every eurosceptic argument holds up so well. Certain events have knocked away other foundational pillars of Brexit thinking.

Front and centre has been the border with Ireland. From my comfy corner of England, the thought that there was still a potential tinderbox of emotion in a corner of the UK seemed very remote. Clearly this was wrong.

I was vaguely aware there would be some technical problems about the border to resolve post-Brexit, but I presumed that it wasn't beyond the wit of man to do so. Well, it transpires that man has been trying to come up with something for several years on other borders without success. What seemed peripheral three years ago has become fundamental.

Brexit also stirred nationalisms in all component parts of the UK and not in a healthy way. Peter Oborne, who recently recanted his support for Brexit, said that the EU had in fact become part of the glue that holds the UK together. He is undoubtedly correct. EU membership also provides extended diplomatic and economic protection to the interests of the Channel Islands and Gibraltar and also - by extension and to a degree - the Falkland Islands and other UK dependencies. It is incumbent upon the UK to have regard to its historic obligations. Thus far, frankly, we have not.

With all those component parts of the UK stirring, we have to ask a plain and simple question: Is the dissolution of the UK a price worth paying? I value the Union. I'm proud of my British identity. I cannot continue to endorse a process that will tear this apart. But I just don't see any proper thinking about this at all on the British side.

During the campaign, I was happy to accept a Norway-type arrangement, as were many other Leavers. But once it was over, two things quickly became clear. Firstly, that a well-organised and well-funded section of Leave support with strong media connections would treat anything less than full severance from the EU as treachery. And secondly, that the prime minister would place ending free movement and the views of her most hardline backbenchers above all other considerations.

The no-surrender Brexiters have a dream of a free trade wonderland across the world, but it is just that: a dream. It relied on the idea of a stable international trading system based on increasingly global regulatory standards.

But this is precisely the opposite of the world we now occupy. Trump and China are causing a rise in general trading instability and a retreat into safe regional blocks. The world is moving to a state of predator and prey. Alone in it, we will be eaten. There cannot be a worse time to go it alone. The trade argument in favour of Brexit has collapsed.

The only counter the hardline Brexiters have to this is conspiracy theory. Whenever objections are raised, they scream about Project Fear. If there is such a project, it seems to include the UK and Irish Governments, the EU, the CBI, the British Chambers of Commerce, the RHA, FTA, BMA, Corporation of London, Airbus, JLR, as well as businesses in sectors as diverse as horticulture, tech, architecture, and food and drink.

As for the prime minister, her red lines have prevented us from ever being able to secure the frictionless trade with Europe she claimed to want. In an effort to keep her hardliners onside, the Conservative party - a party I've supported all my adult life - been stretched into some painful and absurd contortions. There can be no more embarrassingly meaningless phrase in the English language than 'Malthouse Compromise'. The constant recurrence of this proposal shows a fundamental lack of seriousness in UK negotiations.

When I voted Leave, I hoped Brexit would make Westminster take its repatriated powers seriously and look to forge robust, evidence-based policy. But the reality has been quite different. The UK body politic is clearly not able to cope with Brexit. The continual failure to even make small steps towards intelligible policy has eroded my confidence in our ever being able to do so at all.

What a contrast this has been to the EU. I always considered it a technocratic monolith, but let's be clear: it has been transparent, professional and coherent throughout.

My only real issue with the EU's approach is that they did not allow any scoping talks or any substantive discussions to take place prior to the Article 50 notice being served. But that should have put the onus on the UK to carry out our own such exercise and present our position in detail with that notice. It should have comprised lever-arch files of analysis on multiple sector, putting our position on both withdrawal and future relationship in full detail. Instead it comprised a couple of sides of A4 paper. This was reflective of a country that is not to be taken seriously.

The withdrawal agreement itself is similarly dispiriting. It will keep us in a sub-Norway position for years while our economy and influence simply erodes away. This is far worse than the EEA option I backed. All other Brexit avenues are closed, unless a suicidal no-deal is your preference. It certainly isn't mine.

Even if a Norway-style approach was now settled upon, I do not think it could be said to have a sufficient democratic mandate. In fact, no form of Brexit does. No-deal pushes the original referendum result far beyond what a marginal win dictates.

After the experience of the last three years, my position has fundamentally shifted. If the cross-party talks produce some form of agreed approach for the future, it should go for a public vote. If no such agreement is forthcoming, we should revoke our Article 50 notice.

The balance of risk has changed. Westminster simply cannot get to grips with what it is being asked to do. Brexit cannot be a success on the basis of where we are now. It is time to bring this sad chapter to a close.

Mark is from Southend on Sea. He chose to remain anonymous. RemainerNow is a volunteer led grassroots campaign which publicises stories of those who voted Leave in 2016 and have now changed their minds. They can be found on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, YouTube and remainernow.com.

Sunday 28th April 2019

The morning after the night before.

I had three beers on Saturday night. What with those and being tired, I slept well.

I woke up at twenty seven! Oh hello sleepy head.

Time for a coffee, look at the interwebs, then we decide to go out without having breakfast, not even a bacon butty!

Radical.

It is the start of peak orchid, or the peak early season peak orchid. So, even now with just six species in flower in the county, there already isn't enough time, and the main season has yet to hit us.

The first port of call was down on the Hoe, where the Early Spiders should be at, or close to, their peak. And going early means not getting vexed when dog walkers or families walk through the nicest group of spikes seen this side of the Channel; it happened, and you have to explain people about orchids, and becasue the wardens seem more concerned with it being a place of recreation than a nature reserve.

Oh well.

At least as eight there are just the twitchers, the orchidists and wardens about. So I can fuss around the spikes like crazy.

Which is what I do.

There are perhaps a few hundred spikes. Or it could be I am being optimistic. I mean a few years back, there was 25,000 spikes. Not that many this year, but better than last year.

I walk to the end of the metalised path, and back again. Spikes are everywhere on either side of the track. So many orchids.

And then I need a haircut. So in order not to be sitting in a barbers half the day, we leave the Hoe at half nine, arrive and park in Folkestone, and I am sitting in the chair at five past ten, telling the guy I want to be not quite bald, but close.

He sharpens his scissors, and away he goes.

Did I imagine it, or did Norwich get promoted the night before? I think we did.

Haircut done, I pay the man, and we return to the car and drive up the Elham Valley to Barham to the old dependable site to check on the orchids.

First I walk up the brideway to look in on the EPOs, and there was no pure white spikes, but a few dark pinky purple ones, as well as a couple of nice bi--colour ones. I snap them all.

The down the down, over the road to the large wood, where the Lady were stirring, but no yet in bloom, but close. In fact, just a few Twayblade were showing, but it will be a good year here, and despite the tons of wood and branches laying about.

And we were done. I mean it feels like its the peak season, and yet except in bright sunshine, nothing open. But it is close.

We drive home, arriving back just before one. And after a brew I make roast leg of lamb with stir fry and new potatoes.

Shouldn't work, but does.

And as I had bought a week of televised football, I watch football the rest of the afternoon, to half six.

Leeds failed to win, so Sheffield Utd were promoted with Norwich.

Which is nice.

We were supposed to go to see the Unthanks in concert in the evening, but truth be told, I were shattered, so I allow Jools to beat me at Uckers, and somehow it was half eight. And another week had slipped by.

How did that happen?

The Withdrawal Agreement Implementation Bill

If and when, and that's a big "if", May gets the MV 4 or whatever number she is up to now, through The Commons, the WA has to be turned into a bill.

The Bill has to be published in a White Paper, debated and voted through both Houses.

This is the domestic legal process.

A draft or White Paper has not yet been published.

If the European Elections are to be avoided by the Government, then all of the above would have to happen by May 22nd.

Otherwise the Elections have to take place.

The Conservative Party has no plans to fight the EU elections, no literature, nothing.

Before then, there is the local elections on Thursday, in which the party will be decimated by Europhiles and Brexiteers.

Meanwhile the party is broke, facing a slump in donations from business, mainly thanks to the Brexit policy and Johnson's "fuck business" attitude which, if not as explicit, is pretty much the same through the Cabinet and Government.

Meanwhile, the urgency for Brexit solutions is close to zero as Parliament returns from the Easter Break. And the Brexiteers like IDS push the alternate arrangements, which do not exist, and will not exist for a decade or more.

Nothing has changed, and the day of Brexit reckoning is getting closer.

Yellow and green blood

In May 2002, I stood in the Gunn Club at Carrow Road, looking out at the old ground as work had begun to dismantle the old South Stand.

It looked forlorn, and I cried, as this is where Dad first took me to watch Norwich, standing at the bottom of the terrace, getting into the ground at half twelve so I could see. Then when it was turned into seating, we had season tickets in Block N.

Dad had been going to watch Norwich since the 1950s. My Granddad had been watching them since they played in the old ground, the Nest, an old chalk pit on Rouen Road in the late 1920s. The cub had been barely in existence for two decades then.

At the Nest there was a chalk bank behind one goal line, so forwards or wingers would have to be careful to be able to stop in time, lest they would collide with the 50 foot high cliff face. Upon promotion in 1934, the Football League said The Nest wasn't suitable, so Norwich bought the land, and built a new ground on Carrow Road. In 14 weeks.

City have played there ever since.

Heck, the King even paid a visit soon after it opened.

After the war, City struggled. In the 50s, three times Norwich nearly went out of business, and the club would send a balnket held by staff to collect pennies thrown from the stands to help save the club.

In the end, it was a cup run that saved it. In 1959, as a third division south club, Norwich went all the way to a semie final replay before Luton knocked us out, but we had already knocked our the Busby Babes, Spurs and Sheffield Utd.

Promotion back to the second division followed the next year, clinching it on 27th April 1960, 59 years to the day until City did it again at home.

Inbetween, Norwich have been promoted at Vicarage Road, Hillsborough, Bradford, whilst when Crystal Palace lost, Plymouth, Charlton and at Wembley in the play offs four years ago.

I was at Hillsborough in 1982, my first away game. It was the first season where teams got three points for a win. Norwich were mid-table untl February, then put a run of twelve wins in 14 games, or something close to that, to only need to draw against Sheffield Wednesday on the final day.

Ten thousand fans made the trip, filling infamous Lepping Lane end. I travelled by coach, my first away game, and watched on as Norwich lost to a final minute shot, with a Sheffield Wednesday fan in the same penalty area. In the end, results went our way, and we went up anyway.

On the way home, we stopped at Sutton Bridge and found the team standing outside the team bus, eating chips from newspaper.

Three years later, we were fighting for promotion again, and a hardy bunch of us went to Odsal in Bradford. City were nearly up, but a 2-0 win there and other results going our way meant we were up that day. After a 15 minute wait for the results, and the late kick off result, I think for Portsmouth, confirming it. How we cheered and jumped.

The locals were not so happy, and three stones at our coaches as we left the city.

Fans in car drove ahead of the buses and stood on over bridges, waving scarves and flags as we passed underneath.

In 2002, Norwich almost made it again, in our centenary season sneaking into the play offs, beating Wolves over two legs to set up a final in Cardiff against Birmingham.

A half two kick off meant buses leaving Norwich at half four. My friend Andrew and myself, waiting outside the ground all night to be first on a coach, but there was a mad scramble when they started to arrive.

Getting to Cardiff, we had four hours, so 80,000 fans trying to find an bar still with beer in to celebrate. By now I had been up 36 hours, and was flagging.

IN the stadium, Norwich played well, but the game ended 0-0. Two minutes into extra time, Iwan Roberts scored, and we went bonkers. Sadly, Brum levelled, and the game went to penalties.

Norwich lost by one, and Birmingham went up, and we didn't.

Two years later, and it seemed we were never going to be challengers again. Our lone striker, Zema Abbey did his knee in the second game of the season, and Darren Huckerby and Peter Crouch were loaned in.

We started winning.

And romped to the title.

In 2009, Norwich, now a third division team needed a win at Charlton to return to the Championship. All we had to do was win at Charton, where a year before we had been relegated. Charlton could have sold twenty thousand tickets to City supports, but chose not to. So, by cance we were in the area before the game as Norwich fans gathered. Again, results went our way and we went up.

A year later, we were on holiday in the Mosel Valley, sitting in our room of the vineyard, as I waited for a text from Andrew to let me know we had won at Portsmouth.

That leaves the play off win in 2015. We beat Ipswich in the play of semi final, winning 3-1 in the second leg at home, which I watched in a pub in Deal, running round the bar as the third went in.

I managed to get a ticket, had to drive to Lowestoft and back the day before the game to collect it, but I was there.

I had seen City win at the old Wembley, when they beat Sunderland in the League Cup in 1985, now I saw them win, and play better in beating Middlesborough.

Now this, sitting on my sofa watching TV, my eyes wet with tears as the final whistle went and promotion was assured and confirmed.

We will never see another season like this, so unexpected, so dominating, only losing three times since August, promoted and deservedly so. And playing almost Brezil-like football too. Scoring 102 goals, so far. Pukki scoring 28 goals, and four others getting ten or more each.

Amazing.

Saturday 27th April 2019

At least with two days over the weekend in which not to work, or think about work, my brain allowed me to sleep.

But I sleep to half six, then am woken by one of the cats bringing in, and eating, some small bird or rodent, beneath the bed. This is normal, apparently.

We get up, have coffee and get ready to go to Tesco and get the shopping. Situation normal.

And that done, I have breakfast, and then the great imponderable, what to do with the day?

For some reason, I wanted to go to Faversham. N idea how it popped into my head, but the parish church, St Mary of Charity, is a big un, and it has been maybe seven years since I was last there.

I was tempted not to go, as the weather was going to be shit, but in the end, we could go, snap the church, window shop and do other stuff in the area.

So, why not?

And so, after putting the shopping away and me having fruit and yoghurt, we load the car and drive up the A2 past Canterbury to Faversham. Faversham is situated between the old high road and the coast. Or the marshes which lead to the coast. Built on creeks and inlets, is the town, breweries, warehouses and church.

But, like many towns, it isn't built for the modern world with the motor car, so getting into the town is bad enough, and then you have to park.

We miss the main car parks, having passed them before we saw the signs, so end up on a one hour spot on the side of Abbey Street, just over from the old brewery and the church.

Jools goes to shop, so I walk through the brewery to St Mary, the top of it's spire visible from all over town.

And it is open, a coffee morning is underway, I am shouted at the close the door, but allowed to get on with snapping.

It is a huge church, with a Georgian nave, but the chancel and transepts are far older, and the walls full of memorials and tombs. One of the pillars is stil highly painted, dating perhaps from the 13th or 14 century. It is stunning.

I take some 300 shots, taking 40 minutes, so by the time Jools comes to find me, we are running out of time with the parking, so scoot back to the car, load up and drive out of town.

Back to the end of the motorway, but we head east along Thanet Way as we want to go to Preston to the butchers, and a look round the garden centre next door.

Its not quite as windy as expected, but the poor forecast means that traffic to Margate and the coast is thin, so the drive is pleasant enough along the coast and onto the silted up Wantsum Channel across to Thanet.

From there to Monkton then down onto the old marshland, through Stourmouth to Preston.

Being bbq season, the place is busy, but the boys have time for some footy based banter, and Norwich on the verge of promotion, there is much good humour. I get some lamb for Sunday dinner, and a few things for the freezer, and we are done.

Back home via Sandwich, home before midday, so back in time for the afternoon football on the radio. But after lunch, I help Jools plant more seedlings in the garden, but we are running out of garden in which to put the seedlings into.

At three, I stop to listen to the football, and to set up an account so I could watch Norwich in the evening, in their last home of the season, and anything but a defeat would see us promoted.

First up at five fifteen, was Sheffielf Utd, as if they failed to win, then a victory for us would see us crowned champions too, but The Blades were playing Ipswich, already relegated and bereft of confidence.

Sheffield romped to a 2-0 win, could have been eight, really.

Then, the main event.

Norwich v Blackburn.Rovers were on a four match unbeaten run, whilst we had no lost in 12, but not won in four.

The ground was packed, the atmosphere electric, as City tried to be promted only the second time at Carrow Road.

I was on edge, so close, and yet, not an easy game, and then there is the final match next week against Villa who have won ten in a row.

City take a 2-0 lead on twenty minutes, then go to sleep and Rover pull one back on twenty two. But City could and maybe should have scored eight too. Two great chances from Pukki cleared off the line.

Into the second half, and nearer and nearer the Prem we crept. Into the final ten minutes, and Rovers had to score twice. The ground silent with the tension, but on 85, the realisation that we were going to do it, there was no way Rovers were going to score twice.

The final whistle went, and that was it. There was no pitch invasion, but tears and cheers.

Sky interviewed the whole team, as the fans cheered on from the stands. There was a lap of honour, chants and cheers.

I toasted the win, and again with a third bottle of beer.

The city will celebrate into the night, I would go to bed .

Sunday Brexit

The Conservative Party does not have the funds to fight the European Elections.

Instead, it is hoping to come to some kind of agreement with its own backbenchers or the Labour Party to pass the MV to mean they don't need to happen.

So, so far, the Government has no plans to campaign in the elections. And these are less than four weeks away.

Before then, there is the local elections, with support for the Conservatives is expected to slump to less than 15%, and so losse upwards of a thousand councellors and so lose control of may councils.

Meanwhile, rumours are of a revolt with Labour volunteers refusing to help with a European campaign that does not promise to hold a referendum on whatever for of Brexit is agreed upon.

And all the time, the days and weeks tick down, the EU looks on to see that nothing is changing. The time when the UK has to decide which way to jump is getting ever closer.

Friday 26th April 2019

It has been a grim few weeks with work. I have mentioned it in passing, and it has affected my sleeping patterns, meaning I have been awake some mornings at four in the morning, with my brain racing at a hundred miles per hour.

So, it would be nice to have a pleasant day for once.

I am awake at half four again, so I lay in bed waiting for the blackbirds to begin singing for their breakfast, which they do at twenty to five.

I lay in bed, and Scully sits at the bottom of the bed trying to use her kitty-powers to make me get up and feed her.

I don't.

Anyway, I get up at half five, as does Jools, she feeds the cats, I make the coffee and soon we are getting ready for the day ahead.

Come eight, I get down to do a task I had been putting off for months. I had all the details I needed, just spread over a number of sources. But I crack on.

And it is a quiet day, so I am able to concentrate on the task in hand, finishing all three tasks by midday, and sent off mails and documents.

Cheers easy.

I have cheese toasties for lunch, and a celebration huge cuppa.

And I get all the other weekly admin tasks done, two final phone calls at two, and all there is left to go is monitor the e mails, then at three, finish to take Mulder to the vets. He needed his annual jabs, so I pile him into the travel box, and whisk him to Whitfield, wait ten minutes and we get called in, he is weighed checked over and jabbed.

Done.

Back home where Jools is waiting.

So, we go for a walk. The question from Bev the day before about walking through the oilseed rape. I think we should.

I take three cameras, just to be sure, then we walk down the street to the footpath between the houses, down to the bottom of the dip, across the farmyard, then up the other side, skirting the huge bright yellow field.

Then taking the path that cuts the field diagonally, through the head height plants, with branches and stems rubbing against us as we tried to push through.

I stop to take shots, but not that much to see to be honest.

The down slopes gently down towards the bottom of the Dip, and we go with it, butterflies and other insects scatter as we approach their roosting spots.

Up the other side, and the plants thin out until we come to the hedge, and the gap through which the path goes. There was just the task of cutting across two more fields to rejoin the path that leads back to our street.

I meet a dog walker who asks what I had been snapping. Se tells me that another neighbour has lost is mortal battle. Kieth had been found to be riddled with cancer two years ago, and was given three months. I lasted much longer, but in the end refused treatment due to the pain he was in. He was my age.

What's for dinner?

I look in the fridge, and there seems to be hardly anything. But I get out some chicken, defost that. I chop a couple of onions, two sweet peppers to make a stir fry. Then I find some asparagus too. Finally I get the spices ready to make a batch of aromatic rice. The chicken I cost in tikka spice, then griddle, meanwhile I fry the veggies, then tip the finished chicken in.

And it was rather nice I have to say, even for what was in effect, leftovers.

The evening is spent slumped on the sofa watching some cooking show, then Gardener's World for our weekly fix of The Don.

It am the weekend.

Saturday Brexit

Today, 100 Labour MPs and MEPs signed a letter to the party's National Executive demanding that the party's European Elections Manifesto induces the demand that whatever the Brexit outcome, there is a confirmatory referendum. So far, the Part's Leader and front bench have prevaricated rather than come up with an actual policy, meaning that voters don#t really know what the party stands for, especially as Corbyn is clearly a Brexiteer.

Sunday is the great day in UK politics, as the Sunday papers will have many columns written by leading figures in all parties, and then there are the Sunday morning politics show, where on a meekly and monthly basis, the lies and misinformation are never challenged.

And October 31st seems a mile away, but in reality there is little time at all, especially if reports that attitudes are hardening in Berlin and in other EU leaders who now seem to feel that the new deadline is also the final deadline.

I can't blame them, but what will the UK do then? The same three choice remain at the end of the day, the same three choices that have been on offer since December 2017.

3399

Imagine a world where, for a few pounds, young people could travel around Europe for a month.

This was Europe in the 1970s with Inter-rail. You could travel around Europe, by train, dossing on stations or on night trains, and see the sights of Europe for just a few pounds.

This really happened, and young people from all over Europe took up the offer and travelled to other parts of Eureope, both sides of the Iron Curtain, and down to Greece, Spain or up to Norway.

I mention this as James, my friend and neighbour suggested we spend the summer of 1983 doing just that. Sounded great. Mother dearest was horrified.

She thought of a way to get me not to do it. I mean for fifty quid and a second hand or army surplus sleeping bag, we could be gone. I already had a passport for the camping trip the year before. I would be 18, and able to make my own choice.

She took me to Hughes, our local electrical store, and I looked at the wares. There was a very fine Technics micro system, just released, the separates and turntable were only just over 12 inches square, just big enough for an album. I was in love.

If I buy it for you, do you promise not to go on an Inter-rail trip?

I thought about it, and readers, I should have refused. But it was black, and sexy and would take up less room than my music centre.

I said yes.

She bought it, and it was mine.

At the same time, Mum enrolled me in the local Labour Party raffle, which offered cash prizes for the sun of 20p a week. Top prize was £325. Second week I was entered, Mum got a call from the party that I had won a prize. It wasn't a fiver or a tenner.

I won the top prize.

I paid off Mum, and with the money left over I bough the Joy Division back catalogue.

I could have gone on inter-rail after all, but it did not occur to me that I could. Or should. I just accelerated my vinyl addiction.

This even though I was unemployed, or for six months I was on a YOP scheme that offered no chance of a job, it paid seven pounds a week more than the dole, and that's the price of two twelve inch singles.

James and I never went on inter-rail. He did his second year at six form, then went to Richmond to University, met a young lady, but was killed in a car accident on Christmas Eve 1984.

We never went, and my memories of James are very hazy indeed. It is 35 years ago this year he died.

I bought a matching CD player for the hifi, even though as I wrote a few days ago, I don't really like albums. I didn't realise it at the time. Back then there was no credit cards, I had to get a bank loan that took two weeks to be approved before I could pick up the player and two CDs, No Jacket Required and Alf. Sound was crystal clear, but tinny.

I carried on buying vinyl, and only the occasional CD.

And I was able to tape John Peels sessions, tracks and whole shows. Though once I started work at the chicken factory, I needed to get to bed early so stopped listening and taping to John.

I still have many tapes, and I really should digitise them, maybe one day I will.

Thursday 25th April 2019

It is just a four day week this week, though it seems longer. The challenges get larger and the stress levels go up. And therefore, i sleep less and is less restful. I wake up at half five, feeling like crap, and it would be downhill from there.

I know, I know, maybe its not like there has been a death, but when work is relentlessly bad, it really begins to get you down, you know? At least I don't hide from it, after breakfast and the second coffee, I put on the computer and here we go.

But there is a way forward, of sorts.

Outside it is bright, though not warm. I will go for a walk later in the day I promise myself.

Now that I have eaten all the flatbreads it was back to cheese toasties for lunch. And lots of tea.

I do at least catch up on the inbox later in the afternoon, meaning I just have the 414 unread ones from last month and last October. No chance to read them. I am of the opinion that if they were important I would have heard about it by now......

Come four in the afternoon and my brain is fried, so I go for a walk, just up Station Road and down one of the green lanes that run parallel with our street.

I find no interesting plants in flower, just the usual suspects of dead nettles, daisies, whitlow grass and dandelions. I snap the White Dead Nettle and that is it.

Walking along the lane, with the breeze at my back is warm enough, but once I climb the bank to Collingwood, then go down to Fleet House and turn from home, its cool enough.

I meet our neighbours, Bev and Steve, on the way back: she is a Liverpool fan, he Sunderland. Exciting times for all our teams, though in three different divisions. They can hear me cheering, as I can hear them when Liverpool score.

Such is life.

Have I walked through the oilseed they ask? No, but I will store that in my head.

Back home for five, and time on my own with the cats, as Jools now does yoga on Thursday evenings and will not be home until half seven. So I watch a documentary on the stone age, listen to some music, then prepare dinner. More stir fried pork and vegetables, which was pretty darn good. I have wine too, because Thursday.

The evening is given over to music, before my knacked back forces me to bed at nine to read, then Scully, snuggling up to me suggests its time to turn the lights out to sleep. Which I do.

Friday Brexit

Today, our voting cards for the EU elections arrived in the post. Meaning that May is not going to drive the country off the cliff into a no deal on June 1st.

Which is good.

This is upsetting some people, my old friend, Bob for one, who seem to think democracy is bad for democracy.

Which really shows how bad things are, when people do ask, as they voted for Brext nearly three years ago, then why haven't we left yet? Maybe, the Brexiteers should answer that, seeing as May has bended to their every whim.

Otherwise, in theory, talks between the Government and Labour on a way to break the impasse are apparently ongoing, though there is no indication that May is willing to change her stance on anything Brexity.

Labour have had their draft electoral literature leaked, and it seems they will still be a Brexit party, which means for the now majority of the country who now back remain will either have to vote LibDem or Green.

And there will be no Labour landslide this time.

Other than that, it seems that politically, the UK is on holiday and thoughts of a solution can be put off for a while. Meanwhile Parliament have just 70 sitting days left before the end of October.

3396

We all want to fit in. Especially when we go to a new school, even if it is a brand new school and you all are FNGs and want to fit it too, mixing with old friends and new people.

1978 was the time when Punk morphed into New Wave, Disco was at its height, and there was Saturday Night Fever, Grease and Star Wars. So with so much exciting music and culture around, why did my group of (male) friends, bond over an overblown pomp pop group from Birmingham?

I have no idea. But it was ELO, The Electric Light Orchestra, that did it.

There was Simon, Ian (another one), Trevor, Owen, James and myself. To a greater or lesser extent, we all became fans.

Its not like we all became drug addicts or anything, but we each collected the records. Or in my case, the cassettes.

Yes, cassettes.

Mum knew I was a fan, of sorts, so out of the blue she ordered the tape versions of Out of the Blue and A New World Record.

I had nothing to play them on, and the only player they had was the old Sanyo mono radio cassette player. So, that's what I played it on, until my parents got a new gramophone.

Record deck.

Music centre.

Yes, music centre.

Before that, the entertainment centre was the radiogram.

A radiogram was a piece of furniture, solid, five feet long, with speakers, a dansette-like record player and a multi-band radio. It sat in the corner and only played records when my parents went through the 'let's have a dinner party' phase. The radio was mainly used when Dad and I listened to the European football, as the MW signal wavered in the atmosperic conditions over the North Sea, and we followed the all conquering Liverpool team as they dominated the continent for years.

In May 1979, the Conservatives swept into power, and announced that VAT was going to increase, so Dad went out and bought a music centre to replace the radiogram. The usable space in the living room doubled. It was a brushed chrome box with a smoked perspex cover, had a three band radio, a record player that had just two speeds. And a cassette player, on which I could play my ELO tapes.

Yay.

But, cassettes were always crap, at least the pre-recorded ones were, and I wanted the actual records.

And then a record player of my own.

I managed to get a funky green vinyl version of Face the Music, loved that, just the problem that I only liked two tracks on it.

But i wanted Out of the Blue.

So, when we were on the exchange trip to Germany, Sman and myself got "lost" on a shopping trip in Hannover and burned about 20DM on a US import version. There is a shot us us looking at the inner sleeve as my exchange partner looked on, fuming, as he got blamed for us getting "lost".

But I had my vinyl copy.

Simon and myself kept the ELO flame burning into 1979, when Discovery came out. And let's be honest here, it wasn't very good. Having to pretend you liked The Diary of Horace Wimp. It wasn't going to last.

We we carried the torch.

And then came Xanadu.

Xanadu was a song, album and film with Olivia Newton John, and she sang the title track with ELO, who were now a four piece, or something.

Most of us got rid of our ELO stuff, passed as gifts at birthdays.

I ended up with The Light Shines On Vol. 2.

I gave it to my Dad.

By then I was into heavy metal, Simon was into Angelic Upstarts and Oi, Ian and Owen were Mods, and Jim and James were beginning to like Echo and the Bunnymen and The Cure.

But what I wanted was my own record player.

For my room.

So, I pestered my parents for months. And months. And at Christmas 1979 I got my own music centre, a Pye thing, that could not play at the right speed. I begged my parents to get me one different, one that was £30 more expensive, a Phillip music centre.

They relented.

So, Dad drilled holes so the speakers could be hung on the walls and I could send the crappy base through the walls of the house. How thrilled my parents must have been to have Rainbow and Blondie blasting out. That music centre lasted me three years, at which point my keen trained ear knew it had reached its limitations. But it had allowed me to indulge the hobby of collecting records, if not always playing them. Thing is, we were working on our paper rounds to get enough money to buy a single a week, or save up for an album. How on earth was I going to get the money for some decent kit? How indeed?

Wednesday 24th April 2019

The working week continues.

My main worry on Wednesday was to try to get tickets or ticket, for the final Norwich home game of the season. Apparently, Blackburn had returned several hundred tickets, and these going to be made available to home fans. hey were to go on sale at nine in the morning.

Of course I had meetings all morning, but I could have my own PC running beside the work one, with an eye on each.

I logged onto the site early, and the ticket sales page was unavailable due to maintenance. I could wait.

I reloaded the page and clicked on the line for the game at five to nine. A display tole me I had an hour to wait until I was at the front.

Already.

I knew it was hopeless, but I kept on hoping.

And I had to lead a Skype meeting. They did understand.

At quarter to ten, I reached the front, rather too quickly. And I guessed right, all tickets gone.

Sigh.

In truth we could probably not afford me going off for another weekend, but then days of such celebrations come very few and far between, there would be sme kind of party in the city Saturday night.

Oh well. I could watch it here, have a party with myself and Jools. And the cats.

Let's just hope we get at least the draw we need.

But back to work.

A working day now contains at least four hours of meetings, meaning the work I wanted to catch up on went undone, and more work carried on arriving.

I ploughed on, stopping for lunch, but it was too chilly to sit outside.

Then back to work.

I stopped at five, with being no further forward, apparently, that where I when I started.

I make dinner: hickor smoked pork, stir fry and some fried new potatoes.

Cheers.

And then there was the Manc derby on the radio.

I listen, but almost too tired to stay awake. 0-0 at half time, Citeh take the upper hand in the 2nd, scoring two golas, and running out winners. Utd look a shadow of the side from just a few weeks ago; 7 defeats in nine games.

Still, gotta laugh.

Back to reality

Parliament is back in session. Though you would not know that they are up against, if not the clock, then the calendar, with 71 sitting days left until 31st October after today.

The 1922 committee failed to allow a change in its rules to try to depose the PM, but did say it wanted a clear path for her leaving post if the WA is not agreed.

The SNP announced yesterday plans for Indyref2, if Westminster drags Scotland out the EU against its will. Westminster refused to allow the new referendum. But what is stopping Scotland holding one if it wants?

Thing is, devolution is supposed to repatriate powers from Westminster, but this is another power grab. And also strengthens the SNP's arguments about the UK political system being English-centric.

Forcing Scotland out of the EU when its people voted overwhelmingly to remain, when its people could see the good the EU does for the Highlands and Islands, would make a break up of the UK and Britain all the more likely.

Today, the Government released the legislation plan for next week, and no mention of Brexit at all. Meaning that the EU elections will go on as planned, or the PM s trying to ruck the clock down to make sure there is little alternative to her WA.

It seems Labour policy is now Brexit. Labour peer, Lord Andrew Adonis (yes, really) a leading remainer is standing to be an MEP and has now come out for Brexit. If this is how Labour goes against its conference policy as voted on by MPs, Unions and delegates, then it really would mean that the party has been taken over my the Corbynite Momentum, and what he says goes. And goes against the platform he was elected on.

Meanwhile Brexit day V3.0 (or 4.0 if you count June 1 as a third possible date) gets closer one day at a time, and the choices available are still the same; just three. Pick one.

And that is all the EU wants, the EU pick a course and decide how it is going to do it.

I think EU patience has run out, and if the UK is no firther forward, it will off the UK choice: no deal or no Brexit. Simple as that.

A further extension to A50 would depend on an actual course towards a referendum or election.

Meanwhile companies continue to plan for chaos, with a major dairy in NO moving across the border to the Republic.

Tuesday 23rd April 2019

St George's Day (England, Georgia, etc)

I like St George, I mean killed that dragon. Probably. And I love my country, and I am proud of it. Mostly. But all this flag waving makes me uneasy. It was OK when we could do it ironically, like on Last Night of the Proms, but now with Brexit any flagwaving seems wrong.

And I have seen many of my ex-servicemen friends of mine railing against political correctness and the such they see the scourge of modern life. Heres the thing, I served to give everyone the right to free speech. I may not agree on what you say, but will defend the right for you to say it. As long as you stay within the law.

OK?

I mean, it's not hard is it?

Sorry if it offends, but that's what free speech is.

Anyway, on this St George's Day, I was working from home.

And like most days it is a slog, with a battle between the work I am so far behind and the work that tumbles into my inbox.

Sigh.

This is my working life. I don't have enough time to make a coffee, let alone travel to Denmark or Germany.

Sigh.

For lunch I have flatbreads filled with chorizo, onion and pepper with lashings of shoarma sauce. I mean it was a fine lunch. Would have been better with beer or a wine, but not sensible on a workday lunchtime.

I eat lunch sitting on the bench on the patio, sipping orange squash and watching the birds in the garden.

As you do.

And back to work, I sit at the table the rest of the afternoon until I realise it was nearly five.

That'll do pig.

So I pack away my work things, get dinner out; more caprese, garlic bread and wine.

Always wine.

It is just done when Jools comes home, she purs the wine, I take the garlic bread out of the oven, and we sit down to eat and go through our daily tribulations.

And that is that.

Football and listen to the radio for the evening. It all goes by too quickly, and is soon time for bed again.

Was this really a four day week?

We can vote as many times until we get the answer we want, you get just the one chance.

A long title, but in response to the still frugal Brexit news around at the moment.

Backbenchers today tried to get the 1922 committee to change the laws in submitting votes of no confidence in the PM. Their PM I add, but that was not allowed

But the committee then announced it wanted clarity from the PM on her plans for standing down if she cannot get the WMV4 through the House.

So, it is interesting. Interesting that the Conservative Party is using the time of the A50 extension to try to topple the PM. The their PM. Their leader.

Meanwhile, Nicola Sturgeon announced plans for an Indyref 2 in the event of Brext taking Scotland out of the EU. Anyone surprised by this clearly hasn't been paying attention.

The choice could very well be the union with Europe of the Union with Scotland, and NI too.

And little comment on the news over the weekend that the USA expect the GFA to be honoured. And no trade deal without it.

Like they're deaf. Or stupid.

And finally, the Conservative Party has no plans for the launch of their EU elections campaign, as no one in their HQ can be sure the election is going to happen.

This is where we are.

Monday 22nd April 2019

Spring is here.

In full force.

On Saturday, we stood on Samphire Hoe watching the newly arrived swallows and swifts, feeding in the updraughts on the chalk cliffs. They were singing with delight, we were in raptures.

The countryside is all a riot of colours and new growth. And once the sun is up, butterflies, birds and inspects are either feeding or doing what makes new generations of them, and being darned happy about it.

For us, just to be out there, among it all, is just wonderful.

With the amount of orchid sites to get round and record, it is difficult to know where to go first. But with social media acting as a billboard telling all who are interested what is out there, for those that know. And knowing is the knowledge.

Knowledge is fieldcraft, and those with the craft know where and when to be.

All it takes is a hint that the Duke of Burgundy were seen over the weekend, meant that we would be heading to Bonsai Bank forst thing, even if we didn't see a Duke, I could survey the huge crowd of Lady Orchids that are there at the same time.

So it came to pass we were parking the car at the end of the woodland walk just after nine, loaded with camera gear, and ambling down the track, just marvelling at the sights and sounds of springtime in the Kentish woodlands.

The woods are managed here, so there is just a hint of bluebells at their feet. Beside the lane, horsetails were sprouting what counts as twigs and branches.

And there is silence apart from the odd marsh tit singing for his life.

Inside the reserve, a single photographer sat staring at a bank of bushes. He had been there 90 minutes, and had seen no Dukes. Not a hint.

We stay and chat for a few minutes, but then walk to the other end where there is another Duke colony. We stay for half an hour, but see no Dukes there either. Spikes of Lady were everywhere, especially up the bank towards the road, in two weeks or so, these will be one of the sights of the Kentish season.

We walk back to the other end again, more snapper had turned up, we swap stories of butterflies mainly, but of orchids too.

It was now eleven and no sign of a Duke. There would be other times.

We take our leave and walk to the car, then drive to Yockletts again for another walk round the reserve's highlights.

What I really wanted to see, apart from checking out the Fly we had found on Friday, but also to see if a Green Hairstreak or two on the wing in the lower meadow.

It was now half eleven, it was warm. No, it was hot. I mean almost like high summer hot.

It was quite a slog to get up the down to the lower meadow. We rest to survey the meadow and to see if there was a shimmer of a Hairstreak. There was none.

So we carry on, down into the dell, and in the dip (a different one) where the Fly spike we found again, and another that had opened over the weekend.

On the other side of the road, lady, Twayblades and Greater Butterfly were all putting forth spikes, and further up Early Purples were out, as were three Lady spikes too.

The season is nearing its peak, the madness would only get worse from now on.

We were hot, bothered and thirsty, so we walk back through the reserve to the car, then drive to the garden centre at Petham before going to Bridge to the call at the village shop to buy a drink, as we were parched.

Two bottles of ice tea and we were back on form, but all we had to do was to drive home for lunch. unch was toasted saffron buns and a brew, then as Jools worked in the garden, I listen to the football whilst editing and writing.

Situation normal.

And then there is football: Norwich had three games to go, and really needed one more win to pretty much wrap up promotion. so I sit in front of te computer to watch the game unfold, and listen to the radio at the same time. Just the win needed.

And City took the lead in the first half, and seemed to be cruising, but concede just after half time to make it 1-1. Pukki scored a fine second with a header, but again Stoke pulled level again. And that is how it stayed.

City tried to score a winner, and came close.

But another draw, the fourth in a row.

Sheffield Utd won, so we were just three points ahead of them.

Leeds kicked off at quarter past five, and it seemed that our hope of promotion, let alone being crowned champions that day, were done for. But Leeds stumbled again, 1-0 down at half time against Brentford, with the Bees scoring a second after the break.

So, after being in despair at five, by seven Norwich were still six points clear, with two games to play, thus needing just a single point to secure promotion.

So close, close enough with the goal difference to say, we are up. Almost.

The day gets old, I cook garlic bread and prepare inslata, and at six we sit down to eat, the four day weekend having slipped by.

Where had that gone?

Jools pesters me to pay Uckers, and despite being miles behind, I snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

Another one to the Jelltex.

Weekend over.

One more point

As you will read in my next post, Norwich are nearly promoted.

This is big news, at least in Norfolk, and in Chez Jelltex.

What has made this season all the more sweet is that it is all so unexpected. I mean, Norwich City are not rich, don't have huge sums to invest in players. And there has been a complete restructuring of the playing side of the club, after the relegation in 2016 and the subsequent failure under Alex Neil to get a straight return to the promised land of the Premier League.

There has been a complete turnover of the first team squad is just about the only player left two years on from that failed promotion campaign.

Here is a list of the players that have left in the last two years:

Alex Pritchard Jacob Murphy Johnny Howson Cameron Jerome Graham Dorrans Decal Rudd Kyle Lafferty Ryan Bennett Michael Turner John Ruddy Steven Naismith Russel Martin Seb Bassang James Maddison Josh Murphy Marley Watkins Wes Hoolahan.

Those are all first team players or squad players. Some let go because they needed to play at a higher level, other because they were on high wages and the club could not afford to keep them.

The club could have easily gone back to the transfer market, bought in a load of loans or similar replacements, and recruit a manager who has been part of the usual merry-go-round like Big Sam, of Tony Pulis or whoever.

Instead, the club recruited Huddersfield's Chief Executive, Stuart Webber, with the brief to what he did at the Terriers. He recruited Daniel Farke, who was the manager at Dortmund B, and began to recruit players form the German and Spanish lower leagues, then to blend them into a team.

Meanwhile, former City manager, Neil Adams returned to coaching the youth and academy team, which.

Last season was one of transition, with players coming and going, hints of good things were also tempered by some poor results, but come the end of the season, Norwich were in no better position than they had been a year before.

More activity on transfers, with less than £4 million spent, and with things not improving, there was very little expectation that this would be anything other than a repeat of the season before.

As ever, the fans were restless, at least some of them were, demanding "names" be brought in, and a manager to return the good times to Carrow Road.

The season got off to a slow start, and by the time the first Old Farm derby with Ipswich, there was only a few points between them, and during the game, Ipswich took the the lead with Norwich snatching a later leveller. Neither side looked that impressive, and if you would have told me that come the end of April, one team would be 60 points ahead of the other, I would hard to say which would be relegated and which would be promoted.

Town went with promoting a manager from the lower divisions, and recruiting players from there too. It did not work out well.

Meanwhile, Norwich began to play better, though losing a few games until the beginning of October, we lost to Stoke at home, 1-0.

From then on, things began to change, with a series of games where City came from behind to snatch late winners, turning draws and defeats into wins. And By Christmas be challenging at the top of the table. Not one to get carried away, there was always a bigger game to come. New Year came with Derby winning at Fortress Carrow Road on Boxing Day, Norwich would lose just one game between then and today., likewise Sheffield Utd would too, whilst Leeds would lose nine games in the same time. And so it turns out that the ability to turn defeats into draws, rather than just losing is the difference. Norwich are 12 games unbeaten, but the last four of those being draws, but in drawing rather than losing, is the difference from being one point from the brink of promotion, to still needing maybe four points or more to ensure promotion.

And that is where Norwich are, just one point needed from the last two games to be mathematically certain of promotion. Just three points from being champions too, whilst the media darlings of Leeds need a major miracle if they are to avoid the playoffs.

And our rivals, Ipswich were the first English team to be relegated this season, winning just five games so far all season, and with Sheffield Utd and Leeds to play. Norwich are 60 points ahead, that's twenty more victories.

I can say this with good confidence, we will never see a season like this again.

And we have no idea what next season will bring. We will lose games. Many games probably. But we will score goals, and maybe surprise many. But we would have done it with spending less money on players each year than some Premier players earn in a month.

These are crazy days, and some of which I can say we will never see again, and will talk about well into our dotage. Tales of how free transfer, Teemi Pukki came and screwed 29 (and counting) goals in his first season with us.

Onwards and upwards, and without a sugar daddy to bankroll us. We will probably embarrass ourselves, but we won't bankrupt ourselves int he process, and those that got us here will be given the chance to shine.

Remainy splitters

Today, the grand remain alliance launched their EU election campaign. Did the two halves come up with a great unifying name that we could all unite behind? No, they have called themselves Change UK The Independent Group.

CUTIG.

Jeezus.

And then they go round rubbishing each others plans.

I mean, if fighting the Brexiteers wasn't enough, they now have to fight each other.

And unless they come up with a plan, a plan as to what to call themselves, and a plan on how to fight the elections, on what platforms and in which areas, then the majority remain vote will be spread across a number of small parties with the broadstroke UKIP/Brexit Party, still peddling Unicorns and Empire to win in huge numbers.

Either they fight on revoke, referendum, election or whatever, then they must agree. And respect each others positions, but going forward with a unified voice. Otherwise they show themselves to be as badly prepared as the Brexiteers were for Brexit, and the remain side was for the referendum three years ago.

Nothing has changed.

And May is being forced by Cabinet pressure to take the rancid Malthouse Compromise back to Brussels. Even though the EU have said for 18 months that technological solutions will not work.

And Tusk said to the UK when the extension was agreed, "use the time well".

The the UK went off on its holidays.

And came back to the same old shit.

Sunday 21st April 2019

Third day of the four day weekend.

And after a really good night's sleep, I was really keen to get out and do some snapping. Now that the orchid season is up and running, getting round every site is going to be challenging, as well as seeing anywhere new. Having thought I had seen a GWO on Friday, the only thing to do, really, was to go to the largest site for them in the whole county.

Marden is a hike over the far side of the county, near to Maidstone, then over the down the the plain beyond.

The M20 is still a mess, as Brexit is not killed yet, so the London-bound carriageway is half closed off still, and speed reduced to 50. So, it feels like a crawl in the early morning sunshine.

The meadow is set outside the village, nestling beside the main railway line, and is open just a few short weeks a year. It is so easy to drive right past it, as I nearly did, slamming on the brakes and reversing back. Just as well there was no one behind me!

I get the camera out, and we set off to walk through the deep, lush grass, sodden with a heavy dew, and making my feet wet in a few spaces.

No spikes seen in the first meadow, but in the second, a smattering of spikes, some in flower could be seen. It already looks great, but in two weeks will be a purple carpet.

I go round taking a few shots, but it seems the first colour variation are all pretty much the same ones, so, snap one and you have snapped them all.

After half an hour, I had done them justice, and we have had the meadows to ourselves, it was glorious.

I know the one place we could go to top that, if we had timed things right, but that would mean driving through the traffic nightmare that is Maidstone's one way system, But being only half nine in the morning, we got through without delays, get onto the M20, one junction down and then up to down to Stockbury.

Stockbury is a small wood set up from the main road, a narrow lane passes round the edge of it, with some executive houses on the other side facing the wood.

The wood itself stretches along the edge of the down, the top part is a bluebell wood, and the bottom is home to some of the earliest Lady Orchids in the county.

We walk up from where we parked the car, limbo'd under the gate, and was struck b the sight of an English wood carpeted by bluebells. I mean, if I'm being picky, not quite peak, but close. Very close.

Away from the main path, a track meanders through the thickest, bluest part, and is pretty darn photogenic.

And I cannot stress this enough, we have the wood to ourselves. Literally no one else is seen in our time here. Sunlight falls though the treetops, casting dappled shadows in the bluebells, while the air is filled with birdsong. Down the hill, traffic on the main road sounds busy, with people heading who knows where, and instead they could be standing in this bluebell wood.

We walk along the ridge, seeing a few scattered Early Purples mixed in with the bluebells, an amazing sight in the warm sunlight. I try to capture that in a shot or ten.

Down the slope and along level with the bottom road, and a few yards along we come to the first of the Lady Orchids, these not out, but futher on there are two with partially open slikes. I mean, one flower counts, right?

We walk back up the down and so back to the car.

We go back down the hill to the M20, and then back to Dover, at least the coastbound side has a 70mph limit, so we can put our foot down and cruise home.

We get home at half eleven, time for a brew before toasting a saffron bun for lunch, and then getting down to some planting of the annual climbers which Jools had grown from seeds. Good work, Jools.

Then there was footy to listen to, Everton v Man Utd, and much to everyone's surprise, Everton tear Man Utd to pieces in a four nil win.

I cook rack of lamb for dinner, with some new potatoes, stir fry vegetables and fresh asparagus.

It was a delight, even if I am the cook says so. But the meat, pink and tender nd the veg still crisp.

For the evening we go to Whitfield to pick up on the card school. Jen is back from Oz, and is tanned and relaxed.

We have a pleasant evening, Jen continues her winning streak, but then its just for pennies. Though Jen is winning lots of pennies.

And that is a it, a top drawer day.