Not many of my friends on Facebook are Brexiteers, but occasionally those that are, share a post which shows what the Brexiteer camp are doing.
Yesterday, in quick succession, two posts popped up demanding that the Speaker be sacked for not being impartial.
Now, clearly, the Speaker has sides with the remain side, in that the Government has treated Parliament with contempt, literally in one case, so he is willing to give Leave leeway. Or, let me put it this way, where convention might usually have sides with the government, he has been flexible to allow the flexbility to go to the other side.
Let's be clear, this is not because the Speaker is a remainer, but his duty is to Parliament first and foremost, and he takes that responsibility very seriously. He was originally elected as a Conservative MP, but is neutral, and convention says that in General Elections, his seat is not opposed.
The PM's adviser, Cummings, let it be known yesterday, that if an MP opposes the Government in VoNC, then they will be deselected, even if their local association still backs them. This would have the effect of reducing the PM's parliamentary majority from its current three, but that will only lead to an election.
In today's papers, it is reported that Mr Barnier has rejected calls for the backstop to be amended or removed. Tis is not his decision, this is what his mandate from the EU Commission tells him. Blaming one person on the EU side, without saying that he is just doing the job he was employed to do with the mandate given is not being honest, but then that is par for the course from Brexit.
Both the Mail and the Times today carried lead stories of Number 10 threatening MPs thinking of voting against the Government of a Corbyn Government "chaos", like the May and Johnson ones are bastions of strength and stability, and/or a General Election.
Yesterday, it emerged that the second of the Chancellor's advisors was sacked by Cummings during the week, and escorted by the police from Whitehall, after it was alleged she had had contact with former Treasury colleagues. The Chancellor found out about this from the BBC. This is a theocracy, based on Brexit. If you do not believe, believe enough, or believe in anything else other than no deal, you are out.
A reign of fear.
But also a war on reality.
Johnson's policy is one to make a strong bluff that the UK will walk away with no deal if he doesn't get what he wants. He has said this is numerous interviews that this is a bluff. The EU and European Leaders can read our newspapers and watch our TV stations. They know this is a bluff. A bluff in that the UK is nowhere near ready for no deal, and won't be in the eight weeks before the 31st October.
Bluffing when you tell the other side you're bluffing cannot work. Won't work.
Saturday, 31 August 2019
Friday 30th August 2019
Back home, and back to work.
I did not get to bed until just before midnight, and so waking up at quarter to six was a couple of hours to early. But still, work beckons.
Jools went to work, and I had a meeting to get ready for at eight, the first department meeting for my new job, though most colleagues are old friends. But, the meeting gave notice that this is not going to be an easy ride, there is a very serious job we have to do, and so I will have to live up to their expectations.
Anyway, I finish work at lunchtime, as I have to take the car back and then get a bus back from the port.
I say from the port, I had to walk back from the port into town, then along to the bus station, and get on the right bus.
I forgot to take a camera, so you have only my word on how the walk was. Easy enough, but at the end of a week away, I just wanted to get home and relax for the weekend.
I arrive home ten minutes before Jools, and so we celebrate the weekend by having an ice cream sitting on the patio.
And relax.
But I have to get busy in the kitchen: we were hosting Jools' brother, Mike, and his partner, Jane: so I was making crown of lamb with jewelled fruit. Again.
Jools got the lamb on the way home from work, so I made the jewelled stuffing, adding herbs and spices, stuffing the crown and placing it in the oven ready to be roasted nearer dinnertime.
I started cooking at five, peeled potatoes and prepared the vegetables, so soon the kitchen was smelling delicious. I mean, really, really good.
Mike and Jane arrived, we open wine. Jane had brought her own made sloe port, which we were going to try later.
We sat down to eat at half six, and what a fine meal it was too. Again, I was so intent on getting the meals ready, I forgot to snap it. But was wonderful.
Afterwards we chat about life, Meg, Meg's mother and what we feel abut what happened.
Jane and I ht the sloe gin and sloe port.
She asked to hear some music, so I put some on, and soon we were singing away to Prince and Madonna.
They left at ten. One more tune turned into a half dozen. But very good.
Anyway, time for bed. Another good day.
I did not get to bed until just before midnight, and so waking up at quarter to six was a couple of hours to early. But still, work beckons.
Jools went to work, and I had a meeting to get ready for at eight, the first department meeting for my new job, though most colleagues are old friends. But, the meeting gave notice that this is not going to be an easy ride, there is a very serious job we have to do, and so I will have to live up to their expectations.
Anyway, I finish work at lunchtime, as I have to take the car back and then get a bus back from the port.
I say from the port, I had to walk back from the port into town, then along to the bus station, and get on the right bus.
I forgot to take a camera, so you have only my word on how the walk was. Easy enough, but at the end of a week away, I just wanted to get home and relax for the weekend.
I arrive home ten minutes before Jools, and so we celebrate the weekend by having an ice cream sitting on the patio.
And relax.
But I have to get busy in the kitchen: we were hosting Jools' brother, Mike, and his partner, Jane: so I was making crown of lamb with jewelled fruit. Again.
Jools got the lamb on the way home from work, so I made the jewelled stuffing, adding herbs and spices, stuffing the crown and placing it in the oven ready to be roasted nearer dinnertime.I started cooking at five, peeled potatoes and prepared the vegetables, so soon the kitchen was smelling delicious. I mean, really, really good.
Mike and Jane arrived, we open wine. Jane had brought her own made sloe port, which we were going to try later.
We sat down to eat at half six, and what a fine meal it was too. Again, I was so intent on getting the meals ready, I forgot to snap it. But was wonderful.
Afterwards we chat about life, Meg, Meg's mother and what we feel abut what happened.
Jane and I ht the sloe gin and sloe port.
She asked to hear some music, so I put some on, and soon we were singing away to Prince and Madonna.
They left at ten. One more tune turned into a half dozen. But very good.
Anyway, time for bed. Another good day.
Two great opening lines
From online articles: first, from the Guardian:
Barely three months ago, the work and pensions secretary, Amber Rudd, gave a speech in which she explained that “Being in a job gives a person dignity”. Does it always though, Amber? There is currently no job in the UK with less dignity than cabinet minister. Desperate people are doing things for crack rocks round the back of disused warehouses that are significantly more dignified than signing up to Boris Johnson’s decision to prorogue parliament, even when you said it was the last thing you’d ever do about 10 minutes ago.
So who are they, this prorogue’s gallery? In one sense, they’re anyone who hasn’t resigned when a minority government lies in order to execute this dick move – which is to say, literally all of them apart from George Young, a whip in the Lords who quit on Thursday. To put that in perspective, Young once reportedly described the homeless as “the people you step over when you are coming out of the opera”. So anyone who hasn’t walked from this government has been morally outclassed by that guy.
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/aug/30/sajid-javid-dominic-cummings-prorogation-government
Read the rest as it is blistering.
And this from @chrisgreybrexit, one of the best Brexit writers out there:
The events surrounding Brexit are now whirling out of control, and taking Britain to an unknown, but certainly dangerous, destination. It’s worth briefly summarising how shocking the current situation is. A narrow vote to leave the EU on unspecified, but beneficial, terms is being used by a minority government with a Prime Minister who has not faced the electorate to mandate leaving without agreed terms, and he is suspending parliamentary democracy to enable this.
Shocking as it is the root causes remain the same as they have been since the beginning – and they have been chronicled week in and week out in this blog - a series of lies and (to be charitable) misunderstandings that have been comprehensively falsified by reality. The intensifying crisis results from a government which refuses to accept that reality and is intent on shredding the country rather than doing so.
https://chrisgreybrexitblog.blogspot.com/2019/08/brexit-has-failed-but-brexiters-have.html
You should read all this, and all his other posts too.
Barely three months ago, the work and pensions secretary, Amber Rudd, gave a speech in which she explained that “Being in a job gives a person dignity”. Does it always though, Amber? There is currently no job in the UK with less dignity than cabinet minister. Desperate people are doing things for crack rocks round the back of disused warehouses that are significantly more dignified than signing up to Boris Johnson’s decision to prorogue parliament, even when you said it was the last thing you’d ever do about 10 minutes ago.
So who are they, this prorogue’s gallery? In one sense, they’re anyone who hasn’t resigned when a minority government lies in order to execute this dick move – which is to say, literally all of them apart from George Young, a whip in the Lords who quit on Thursday. To put that in perspective, Young once reportedly described the homeless as “the people you step over when you are coming out of the opera”. So anyone who hasn’t walked from this government has been morally outclassed by that guy.
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/aug/30/sajid-javid-dominic-cummings-prorogation-government
Read the rest as it is blistering.
And this from @chrisgreybrexit, one of the best Brexit writers out there:
The events surrounding Brexit are now whirling out of control, and taking Britain to an unknown, but certainly dangerous, destination. It’s worth briefly summarising how shocking the current situation is. A narrow vote to leave the EU on unspecified, but beneficial, terms is being used by a minority government with a Prime Minister who has not faced the electorate to mandate leaving without agreed terms, and he is suspending parliamentary democracy to enable this.
Shocking as it is the root causes remain the same as they have been since the beginning – and they have been chronicled week in and week out in this blog - a series of lies and (to be charitable) misunderstandings that have been comprehensively falsified by reality. The intensifying crisis results from a government which refuses to accept that reality and is intent on shredding the country rather than doing so.
https://chrisgreybrexitblog.blogspot.com/2019/08/brexit-has-failed-but-brexiters-have.html
You should read all this, and all his other posts too.
Friday, 30 August 2019
Nothing has really changed
Since December 2017, nothing in Brexit has changed, other than the clock ticks down to each of the days when the UK is supposed to leave the EU.
The same choices remain.
The EUs red lines remain.
The EU is united, like never before.
Brexit has done that.
Meanwhile, ministers change, PMs come and go, and words are spoken. But nothing has changed.
The EU won't allow the backstop to be changed.
The WA won't be reopened.
There is no actual negotiating team on the EU side to negotiate with.
There has been no meeting to agree a new set of negotiating terms by the EU Commissioners.
Nothing.
Has.
Changed.
Johnson says that people who support stopping the suspension of Parliament are helping the EU.
How?
By stating facts? By not believing in Brexit enough?
Reality is a tough task master, and the Brexiteers will eventually turn on each other for not being Brexity enough.
Meanwhile the country slides into chaos.
The same choices remain.
The EUs red lines remain.
The EU is united, like never before.
Brexit has done that.
Meanwhile, ministers change, PMs come and go, and words are spoken. But nothing has changed.
The EU won't allow the backstop to be changed.
The WA won't be reopened.
There is no actual negotiating team on the EU side to negotiate with.
There has been no meeting to agree a new set of negotiating terms by the EU Commissioners.
Nothing.
Has.
Changed.
Johnson says that people who support stopping the suspension of Parliament are helping the EU.
How?
By stating facts? By not believing in Brexit enough?
Reality is a tough task master, and the Brexiteers will eventually turn on each other for not being Brexity enough.
Meanwhile the country slides into chaos.
Thursday 29th August 2019
And so dawns the second and final day in Aberdeen.
Outside, at half five, dawn was just showing, although the skies were dark and overcast, with the promise of rain later.
I do my usual stuff in the morning, packing, and with one final check of the room, I go down to check out and meet Henrik for breakfast.
Again, we walk to the office, passing by the Shetland ferry being loaded. I still fancied a trip further north, but that really is a remote part of the country, and need more than a day or two to go looking around.
Into the office and start the business of the day.
We were done by one, there were more M&S sandwiches for lunch, a good chat and some smiles, now our work was done. A taxi is ordered, so at two we were ready to go.
The driver takes us through the centre of the town, and out through the suburbs, passing neat rows of cottages with colourful gardens, and blocks almost like tenements, sometimes next to each other. And all were built from local granite.
We pass the new Hilton Hotel, looking like some kind of crashed UFO, arrive at the airport.
I have no check in bags, so go to get my boarding pass while Henrik tries to battle the airport's IT to check in, drop his bags off.
He manages it after half an hour, so we walk through security, and find we have two hours to kill.
We have a coffee.
We walk down the walkway and find a pub, so we have an early dinner; I having steak and ale pie, which wasn't very full of either, and wrapped in limp pastry.
Time to board our flight comes round, Henrik first. He is to fly to Amsterdam to get a connecting flight to Billund. We wave goodbye.
I wait for my flight to come, along with dozens of other passengers. The plane arrives, and most queue up to be first to board.
I wait, sitting down while people stand, shuffling forward to queue more the other side of the gate.
I was last to pass through, wait at the end of the line until boarding begins.
I was near the front, and there was even room for my rucksack and work bag in the overhead locker. I sink into my seat.
We taxi to the runway; but there is a problem! There isn't enough oxygen for the pilots emergency supply.
We taxi back to the terminal so technicians could charge their systems.
We were now an hour late, and take off into the evening sun. I try to sleep.
We cruise into Heathrow at dusk, and there was me thinking the hard part was over.
We get off the plane and onto a bus, it takes us to the terminal. We rush through baggage reclaim, no need to go through immigration, and out into the arrivals hall. I am told that car rentals were via a shuttle bus, and go to stop 9 on level zero.
I follow signs to the central bus station; big mistake, I had gone to the wrong bus station, wasting ten minutes. So I have to go back to the main terminal, find the correct stop, then have to wait ten minutes for an Avis bus to arrive.
The bus then has to battle through the traffic on the congested road system to get to the main tunnel, then down the A4 to the rental lot.
I was told, as I had a membership card, not to go into the office, but to row B where I could collect my keys.
Only they were not expecting me. They had to wake the computer, then the trainee Mr Avis walked through the process. Half an hour passed.
It was now nine, and home was 90 minutes away. I thought.
I drive onto the main ring road, follow the signs to the motorway which then vanish at the next junction.. So I head west and in ten minutes I am driving on the on-ramp. Home was nearly in sight.
And being late in the evening, the road was quiet, so I made good time, and was enjoying myself.
I turned onto the M26, and still, going well. Then at the end, two lanes narrowed to one, and the jam started.
Seems that both the M26 and M20, which met two miles further on, were being funneled into a single lane through overnight roadworks.
We crawled along, queue jumpers, jumping the queue meaning it took even longer.
And once in the roadworks we then had to get onto the other road and into another single lane, then crawl along for 5 miles.
It was now half ten.
And I was tired.
The roadworks ended and so I could speed up, and I realise there was no traffic around me at all. I cruise south through Ashford to Folkestone, then up and over Shakespeare to Dover and Home.
I arrive at twenty past eleven. Jools was up, so she makes me a brew and I have a Belgian snack of sprinkles on toast.
Worse than a trip from Denmark and worse than a train back too.
I crawl into bed at midnight, cows brayed in the dark.
I slept like a log.
Outside, at half five, dawn was just showing, although the skies were dark and overcast, with the promise of rain later.
I do my usual stuff in the morning, packing, and with one final check of the room, I go down to check out and meet Henrik for breakfast.
Again, we walk to the office, passing by the Shetland ferry being loaded. I still fancied a trip further north, but that really is a remote part of the country, and need more than a day or two to go looking around.
Into the office and start the business of the day.
We were done by one, there were more M&S sandwiches for lunch, a good chat and some smiles, now our work was done. A taxi is ordered, so at two we were ready to go.
The driver takes us through the centre of the town, and out through the suburbs, passing neat rows of cottages with colourful gardens, and blocks almost like tenements, sometimes next to each other. And all were built from local granite.
We pass the new Hilton Hotel, looking like some kind of crashed UFO, arrive at the airport.
I have no check in bags, so go to get my boarding pass while Henrik tries to battle the airport's IT to check in, drop his bags off.
He manages it after half an hour, so we walk through security, and find we have two hours to kill.
We have a coffee.
We walk down the walkway and find a pub, so we have an early dinner; I having steak and ale pie, which wasn't very full of either, and wrapped in limp pastry.
Time to board our flight comes round, Henrik first. He is to fly to Amsterdam to get a connecting flight to Billund. We wave goodbye.
I wait for my flight to come, along with dozens of other passengers. The plane arrives, and most queue up to be first to board.
I wait, sitting down while people stand, shuffling forward to queue more the other side of the gate.
I was last to pass through, wait at the end of the line until boarding begins.
I was near the front, and there was even room for my rucksack and work bag in the overhead locker. I sink into my seat.We taxi to the runway; but there is a problem! There isn't enough oxygen for the pilots emergency supply.
We taxi back to the terminal so technicians could charge their systems.
We were now an hour late, and take off into the evening sun. I try to sleep.
We cruise into Heathrow at dusk, and there was me thinking the hard part was over.
We get off the plane and onto a bus, it takes us to the terminal. We rush through baggage reclaim, no need to go through immigration, and out into the arrivals hall. I am told that car rentals were via a shuttle bus, and go to stop 9 on level zero.
I follow signs to the central bus station; big mistake, I had gone to the wrong bus station, wasting ten minutes. So I have to go back to the main terminal, find the correct stop, then have to wait ten minutes for an Avis bus to arrive.
The bus then has to battle through the traffic on the congested road system to get to the main tunnel, then down the A4 to the rental lot.
I was told, as I had a membership card, not to go into the office, but to row B where I could collect my keys.
Only they were not expecting me. They had to wake the computer, then the trainee Mr Avis walked through the process. Half an hour passed.
It was now nine, and home was 90 minutes away. I thought.
I drive onto the main ring road, follow the signs to the motorway which then vanish at the next junction.. So I head west and in ten minutes I am driving on the on-ramp. Home was nearly in sight.
And being late in the evening, the road was quiet, so I made good time, and was enjoying myself.
I turned onto the M26, and still, going well. Then at the end, two lanes narrowed to one, and the jam started.
Seems that both the M26 and M20, which met two miles further on, were being funneled into a single lane through overnight roadworks.
We crawled along, queue jumpers, jumping the queue meaning it took even longer.
And once in the roadworks we then had to get onto the other road and into another single lane, then crawl along for 5 miles.
It was now half ten.
And I was tired.
The roadworks ended and so I could speed up, and I realise there was no traffic around me at all. I cruise south through Ashford to Folkestone, then up and over Shakespeare to Dover and Home.
I arrive at twenty past eleven. Jools was up, so she makes me a brew and I have a Belgian snack of sprinkles on toast.
Worse than a trip from Denmark and worse than a train back too.
I crawl into bed at midnight, cows brayed in the dark.
I slept like a log.
Reality, my old friend
As we have seen in the past, like December 2017 and March 2019, when Brexit and reality mix, there is chaos.
And so as we near the Brexit endgame, possibly, Brexit and reality are getting close again.
The Brexit says that it is Johnson's plan to renegotiate the WA, take out the backstop, then get this through Parliament. In less than three weeks when Parliament is due to sit. Or there will be no deal Brexit.
Reality says, the EU have been constant, unwavering and unanimous in saying the WA will not be reopened and the backstop is going nowhere.
The upshot is, therefore, that as the WA will not be reopened and certainly the backstop is going nowhere, then Johnson will drive the UK off a cliff.
So, when the now-resigned leader of the Scottish Conservatives, Ruth Davidson, says she looked Johnson in the eye and believed he wants to agree a WA and believed him. This belief is based not on reality, the false Brexit narrative that only reaches the Straits of Dover, where beyond our European friends look on as if, as a country, we have lost our minds.
I watched half an hour of BBC News channel yesterday, and all reports mentioned the renegotiation of the WA, removal of the backstop, all without mentioning that the EU have said "no" to all this for the last three years.
If the BBC cannot be honest with its viewers, as the state broadcaster, to actually inform the nation of the reality of the Brexit situation and how boundless optomism won't change the EU's vews.
That and the reality of the effects of no deal, with food, fuel, energy, medicine shortages. In very real terms, people will die as a result of no deal Brexit, we should ask the Prime Minister how meany deaths is acceptable to deliver such a disastrous no deal Brexit. Is it one, ten, a hundred, a thousand?
Would he consider such deaths a collateral damage in his ideological war on reality?
And so as we near the Brexit endgame, possibly, Brexit and reality are getting close again.
The Brexit says that it is Johnson's plan to renegotiate the WA, take out the backstop, then get this through Parliament. In less than three weeks when Parliament is due to sit. Or there will be no deal Brexit.
Reality says, the EU have been constant, unwavering and unanimous in saying the WA will not be reopened and the backstop is going nowhere.
The upshot is, therefore, that as the WA will not be reopened and certainly the backstop is going nowhere, then Johnson will drive the UK off a cliff.
So, when the now-resigned leader of the Scottish Conservatives, Ruth Davidson, says she looked Johnson in the eye and believed he wants to agree a WA and believed him. This belief is based not on reality, the false Brexit narrative that only reaches the Straits of Dover, where beyond our European friends look on as if, as a country, we have lost our minds.
I watched half an hour of BBC News channel yesterday, and all reports mentioned the renegotiation of the WA, removal of the backstop, all without mentioning that the EU have said "no" to all this for the last three years.
If the BBC cannot be honest with its viewers, as the state broadcaster, to actually inform the nation of the reality of the Brexit situation and how boundless optomism won't change the EU's vews.
That and the reality of the effects of no deal, with food, fuel, energy, medicine shortages. In very real terms, people will die as a result of no deal Brexit, we should ask the Prime Minister how meany deaths is acceptable to deliver such a disastrous no deal Brexit. Is it one, ten, a hundred, a thousand?
Would he consider such deaths a collateral damage in his ideological war on reality?
Wednesday 28th August 2019
And now for the reason I was north of the border: work.
Amazingly, for the east coast of Scotland, Aberdeen was roasting and humid, so I slept fitfully, and was happy to find that when I got up, it was getting light, so I had had at least six hours sleep.
As I woke up, I watched the ferry from the Shetlands and Orkney reverse down the harbour to its linkspan. I could catch that instead of working......
All I had to do was get myself ready for work and meet Henrik down in the restaurant at seven for breakfast, before the brief walk to the office.
Breakfast was a fine spread, but being Scotland the cooked breakfast included fried haggis and black pudding. I pass on those but do have a sausage sandwich along with fruit.
And coffee.
Once we had eaten, we walked down the cobbled street, then across the busy main road which runs beside the harbour, up the next quay to a lock up; this was the office.
We rang the bell, and in time we were let in.
I am now an auditor, and audits terrify the life out of people. I saw the site assistant visibly shaking, so I set about putting her mind at rest. And the day settles down with is probing, and listening.
At one, lunch of MS sandwiches is served.
Followed by more light auditing.
Until four when we are done.
We tank them for their time, and leave them to do their normal work, which we have interrupted, and walk back to the hotel.
At six, we walk to the steak restaurant that had been recommended, just up the cobbled street and over Castle Street. They can squeeze us in, so we are given a table by the window, and a menu and wine list.
Steak, in a proper posh place, is a joy, and so I ordered a 50 day aged sirloin, which was very nice indeed.
We were out by half seven, and find the micropub that had also been praised. I was hoping for a fine whisky selection, but was disappointed by just some usual standard bottles.
I take a large dram of something Islay, and we sit in a corner to talk.
One is enough for me, so by eight we were walking back to the hotel for some relaxing before bedtime.
Phew.
Amazingly, for the east coast of Scotland, Aberdeen was roasting and humid, so I slept fitfully, and was happy to find that when I got up, it was getting light, so I had had at least six hours sleep.
As I woke up, I watched the ferry from the Shetlands and Orkney reverse down the harbour to its linkspan. I could catch that instead of working......
All I had to do was get myself ready for work and meet Henrik down in the restaurant at seven for breakfast, before the brief walk to the office.Breakfast was a fine spread, but being Scotland the cooked breakfast included fried haggis and black pudding. I pass on those but do have a sausage sandwich along with fruit.
And coffee.
Once we had eaten, we walked down the cobbled street, then across the busy main road which runs beside the harbour, up the next quay to a lock up; this was the office.
We rang the bell, and in time we were let in.
I am now an auditor, and audits terrify the life out of people. I saw the site assistant visibly shaking, so I set about putting her mind at rest. And the day settles down with is probing, and listening.
At one, lunch of MS sandwiches is served.
Followed by more light auditing.
Until four when we are done.
We tank them for their time, and leave them to do their normal work, which we have interrupted, and walk back to the hotel.
At six, we walk to the steak restaurant that had been recommended, just up the cobbled street and over Castle Street. They can squeeze us in, so we are given a table by the window, and a menu and wine list.
Steak, in a proper posh place, is a joy, and so I ordered a 50 day aged sirloin, which was very nice indeed.
We were out by half seven, and find the micropub that had also been praised. I was hoping for a fine whisky selection, but was disappointed by just some usual standard bottles.
I take a large dram of something Islay, and we sit in a corner to talk. One is enough for me, so by eight we were walking back to the hotel for some relaxing before bedtime.
Phew.
Wednesday, 28 August 2019
The cunning plan
For many months of her premiership, many commentators assumed May had some cunning plan, and just appeared to be making things up as she went along.
Turned out there was no cunning plan, just try to get to the end of each day, then week, saying whatever needed to be said, even if it contradicted what was said earlier.
The same is now being said of Johnson, that suspending Parliament is a prelude to returning with some kind of revised WA and delivering some kind of ultimatum: back this new deal or have no deal.
I'd like to believe there is such a plan, then the UK would end up with "just" a very hard Brexit, and the economy would only be "mostly" trashed.
But what if he doesn't care, and there is no plan, other than to the UK leave the EU, come what may, and then deal with the consequences, knowing there can be no going back?
Johnson only cares about Johnson, so will do what he thinks is best for him and his career as PM. Suspending Parliament means he gets to be PM at least until the end of October, whereas before he could be removed any time before.
"Johnson also wants a deal" That might be true, but he was once an ardent remainer, now a passionate Brexiteer. His views can change, and maybe more changeable than most.
Turned out there was no cunning plan, just try to get to the end of each day, then week, saying whatever needed to be said, even if it contradicted what was said earlier.
The same is now being said of Johnson, that suspending Parliament is a prelude to returning with some kind of revised WA and delivering some kind of ultimatum: back this new deal or have no deal.
I'd like to believe there is such a plan, then the UK would end up with "just" a very hard Brexit, and the economy would only be "mostly" trashed.
But what if he doesn't care, and there is no plan, other than to the UK leave the EU, come what may, and then deal with the consequences, knowing there can be no going back?
Johnson only cares about Johnson, so will do what he thinks is best for him and his career as PM. Suspending Parliament means he gets to be PM at least until the end of October, whereas before he could be removed any time before.
"Johnson also wants a deal" That might be true, but he was once an ardent remainer, now a passionate Brexiteer. His views can change, and maybe more changeable than most.
It could never happen
Over the last four years, many things that we were told could not or would not happen, happened.
Trump winning the GOP nomination.
Trump becoming President.
The referendum.
No deal.
Prorogation.
And yet these, and other impossible things have happened. What whappens over the next two months is unclear. The UK is in uncharted waters.
The UK has a constitution, and it is written down. But it is also spread over hundreds and hundreds of bills of law stretching down the centuries. What we don't have is a codified constitution, which clearly defines the limits of power.
What we have is Erskine May and conventions. The House of Commons "rule book" and Gentlemen's agreements that one party or one House would or would not do in certain situations. Assuming, that all MPs and MPs are Gentlemen, or Gentlewomen, and would abide by conventions.
That was broken yesterday, probably for good. We cannot get that back.
MPs will not be able to trust the Government of the day to do what is right.
Governments govern by the confidence given in them by Parliament, having scrutinised the Government's plans and actions. Parliament has made it clear on three occasions that no deal is unacceptable.
That should be it, that path should be turned from, and agreement reached on where to go now. But that is an effect that neither May or Johnson have conducted Brexit policy with the agreement of Parliament. Meaning the first time scrutiny happened was when they were asked to ratify the WA. They balked, and under the terms of the referendum act, they refused to back it.
Which is where we are now.
A legal battle, many legal battles, begin to save Parliament.
Remember, the last person try to ride roughshod over Parliament ended up having his head removed.
So, these are dark days. I am not saying we should behead the PM, but that is where the UK is right now, a crisis of Civil War sized seriousness.
Trump winning the GOP nomination.
Trump becoming President.
The referendum.
No deal.
Prorogation.
And yet these, and other impossible things have happened. What whappens over the next two months is unclear. The UK is in uncharted waters.
The UK has a constitution, and it is written down. But it is also spread over hundreds and hundreds of bills of law stretching down the centuries. What we don't have is a codified constitution, which clearly defines the limits of power.
What we have is Erskine May and conventions. The House of Commons "rule book" and Gentlemen's agreements that one party or one House would or would not do in certain situations. Assuming, that all MPs and MPs are Gentlemen, or Gentlewomen, and would abide by conventions.
That was broken yesterday, probably for good. We cannot get that back.
MPs will not be able to trust the Government of the day to do what is right.
Governments govern by the confidence given in them by Parliament, having scrutinised the Government's plans and actions. Parliament has made it clear on three occasions that no deal is unacceptable.
That should be it, that path should be turned from, and agreement reached on where to go now. But that is an effect that neither May or Johnson have conducted Brexit policy with the agreement of Parliament. Meaning the first time scrutiny happened was when they were asked to ratify the WA. They balked, and under the terms of the referendum act, they refused to back it.
Which is where we are now.
A legal battle, many legal battles, begin to save Parliament.
Remember, the last person try to ride roughshod over Parliament ended up having his head removed.
So, these are dark days. I am not saying we should behead the PM, but that is where the UK is right now, a crisis of Civil War sized seriousness.
The end of democracy
Today, leaders of the Privy Council met the Queen and she agreed to prorogue Parliament for some 25 days. An unprecidented amount in the modern political era.
This is not to allow a Queen's Speech, but to stop Parliamentary scrutiny.
Those who said, even those now in Cabinet, who said it could and would not happen and be an affront to democracy. Well, we await news of your resignations when you're ready.
This is a battle for the Constitution of the UK, and who rules. That the executive claim to be doing this in the name of people and the democracy, just don't care about either.
At least the sham is over, and plans can now be made to stop it happening, if that were possible. I rate their chances at somewhat less than 50/50.
As I said before, look at this in terms of the executive ruling with as little scrutiny as possible, then this and Brexit and its enabling bills make sense. The executive rule by diktat, just like the Politburo did.
Because that is where the country is now.
Once they have this power, they will not give it back.
There will be legal cases, there will be challenges in Parliament.
But time is very limited now, the executive have carried out a coup d'etat.
The privately educated, expensively colleged, career political and journalistic chances want it all, and they will not be poorer, for them taxes and unemployment are for the small people.
These will always be rich, and make sure their friends, former school and college chums, mostly male and white, will be alright too.
You were warned. Project fear we were told back. We told you.
This is not to allow a Queen's Speech, but to stop Parliamentary scrutiny.
Those who said, even those now in Cabinet, who said it could and would not happen and be an affront to democracy. Well, we await news of your resignations when you're ready.
This is a battle for the Constitution of the UK, and who rules. That the executive claim to be doing this in the name of people and the democracy, just don't care about either.
At least the sham is over, and plans can now be made to stop it happening, if that were possible. I rate their chances at somewhat less than 50/50.
As I said before, look at this in terms of the executive ruling with as little scrutiny as possible, then this and Brexit and its enabling bills make sense. The executive rule by diktat, just like the Politburo did.
Because that is where the country is now.
Once they have this power, they will not give it back.
There will be legal cases, there will be challenges in Parliament.
But time is very limited now, the executive have carried out a coup d'etat.
The privately educated, expensively colleged, career political and journalistic chances want it all, and they will not be poorer, for them taxes and unemployment are for the small people.
These will always be rich, and make sure their friends, former school and college chums, mostly male and white, will be alright too.
You were warned. Project fear we were told back. We told you.
Tuesday 27th August 2109
Oddly enough, a one hour train journey to London and then a seven hour one from London to Aberdeen would take about the same time as flying, when you take into account getting to Heathrow, getting there two hours before the flight then travelling from the airport into Aberdeen.
Well, that's my excuse. And would work out no cheaper flying, either.
And I could sit and look out the window for seven hours, as the countryside and cities rolled by.
What's not to like?
However, upgrading to first class was going to be eye-watering, and not something the company could pay for, and anyway I had a reserved seat, so, should not be too bad.
But before getting on the train north, I had to get into London.
And get up.
So, another fine late summer morning dawned. It is now only half light at half five, and the lights in the kitchen need to be on to avoid standing on a cat. And the strip lights are bright and harsh.
But the cats are fed, and we have coffee.
But time slips away, and if I am to catch the quarter to seven train, we need to get moving. So we do. And by half past, we are sat in the car with all tasks completed and bags loaded.
At Priory Station, I wait on the platform with the commuters, for the fast train up to London to arrive. It is at least cool and still on the platform.
The train pulls in, as usual, and I get on. Always a wise move, taking up my position on the left hand side of the train. But this is just the starter for a day of train travel. And I get to travel all the way to St Pancras, having two hours to while away before the great trip north begins.
So, I go for breakfast; a bacon and cheese roll and coffee. The go to M&S to buy lunch, before walking over to Kings Cross to do some people watching.
And then go onto the platforms to watch the trains come and go. And watch more people.
My knowldge of traction lead me to believe I would be travelling on a diesel HST, and there just being the one of those, at platform 3, I wait at the end to see if I was right.
I watch a porter take an old gentleman in a wheelchair to the train,s i ask her if this was the Aberdeen train. It was, so I walk to the end of the train, to coach B, find my seat and I have the whole carriage to myself.
For two minutes.
A japanese family arrive, with suitcases like wardrobes, and were seated in three different rows. They and other passengers try to find their seats, find somewhere to stow their luggage, all in the ten minutes before the train leaves.
I sit, serine in my seat, bags in the rack above, and my carrier bag of food on my sweaty lap.
Did I mention I love train journeys?
I do.
The train leaves and trundles through Gasworks Tunnel, then through the suburbs where the train opens its regulator and gets up to 100mph, or faster.
Time drags, but I am enthralled as we go through the home counties and up into Hertfordshire, Cambridgeshire and into Lincolnshire. The landscape is flat and full of huge fields, most being harvested. Clouds of dust mark the harvesters in action.
I make a start on the big bag of pulled pork flavoured crisps.
Yummy.
Up through Peterborough, out of London and hour, Newark at the 90 minute mark, and the landscape begins to change. Rolling hills, former mines and power stations are everywhere.
I eat more crisps.
We reach York, our first stop on just under two hours.
I am looking to the left as we pass the Railway Museum, and see two steam locomotives outside. But we are soon accelerating. North we go.
We stop at Darlington, Newcastle, where I snap a view of the Tyne and bridges as we cross over, then into the wilds of Nortumberland, where the line hugs the coast and views from my side of the train are of the rocky shoreline and flat calm seas over to Lindisfarne.
But they slip by quickly, and after a brief stop in Berwick, we are into Scotland, with more coast line, though more wild and windswept, but anything but windswept on this fine summer's day.
At Edinburgh, most get off, so we can stretch out. And the train leaves Waverley through tunnels and tight curves, then up past Murrayfield and into the countryside to the famout Forth Bridge, where the line hangs a hundred metres in the air, crossing the huge forth.
From there the line still hugs the coast, but the express has become a stopping train, halting at small towns with platforms too small for everyone to have a door to get out of.
We reach Dundee, or the Tay first, crossing by a narrow and very long bridge, the remains of one that collapsed still visible on my side of the train. It was good to get across safe and sound.
From Dundee, the line headed north along the coast again, passing through Arbroath and my old friend, Montrose, where I'm sure there is a pub landlady who still holds a candle for me.
We carry on, and soo are approaching the Granite City, pulling into the fine station five minutes late, which isn't bad.
I have GSVd to way to the hotel, so walk down to the harbour, then up a sidestreet, and there it was, The Ibis.
I check in and wait for my colleague, Henrik to arrive. When he does, we meet in the lobby and walk to Brewdog for some beers and dinner.
The food was average, but the beer excellent.
I have three pints to Henrik's one, but I am quality checking them.
All pass.
And it is nine by the time i nearly finish the cheese board, with one more chilli beer to finish.
I am done. So we wander back to the hotel, take the lift to the 4th floor, and here, in Scotland, summer is humid enough to make sleep difficult.
But I manage it.
Well, that's my excuse. And would work out no cheaper flying, either.
And I could sit and look out the window for seven hours, as the countryside and cities rolled by.
What's not to like?
However, upgrading to first class was going to be eye-watering, and not something the company could pay for, and anyway I had a reserved seat, so, should not be too bad.
But before getting on the train north, I had to get into London.
And get up.
So, another fine late summer morning dawned. It is now only half light at half five, and the lights in the kitchen need to be on to avoid standing on a cat. And the strip lights are bright and harsh.
But the cats are fed, and we have coffee.
But time slips away, and if I am to catch the quarter to seven train, we need to get moving. So we do. And by half past, we are sat in the car with all tasks completed and bags loaded.
At Priory Station, I wait on the platform with the commuters, for the fast train up to London to arrive. It is at least cool and still on the platform.
The train pulls in, as usual, and I get on. Always a wise move, taking up my position on the left hand side of the train. But this is just the starter for a day of train travel. And I get to travel all the way to St Pancras, having two hours to while away before the great trip north begins.
So, I go for breakfast; a bacon and cheese roll and coffee. The go to M&S to buy lunch, before walking over to Kings Cross to do some people watching.
And then go onto the platforms to watch the trains come and go. And watch more people.
My knowldge of traction lead me to believe I would be travelling on a diesel HST, and there just being the one of those, at platform 3, I wait at the end to see if I was right.
I watch a porter take an old gentleman in a wheelchair to the train,s i ask her if this was the Aberdeen train. It was, so I walk to the end of the train, to coach B, find my seat and I have the whole carriage to myself.
For two minutes.A japanese family arrive, with suitcases like wardrobes, and were seated in three different rows. They and other passengers try to find their seats, find somewhere to stow their luggage, all in the ten minutes before the train leaves.
I sit, serine in my seat, bags in the rack above, and my carrier bag of food on my sweaty lap.Did I mention I love train journeys?
I do.
The train leaves and trundles through Gasworks Tunnel, then through the suburbs where the train opens its regulator and gets up to 100mph, or faster.
Time drags, but I am enthralled as we go through the home counties and up into Hertfordshire, Cambridgeshire and into Lincolnshire. The landscape is flat and full of huge fields, most being harvested. Clouds of dust mark the harvesters in action.
I make a start on the big bag of pulled pork flavoured crisps.
Yummy.
Up through Peterborough, out of London and hour, Newark at the 90 minute mark, and the landscape begins to change. Rolling hills, former mines and power stations are everywhere.
I eat more crisps.
We reach York, our first stop on just under two hours.
I am looking to the left as we pass the Railway Museum, and see two steam locomotives outside. But we are soon accelerating. North we go.
We stop at Darlington, Newcastle, where I snap a view of the Tyne and bridges as we cross over, then into the wilds of Nortumberland, where the line hugs the coast and views from my side of the train are of the rocky shoreline and flat calm seas over to Lindisfarne.
But they slip by quickly, and after a brief stop in Berwick, we are into Scotland, with more coast line, though more wild and windswept, but anything but windswept on this fine summer's day.
At Edinburgh, most get off, so we can stretch out. And the train leaves Waverley through tunnels and tight curves, then up past Murrayfield and into the countryside to the famout Forth Bridge, where the line hangs a hundred metres in the air, crossing the huge forth.
From there the line still hugs the coast, but the express has become a stopping train, halting at small towns with platforms too small for everyone to have a door to get out of.
We reach Dundee, or the Tay first, crossing by a narrow and very long bridge, the remains of one that collapsed still visible on my side of the train. It was good to get across safe and sound.From Dundee, the line headed north along the coast again, passing through Arbroath and my old friend, Montrose, where I'm sure there is a pub landlady who still holds a candle for me.
We carry on, and soo are approaching the Granite City, pulling into the fine station five minutes late, which isn't bad.
I have GSVd to way to the hotel, so walk down to the harbour, then up a sidestreet, and there it was, The Ibis.
I check in and wait for my colleague, Henrik to arrive. When he does, we meet in the lobby and walk to Brewdog for some beers and dinner.
The food was average, but the beer excellent.
I have three pints to Henrik's one, but I am quality checking them.
All pass.
And it is nine by the time i nearly finish the cheese board, with one more chilli beer to finish.
I am done. So we wander back to the hotel, take the lift to the 4th floor, and here, in Scotland, summer is humid enough to make sleep difficult.
But I manage it.
Tuesday, 27 August 2019
Gerrymandering
News comes this evening of a plan by the brave PM to promote a swathe of Brexiteers to the House of Lords so to dilute their remainer tenancies.
Some new kind of taking back control one assumes.
Leaders of four of the "remain" side, including Brexiteer Jezza, announced thay have came to an agreement on stopping no deal.
A concerted campaign of identical Tweets was sent out by Brexiteer MPs.
It is all so grim.
And the BBC report it like it was just political games, not that our very livelihoods depend on it.
Oh well.
Some new kind of taking back control one assumes.
Leaders of four of the "remain" side, including Brexiteer Jezza, announced thay have came to an agreement on stopping no deal.
A concerted campaign of identical Tweets was sent out by Brexiteer MPs.
It is all so grim.
And the BBC report it like it was just political games, not that our very livelihoods depend on it.
Oh well.
Monday, 26 August 2019
Liar, liar
Boris Johnson says that a new deal without the backstop is close.
He is lying.
The backstop is going nowhere.
The UK has acted in bad faith, worse since he took over as PM.
Threats to withhold the financial settlement makes the EU trust us less, and the less likely the backstop will be removed.
The PM says MPs cannot stop no deal.
He is lying again.
It will be hard, but not impossible.
Johnson will try to suspend democracy to drive it through, something a dictator would do.
The UK in 2017, there.
He is lying.
The backstop is going nowhere.
The UK has acted in bad faith, worse since he took over as PM.
Threats to withhold the financial settlement makes the EU trust us less, and the less likely the backstop will be removed.
The PM says MPs cannot stop no deal.
He is lying again.
It will be hard, but not impossible.
Johnson will try to suspend democracy to drive it through, something a dictator would do.
The UK in 2017, there.
Monday 26th August 2019
It's hot. Damn hot.
Over the years I have joked that English Bank Holidays have almost unrelenting bad weather, so that those at the seaside shelter from the wind and rain.
But I suppose as this is the "late summer bank holiday", it should have good weather. But even in 1976, the hottest summer ever, the weather broke on bank holiday and the town was flooded out. The town being Oulton Broad. And areas flooded were near the broad. But other than that, all true.
Yesterday was hot. Today was to be hotter.
So, anything that needed to be done, had be done early.
Which is why I was making my way to Temple Ewell just after seven this morning, on a butterfly hunt, as any later and the weather would make the butterflies so lively, there would be no chance in snapping them.
Jools decided not to come. Do the garden instead, she said.
I had designs on snapping the Silver Spotted Skippers up on the top of the down.
But first, a quick look round the lower meadow and find a basking Adonis, in a perfect position with wings wide open, and ideal to snap.
So I snap it. Won't get a better one than that, so I go up the path to the top of the down, and meet a couple, Caroline and Kevin, who were also hunting skippers. They were sat down on the grass, waiting.
I said I would go and look, and soon I am chasing one along the steep slope, but lose it.
Further up, I disturb one, but see where it lands, so call Caroline over, and together we get some great shots, as the little bugger just sits there.
She goes off to find one on her own, but I am on a roll and find a second. She comes over and we snap the second.
It was not yet nine and I had achieved what I set out to do.
Perfect.
So, I go home, calling to get a pint of milk on the way, back to Jools who said it was now too hot in the garden, so we retire to the living room to have breakfast and more coffee.
We mess around online, listen to music.
The morning passes.
We have nachos and cold sausages and the last of the pork pies for dinner. And the rest of the special beer.
I spend the afternoon trying to stay awake.
Just about managing it.
It is now evening, cool enough for work in the garden, but is dinner time, and after a brew, I will make caprese.
And tomorrow: Scotland!
Yay.
By train.
Double YAY!
Over the years I have joked that English Bank Holidays have almost unrelenting bad weather, so that those at the seaside shelter from the wind and rain.
But I suppose as this is the "late summer bank holiday", it should have good weather. But even in 1976, the hottest summer ever, the weather broke on bank holiday and the town was flooded out. The town being Oulton Broad. And areas flooded were near the broad. But other than that, all true.
Yesterday was hot. Today was to be hotter.
So, anything that needed to be done, had be done early.
Which is why I was making my way to Temple Ewell just after seven this morning, on a butterfly hunt, as any later and the weather would make the butterflies so lively, there would be no chance in snapping them.
Jools decided not to come. Do the garden instead, she said.I had designs on snapping the Silver Spotted Skippers up on the top of the down.
But first, a quick look round the lower meadow and find a basking Adonis, in a perfect position with wings wide open, and ideal to snap.
So I snap it. Won't get a better one than that, so I go up the path to the top of the down, and meet a couple, Caroline and Kevin, who were also hunting skippers. They were sat down on the grass, waiting.I said I would go and look, and soon I am chasing one along the steep slope, but lose it.
Further up, I disturb one, but see where it lands, so call Caroline over, and together we get some great shots, as the little bugger just sits there.She goes off to find one on her own, but I am on a roll and find a second. She comes over and we snap the second.
It was not yet nine and I had achieved what I set out to do.Perfect.
So, I go home, calling to get a pint of milk on the way, back to Jools who said it was now too hot in the garden, so we retire to the living room to have breakfast and more coffee.
We mess around online, listen to music.The morning passes.
We have nachos and cold sausages and the last of the pork pies for dinner. And the rest of the special beer.
I spend the afternoon trying to stay awake.
Just about managing it.
It is now evening, cool enough for work in the garden, but is dinner time, and after a brew, I will make caprese.
And tomorrow: Scotland!
Yay.
By train.
Double YAY!
Mum update
So, after waiting two weeks for Mum to arrange transport to a care home to see what it was like, being my birthday yesterday and seeing as she sent me a card, I called her.
Mum declared that she is now "better" and need not go into a home.
I expressed surprise at this. And added the fact that she is kidding herself.
But it is her choice to do this, and no one can force her out of the house.
But it does mean, as I pointed out, that lives cannot be just dropped when the time comes for her to leave the family home.
She is certainly sounding better, but she can barely write, and I did not recognise her handwriting.
So, there you have it.
Means that the plans currently in outline for the heritage weekend on the 14th, and Open House London two weeks later can be firmed up.
So, life goes on. Hers just being restricted to the 5 metres between her armchair and the toilet at the end of the hallway.
So it goes, so it goes.
Mum declared that she is now "better" and need not go into a home.
I expressed surprise at this. And added the fact that she is kidding herself.
But it is her choice to do this, and no one can force her out of the house.
But it does mean, as I pointed out, that lives cannot be just dropped when the time comes for her to leave the family home.
She is certainly sounding better, but she can barely write, and I did not recognise her handwriting.
So, there you have it.
Means that the plans currently in outline for the heritage weekend on the 14th, and Open House London two weeks later can be firmed up.
So, life goes on. Hers just being restricted to the 5 metres between her armchair and the toilet at the end of the hallway.
So it goes, so it goes.
Sunday 25th August 2019
Birthday.
Yes, it is true. I am another year older and another year potentially wiser.
My friends on FB wanted to know what things I would do all day. The truth is I do what I do most days; what I wanted.
I am lucky that I get to do what I want, pretty much when I want. So, I don't feel the need to mark the actual day with something really special. We did not eat out either, instead I said I would cook us steaks in the afternoon/evening.
I would watch somefootball, but even I drew the line that somehow England could salvage the latest test against Australia. Headingley in 1981 was a once in a lfetime event, no?
No, apparently.
After the usual early morning coffee, we took the car to the Monument, as Jools' side was better, we didn't know if she could do much walking.
We are pretty sure she has tore a muscle in her side, or cracked a rib, and overnight the extreme pain went away, but she now has to take things easy for a few weeks. So, all was smiles and jokes as we leave the car, and in the cool morning sunshine, not a breath of wind stirred the grass.
Around the monument, the ALTs had not been mowed, and were looking really good.
We walk down the gentle slope from the monument car park down to the stile that marks the boundary between St Maggies and Kingsdown. Through that and then up the gentle slope to the Leas, where as the road started on the left hand side, that's where the butterflies would be.
And right away I saw three basking male Adonis Blues, and a couple of females, all looking great in the sunshine, all recently emerged and looking so good.
I snap them.
We had came as a friend had snapped a rare plant among the ALTs on the Leas, Autumn Genitians, and I had not seen those before. Now, he said they were tiny.
They must have been, as we searched for an hour and saw not one. But did see hundreds of ALTs of course.
I go on to the point where the path overlooks the beach and on into Deal to see if I could see any sign of the Long Tailed Blue, but despite there being lots of Everlasting Pea, I saw no gliding blues. Doesn't mean they were not there, of course....
We turn for home, walking back to the stile, then up the long slope to the car park, and from there to home.
And back home I cook up a batch of sausage butties, made with the fancy bangers bought in Preston on Saturday. Smoked pork and chipotle. Yummy to the extreme.
I watch MOTD, even though Norwich lost.
By then it was a hot day, too hot to work in the garden, too hot to sit in the garden.
So I watch football, Citeh beat Bournemouth 3-1, in what was an inevetable result, even if Bournemouth put up a good fight.
I had been keeping up to date with the cricket on Twitter, and England closed in on an unlikely win as they needed 72 to win off the last wicket, and Ben Stokes battered the poor Aussie bowling all over the park, netting the winning four just monutes before the Spurs v Newcastle games was due to begin.
Thing is, the cricket win was every bit as remarkable as the Headingley win in 81 as part of Botham's Ashes, but this time, it was only on Sky, most of the country followed it on TMS of via social media. Not good for the game or sport.
Spurs were dreadful, and were 1-0 down at half time when I began to cook dinner.
I opened a bottle of the speacial Chimay Tripel I chilled for the occasion.
Steak, sauteed potatoes, fresh steamed corn and mushrooms, and a bottle of actual Champagne.
Jools toasted me, I toasted us.
We ate and drank like Kings and Queens.
Yes, it is true. I am another year older and another year potentially wiser.
My friends on FB wanted to know what things I would do all day. The truth is I do what I do most days; what I wanted.
I am lucky that I get to do what I want, pretty much when I want. So, I don't feel the need to mark the actual day with something really special. We did not eat out either, instead I said I would cook us steaks in the afternoon/evening.
I would watch somefootball, but even I drew the line that somehow England could salvage the latest test against Australia. Headingley in 1981 was a once in a lfetime event, no?
No, apparently.
After the usual early morning coffee, we took the car to the Monument, as Jools' side was better, we didn't know if she could do much walking.
We are pretty sure she has tore a muscle in her side, or cracked a rib, and overnight the extreme pain went away, but she now has to take things easy for a few weeks. So, all was smiles and jokes as we leave the car, and in the cool morning sunshine, not a breath of wind stirred the grass.
Around the monument, the ALTs had not been mowed, and were looking really good.We walk down the gentle slope from the monument car park down to the stile that marks the boundary between St Maggies and Kingsdown. Through that and then up the gentle slope to the Leas, where as the road started on the left hand side, that's where the butterflies would be.
And right away I saw three basking male Adonis Blues, and a couple of females, all looking great in the sunshine, all recently emerged and looking so good.
I snap them.
We had came as a friend had snapped a rare plant among the ALTs on the Leas, Autumn Genitians, and I had not seen those before. Now, he said they were tiny.
They must have been, as we searched for an hour and saw not one. But did see hundreds of ALTs of course.
I go on to the point where the path overlooks the beach and on into Deal to see if I could see any sign of the Long Tailed Blue, but despite there being lots of Everlasting Pea, I saw no gliding blues. Doesn't mean they were not there, of course....
We turn for home, walking back to the stile, then up the long slope to the car park, and from there to home.And back home I cook up a batch of sausage butties, made with the fancy bangers bought in Preston on Saturday. Smoked pork and chipotle. Yummy to the extreme.
I watch MOTD, even though Norwich lost.By then it was a hot day, too hot to work in the garden, too hot to sit in the garden.
So I watch football, Citeh beat Bournemouth 3-1, in what was an inevetable result, even if Bournemouth put up a good fight.I had been keeping up to date with the cricket on Twitter, and England closed in on an unlikely win as they needed 72 to win off the last wicket, and Ben Stokes battered the poor Aussie bowling all over the park, netting the winning four just monutes before the Spurs v Newcastle games was due to begin.
Thing is, the cricket win was every bit as remarkable as the Headingley win in 81 as part of Botham's Ashes, but this time, it was only on Sky, most of the country followed it on TMS of via social media. Not good for the game or sport.
Spurs were dreadful, and were 1-0 down at half time when I began to cook dinner.
I opened a bottle of the speacial Chimay Tripel I chilled for the occasion.
Steak, sauteed potatoes, fresh steamed corn and mushrooms, and a bottle of actual Champagne.Jools toasted me, I toasted us.
We ate and drank like Kings and Queens.
Twonk Brexit
There is an episode of Red Dwarf, I think I have mentioned it before, where the plot line was that Red Dwarf was a video game, and Rimmer had been playing the "twonk" version of it.
Well, the UK is playing the twonk version of Brexit.
Or, being very, very stupid.
Yesterday, Johnson, in and interview with Robert Peston, suggested that the financial settlement could be reduced from £39 billion to £9 billion, in the event of a no deal.
This is not true.
The financial settlement is our outstanding debt for remaining dent of agreements, schemes and activities we committed to whilst a member of the EU. Like if you decide to leave a gym halfway through the year, you have to keep paying until the commitment is over. The same here.
The interview was for the domestic audience, but Europe can watch news channels, and although not surprsed by Johnson playing to the cheap seats, they will be concerned he is doing it so close to the extended Brexit date.
Lets cut to the chase, breaking an international treaty commitment and showing the world as a nation we are untrustworthy, just at the time we will have to negotiate around 70 new trade deals showing that our word is still our bond, is not a good look.
In fact its dreadful.
But does Johnson really care?? Does it matter, as the damage is being done, out reputation being trashed in order we can destroy our own economy.
But that is the reality of Brexit.
Well, the UK is playing the twonk version of Brexit.
Or, being very, very stupid.
Yesterday, Johnson, in and interview with Robert Peston, suggested that the financial settlement could be reduced from £39 billion to £9 billion, in the event of a no deal.
This is not true.
The financial settlement is our outstanding debt for remaining dent of agreements, schemes and activities we committed to whilst a member of the EU. Like if you decide to leave a gym halfway through the year, you have to keep paying until the commitment is over. The same here.
The interview was for the domestic audience, but Europe can watch news channels, and although not surprsed by Johnson playing to the cheap seats, they will be concerned he is doing it so close to the extended Brexit date.
Lets cut to the chase, breaking an international treaty commitment and showing the world as a nation we are untrustworthy, just at the time we will have to negotiate around 70 new trade deals showing that our word is still our bond, is not a good look.
In fact its dreadful.
But does Johnson really care?? Does it matter, as the damage is being done, out reputation being trashed in order we can destroy our own economy.
But that is the reality of Brexit.
Sunday, 25 August 2019
Saturday 24th August 2019
You may have noticed that on Friday I published the 668th post of the year, which means this year has produced more posts than any other year since the start of the blog in 2008.
And it is still August.
So, will there be a thousand posts this year?
We might come close.
Or not.
Depends how batshit Brexit gets, of course. But don't say you weren't warned.
It is a bank holiday weekend, but the banks are actually open. Saying that, the sun is shining from a clear blue sky, and will do for all of the weekend, with only on Monday will temperatures begin to tail off.
So, what better way to spend the day than sitting in the car driving to West Kent to snap some churches? Not as bad as it might sound, but given that I am already planning the route for the Heritage Weekend in September, where I have 33 churches lined up to visit. But not today, I had six churches, and depending on how warm it gets, might do less.
Jools was not feeling up to coming out in the car, so I go on me todd, and with the bank holiday not bringing a surge in port traffic, it was easy enough to get through town and up the A20 the other side to Folkestone and onto the motorway.
From Ashford, still a complete building site, I took the road over the marshed to Ham Street, then west towards Tenterden. And once off the main road, traffic was light, so I open the windows, turn up Huey on the radio, and just cruise along just above 40, enjoying the feeling of a fine day to be out, churchcrawling.
First stop was to be Ebony.
Yes, Ebony.
Ebony is a real place, and was once an island in the marsh that used to exist in west Kent before the storms that silted up the harbour at Winchelsea. The church used to stand on an island, but by the turn of the 19th century was in a ruinous state. So, the church was taken down, and moved to Reading Street and reassembled into a slighly different shaped church.
But nice enough.
I arrived just as the vicar was locking the door after showing a handyman out; seems like the roof is in a poor way and work needs doing.
"Can I look round and take some pictures"? I ask. The vicar smiles and says yes, though I am sure she would rather not, but being a small church, it wasn't going to take long.
So, I nip round, camera whirring away.
I say thanks and she is hustling me up the path out of the churchyard, not really wanting me to stop to take a shot of the outside. So I make do with one from the low wall on the main road.
One down.
My main target was Smallhythe.
Smallhythe is a tiny village, best known for having been home to famous 19th century singer, Ellen Terry, her house is now under the care of the National Trust.
Next to it is a fine Tudor brick built church. On our four previous visits, it was locked, but on a day in the summer when the house is open, the church should be too.
And it was.
Another smallish church and done in ten minutes.
Next call was Benenden.
I had no idea what the church or village was like, just I had never been.
So, I set the sat nav and off I went, music blaring away.
I drive into the village and find it a fabulous place, the main street lines with fine half timber houses and mansions. The church itself sits on a rise at the top of a huge village green, large enough to have a cricket pitch on it.
The church as a good half dozen cars parked outside it, boding well for it to be open.
And it was.
As I finished the half our photo-session, a warden asked me what I thought, and should the church be re-ordered?
I siad that may task is to record what is there, if the parish decides to change the fabric, it is up to them with the oversight of English Hritage. Should they replace the old oak door with a glass one?
I said other that have done that, like Wye, have created more light and is a welcoming sign. Its easy on a hot summer's day with the door open to see inside.
I did point out that some who look at my shots marvel that in some cases church doors and fittings can be several centuries older than their countries, like the US. Its they who have to live with the church, they must decide.
Seems they have a progressive new vicar who has already moved out several rows of wooden pews. Now, I like a good pew, but does create space.
Anyway, I leave the wardens to their churchyard clearances, and take to the car.
It was half eleven, mighty hot, and I was churched out.
And with Norwich on TV at half twelve, I decide to get home to watch it, if I could, and anyway, visiting the other three churches could be done in a couple of weeks when we could tie that in with a visit to Sissinghurst Castle.
Yes, that sounded a good idea.
I drive back to Ashford, through the urban sprawl of the new town, and onto the motorway and then back to Dover.
I am back at just gone half twelve, but checking on the TV, the game is not on my package, so have to listen to it on the radio.
And City were already 1-0 down.
But soon level.
And lose another goal.
And Pukki scores again.
In the second half, Chelsea dominate and score a third. Oh well.
That we are a little disappointed not to have got at least a point, shows how far the club have come in two years.
With it so hot outside, it was easy to sit inside and listen to the three o'clock kick-offs, and with no pressure as we had already played.
At six, we go to Whitfield for our usual night of cards, though we were going to have a Chinese meal delivered this time, and I took a huge bottle of tripel with me to wash it all down with.
The food cam just after seven, all in a huge bag, more than enough four us to have two platefulls and have much for leftovers later in the week.
And the beer was smooth, with a capital smooth.
And Jools and I won heavy too. So, we ended up the evening in good spirits with full belies, even if Jools' pain in her side flared up, to the point she was almost in tears.
Back home she could hardly bend to get into bed, so went to sleep having taken painkillers.
In the morning we might have to go to the hospital......
And it is still August.
So, will there be a thousand posts this year?
We might come close.
Or not.
Depends how batshit Brexit gets, of course. But don't say you weren't warned.
It is a bank holiday weekend, but the banks are actually open. Saying that, the sun is shining from a clear blue sky, and will do for all of the weekend, with only on Monday will temperatures begin to tail off.
So, what better way to spend the day than sitting in the car driving to West Kent to snap some churches? Not as bad as it might sound, but given that I am already planning the route for the Heritage Weekend in September, where I have 33 churches lined up to visit. But not today, I had six churches, and depending on how warm it gets, might do less.
Jools was not feeling up to coming out in the car, so I go on me todd, and with the bank holiday not bringing a surge in port traffic, it was easy enough to get through town and up the A20 the other side to Folkestone and onto the motorway.From Ashford, still a complete building site, I took the road over the marshed to Ham Street, then west towards Tenterden. And once off the main road, traffic was light, so I open the windows, turn up Huey on the radio, and just cruise along just above 40, enjoying the feeling of a fine day to be out, churchcrawling.
First stop was to be Ebony.
Yes, Ebony.
Ebony is a real place, and was once an island in the marsh that used to exist in west Kent before the storms that silted up the harbour at Winchelsea. The church used to stand on an island, but by the turn of the 19th century was in a ruinous state. So, the church was taken down, and moved to Reading Street and reassembled into a slighly different shaped church.
But nice enough.
I arrived just as the vicar was locking the door after showing a handyman out; seems like the roof is in a poor way and work needs doing.
"Can I look round and take some pictures"? I ask. The vicar smiles and says yes, though I am sure she would rather not, but being a small church, it wasn't going to take long.
So, I nip round, camera whirring away.
I say thanks and she is hustling me up the path out of the churchyard, not really wanting me to stop to take a shot of the outside. So I make do with one from the low wall on the main road.
One down.My main target was Smallhythe.
Smallhythe is a tiny village, best known for having been home to famous 19th century singer, Ellen Terry, her house is now under the care of the National Trust.
Next to it is a fine Tudor brick built church. On our four previous visits, it was locked, but on a day in the summer when the house is open, the church should be too.
And it was.
Another smallish church and done in ten minutes.
Next call was Benenden.
I had no idea what the church or village was like, just I had never been.
So, I set the sat nav and off I went, music blaring away.I drive into the village and find it a fabulous place, the main street lines with fine half timber houses and mansions. The church itself sits on a rise at the top of a huge village green, large enough to have a cricket pitch on it.
The church as a good half dozen cars parked outside it, boding well for it to be open.
And it was.
As I finished the half our photo-session, a warden asked me what I thought, and should the church be re-ordered?
I siad that may task is to record what is there, if the parish decides to change the fabric, it is up to them with the oversight of English Hritage. Should they replace the old oak door with a glass one?
I said other that have done that, like Wye, have created more light and is a welcoming sign. Its easy on a hot summer's day with the door open to see inside.
I did point out that some who look at my shots marvel that in some cases church doors and fittings can be several centuries older than their countries, like the US. Its they who have to live with the church, they must decide.
Seems they have a progressive new vicar who has already moved out several rows of wooden pews. Now, I like a good pew, but does create space.Anyway, I leave the wardens to their churchyard clearances, and take to the car.
It was half eleven, mighty hot, and I was churched out.
And with Norwich on TV at half twelve, I decide to get home to watch it, if I could, and anyway, visiting the other three churches could be done in a couple of weeks when we could tie that in with a visit to Sissinghurst Castle.
Yes, that sounded a good idea.
I drive back to Ashford, through the urban sprawl of the new town, and onto the motorway and then back to Dover.
I am back at just gone half twelve, but checking on the TV, the game is not on my package, so have to listen to it on the radio.
And City were already 1-0 down.
But soon level.
And lose another goal.
And Pukki scores again.
In the second half, Chelsea dominate and score a third. Oh well.
That we are a little disappointed not to have got at least a point, shows how far the club have come in two years.
With it so hot outside, it was easy to sit inside and listen to the three o'clock kick-offs, and with no pressure as we had already played.
At six, we go to Whitfield for our usual night of cards, though we were going to have a Chinese meal delivered this time, and I took a huge bottle of tripel with me to wash it all down with.
The food cam just after seven, all in a huge bag, more than enough four us to have two platefulls and have much for leftovers later in the week.And the beer was smooth, with a capital smooth.
And Jools and I won heavy too. So, we ended up the evening in good spirits with full belies, even if Jools' pain in her side flared up, to the point she was almost in tears.Back home she could hardly bend to get into bed, so went to sleep having taken painkillers.
In the morning we might have to go to the hospital......
My bullshit detector has gone off the scale.
Some brief headlines in the world of weekend Brexit.
Brexiteers now openly stating that the UK becoming the 51 State of the US is somehow compatible with claiming that being in the is a vassal state, whereas being in the US wouldn't!
Johnson calls on Trump to help UK firms. Hello, earth calling Johnson. Protectionism???
THe Express claims a US-UK trade deal "is done", but I am willing to be a large sum of money that the Express neither knows or cares what a real FTA is. An agreement on something icluding parts of trade might be being discssed, doesn't mean this is good news for the UK, its people or businesses.
But, hey, headlines.
The Sunday Mail claims that the UK will try to withhold £30 billion of the financial settlement. This will not be legal or a good idea, but hey, headlines.
The Observer claims that Johnson is looking into the legality of suspending Parliament for five weeks through October to allow the A50 clock to tick down.
This will also not end well.
The batshit stuff gets crazier as the clock ticks down.
We start the Brexit emergency foodstore again next week.
Brexiteers now openly stating that the UK becoming the 51 State of the US is somehow compatible with claiming that being in the is a vassal state, whereas being in the US wouldn't!
Johnson calls on Trump to help UK firms. Hello, earth calling Johnson. Protectionism???
THe Express claims a US-UK trade deal "is done", but I am willing to be a large sum of money that the Express neither knows or cares what a real FTA is. An agreement on something icluding parts of trade might be being discssed, doesn't mean this is good news for the UK, its people or businesses.
But, hey, headlines.
The Sunday Mail claims that the UK will try to withhold £30 billion of the financial settlement. This will not be legal or a good idea, but hey, headlines.
The Observer claims that Johnson is looking into the legality of suspending Parliament for five weeks through October to allow the A50 clock to tick down.
This will also not end well.
The batshit stuff gets crazier as the clock ticks down.
We start the Brexit emergency foodstore again next week.
Saturday, 24 August 2019
Friday 23rd August 2019
The end of the week, and the start of a three day weekend.
Yay.
And my last, unofficial, day as a Project Quality Manager.
I say unofficial, as the official date is September 1st, but next week I am going on an audit in Scotland, so I will be off the project at least for two weeks, as the week after I will be going to sunny Denmark for some induction training.
So, the last day for a while where I will be working from home, relaxing with the cats and butterflies.
These past four weeks have been a joy, my batteries are recharged, and the routine has meant I have been getting on with exercise and looking at what I eat.
All good stuff.
Anyway, it was anther endless sunny day, one to look at from the shade of the house with a cold beer in your hand.
Maybe later.
But first, have a coffee, and then, gird my loins for a session on the cross trainer, my third such session this week. I am feeling better for it.
I tell myself.
So, having reached the end of the playlist on the i pod, I just start it again.
20 minutes later, and with Scully watching on I am done.
Literally.
So, go down to sit on the patio to cool down enough to have a shower.
And then onto work.
I deal with the e mails, long my working hours, call a couple of people.
And I am all caught up again.
At midday, I walk to the post office in the village to drop off a couple of letters, one requesting access to a church, and the other a bundle of Norwich programs to a collector.
The rest of the programs will be sent to a charity in Norwich next week, three huge boxes full.
I never read them, so why keep them?
Why indeed.
The big field, on the other side of Station Road, was being harvested of wheat. The chaff fills the air and is carpeting the road and pavement down the street.
I grab a few shots before walking down the hill, and then stride up the hill, not breaking stride walking up the steep hill into the village. First time I have done that for years.
After buying stamps for the letters, I call in the shop for an ice cream, then amble back down the hill towards home.
After lunch I wrap up for the week, pack the work laptop away, and begin to do some gardening.
I am still doing this when Jools comes home, in tears.
She is in pain from her side, so after she calmed down I drive us into town to Buckland Hospital where there is a walk in centre.
We wait for an hour. Of course, your mind runs in circles as to what the problem might be, but turns out nothing to be concerned, might be a little dehydrated.
Go home, drink and take pain killers.
We go home to have pints of iced squash sitting in the garden before I prepare chorizo hash for dinner.
Jools is pooped, so she goes to bed very early, and I watch the Friday game, Aston Villa v Everton, which Villa win 2-0, rather easily. Football, eh?
Yay.
And my last, unofficial, day as a Project Quality Manager.
I say unofficial, as the official date is September 1st, but next week I am going on an audit in Scotland, so I will be off the project at least for two weeks, as the week after I will be going to sunny Denmark for some induction training.
So, the last day for a while where I will be working from home, relaxing with the cats and butterflies.
These past four weeks have been a joy, my batteries are recharged, and the routine has meant I have been getting on with exercise and looking at what I eat.
All good stuff.
Anyway, it was anther endless sunny day, one to look at from the shade of the house with a cold beer in your hand.
Maybe later.
But first, have a coffee, and then, gird my loins for a session on the cross trainer, my third such session this week. I am feeling better for it.
I tell myself.
So, having reached the end of the playlist on the i pod, I just start it again.
20 minutes later, and with Scully watching on I am done.Literally.
So, go down to sit on the patio to cool down enough to have a shower.
And then onto work.
I deal with the e mails, long my working hours, call a couple of people.
And I am all caught up again.At midday, I walk to the post office in the village to drop off a couple of letters, one requesting access to a church, and the other a bundle of Norwich programs to a collector.
The rest of the programs will be sent to a charity in Norwich next week, three huge boxes full.
I never read them, so why keep them?
Why indeed.The big field, on the other side of Station Road, was being harvested of wheat. The chaff fills the air and is carpeting the road and pavement down the street.
I grab a few shots before walking down the hill, and then stride up the hill, not breaking stride walking up the steep hill into the village. First time I have done that for years.
After buying stamps for the letters, I call in the shop for an ice cream, then amble back down the hill towards home.
After lunch I wrap up for the week, pack the work laptop away, and begin to do some gardening.
I am still doing this when Jools comes home, in tears.She is in pain from her side, so after she calmed down I drive us into town to Buckland Hospital where there is a walk in centre.
We wait for an hour. Of course, your mind runs in circles as to what the problem might be, but turns out nothing to be concerned, might be a little dehydrated.
Go home, drink and take pain killers.We go home to have pints of iced squash sitting in the garden before I prepare chorizo hash for dinner.
Jools is pooped, so she goes to bed very early, and I watch the Friday game, Aston Villa v Everton, which Villa win 2-0, rather easily. Football, eh?
What have we learned this week?
Well, that at a very basic level, nothing has changed.
Changing the Prime Minister hasn't changed anything, as predicted, the same three choices remain.
And to avoid the backstop it is up to the UK to come up with a solution.
Any solution would take at least a decade to develop.
Most of the press are just repeating the Government line without questioning, meaning that the Government are not being held to account.
This weekend it is the G7 meeting, and with Trump having declared himself to be a reincarnation of King David and the Second Coming. That this wasn't hos craziest outburst this week says all you need to know about Trump.
Trump is stepping up a trade war with China, which due to the actual nature of tariffs, the US Government has to help out American importers to cope with the Trump imposed tariffs. Trump last night, decreed that all US companies must source from anywhere but China. Whether this is actually legal, or sane are other matters.
The point is, that the Brexiteers want the UK to put all of our trading eggs in a Trump basket.
Changing the Prime Minister hasn't changed anything, as predicted, the same three choices remain.
And to avoid the backstop it is up to the UK to come up with a solution.
Any solution would take at least a decade to develop.
Most of the press are just repeating the Government line without questioning, meaning that the Government are not being held to account.
This weekend it is the G7 meeting, and with Trump having declared himself to be a reincarnation of King David and the Second Coming. That this wasn't hos craziest outburst this week says all you need to know about Trump.
Trump is stepping up a trade war with China, which due to the actual nature of tariffs, the US Government has to help out American importers to cope with the Trump imposed tariffs. Trump last night, decreed that all US companies must source from anywhere but China. Whether this is actually legal, or sane are other matters.
The point is, that the Brexiteers want the UK to put all of our trading eggs in a Trump basket.
Friday, 23 August 2019
Thursday 22nd August 2019
Getting near the weekend.
And those of us in Blighty, that means a three day weekend.
Which is nice.
Very nice.
And at the end of the week, I kinda switch jobs.
Which is good.
*I break off this at this point to creat a life event on FB*
And yet, there is time to do some other stuff.
I work out if Jools drops me off on the way to work, I will just have enough time to walk from the Dover Patrol, down the cliffs to Kingsdown, then over the fields to the village, calling in at the surgery for some drugs, before returning home in time to start work.
This did not take into account the time I would spend ambling.
Of course.
We woke up at half five. It is that pre-dawn calm before the sun rises and the birds wake up.
I lay in bed and listen as Scully eats a mouse, crunching through its bones.
Lovely.
I get up, feed the cats and make coffee.
Jools gets up too, has a shower and gets dressed.
OK? Let's go.
Jools takes me to the Monument, dropping me off among the caravans and mobile homes parked there.
Surrounding the monument, the first spikes of the Autumn lady's Tresses are beginning to show. None are in bloom though.
From there, I walk to the cliff edge, look down at the rocks far down below.
It's good to be alive.
It is a good mile walk down the gently sloping path towards Kngsdown.
I looked for Autumn Gentitians, but little did I know they only open in bright sunshine, and the sun had barely risen.
Over the border into Kingsdown, I see the first butterflies, the azure blue of basking male Adonis. A sight to take your breath away, there is no colour close to it in UK nature.
Further on, I look for the Long Tailed Blues, but see none. A few yards further on, I begin to see the spikes of orchids. Autumn Lady's Tresses.
There is a house on the Leas that has a sizeable proportion of the UK population. I tell people 25%, which sounds outrageous. But when you see thousands and thousands of spikes just coming into flower, you believe it.
I take shots of those that were growing freely on the public area outside the garden, though the owner does mow this too.
But hundreds of spikes just growing like weeds.
Not many in flower, but so close.
I take shots, then turn for home.
Back along the crumbing cliff path, back to St Maggies, then via the path over the fields, passing under huge slow bushes, almost ready for harvest.
I am surveying for gin making, clearly.
I call in at the surgery for some pills, then back down the Dip and up the other side, arriving home just before nine.
Just in time for a meeting.
And back into the swing of a normal working day.
Inbetween speaking, I have breakfast and make coffee.
The world is fine.
Lunch is the last bagel and cream cheese, eaten about one.
Where has the day gone?
Outside the day urns into a long and hot afternoon. I work away, but having walked nearly two hours, I feel I have done my phys for the day.
Jools is off the fasting, so I prepare dinner for us, nachos and salsa, and after finding a recipe on line, I make salsa.
One drop of chilli sauce? No, drop, drop, drop.
That has a kick.
And before Jools comes home, I put the chips in the oven, smothered in grated cheese.
Jools calls in to her sister's, Cath, to drop her birthday card off and for a chat.
Meanwhile, the house is filled with the smell of finished dinner.
I open a beer.
Jools comes home, and I divide up the cheese covered chips. The salsa is hot and spicy, which is splendid.
We eat our fill, and have enough salsa for another meal and maybe my lunch the next day?
Hmmmmmm.
The day fades into night, we have the radio on, and we get tired.
Where does all the energy go?
We go to bed to find out.....
And those of us in Blighty, that means a three day weekend.
Which is nice.
Very nice.
And at the end of the week, I kinda switch jobs.
Which is good.
*I break off this at this point to creat a life event on FB*
And yet, there is time to do some other stuff.
I work out if Jools drops me off on the way to work, I will just have enough time to walk from the Dover Patrol, down the cliffs to Kingsdown, then over the fields to the village, calling in at the surgery for some drugs, before returning home in time to start work.
This did not take into account the time I would spend ambling.
Of course.We woke up at half five. It is that pre-dawn calm before the sun rises and the birds wake up.
I lay in bed and listen as Scully eats a mouse, crunching through its bones.Lovely.
I get up, feed the cats and make coffee.
Jools gets up too, has a shower and gets dressed.
OK? Let's go.
Jools takes me to the Monument, dropping me off among the caravans and mobile homes parked there.
Surrounding the monument, the first spikes of the Autumn lady's Tresses are beginning to show. None are in bloom though.
From there, I walk to the cliff edge, look down at the rocks far down below.
It's good to be alive.
It is a good mile walk down the gently sloping path towards Kngsdown.I looked for Autumn Gentitians, but little did I know they only open in bright sunshine, and the sun had barely risen.
Over the border into Kingsdown, I see the first butterflies, the azure blue of basking male Adonis. A sight to take your breath away, there is no colour close to it in UK nature.
Further on, I look for the Long Tailed Blues, but see none. A few yards further on, I begin to see the spikes of orchids. Autumn Lady's Tresses.There is a house on the Leas that has a sizeable proportion of the UK population. I tell people 25%, which sounds outrageous. But when you see thousands and thousands of spikes just coming into flower, you believe it.
I take shots of those that were growing freely on the public area outside the garden, though the owner does mow this too.
But hundreds of spikes just growing like weeds.Not many in flower, but so close.
I take shots, then turn for home.
Back along the crumbing cliff path, back to St Maggies, then via the path over the fields, passing under huge slow bushes, almost ready for harvest.
I am surveying for gin making, clearly.I call in at the surgery for some pills, then back down the Dip and up the other side, arriving home just before nine.
Just in time for a meeting.And back into the swing of a normal working day.
Inbetween speaking, I have breakfast and make coffee.The world is fine.
Lunch is the last bagel and cream cheese, eaten about one.Where has the day gone?
Outside the day urns into a long and hot afternoon. I work away, but having walked nearly two hours, I feel I have done my phys for the day.
Jools is off the fasting, so I prepare dinner for us, nachos and salsa, and after finding a recipe on line, I make salsa.One drop of chilli sauce? No, drop, drop, drop.
That has a kick.
And before Jools comes home, I put the chips in the oven, smothered in grated cheese.
Jools calls in to her sister's, Cath, to drop her birthday card off and for a chat.
Meanwhile, the house is filled with the smell of finished dinner.
I open a beer.
Jools comes home, and I divide up the cheese covered chips. The salsa is hot and spicy, which is splendid.
We eat our fill, and have enough salsa for another meal and maybe my lunch the next day?
Hmmmmmm.
The day fades into night, we have the radio on, and we get tired.
Where does all the energy go?
We go to bed to find out.....
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