Tuesday 6th August 2019

Tuesday.

And my new job and the world of audits and auditing are calling. I have meetings now based on what is coming in the next few weeks and months, so my days working on construction projects is coming to an end.

Which is what I wanted, but at the same time; sad. I have enjoyed these six years. There was a steep learning curve, but after a while I stopped worrying and began to enjoy it. Dealing with problems and finding solutions, travelling and so on.

Until everything went wrong earlier this year, and the pressure began to tell.

I applied for a new job before "that" day, all I had to do was convince HR that I really wanted it.

I did.

And it saved my sanity.

Probably.

Anyway, another day at home, though this time with a wooly head after going to bed with a full stomach and then Scully coming in with a "present. A (cat) tale in 4 parts:

1. Scully coming up the stairs in the wee small hours, meowing (at the top of her voice) in her "I've caught something for you" voice.

2. She goes under the bed, still meowing.

3. She eats the mouse. After the poor thing squeaked its last as Scully probably bit its head off, then crunched bones could be heard as she eat the whole thing.

4. Scully then coughs, and a steam of kitty vomit and half eaten mouse comes out.

Lovely.

I clear it up, and Scully goes downstairs, secure in the knowledge that her job for the night is done.

So, Jools is up and making coffee in the half darkness. I get up, drink the coffee. Say goodbye to her as she leaves, and I think about skipping the crosstrainer.

I don't, at seven, I go up and do a session, and so am all a glow, sitting in the back garden by half past, ready for the day ahead.

And so to work.

And work.

And work.

And breakfast.

And a shower.

Get dressed.

Work some more.

Have lunch.

Work some more.

Until four, when most of Denmark has finished, so I do.

I get a call from Jools saying she would be home early, as she had to drop a colleague off in Deal. Which is just as well as I had yet another Violet Helleborine walk, for those I somehow managed to leave behind on Sunday.

So, I cook chicken marinated in curry sauce (home made), stir fry and noodles. Jelltex fusion cooking.

I wolfed that down, and I am out the door for before six, and on my way to Kingston to meet the guys at The Black Robin.

Good news was that I arrive in time to have a swift pint of Hopdeamon whilst sitting in the beer garden reading about orchids

My for orchidists-in-training were waiting by their cars. I introduce myself:

I am not a Bishop, and my name is not Brian either.

That out of the way, we drive in convoy to the quiet spot, from where we walk up the gently sloping path beside the wood, up the down, then up the last steep bit.

One lady had said to another, wouldn't it be funny if these are near to your house. Turns out, we were less than a mile from it, on a path along which she had walked dozens of times walking her dogs. The flowering spikes were still there, just unseen.

They were all thrilled, though the light was failing and snapping was tricky, as the strong breeze even in the depth of the wood, the air still moved.

Once they got their eye in, they were able to spot yet more spikes nearby, making them even happier.

But after seeing all 32 of the spikes, we turned back to the cars, then drove back to the pub, where they offered to buy me drinks. And I am very polite, so could not refuse. So, we sat in the bar, chatting about orchids and street crime, whilst eating pitted olives.

As you do.

Outside, dusk fell and darkness crept over the village.

At half nine, we said our goodbyes, and i drove back home, arriving back at quarter to ten, and upon walking into the house a deep weariness came over me.

Time for bed.