Monday 30th September 2019

A week ago I travelled to the Isle of Wight for the audit.

That evening, I called Mum to swap news, as I had not called her the week before to say thanks for the anniversary card.

This Tuesday I am in the old family home, and in three hours, the local auction house will come and strip just about everything out of the place, leaving just a few choice items for me to take. It will be an empty shell.

The speed of this is head-spinning to be honest, but yesterday went so much better than I had hoped.

I went to the hospital to pick up the death certificate, then went into town to arrange an appointment at the solicitors.

Then to her two banks to freeze her accounts, Nat West in particular were of great help and advice.

Then to the funeral directors to give them the form allowing them to collect Mum's body, and to set in motion her final resting place.

It was a glorious morning in east Suffolk, clear blue skies and warm enough for just t shirts. After breakfast of fruit, I messed around online before driving to the hospital.

It was just a formality, all was prepared, so we talked and I thanked the lady and the hospital staff for what they had done not just last week, but over the years. On the form, a long list of contributing factors to her death.

In the end, amazing she lasted as long as she did to be honest.

I was in and out so quick I didn't have to pay for parking, that great tax on the sick and their families.

And drove back down the A12 into Lowestoft, parking behind Rishton House, where back in the day you would have to cruise round for half an hour to find a space, now there was a good 50 empty, as like everywhere, the High Street is dying.

I walked along Gordon Road to the solicitors, and thanks to my mail they had tracked down Mum's will, and once I have the copy of the register of death, which I will pick up on Tuesday, then the real work will begin. They did provide me with a photocopy of the will, which had not changed since the early part of last decade.

From there it was a short walk to Barclays, who would not help me without the register of death certificate. But Nat West were very happy to help. We froze her accounts, filled in details, and they confirmed the bank would agree to cover the cost of the funeral.

A 5 minute walk back up the town to the funeral directors, sort that out. And that's the admin done, now the sad task of going to see some of Mum's friends.

Stuart has been the family's barber since I was a toddler, and he is still working in his shop in School Road.

There is little surprise to be honest, but sadness of course.

Then to see my Godparents, Alan and Heather; they are both 88 years old, and in poor health, bu they keep going.

So I tell them the news, they are shocked, mainly because Mum was so much younger than them.

And finally back home for lunch and the sorting out of stuff.

I start with bagging up of Mum's clothes. Mostly brand new with the tags still on, must have spent thousands on the four wardrobes full of stuff I bagged; 12 bin liners full.

I have an diea; the see if someone will come to value Mum's stuff, I arrange for the British Heart Foundation to come, then call the local auctioneers, they were very keen. We'll be round soon they said.

And they were.

They said they would clear the house on Tuesday, sell and/or auction what they could, and there should be no cost.

Seemed the best thing to do, so I agreed.

And that was the day really.

I did more clearing, but I don't seem to be making much of a dent in things, and then my old friend, Dougie came round and we talked about what has happened, I poured him a Delirium, then joined him, as, well, beer.

His Mother is unable to walk now, but as her mouth is fine, runs him ragged as he tries to maintain his house, her old house and the one she now lives in near Dougie.

He leaves and I warm up some pasta sauce, cook some pasta and dine well as Arse play Utd on the wireless.

And come ten, I am just about done, so head to bed, with another full day in the morning.....

Welcome to the month of chaos

It is the 1st of October, and in 31 days, 17 and a half hours, the UK will leave the EU by automatic operation of international law.

No deal is the default.

To avoid no deal, the UK and EU agree a WA (they already have) or,

A50 is revoked.

There is the possibility of a further extension, but the three outcomes above are the only ones available.

An extension would probably be acceptable for an election or referendum, but no for any more May-style can-kicking.

Unless, there was a change in Government.

The PM could be sacked by the Queen.

Or he could lose a VoNC and a Government of National Unity (GNU) could take his place, if that GNU could command the confidence of The House.

The only change to the WA is the backstop being returned to a being NI only, rather than applicable to the whole UK.

Johnson and his brave band of Brexiteers are trying hard to find a way out, to come up with alternate alternative arrangements to fix the NI border. They will fail. Fail because the UK and EU looked into this during the WA negotiations, and because Johnson and Co are fucking useless, they barely understand now what the EU is, let alone a CU or SM and rules governing both.

Its like watching goldfish trying to solve simultaneous equations.

Entertaining for a while, but you end up wanting grown ups to take charge. The Brexiteers sacked all the grown ups

Johnson will today ask the EU to ignore any request from Parliament to extend A50. They won't. Of course,

The big plan to have no hard border is, to have TWO hard borders, one either side of the real border, and electronic tracking of freight and cars. Because Republicans would love the UK Government to track their cars electronically, they would love it.

Love it.

The game is up for Johnson, and like a spurned lover who says he'll change, would love to go shopping every Saturday instead of boozing down the pub, at the Tory Conference, they are promising spending on everything: hospitals, imaginary hospitals, roads, more roads, raise the minimum wage and so on. At the same time as tax receipts would be falling, unemployment would be rising.

We can change, precious, yes we can. Trusts us with Brexits, trusts us with the economie, precious.

Sunday 29th September 2019

Sunday.

And the day when I face up to the reality of what has happened. Not that I am in emotional denial, just the sheer amount of work needed to be done.

We get up at half six, have a coffee, and then Jools goes swimming, I watch the football, then pack, so when Jools comes back, I am ready to leave. Not that I want to go, to be honest, but this shit needs to be done.

I load the car, kiss Jools goodbye, then pull out of the drive, it was just about nine in the morning.

I go up the A20, then up the motorway, through the roadworks that seem to go on forever between Ashford and Maidstone, then up the north downs to join the M25a nd then to the Dartford Tunnel.

I know this road well, heck, you know this road well. But it is a glorious morning, bright sunshine and light traffic.

Pleasant for a change.

Into Essex, and for a change I go up the A12, right under the flight path when I go to Denmark. And I should have been flying on Monday, not now.

Anyway, I make good time, up past Chelmsford, Colchester, Ipswich and across the Orwell into the 1950s, where the roads are single carriageway, and never straight.

But the drive is pleasant, and I enjoy the changing colours of the trees, especially the Horse Chestnuts which seem to think autumn is here already, and the leaves and conkers already falling.

North of Ipswich, the road is a nightmare, though this time I made good time, pressing on through the familiar landmarks of Darsham, Saxmundham and Blythburgh, where it was high tide and the banks of reeds sway whilst paddling in the muddy waters.

And so to Lowestoft, through Oulton Broad, past the old Co-op and to Mum's house.

The old family house.

All is quiet.

I get out and open the door, the stale air, mixed with the wonderful scent of stale fags and urine.

Lovely.

I walk through the house, not really knowing where to start. But I do start, sorting through the cupboards for in date food, bagging that up to drop off for the foodbank.

Mum's chair sits in the corner, surrounded by papers and ash and dog ends as a result of the desperate attempts to save her life.

Jools had unplugged everything as we did not know when anyone would come up, so for an hour I tried to get stuff to work, mainly the frdge/freezer that was beginning to smell, though the frozen stuff was still frozen.

That done, I try to get the TV working so I could listen to Leicester drill Newcastle a new bum.

I do some shopping, come back and make a ragu for that night's dinner, and enough for maybe three nights.

I start to tidy things, or sort stuff into piles.

It seems an impossible task, but all big jobs have to have a start.

I eat my pasta and wash it down with a glass of red wine.

That seems better, but the size of the job seems huge.

Bigger than huge in fact.

I call Jools and we talk about what needs to be done We agree to get admin tomorrow, and see how I get on.

I have more wine.

That seems better.

I go to bed at eleven, thinking of all the things I need to do, and hope that its not as bad as it seems.

Of Sovereign Powers

News emerged today, that the Queen has enquired how she can, or cold, sack the Prime Minister.

The UK constitution is a complex thing, but it turns out, and those who read here will know, that the role of PM is a gift of the Monarch, if it is believed the leader of the majority party in the Commons has the confidence of the House.

I think it is fair to say, Johnson does not have such confidence

No matter what you think of Johnson, and what he has done since being appointed, the Queen refusing to appoint his as PM would have been extraordinary. And yet, allowing Johnson to be appointed, then Parliament going on a five and a half week recess without that confidence being tested was probably a mistake.

Even allowing for that, Johnson has lost all sever Commons votes. A new record beating the previous holder, a Alexander Boris de Piffel Johnson who lost six in a row.

Seems that unelected unaccountable powers that the Monarch might have and use to sack Johnson is somehow a problem, but wielded by Johnson, they would be OK. Apparently.

At their conference, the Tories are outlining a massive spending spree, which begs the question as to where is the money coming from, and why not before the 1500 or so poor souls who died thanks to austerity over the past nine and a half years?

That magic money tree is being harvested pretty darn hard.

Saturday 28th September 2019

The weekend.

I think I was living in denial about Mum. Not that she was dead, but the sheer amount of work that was going to be done to clear the house. Which I why I lollygagged around the house most of Saturday.

I mean, we could have got out and done things, but it seemed sensible to relax, seeing that I am going to be travelling for most of the next five weeks.

As you do.

We were up at half six, meaning me had just four hours sleep, and so we felt like shit.

I made bacon butties for breakfast, and that wakes us up.

Outside the sun is shining, the wind is building, but it seemed the ideal day to finish off the lawn.

First up was to scarify the lawn. I saw lawn. Meadow? Savannah?

I do ten minutes and the contrast from the cool darkness in the house and bright sunshine outside, which triggers an instant migraine. So, back in the house to lay down in the dark, while the flashing lights fade.

Half an hour later, all better so we are back outside, Jools helps wth thw scarifying, and I then fire up the mower and get another three boxes of cuttings.

I say cuttings, mostly dust.

Anyway, that done, it was time for lunch. And for lunch we had dinner. Steak and ale pie, potatoes and veg. And gravy. And pink fizz.

Which is why went to bed in the afternoon, and I lay on the sofa listening to footy, trying to stay awake.

I slept for 15 minutes or so, but heard the games, though the details washed over me.

And Norwich lost. 2-0 and Palace. And the injury list gets ever longer. Always next week, when we host Villa.

So, at six we were back in Whitfield playing cards, eating pizza. Not sure when we will do that again, so we had better make the most of it.

Halfway through we much our way through a huge pizza.

Jen is lending Jools her car so we don't have to rent a car for me to go to Mum's for the week. So I drive back in our, and Jools drives Jen's Sharon bus.

All change in the morning.....

The empty full house

I have just written a post, but it has vanished. So lets start again....

I am back in the family home. I am alone. This is because I am the last of the family.

The TV is relaying the commentary of the Leicester game. I have just finished dinner; I made a ragu, and it came out well.

There is little evidence of the drama that played out here on Wednesday, been tidied up I guess.

The house is clean. Kinda.

Every shelf has some kind of kitsch stuff, but not in a good way. The only thing I want is the stein I bought Dad for what turned out to be his last Christmas.

All is dusty, and beyond that there is the smell of stale wee.

All the carpets need ripping up. Elsewhere, the soft furnishings are tainted brown by nicotine. That smells too.

There was bisuits, Pringles, shortbread, humbugs piled up on the tables, the sideboard and everywhere. All will probably end up in the skip en route to the landfill.

Tomorrow, I go to the hospital to get the medical form so that on Tuesday I can go to the register office to register her death. That means many other things can now happen.

But for now, I call people, tell them the news, and remark on their lack of surprise. Her friends and neighbours liked her, but saw these last two years as a waste.

Which there were.

I fear for the country

Before we went to bed last night, I looked at Twitter, and the early editions of tomorrow's front pages were being shown.

The Mail on Sunday, usually a moderate paper as it has a different editor to the weekday version, leads to day with "no 10 probes remain MPs "foreign collusion". Apparently, there is a 13 page "democracy in crisis" special looking at links between some MPs and "France". Here's a hint, what about Mail owner, Lord Rothermere, who lives in France and pays no UK tax using a arcane tax loophole?

Or the Express "Boris would win election in jail". Where the right have gone from trying to stop prisoners having the vote to allowing on to be voted for in an election.

The Telegraph has a story that "Thatcher said Britain (not UK, note) would be better off outside EU. Yes, that is why she was the prime mover in setting up the Single Market, to allow not just UK companies, but all European companies trade in all EU countries.

Elsewhere, anonymous sources claim there would be riots if the UK failed to leave the EU on the 31st October, so setting up the possibility of enacting emergency legislation thus giving the Government massive powers.

This an talk of collusion and foreign powers make it sound like we are at war. The UK is currently in the EU, so how can the EU be a foreign power? And with the talk of riots, there is a massive increased threat to those who try to uphold our democratic institutions, in case of violent attack. And Johnson, Cummings hide behind unmaed sources and try to stoke fear and hate.

As ever, it is hard, if not impossible to see how the country could ever be put back together again.

I lay in bed pondering this for several hours. Johnson and Cummings will stop at nothing. We are all just disposable commodities. We don't matter.

One final thing

Yesterday, the EU published a letter from Barclay, the Brexit Minister, to Mr Barnier, staing that the UK would not be ready for no deal and so requested that a number of side deals be done to mitigate.

This was rejected, Barnier stating that the only way to mitigate for the UK would be the ratify the WA already agreed.

The reason this gets its own post, other than with the clusterfucks on several fronts going on, this is a direct contradiction to what the PM and Ministers are saying in public or in Parliament.

Both cannot be true, and we already know that Gove lied about the auto industry this week.

When the media, including the BBC, just repeat the Government's lines, without question, and without doing any basic investigative journalism to properly inform the public, what hope is there?

I see no hope. Because without honesty, honesty from the Government and from the media, divisions will grow wider and wider, and both sides shout louder, and any hope of bringing the country or Parliament together reduces with each passing hour.

Friday 27th September 2019

I am not sure if reality has hit home yet. Mum is gone.

I know she is dead, and all that, but there have been no tears. What there has been is sympathy from friends and colleagues on FB.

Which is overwhelming, and almost brought me to tears on a number of occasions.

It turns out we have no phone numbers for Mum's friends, so until I go up to Suffolk on Sunday, I can tell no one. Jools did tell one of mUm's neighbours, so word will be getting out.

It is hard to know what to say to be honest. We had been talking of this day for years, and now it has come. Well.

Jools said Mum's house is a mess, not from what happened on Wednesday, but in general, just untidy and smelly. I think I will have a shock tomorrow. We shall see.

We did not get to sleep until nearly two the night before, and then Mulder brought a very squeaky mouse for us to chase round the house soon after. So sleep was in short supply. We wake at half six, but felt like we needed double that.

Jools went to work, and I stayed at home, trying to process what had happened, and not doing too good a job. I have breakfast, listen to the radio, all very listless.

I do a lot of investigating online, seeing what needs to be done. I make an appointment at the hospital for Monday, then at the registry office for Tuesday.

And then what to do with all the stuff from the house. Not the ornaments and such, but three beds, two sofas, dining room table, larder fridge, TV, hifi? Charities or freecycle I think.

I go shopping, and by then it is time to drop the car off at the port, so that Jools could collect me on the way home from work. She left early, as she was pooped.

I know how she felt.

Later in the afternoon, the doorbells goes, and there is a delivery of flowers. My colleagues sent a fine bunch of flowers for me. I was overwhelmed, so unexpected. I was overcome.

We have chorizo hash for dinner, and i open the bottle of my friend's homebrew to go with it. 11.5% meant it was serious stuff.

We are so shattered, we listen to the radio, but Jools gives in just after seven, and me at eight.

Goodnight.

TW3

It is easy in the fog of Brexit to forget was has happened this week.

Irrespective of what Johnson, his Government and supports in the press might say, the Highest court in the Land said he, and the three senior members of the Privy Council, and Lord Chancellor acted unlawfully.

In the RAF, ignorance was no excuse, if you broke some obscure clause in the Queen's Regulation (QRs) you were open to be charged.

The Lord Chancellor has sworn an oath to uphold the law. He broke that oath.

His judgement may have been wrong, but he should have known. In fact, his full judgement has not been released. So, maybe he did know the law and let the Government do it any way.

There is no appeal to the judgement, that is it, the top court, guilty.

Thing is, it could have been avoided. Simply. If Johnson, Rees-Mogg, the Lord Chancellor or any senior civil servants just signed a sworn statement that the events as described were true, then the litigants case would have collapsed.

But no one would sign it. Not even the Moggster or the PM.

That is very significant.

If someone had signed it, and it turned out that wasn't the truth after all, the person who signed could be charged with perjury.

Even at the Supreme Court, had the Government's side been supplied with a statement signed by Johnson, the case would have collapsed. So, a smoking gun.

And the Lord Chancellor has sworn to uplhold the law, and support the Judiciary, not make public statements that he disagreed with the judgement.

But he is the latest in a line of crap Lord Chancellors dating back to, oh, Chris Grayling.

And the noise you have heard since then, the tone of the language, the nose about negotiations and deals, even though there is none, is to take the attention away from the Supreme Court Judgement. Because, at the end of the day, no one, not even the Government, not even the Lord Chancellor, not the Leader of the House, the Chief Whips of either Houses, not the fucking Prime Minister is above the law, and all of them should resign, and if they have not, you should be screaming at them asking one question: why have you not resigned? You lied to the Country, Parliament and The Queen, why have you not resigned?

Oh and remember that Dominic Cummings, the "mastermind" behind Alexander Boris de Piffel Johnson, described Brexiteers in the ERG as: "You should be treated like a metastasising tumour and excised from the UK body politic.”

Problems pile up for Johnson

The PM, Boris Johnson, is now under formal investigation into a relationship he had as Mayor of London with a businesswoman Jennifer Arcuri. I nearly put businesswoman in inverted commas, as there is strong evidence she just says she is, and indeed the telephone number of her office linked to a number in the US, so, no actual business in the UK.

But she was photographed with the PM and ex-mayor several times, he visited her private flat, which did come with pole dancing equipment(!), and gave her access to meetings and received many tens of thousands of pounds of public money.

The relevant information is in the public domain, as are numerous pictures of Johnson and the businesswoman together.

The Greater London Authority says that as a result, they will investigate, because of the information already in the public domain. Johnson's friends and supporters say this is more mud-throwing at a time when he is in the media eye, but this has been known for some time, the details, however, are now coming out. Whether a public official helped a friend profit by misappropriation of public funds should be investigated. It just happens the former mayor is now the Prime Minister.

As with the President of the USA, if you don't want to do the time, don't do the crime.

Last night, the EU's lead negotiator released a letter saying there has been no material change, nor any real concrete proposals on how to mitigate against the backstop, and that the backstop and the WA will not be re-opened, thus driving a coach and horses through Johnson's and Barclay's insistence that negotiations are under way, and nearing a breakthrough.

Thursday 26th September 2019

Events in Great Yarmouth would overshadow the day, and news from the nurse in the ER and the severity of Mum's condition meant that my focus would be on anything other than work.

It didn't ruin my appetite though, and I had another small fry up before hanging around, and it was in this fallow period, I called the hospital.

Later, when the two auditors were ready to check out, I found that I had to as well, meaning that I had to quickly go and pack and then settle up the three bills.

So, when I got to the factory, the next thing was to change my ferry ticket from Friday morning to Thursday evening, which they company did with no trouble.

Which was much appreciated.

When work started, I waited int e meeting room for news. Phone calls.

Time weighed heavy, but when the call came just before lunch, it was bad news, there was no hope

I called Jools and she said she wanted to go up to be with Mum, so I called the hospital back to confirm they would keep Mum alive until Jools got there.

It was then informing my manager, ensuring my tasks would be taken on by someone else, and so the afternoon passed quickly.

The meeting ended and to finish the end of the day I took everyone to the port to catch the jet foil back to the office, then I had to drive round the river, through Newport as the chain ferry, aka the floating bridge, is broken.

Traffic would be dreadful, but I had 90 minutes.

And the drive was slow, edging through Newport in nose to tail traffic, until off the last roundabout, and things cleared up. I arrived at the terminal to find I had missed the earlier ferry by ten minutes, so 50 minutes to wait. Enough time to go to the local corner shop for a pasty and a bottle of pop.

At six the ferry arrived, and after unloading, we are allowed on. I go to the top deck to look at the rest of the loading, then to see the ferry cast off and sail up the river and into the Solent.

I checked my phone at the start of the crossing, and there was no news. But as we neared Southampton, there was a message to ring Jools. I did and she told me Mum had passed away half an hour before.

It was all over.

I was calm about it, I knew it was going to happen, and yet the issues that I had been so angry with Mum now seemed to mean so much less.

It was time to get back to our cars, then after a few minutes wait, we were allowed off, and into the Hampshire night, out along the spine road out of Southampton to the motorway. I was happy enough, I had Marc Riley to listen to as I drove. The miles passed by quickly up to London, and even the way round on the M25 was OK, though there were roadworks at the top of the M20 in Kent, just a couple of minutes delay, before I could put my foot down and powered on south to Dover.

Jubilee Way was closed, so I went up Castle Hill only to find the Deal Road closed to, so I double back to the castle and take Reach Road, along the cliffs to home. The lights of Calais could just be seen through the mist.

I arrive home to to feline welcoming committee, gosh, I love these cats.

Once inside, I feed them, though the stuff Jools put down at two war mostly uneaten.

I have a brew, then a beer

And wait for Jools to come back. She would be at least 90 minutes later than I was.

It felt odd, knowing it was all over, just my head full of things to do in the morning, and next week.

Jools gets home at half one, shattered after nine hours driving after a morning at work.

But tomorrow is Friday.

The end

I spoke to Mum last on Tuesday night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was gone.

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

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

And now, none of it matters, all too late.

Stupidity knows no bounds

This morning, a story emerged that Cummings had come up with a way to circumvent the Benn Act, which requires the PM to request an extension of A50 if no deal is struck before October 19.

Apparently, the genius move is to use an obscure function of the Privy Council to suspend the Act until after the 31st.

I am no expert, sounded OK to me.

But like all wheezes thought up by people who know fuck all about what they're dealing with, neither did Cummings and Johnson.

We literally had a Civil War to sort out these things; Parliament is supreme, and if Johnson or Cummings tried anything like this, it would fail on the most basic of legal principles.

As I said many times, Brexit was always stupid, but getting morons to execute it was even more stupid.

And it xomes back to the fact that two of the pillars of Brexit, taking back control, restoring the supremity of Parliament and UK laws by UK judges was just an excuse. When the UK constitution stops them from ruling by decree, they claim coups, unelected judges, the "liberal elite", or the establishment are stopping them. most of them are ex-public schoolboys, OxBridge educated, in cahoots with their old friends to make each other richer.

Nothing to do with the will of the people, just the desire of these fuckers to strip the country any way they can to enrich themselves and their friends.

Wednesday 25th September 2019

And to work. Real work.

As that's what they pay me for.

I spelt well, earplugs helped muffling the sound of a party going on nearby.

Anyway, I was awake, had a shower, and was ready for breakfast at half six. But I thought it started at seven. So I go down at seven, and I'm half an hour early.

So half an hour later, I go down, have fruit,a nd was I hungry? Yes I was. So, sausage, bacon, egg, beans and hash browns went down very well.

Set me up very well for the day. I wan't going to fade before lunch, for sure.

I was to meet the auditors off the jet foil at quarter to nine.

I timed my departure to the second, only I forgot how to get there. The terminal is at the end of a long dead end road, ending at the harbour. I drive to the main road into town, then turn back in, having to drive down narrow traffic-lined streets, arriving one minute early. My colleague was there, and the auditors got off the ferry two minutes later.

They come over, we shake hands and we drive off to the factory.

This is serious shit. I mean the projects are big, but the certification audit is bigger. The whole of the factory management were out to greet the auditors, and me.

We were taken to an office, plied with coffee and the shot got real.

Seven hours later, we were done for the day. I had arranged accommodation for the auditors at the same hotel as I, and I was to "entertain" them in the evening.

Yes, imagine that!

So, we were to meet at seven. At quarter to, I get a call from Jools telling me Mum was in hospital, but this time it was really series. A heart attack, and was in a critical condition.

I had only spoken to her the night before, she seemed OK, though she was fed up with her situation. Little did I know that would be the last time I spoke to her.

I was fine with it, still am.

I told the auditors, they were sympathetic, obviously. But business as usual.

We walked along the sea wall, then along the river into town, to a restaurant I had booked a table at the night before.

Jools called, and my ringtone is Bostich by Yello. They both knew it.

So, over dinner, we talked independent music, John Peel, gigs and stuff from the 80s.

And then there was great food too.

My poor Danish colleague was a little lost to be honest.

And that was that.

A good night, and Mum in hospital.

Support for Johnson

Let us not forget for a minute, that the highest court in the land found that the Prime Minister and three senior members of the Privy Council acted illegally. They all gave the Monarch unlawful information.

The Court was silent on whether these were lies, but it is implicit.

The Prime Minister broke the law in suspending Parliament to prevent scrutiny.

Those are the facts.

Johnson says he respects the Court but not the judgement.

The Prime Minister stated he though the judgement political. Setting him on a collision course with the Judiciary.

For this, the Lord Chancellor should resign.

He, so far, as not.

The Times, The Telegraph, The Mail and Express all supported Johnson and attacked the Judges.

The Leader of the House, JRM, called this a coup.

The Prime Minister and JRM as head of the Privy Council were found to have acted unlawfully. This is the coup.

Johnson is using inflammatory language to get a reaction from Parliament to get the election as soon as possible, as it fits what he wants. This threatens the safety of many members of the House and their families. He thinks this OK.

The use of terms like "surrender bill" is being used to provoke focus groups of hardline Brexit supporters. It is calculated and sickening.

That moderate MPs and Ministers are either cheering this along, or staying silent means they are complicit.

I feel the country and political system now broken, who knows where this will end.

Mum update

Mum will, most likely, will not last the day.

Yesterday, she had a massive heart attack, was found by a carer who gave CPR, and then rushed into hospital.

She is in the ICU, breathing for herself, but under a lot of medication, mostly to stop her fitting.

It is expected she suffered severe brain damage due to lack of oxygen, so will have a CT scan this morning, with results expected at midday,

The staff nurse I spoke to, who has seen many similar cases said to expect the worse.

So, there we have it.

I am fine, will work this today, travel home tonight or tomorrow depending on the news, and then we shall see.

What is this fresh hell?

Yesterday, Johnson was forced back to Parliament, where he failed to appologise for misleading the Queen, Parliament and the country, and instead refused to accept the judgement.

Lets be clear, the PM challenged the impartiality of the Supreme Court. On record.

He then went on to use the memory of murdered MP Jo Cox to say the best way to honour her memory is to "get Brexit done". This after responding to another female MP who spoke of her fears for herself and family due to the divisive rhetoric used by the PM as "humbug".

We are at the end of times.

From here, under a Johnson lead Government after an election giving him a majority, after running a campaign based on "the people v establishment", there will be no way back.

He is already destroyed the checks and balances that make our democracy function, stamping on the conventions that kept our country free for centuries. This wanton destruction done in the name of his personal ambition and naked racism has destroyed what we had.

The Lord Chancellor called the Commons, "a dead parliament" and the people sitting on the green benches having no legitimacy. They were elected two and a half years ago in an election, and have the right to be there for two and a half more.

It is the PM who is in an unelected role, and has no confidence of the House.

It was the worse of times, it was the worse of times.

Tuesday 24th September 2019

Back to work.

Real work, with travel, restaurants and ferry trips.

And to match this change, the weather did too, heavy rain fell all night and was still falling at the excuse for a dawn, as we left the house.

Jools dropped me in town so I could walk then go to the car hire place.

Dover was grey and wet, of course, and soon the drizzle began to fall and get heavier.

So, I walk to the port, along the hotels and big houses along Townwall Street to East Cliff.

I had to wait while the office was opened up, then handed the keys to some Suzuki thing, automatic and with a DAB radio.

Perfect.

I went back home and have breakfast, book the car onto the Isle of Wight ferry, and get ready to leave.

I decide to stay to listen to the Supreme Court result, then load the car, set up the radio. And set course for Southampton.

Southampton is along the coast, but no decent roads between, so the only way is to go up to London, along the M25 and down the M3, and so I would be at the mercy of jams and Biblical weather.

I listen to the phone ins on LBC as the result from the Supreme Court was discussed and approved.

I reach the top of the M3, turn south and the clouds above look full of something, maybe mustard, maybe rain.

I reach Southampton at three, just after a ferry had left, so I had time for tea and a wad.

I thought my days on the Island were over, but no, here I was again.

The next ferry arrives and we were allowed on, me driving on first.

I go out on the back deck, the city is bathed in light, but huge clouds huddle over the distant downs. Very dramatic. I take pictures.

The crossing is uneventful, just the usual sights, but I snap them again, the light is just incredible.

We arrive in Cowes, wait to drive off. I am first off. I drive off, round the block and stunned to find no queue for the floating bridge, but I then see it had broken down, and the way on was blocked.

Meaning, I had to drive the long way round the the first bridge over the river, at Newport.

At rush hour.

It took an hour.

Traffic was a nightmare.

On an island.

Oh well.

I reach the hotel, check in, then decide to walk into town as the rain had stopped.

Not a clever idea, it turned out.

It was a pleasant walk, the high tide was lapping at the stone quay, the lights of Southampton and Portsmouth flickering in the distance.

I walk to the Cowes Ale House, have a pint, then walk to a curry house to have a slap up meal. Of curried lentils.

Which was nice.

By the now rain had returned, meaning I got soaked walking into the keen westerly breeze, back to the hotel where I stop for a wee dram before going to my room to decompress.

Bastards

After losing the Supreme Court ruling yesterday, and having been the first PM/Governement to have been found to have mislead The Queen/Parliament/The electorate, one might have expected some penance from Johnson and co.

Oh no, they come out like nothing happened, threating a US style elected Supreme Court, a written Bill of Rights and so on.

As a basic principle, the Conservative and Union Party should at least stand for the defence of our institutions, not their destruction.

I have no words to describe this bunch of concomitant twats that are somehow in Government right now.

People like IDS pitting himself as being on the side of "the people" against the establishment is just fucking hilarious, but then the Hate Mail and Nazi Express just repeat it.

Michael Gove stood up in The Commons today and made a statement that the auto industry was ready for no deal Brexit, when it was clear from the minutes of a meeting between leaders and Ministers on Monday they were not.

And the Government is trying to put Parliament into recess from tomorrow afternoon because of the Tory Party conference.

They just had 15 days off.

Wankers.

Let me close by saying this:

Those - who were arguing recently that no-deal Brexit would “give back control” to British courts and a British parliament - have u-turned and are now suddenly against our courts, parliament, parliamentary sovereignty and constitution.

Monday 23rd September 2019

Back to work.

And the start of my first real week in the new job, as on Tuesday I head back to the Isle of Wight, but for one last day, pretend like it never is going to change.

We get up, its dark, Jools makes coffee, I drink it, and again, when she has left, I take myself to the cross trainer and do a session, I don't feel like it, but get it done anyway.

Twenty minutes and I am done, literally.

But at least I did it.

Downstairs to cool off, make another coffee, have breakfast and then get ready for work, actually starting work at twenty to eight.

And eyes down for a full house.

You know the score.

But I do have to contend with Mulder bringing in a series of dead or dying animals and birds, as I must have looked hungry.

In reality he just wanted to swap the animals for kitty kibbles.

Maybe if I don't give him kibbles, he won't kill birds and animals?

It is a warm day, but the breeze builds as the day get older, and in a shock, it turns out that the 23rd, not the 21st, was the equinox. I mean, who knew?

Dinner was more creamed spinach, fish cakes and corn.

And wine.

News came in about family. And it is not good. I'll say no more. But life is never simple, is it?

No, its not.

We have Marc Riley on the radio, and I make more of the box of wine disappear.

Just as well that sleep came before I got my second wind and started putting records on.

Unanimous

PARAGRAPH 61 OF THE JUDGMENT: "It is impossible for us to conclude on the evidence... that there was any reason - let alone a good reason - to advise Her Majesty to prorogue Parliament for five weeks."

'Unlawful, void and of no effect'

Today, the Supreme Court handed down its judgement. All 11 of the Judges were in attendance. On all counts the spoke as one and ruled against the Government.

Prorogation was unlawful.

The advice to the Queen was unlawful.

Parliament was not suspended.

End of.

You know my feelings here, I was quite emotional when Lady Hale read out the judgement. Johnson is a proven liar. All through his life, personal and professional. We should not be surprised.

In fairness, he received advice from the Lord Chancellor that it was legal.

But that was wrong.

Johnson declined to share that legal advice with the Cabinet. And that was censored in documents supplied to the courts. But the Government leaked it to Sky News this afternoon, Johnson throwing the first body under the big red bus.

As I write this, unnamed spokespeople from within the Government are briefing against the Supreme Court, accusing them of being politically motivated.

Judgement sets to stop Brexit says Government whose entire legal case, literally, rested on prorogation not being about Brexit.

They can't have it both ways, either it was or wasn't about stopping Parliamentary scrutiny, and the judgement was on legal or political grounds. But it can't be both.

If that were bad enough, the Prime Minister spoke in New York and disagreed with the judgement.

For this, and not the prorogation, he should now resign, and be forced from public life. Like a comedy character you have seen too many time, Boris is now boring, boorish and a national embarrassment.

As PM, he gave unlawful advice to the Monarch.

End of.

The bonfire of rights

Our glorious leader, Alexander Boris de Piffel Johnson, is currently in the US for some reason. I mean I thought he was writing the Queen's speech, but hey. Where he has been trying to ignore questions about a possible, probable relationship between a young female entrepreneur and himself when he was Mayor of London.

All normal rules and channels were followed. He blathered.

But as Mayor he might has sent some contracts her way, for her business.

Parliament could question him tomorrow in PMQs, but, oh year, democracy is suspended.

For a Lord Mayor this would be troubling, for a Secretary of State is would be more troubling, but for the Prime Minister?

Anyway.

Johnson is in the US trying to drum up some interest in post-Brexit UK, and in a speech he promised low-tax, light regulation conditions in the UK, a good place to do business. Unless you are a worker.

But this is the nub of the problem, rich people forcing Brexit through so they and their rich friends can pick up stressed busnesses and industries on the cheap, reduce pay and rights to make more money.

I don't remember that being written on the side of a bus. I do seem to recall that rights were going to be protected. Maybe I misheard that, but anyone who has been following Brexit in any kind of detailed way, will have been expecting this. Heck, I know I was, the UK becoming some kind of Singapore off the coast of Europe, undercutting the EU.

But how would that go with having any kind of relationship with the EU, the promises of a level playing field? Oh yeah, the UK Government reneged on that promise last week too. As well as threatening Ireland with food and medicine shortages.

But today is judgement day. It could all change. Or not.

We shall see

Sunday 22nd September 2019

Sunday.

Norwich lost

I will watch the football, but in a bad mood.

And we had bacon the morning before, so just fruit.

Bah!

And then football.

And then out.

Out for a hair cut.

I mean, it could have been exciting, but I think I have taken enough photos these past few weeks. But still, my flowing locks needs shearing, so best have one of those fine Northern Iranians cut them, as they do what I tell them.

Funny thing, they charge £12 a pop, but as the guys cut my hair, EXACTLY as I ask, last time I gave the guy £20.

So, he waves me into the chair, takes his time, then asks me f I want my eyebrows trimmed. I say yes. He trims those.

Then trims my nose hairs.

Then my ears.

And then shaves by ears. I mean, fuzzy ears are ok, no?

Would I like some gel?

Yes please.

He puts gel.

Then spray.

And finally massage oil on my neck, and gives me a massage.

I gladly give him another £20 and sees if he wants my babies.

I go to meet Jools and our fiend Mary, who were having coffee in a place down the street. We are going with Mary to Svalbard next year.

We are all excited.

We agree.

So, at twelve, we all part, Jools and I walk back to the car and then drive home, where I prepare roast beef and all the trimmings.

Keeps me off the street.

And soon the kitchen is filled with the smells of roasting beef.

Lovely.

We have not had roast for months, so this was a rel treat. Roast potatoes, Yorkshire Puddings and steamed veg, and lots and lots of gravy.

Lovely. And indeed it was, thoug less than we had in the past, but we do have a bottle of pink fizz too, then I take to the sofa to watch the afternoon's football, and battle the desire for snoozing.

Jools makes apple, blackberry crumble and custad for dinner, which is large, but we finish it off in two goes.

And I get revenge for a month of Uckers defeats by wining with single piece game after being miles behind!

Oh yes.

But now the night comes, and I need sleep.

Tuesday is the day

So, the Supreme Court will announce its judgement at 10:30 tomorrow.

I might delay my travel to hear the result.

Remember, this will almost certainly not judge whether the advice or prorogation was illegal or not, but whether such matters fall within the law.

If the matter falls outside the law, then there will be no judgement regarding legality.

Obviously.

Even if it does fall within the law, the Court might judge that the case for lying was not proven.

In which case, not much happens, other than parliament will be, until the law is changed, subservient to the Government of the day, and the whims of the Prime Minister.

If, however, the judgement falls that the case falls in the scope of the law, and the case proven, then, well, all bets are off.

If the Prime Minister tries to ignore the ruling, and tries to carry on regardless, he could be arrested. As could Cummings and aides and members of the Privy Council.

I lay at night dreaming of seeing both Johnson and Cummings being lead out of Number 10 in handcuffs.

We can dream. Can't we?

More enemies of the people

This morning, one of the daily newspapers published a statement from an un-named source within "Number 10", that:

"Remainic Lawyers now demand Scottish Judges take over the role of elected politicians and cancel Brexit. Hopefully Judges will reflect deeply on the profound consequences for the Judiciary if they are seen by the public trying to cancel the biggest democratic vote in our history."

Judges make judgements based on the law and president. Politicians make laws for the land and Judges to follow.

It is that simple.

Judges are not trying to thwart Brexit, just to ensure the laws of the land and the individual countries of the Union are followed.

The Government, or a spokesperson for it, threatening the Justice system to back the Government, let us not forget, that has already suspended Parliament, is not a good look, or a good sign. I mean, what's next, suspending the Supreme Court?

Is that where we are?

I think we should all agree, whichever side of the Brexit fence we sit, that breaking the law, suspending democracy and threatening Judges is a fundamentally bad thing, and as a country we should all row back from that.

If Brexit were such a good idea, it would not need the above, nor a £6 billion slush fund, or emergency planning, air lifts for drugs, food and whatever.

All Government policy needs oversight and scrutiny, and the Government should welcome that, its a sign of a working democracy.

A Government that wants to re-balance the nation's economy and trading position in the world, and do so in complete silence from public and Parliamentary scrutiny should have us all worried.

It might be Brexit now, but a new leader might be more extreme, suspending Parliament to stop scrutiny, votes, passing of acts or votes of no confidence. That no Prime Minister or Minister would deny that if the Government loses the Appeal Court case, it wouldn't try to prorogue Parliament again, putting the Monarch in a very difficult situation, asking her to suspend Parliament to get round Parliamentary scrutiny.

Sunday 21st September 2019

Autumn equinox.

Open House London 2019.

Due to my planning of the grand churchcrawl the weekend before, apart from pre-booking a single tour at Australia House, we had nothing planned. Well, the other thing was an underpass at Crystal Palace; trust me this was a work of the bricklayer's craft, but after checking Friday night I discovered this was on ly on on Sunday. So, I make contact with two GWUK friends, and Aidan had a plan, so we agreed to meet at Euston and do some stuff.

Sorted.

All we had to do was get up. No problem as I had a cold, and was wide awake at four in the morning, coughing and sneezing.

Oh, joy.

Anyway, why not just go and do it?

Why not indeed.

I was up at half five, I woke Jools up, so we end up having bacon butties before we leave, and have enough time to triple check my camera for cards, batteries and so on.

And I even had my mobile phone.

Wowzers.

We try to park near the station, but there is less and less room, meaning I had to park on a sidestreet overlooking the station, easy to walk down to the station, down the 1:6 street, but it would be a hike back to collect the car in the evening.

Jools had already bought our tickets, so we could wait on the draughty platform, me watching trains coming and going, until our steed glides in and we take our seats on my preferred side of the train, of course.

To make my mood blacker, I have an allergy attack on the train, and I realise my spare nasal spray was in my other camera bag. Which was at home. However, less than two minutes off the train at St Pancras, I can breathe easy again, but we do go to Boots to get a spray for the rest of the day.

We were to meet our friends outside Euston, so we walk the backstreet way to the station, and wait beside a giant of the railways, Robert Stephenson, who has a statue outside the concourse. While we wait, we can people watch, and as ever there is an eclectic mix of folks making their to and from the station.

Graham arrives, and Aidan soon after. So here we are!

First destination was St Pancras New Church, just over the road. But, it was not yet ten, and the person inside locked the door on us they saw us approach.

Ha, we shall return.

Aidan had heard of a modern church in Fitzrovia, did we want to go there? We did.

The Lumen United Reformed Church was down a sidestreet (its a sidestreet kinda day, apparently), and is a modern building, or fairly. As we approached the doors swished open a la Star Trek, and inside we were greeted by a volunteer. And he loved this church.

In a good way.

He gave us a personal tour and gave us a potted history of the site. The Victorian church was bombed by a V2 at the end of the war, and the modem building was erected on posts through the churchyard, leaving the graves and crypt of the original church untouched.

Aidan makes stained glass for a living, and there was a very fine modern wndown in the east end, which we admired.

Would you like to see the crypt?

We were asked.

Yes. We would.

We were lead down a spiral staircase into the basement, where modern documents were piled up in stacks five feet high, and on the side were the footings and crypt of the original church.

The guy did like to talk, and had others not tured up, there is a chance we would still have been there now.

But we escape and walk back to St Pancras New Church. The Old Church, beside the station was once thought to have been the oldest concerated site in England, but this is almost certainly not the case now.

Anyway, a new church was bult on the edge of Fitzrovia, and I have passed it several times, but never found it open. But today the doors were no unlocked and open.

It was a fine church, lots of details.

Also the crypt was open too, for the graduating class of the ceramics class at St Martins which is just north of KIngs Cross. So we went exploring the crypt and the fabulous objects, if not of art, of something.

I looked at my watch; nearly half eleven, and i had to be in Aldwych in an hour, so I said goodbye to my friends, but we would meet up later in a pub.

I was to meet back with Jools for the tour of Australia House.

I took the Northern Line south, no air conditioning, so it was like an oven, but not too crowded. And at Charing Cross, I go to the surface and walk to The Strand, then up past Mary le Strand to Australia house, where Jools was waiting already.

We join a queue, and due to dropouts, we go in early, and are soon marvelling at the detail of the building, and getting lots of shots.

And all the staff who had given their spare time to host us, were so nice. Made me want to move to Oz.

That'd be a thing.

I had walked and snapped all morning without a drink. And we had an hour before we were to meet our friends, so we look for a place to eat, and find a fine pub called The Old Bank of England, and sitting at a table on the balcony I make two pints of mild and a plate of cauliflower curry vanish.

It was very nice.

We walked up Fleet Street to the meeting place: Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, a pub dating back to 1667 just after the Great Fire.

We go in where there was a small bar.

"We're looking for friends" I explain to the barman.

Maybe they're downstairs.

Is there a bar down there too?

The basements, on at least two levels, were the storerooms of a monastery possibly dating back to the 13th century.

Aidan and Graham were not there, so I get us a drink and we wait. In half an hour they arrive, buy another round, and we get talking.

And we carried on talking and drinking until gone five.

I was in rare form, I think, and around us the bar filled up.

Jools said at six we should be getting back.

Yes, good idea.

We went up tot he street and hailed a cab. Jools poured me in and he whisked us tot he station.

Walking up tot he Southeastern platforms, we find our train in, and lots of empty seats. So we sit near the front, I check the football scores; Norwich lost at Burnley. Bugger.

And at quarter to seven the train rolled out.

As we crossed south Essex and into Kent, night fell, leaving me to look at my reflection.

We arrive back in Dover, and I lag behind Jools as we climb the small mountain on which I had parked the car. She drive us safely home, where a feline welcoming committee were waiting, demanding to know where the heck their dinner was.

I feed them, then put in a selection of party food to feast on before bed.

Phew.

Oh yes.

Tough on crime, tough on the causes of crime

So, let me get this straight, a few days after running an election trope about recruiting 20,000 more police and how he was going to be tough on crime, neither Johnson nor is Foreign Secretary could confirm that the Government would obey the law.

Despite telling the Queen, The Supreme Court, the press, heck anyone who would listen that prorogation was not to frustrate Brexit. Raab would not say if the Government would simple re-prorogue Parliament if the Supreme Court judged law had been broken and orders Parliament to reconvene.

Clear, the law, like tax and other inconveniences, are for the small people, not for the likes of Cabinet Ministers and Prime Ministers.

Either tomorrow or Tuesday, the Supreme Court will announce their judgement, and either democracy is turned on its head or the Prime Minister and the Privy Council will have mislead the Queen.

Amazing whichever way it goes.

So, how can a Prime Minister claim to be tough on crime when he is contemplating breaking the law himself?

Madness, but situation normal in Brexitlalaland.

Friday 20th September 2019

Jools has been getting dizzy spells, and so after a visit to the doctor, a scan in Ashford was arranged.

The dizzy spells are not serious, not last long, but needed checking out. I would go along in case she couldn't drive back.

As the appointment was at eleven, but in hospitals that could mean waiting until two, the day was needed, so I set an out of office message on Thursday.

Jools did feel well enough to go to yoga. I say well enough, the dizzy spells take place once every two days or so, and last a few minutes, so going to yoga would help with mind and body.

So, I dropped Jools off in Dover at twenty past six, and as it was such a fine and sunny morning, I drove to St Martin's Battery to watch the sun rise away in the south east. And below, the town wake up.

I had the battery all to my self, it was cool and breezy, but the lights of Calais still twinkled on the horizon, and ferries plied their way across the Channel, winding their between the dozen or so freight ships travelling down towards the open waters of the Atlantic.

In quarter of an hour, the sun rose, the sky caught fire and i rattled off a few shots.

I then drove back down to the promenade, parked up. Then walked to the new bridge and marina, taking a few snaps, getting back in the car at half seven, in time for Jools to come out, so we could go back home for breakfast and get ready to go to the hospital.

In the end she was seen by twelve, went in to have the scan. Nothing obvious showed up, but we will wait to see the more detailed results.

I drove us to the huge Tesco nearby where we had a snack lunch and did our weekly shop before going home.

Not knowing how the day was going to pan out thus far, I had arranged a visit to a church late in the afternoon, at a time when I would have finished work, Jools would have been back from work, and i had time to get to the other side of Faversham. It was still a glorious, warm afternoon, so I drive down the A2 past Canterbury to Faversham, then following the sat nav, down a maze of narrow lanes through Ospringe, Painter's Forstal, Sheldwich and Leaveland, before heading out into the boondocks to Otterden.

I had been trying to arrange a visit to the estate chapel at Otterden Court for some weeks, the last attempt failed as the key to the door was lost. And my planned visit on Saturday had to be rearranged from Saturday, as we would be in London.

So, a time of four in the afternoon was agreed, so a few minutes before I found myself driving our dusty Corsa up the tree-lined gravel drive to a minor stately home, looking very much like Downton Abbey. Although I have never watched it. I parked outside the grand courtyard, walked to the huge gates, I could see no one about. The only thing to do was to walk to the "house" and see if my contact, David, was in.

So, there was shabby old Jelltex walking to the grand and large door. I knocked hard, and the sound echoed through the house.

I knocked again.

Nothing.

I saw a sign, go to the next door and ring the bell if no answer.

OK.

I walk through an arch to a smaller door. There were two ancient bell pulls. Neither made a bell ring.

I knocked again.

There was a sound, as a sleek Jaguar swept past, the driver jumped when he saw me. And it was gone.

So, I walk to the chapel, and in a couple of minutes, the Jaguar returned, stopping beside me. My well-spoken friend got out and shook my hand.

David?

Ian.

He had the large key!

So, he took me to the church, told me of the history of the church, and the family who once owned the house and church.

The line died out to three childless siblings, and the hous

e fell into a property company, and David had a lease on the house, but it is huge and on closer inspection you could see it is in need of much care and maintenance. The church was opened, 18th century, un altered, and still with the original Chippendale pews. Three monuments from the original church were reloacted int he new church, and looked splendid.

I went round getting my shots as David retired back to the car to wait.

I was done in twenty minutes, so locked the church and handed the key back.

It is unclear what will happen to either the house or church now, the church should be OK, but the house, who wants to live in a twenty five bedroomed house wit acres of land and a stable block to look after too?

Looks like a money pit to me.

I leave David and walk back to the car before setting off down the drive, and then back home.

I arrive home at half five, time to make nachos and relax with a cold beer as we demolish what was left of the hot salsa.

Yummy.

And being a Friday, it was Monty night, so we settle down to watch some flower porn before going to bed.

A big day in that London in the morning.