Sunday 29th December 2019

It is still the weekend. Apparently. We only have the calendar's word for this. There is football. Lots of football on, but that could mean anything.

But it is Sunday, and I have an episode of MOTD to watch, and Norwich did not lose, so I could watch it even if the manner of Spur's first goal and Pukki's disallowed goal very suspicious. Anyway. We did no lose, which is something.

Just.

It was hair cut day. And we had arranged to meet with a friend, Mary, in Folkestone, as well. 100 minutes of football, getting dressed with only just enough time to get to Folkestone to meet Mary, a have a chat before i go to queue to be first in the chair at the barbers. But it seems most people don't want a haircut on the Sunday between Crimbo and New Year. In fact it seems most don't want to leave the house. So the roads were pretty empty, we found a parking space with no trouble.

A walk up Rendevouz Street, past the closed records shop, up the hill, and there was Mary, already waiting for us.

We hug and chat, before I walk further up the hill and find the barbers open, and I am waved into an empty chair, and the guy quickly gets going shearing my locks off. He clips my hair, buffs my scalp, cuts my ear hair, trims my eyebrows. All done.

Lovely.

Back outside it was colder, at least round my ears. I walk back down to the cafe, order coffee and a slice of poppy seed strudel, which was rather nice.

There was much news to catch up on, but we are all through our tough times, and looking forward to the new year and our adventures to the northern latitudes. All exciting stuff.

At eleven, we hare all fed and watered, so we all need to get home to do other stuff. So, Jools and I walk to the car, and I drive us home, back along the cliffs to Dover and so home. Back home we have cheese and crackers for lunch. And wine. We are running low on cheese supplies, which is worrying, and we have over half a tin of crackers to use.

Afterwards, we bottle the sloe gin, which had been maturing for three and a half months, then top up the jars and bottles with red wine and sugar to make port. Or of a kind. Once filled with shake them well to get the sugar absorbed.

Now comes for more months of waiting before we bottle that, but last year's is perfect for drinking now.

And then it was back to Folkestone again, to meet with another friend and to do some "stuff" swapping. Steve and his partner, Charlie had made a batch, a large batch, of quince jelly and asked if we wanted some. We did, so we offered a bottle of Sloe Port in return, which they accepted.

We parked down at the harbour and walked up the Old High Street, all alive with electric light and full of people out enjoying the last of the daylight. At the top of the street is Kipp's Alehouse, and they were already waiting for us inside.

Back home for dinner, when chorizo hash is chosen above another roast, and soon the smell of spiced meats frying fills the house.

And for the evening, we watch more of The Expanse.

So another day at the end of the year draws to an end.

I buy Steve a tripel, and we sit at their table and talk. And we carry on talking for the best part of two hours.

They had a bus to catch, and we could not have another drink, as one of us had to drive. So we part and hopefully it'll be a shorter period of time before we all meet up again.

We drive home, and the roads are quieter than ever.