Friday, 31 January 2020

Thursday 30th January 2020

Thursday.

Back to the phys today too.

Bugger.

Though I am through the dreading the phys stage, and onto the quite looking forward to listening to some music while I work out.

It is Jools' last working day of the week, which sounds good to me. Something I would like to run by my boss, but having just started the job, probably not a good idea.

For now.

The sunshine of the last two days had gone, and low dark cloud hung in the sky, once it was light enough to see it.

And once Jools had left for work, I went upstairs to do my workout, listen to music. Yes, I did just 20 minutes, but as this was now well within my ability, I know that soon I would have to increase the time I pump for.

Fifteen That done, after cooling down I have a shower and get breakfast prepared before setting up my office.

And here we go.

Much the same today, though with it being so gloomy outside, I needed the table lamp on all day.

Through the day, I sort out some papers, and I find the form for requesting my Granddad's war record. In order to do so, I needed a copy of his entry in the local register. And for that I either needed his birthday or age at death. I knew when he died.

So began a search through the remaining boxes and files of stuff in the spare room. I find the stash of certificates; nothing to do with Granddad.

So I begin an online search: thing is, with his family there were reoccurring family names of William and Amos, and his name was William Amos. Confusion abounds. And on top of that he had a common Irish surname too, making it doubly complicated.

I searched his papers from the Army I had, surely something would have his date of birth on? No, apparently not.

And after an hour, I found it online on a family history site.

All that was needed then was to register an account with Norfolk County Council. All was going well until it came to the password, and it had to have a capital, a number and a special character, and have a certain degree of randomness to be accepted. Does the modern world have to be so complicated?

So, by early afternoon I had requested the certificates, now just have to wait.

And back to work.

Until gone four when I could wrap up work for the day and prepare dinner: a salsa to go with the nachos we were to have.

To go with it, I open a bottle of the special IPA I had been waiting to share with Wayne: bottle conditioned to 7.4%, robust and went well with the spicy nachos, as I had put half a bottle of hot sauce in the salsa.

Marston No.1 Horninglow Street Yay, another triumph!

And so to another quiet evening of writing, editing and listening to music. The cats slpet on, with an eye open just in case we went near the cat food cupboard.

The Brexit Horse

Yeah, I know I said I wouldn't write any more, but on this day, please forgive me.

And let me say, for now, I am not worried about Brexit.

Brexit is a process not an event, and today is a step in the Brexit process. An important one, but just one.

The referendum in 2016 asked a simple yes/no question: should the UK stain or leave the EU. 52/48 said we should leave.

And at 23:00 tonight, the UK leaves the EU, in that the Articles of the EU will no longer apply to the UK as a member state, but will do so under the transition agreement which was triggered by the WA.

If the referendum could said to have conferred a mandate, then that mandate will be carried out tonight.

Whatever happens next, and the Brexiteers will whinge and complain, they always do, the mandate has been carried out, the UK has left the EU.

There is no one true Brexit, never was, and any mandate they claim to have will have been carried out. Remember that. Look art the referendum question, its still online, not hiding. There is nothing defined, just stay or leave.

The final destination and shape of Brexit has yet to be decided, which is why seeing the Brexiteers crow and gloat about getting it done is odd; its not done, a long from it, and what comes next has yet to be decided, and maybe it has.

I don't have the technical overview, but the Political Declaration allows for an Associate Agreement to be put in place, and that is what the EU are preparing for; it is something that could be done in under a year, not we an FTA so require massive ratification across the EU27, and the framework could be added to or parts taken from afterwards.

Maybe such a Agreement does't need ratification from Westminster either?

Brexit will arrive in a little over ten hours, but what will it contain: everything the Brexiteers have been dreaming of, or an Association so close to be BINO?

In March and October last year, Brexit and reality came very close. From tonight, the two will be in permanent contact. Nothing may change for a while, but things will get fraught as Spring turns to summer and time runs out.

But reality will win out.

The EU will always be on our doorstep and we will always have to trade with it.

That is the reality.

The US will tells us the terms of any trade deal, no ifs and buts, that is the reality. It will be a good deal for US farmers and pharma, not for the UK.

This is reality.

The more the UK diverges from EU rules and regulation, the more Britain diverges from Northern Ireland, with all the possible Trouble that may bring.

This is reality.

Johnson lies. Always has, always will. And will throw anyone under the bus to achieve his personal ambition.

This is the reality.

Welcome to Brexit, now comes reality.

Thursday, 30 January 2020

Wednesday 29th January 2020

It has been a slow week.

Next week would have been better with a four day trip to Barrow and back, back in time for the beer festival. But that now is postponed.

So, each day is now spent sitting by the keyboard, waiting for things to action and/or do.

And being a "rest day", no phys to allow my short hairy legs to recover, I could laze around until it was time to start work, listening to the radio and whatever else I do to pass the time. I have no idea what I do, but it takes all my time to do it. So there.

It is another glorious winter morning, the sun rises to the south east, not filling the kitchen with warm light until it had been risen for half an hour.

I have breakfast, the usual, and another coffee before switching on the work computer and being snowed under by the single e mail that had arrived.

My toothache had at least gone, or so I thought.

Anyway, after a tough morning at the coalface, I open a tin of soup of lunch, warm it up on the hob and tuck in, the hot liquid finding exactly where the sore part of my gum was, and letting my brain know in no uncertain terms how bloody painful it was. And after a call to the dentist I agree to take the medication after all.

With the sun past noon, I decide to go out for a walk, just a short one round the usual places to put my back through its paces, and to have a gander at any wildflowers that might be showing.

Twenty nine Just along the road, several dwarf crocus are flowering in a grass verge, their bright yellow colouring dazzling in the sunlight.

A short walk in the winter sunshine I go up to Collingwood, then along that past the midden to the new houses being built in the quarry where there is some Winter Heliotrope growing in one of the gardens and verge. They should smell of honey, so I pick a flower and smell it, and indeed there is the scent of honey sandwiches from my childhood.

A short walk in the winter sunshine I don't go to the Pig's Copse or Fleet House, let alone the Dip, as my back is not too happy, and I have shuffled enough, so turn back along the footpath by the butterfly glade and across the fields to home. Meaning I was walking into the keen wind.

A short walk in the winter sunshine I was glad to get home, put the kettle on and relax on the sofa to rest my back.

A short walk in the winter sunshine I check back in with work, action what has come in, put some music on, and the day passes by.

A short walk in the winter sunshine As the courgette fritters had been hailed as a success last week, Jools wanted me to try again, which I do, though this time with added cayanne pepper to pep (ahem) them up. Which worked.

The recipe involves shredding four courgettes, adding self raising flour, two eggs, some nuts, ground chilli and the pepper, all mixed up into a thick batter, and then shallow fried.

It was another triumph, especially as I made more garlic bread to go with the fritters, and accompanied by a glass or three of red wine.

Yummy.

And so into the evening with the Manc Derby in the League Cup to look forward to. And it was, er, OK. Citeh could not finish, and when they did was offside. Utd stated slow but improved, and it was Utd that won it with a first half goal, but go out over the two legs.

And that is it for another day....

Wednesday, 29 January 2020

Tuesday 28th January 2020

The year moves on, and with each morning then rises slightly further east, if you can see it, each day. A couple of weeks ago it used to rise the opposite of the valley, but now rises to the lift so the newly risen sun doesn't fall in the kitchen. Soon, the rising sun will rise even further to the east, lighting the spare room instead with dawn's early light.

The garden is full of spring growth, with plants soon to burst into flower, and bulbs that will bloom in a month are showing well above the still cold soil.

I say cold soil: thing is we have hardly had any really cold mornings here in Kent, there has been no snow, just a couple of mornings of frost. Many plants need a certain number of days below a certain temperature to be able to grow as normal, if it doesn't get cold enough, the plants don't grow properly. The question is, is this just a blip or more evidence of climate change? I don't know. I do know that for each of the first winters in this house, the village was cut off at least one morning each winter. We have seen barely any snow for six years now.

I don't know.

But I do know it looks like Spring out there. Sunshine, green growth and noticeable more daylight each day now. It is getting light before seven now, on a bright day now, and dusk comes later too, now after half four.

And yet we could have a winter again. In living memory there have been metres of snow in Dover, pack ice in the Channel and food shortages. It could, and probably will happen, again. And when it does we will be shot at coping. But then most countries think they're shot at winter: my colleagues in Denmark, Germany, Holland and Belgium all think they can't cope. It is possible we're all right.

But the years goes on, time waits for no one.

And I have toothache.

It came on last Friday, I got a shooting pain in one of my wisdom teeth, and so booked an appointment, that being on Tuesday. I just had to get into town. I could walk, but that means along the cliffs in the mud, then I'd need to get back. Or catch a bus or get a taxi.

What is a man to do?

Before leaving for work, Jools leaves me the bus timetable, so I have no excuses.

And once she does leave, I go on the cross trainer again, doing another twenty minutes and zero seconds. But I did it.

I reward myself with breakfast of fruit and yoghurt and another coffee before getting ready for the working day.

And here we go.

And the main job is chasing an answer to the question: am I going to Barrow again next week. And just before lunch I find out that I am not. So, have to cancel meetings, travel and accommodation arrangements.

So that by the time half one comes round, I have done the tasks for the day, I could pack away and walk down to the bus stop in the village. Well, walk down then up into the village to be more accurate.

It was a sunny day, but cold in the stiff breeze, and my back still grumbling, but not too bad.

I have a 15 minute wait, then a bus comes, it is the number 80: I flag it down but it is going to Deal. "You're not going to Dover?", "no, Deal".

OK,

Another ten minutes pass until another bus arrives. £4.40 gets me into town, and I settle down on a seat among the elderly and the dregs for the ten minute ride into town.

Twenty eight The surgery is a short walk across town, past the skate park where skaters are shouting obscenities at each other with horrified parents dragging toddlers out of earshot.

Its the modern way.

Into Castle Street and then into the building, up the narrow stairs, and fill in loads of paperwork as I have not been for like years.

The South African dentist comes out of his consulting room, "would you like to come upstairs?" he asks.

"To see your etchings?" I reply. And the receptionist collapses in laughter.

So, I go up, and we talk, he pokes around, takes an x-ray, and can find nothing wrong. I taps on each tooth to see if there is any pain: there wasn't. I could take a tooth out, but there might not be anything wrong with it: have some antibiotics and see what happens.

Dover So there we have it, thirty quid for a nice chat and a poke, then another eight quid for the pills.

I walk to Boots to pick up the tablets, and have to wait, long enough to witness more dregs come in to get free drugs, use lies to try to jump to the front of the queue, then one found out his was "banned" from using Boots for some previous "behaviuor".

I was glad to leave.

Walk outside and into the last waiting taxi: take me home I say.

And he does, onto Townwall Street where lorries queuing for the port were stacked up due to bad weather.

He drops me off on Station Road so I can walk home and he not have to turn round on our narrow street.

I make dinner: defrosted ragu, pasta and garlic bread. As its so easy.

Darkness falls, I open a new box of wine, but don't try it yet, let that wait for dinner time.

Jools comes home, I dish up and we toast each other again. The ragu is even better for having been frozen, deeper flavour and thicker. We wipe our plates clean with the last of the garlic bread.

Job done.

And there is football to watch, Villa V Leicester in the League Cup, and turned out to be a proper cup tie, end to end stuff with chances at both ends, and a last minute winner for Villa.

Tuesday, 28 January 2020

Monday 27th January 2020

Pay day, the first since Christmas Eve. My bank manager is happy again......

And back to work, working from home, and once Jools had left for work, back on the cross-trainer.

I say not to put the heating on, and it won't go on until I have finished the phys, which worked last week. Jools makes coffee and feeds the cats, while I ponder over my re-occurring dream, which I twich that night, where I am due to leave the RAF, but due to work pressures have done nothing about it, and have to run round getting my clearance chit signed before the end of the day. It's either that or a short notice deployment to the Falkland Islands, and needing to get packed for the flight in a couple of hours.

I have been out of the RAF for fourteen and a half years, you would have though dreams about it would have stopped by now. Saying that, dreams about the chicken factory, which I left in 1990 only stopped a few years ago.

What can my mind be trying to tell me?

Anyway, Jools leaves, and after sighing, I go to the spare room, don my trainers and get pumping. I know I have to do thins, and once the music is playing I almost enjoy it. New Order, BAD, Echo and the Bunnymen and Prince sountrack my pain.

I do twenty minutes, and not one second more. But I have done it.

And then to sit downstairs to cool off, before making another coffee, having breakfast then setting up my office again for the day ahead.

Twenty seven And my main task is to get an answer to the question: is the audit on at Barrow next week? And the answer seemed to be "find out tomorrow".

And that took most of the day to get.

It being a cold and cloudy day, the cats sleep though until late afternoon, so long that I go to check on them both to see they're both alive.

They are.

Dinner is jacket spuds, Jools' favourite, but I always seem to zap them then fry 'em, as they come out so crispy and delicious. Anyway, jacket spuds, cooked in the over for three hours so they are all crispy and delicious. I see a pattern developing here.

And after dinner, I go to visit Gary and Julie as they are to move this week, and Gary is reducing the size of his record collection and I get first look at the two boxes of goodies.

It seems odd that next time I see them they will be in a new house, as I like their current one, the garden so full of wildlife.

Anyway, I come away with New Order, The Fall and Pet Shop Boys, so am happy.

I wish them well for the move.

On the way home I listen to the 5th round draw, and hope against hope for a home draw. But its either Southampton or Spurs away.

So it goes, so it goes.

Monday, 27 January 2020

Sunday 26th January 2020

Sunday, and with the football watched already, I could have a relaxing morning, before thoughts of what to do with the rest of the day are brought to mind.

In fact, we had planned to go to Whitstable to visit our friends Wayne and Tracie, and indeed that was still the plan, with beers to take chilling in the fridge.

Jools went to do some gardening, and I sorted through shots for a friend who is having a new book on Kent churches and needed some images to use. And he asked me.

They might not be used. But then they might.

Anyway, it showed me that my sorting of images from some churches wasn't all it should be, so I had to create some new albums, add 50 or 60 shots to each, then find the ones that John wanted.

At the same time I messaged Tracie telling her that we would be round just after midday.

I then got a message back: her neighbour had managed to fall from a ladder onto their hardwood decking, and the ambulance and fire service were on site, they would go to the hospital with his wife once the guy was safely on the stretcher.

No trip out for us.

So, instead I say we could have roast beef for lunch instead of dinner?

It was agreed.

Now, I should point out that growing up, midday meal was dinner and evening meal was tea. Which is why schools have dinner ladies, not lunch ladies. So, Sunday dinner would be served early afternoon, just late enough to allow Dad to go round the Ole Frank for a couple of beers, come home to eat, then fall asleep in his armchair until it was tea time.

So I peel spuds, carrots and put the beef into the oven to roast. Soon the kitchen his filled with wonderful smells.

And then came what we shall refer to as "the soured cream incident": I was looking at the veg I had prepared, and wondered if there might be a bag of sprouts lurking in the back of the fridge. I went to look, and moved a box of cider out of the way, causing a jar of marmalade and a pot of soured cream to fall. I caught, then juggled the jar of marmalade, but the cream crashed to the floor and created an impressive splatter pattern. One that would have impressed Howard Hughes.

I began to clear up, and got the mop and bucket out to clean the floor.

The floor was just about clean, so I gave the mop one last squeeze and the bucket shattered, sending plastic shards and water everywhere. The veg was getting near to being done, and i had gravy to make.....

PANIC.

The small joint takes an hour to cook, then half an hour to rest, just time then once the beef was cooked to steam the veg, put in the Yorkshire puddings to cook and the boiled spuds to roast.

Twenty six Lunch (dinner) was served just after one, and looked so good I snapped our plates. And we tucked in.

And it was good. I had watched a Jamie Oliver show and now understand how to make gravy, and that came out very well indeed.

Mmmmmm, gravy. Not that white stuff you get in the US either.

The afternoon was spent on the sofa wrestling with sleep and trying to watch the football. While outside darkness fell and a steady drizzle began to fall.

Once the second game had finished, and Liverpool held to a draw by Shrewsbury, we had rolls for our tea, listened to more radio, before going to bed to read at nine.

Not very rock and roll, but relaxing.

Sunday, 26 January 2020

One year on

Time passes quickly.

Friday was the first anniversary of Meg's passing. And I didn't realise.

Life returns to normal so quickly, and we go back to our worthless pastimes and hobbies.

What I mean is that what we do inbetween being born and dying is what we call life. Why do we do the things we do, whey do I do the things I do?

I do what I do because it gives me joy and pleasure. I smiled yesterday when we did the churchcrawling.

I enjoyed being at the game on Wednesday, even when we lose, because, next time, it might be different.

Dreaming of a better life, to do good for others is what makes us human. Some do evil and bad things, I don't know why the do it, but they do.

Rich people, already with more money than they could spend in several lifetimes desire more. People would rather have power or money even if that means less fortunate people suffer or die. And then they are happy to lie about it. Maybe they kid themselves about what they do. That the wealth they cheat society out of means others suffer; hospitals, libraries, schools close. Their greed is what is ruining our world, not because Solihull has too many libraries.

The world, our employers, or families put pressure on on us until we break. Some people are too fragile to cope.

We miss Meg, every day, and her passing casts a long shadow over our lives. But especially Mike's. There is nothing we can do, nothing we can say to take away. The shadow will lay darkest and longest on his life, never to fade.

Saturday 25th January 2020

Knowing what to do or where to go at weekends is now easy, I just consult the list of churches and pick a group close at random, and we can load up the car and go.

Main issue is that most of the churches on the list are now in west and north Kent, meaning a bit of a hike to get there, and on top of that, not knowing if your target will be open.

So, with the three churches chosen, postcodes noted, we can prepare for the morning.

Make coffee, feed the cats, fill up the bird feeders and make bacon butties to give us a decent start to the day.

Saturday was dark and gloomy, not a good day perhaps to do church crawling, but what else is there: too gloomy certainly for wildflowers, those that are out. And the flat light, can be good for photography in churches. At least that is what I tell myself.

Off up the A20 to Folkestone, and from there up the motorway, where, after Ashford, Highways England are removing the Operation Brock contraflow barriers. Now, I know I said no more Brexit, but an observation here: Kent MPs lobbied the PM to have these removed as it was a major pain for locals, but the threat of no deal and/or traffic jams caused by increased paperwork check is higher now, and the hundreds of thousands now being spent taking the barriers down could be spent again putting it back up later in the year.

In Brexit, anything is possible.

But back to the churchcrawling.

We turn off at Maidstone, go through Leeds up the down, where along the ridge there are a series of churches overlooking the low-laying land to the south, where the churches served a series of impressive houses set in sloping parkland. From Leeds through Sutton to the two Boughtons, at east half a dozen churches stand looking down on west Kent.

Eighteen months ago, I visited the two Boughtons, and also East Sutton, not realising there were two other churches in Sutton: Valence and Chart. I passed Sutton Valence just as a vintage Rolls depsosited a bride at the lych gate on the "main road". So, no point in trying to crawl that back on the warm September afternoon, but was on my list since then for a return.

And here we were.

The sat nav took us down a narrow lane, with a space large enough to abandon the car in, while I get my gear and walk to the church, trailing behind JOols who had gone to check the door. I get the thumbs up to indicate it was open.

Good news.

Sadly, the church has been stripped of most of its character and history. It is a fine church, nothing wrong with it, but few monuments, no brasses, no medieval features, so my job of recording it was completed in a few minutes. Another tick in the box done, though.

Next up was Chart Sutton, some 90 seconds away the sat nav told us. Though as we only had the post code, and it seemed that applied to most of the village. We drove through it, and out the other side. There was a Church Lane, but with no church on it.

We consulted a map, and after some searching, made more difficult with me not having my reading glasses with me, we find it, and return to the bottom of Church Lane. Behind the school there was a small dead end lane with no sign, but the church lay at the end of that, looking like a setting for a Gothic novel, set in a mist'shrouded graveyard, and the graves covered in moss and lichen.

I knew that it would be locked.

I mean that there were no signs for the church at the end of the lane meant it wasn't supposed to be found, andindeed the two main doors were locked fast. And on the noticeboard and in the porch, no keyholder details listed. So, another one for a heritage weekend.

From there was two more closed churches, either side of the Medway, reached by crossing ancient pack horse bridges that I dd not know one existed, let along three.

Twenty five Nettlestead lays along the north bank of the Medway, between Maidstone and Wateringbury. Its good that I put the sat nav in, as the main road goes past the church, which is set back and behind a farm. The only telltale sign is a small lychgate showing the way to a footpath leading to the churchyard.

It was still gloomy, and it felt that this would be locked too, but the porch door opened. Inside it was dark, almost too dark for photography. That there were plenty of lights around was frustrating, and so as I went round snapping, I looked for the switches. Which I did find in a wooden box behind the organ.

Warm golden light filled the church, revealing a fine church, with plenty of interest.

I take plenty of shots.

As with this church, Jools had been comparing my list of targets with the map, and said that Yalding was nearby, just ten minutes. OK, we'll do that then go home.

The sat nav took us back down into the Medway valley, over the railway and then over a canal, with a fine looking pub reached by a flimsy looking footbridge; one for the summer, perhaps.

Across another stone bridge into the village, and the church was standing on a low mound on the banks of the river. The village is lined with fine looking houses, some thatched, including the village forge.

The church was reached via a cobbled alley, and we could see the doors of the porch open as we approached.

With not knowing we were going to come here, as usual, I had done no research, so had little idea what to expect inside. What I found was a huge parish church, the back of which had been converted into a community space, with a fitted kitchen, wooden floor for use possible as a gym or space for yoga, and the east kept as a fine parish church, filled with monuments, memorials and fine fixtures and fittings. Three wardens were tidying up preparing for Candlemass the next day.

I go round taking shots, taking nearly and hour to do so, as there was so much detail.

Jools had gone back to the car to wait, she had also visted the village shop and had supplied of mini-cheddars, a Twirl and a pack of M&Ms. No pub lunch for us.

We go back home via the outskirts of Maidstone then to the motorway and then back home.

And to taunt us, as we arrived back in Dover the clouds parted and the sun broke through for a few minutes.

Back home we have a late lunch of sausage rolls, more mini-cheddars and M&Ms washed down with a huge brew.

Lovely.

We were back in time to listen to the footy, the FA Cup, and City were away at Burnley, a poor draw that we had no right to expect to win. Farke made eight changes, and City dominated the game, should have been four up at half time, but were still drawing 0-0. In the second, Norwich scored twice and were cruising. Until Burnley pulled one back, but we play well and see the game out.

So, four wins in 25 league games, and two out of two in the Cup. You work it out.

So, with Norwich entering the 5th round for the first time in what seems like a lifetime, I cook dinner in a pleasant haze. Heck, we open a bottle of pink fizz to wash down the chorizo hash.

We play Uckers, and I come up on the inside rail to pip Jools with getting my last piece in from halfway round the board.

Ha ha.

And that is it. Another fine day in Kent's churches.

Saturday, 25 January 2020

Friday 24th January 2020

We have almost made it to the end of the week. Just these eight hours to do.

Keep on.

For Jools the weekend had already begun, so she could please herself as to how she spent the day. Her foot is still not quite right, so she skipped yoga but did go swimming,then went to Tesco for the weekly shop, getting back at ten, by which time I had made myself breakfast, a second cup of coffee and was about to go into a meeting with my boss.

All is good on this Friday morning. We talk about upcoming meetings and some interesting new tasks she might have for me.

And that is done.

Jools had put the shopping away, made me a brew by the this time, and the day was nearly half done. Where does the time go?

We have cold samosas for lunch, and a coffee. After, Jools reads and I carry on working, until we get to half two, and time to call it a day.

Straight away, we head out, tot he pet food shop for more wild bird seed as they are hungry buggers at this time of the year, then back up the downs and along to Deal.

It was a dark and gloomy day, but traffic into Deal was light, as the schools had yet to close for the week, so we could drive in and find a space near to the pier.

We were in do buy a gift for a friend, and have dinner out. Early dinner I'll admit.

Twenty four We go to the high street, go in a couple of shops, but see nothing interesting. We were going to go to the shop for the gift, but as we walked by the fish and chip restaurant the smell of food frying was just too delicious.

Friday Fryday I go in.

Jools doesn't mind.

We take a seat by the window, and from the specials board I see they still have skate on. Skate is a kind of ray, has sweet, white flesh, which peels of the cartilage. Was Dad's favourite, and is mine. We have an un-necessary portion of onion rings to go with our fish and chips. Needless to say neither of us can finish our meal.

We go outside, dusk is falling and it is gloomy with the bright lights of the shops and restaurants shining brightly.

Deal Pier We go home.

Once home we put up the heating, make a brew and I watch a documentary on legendary Liverpool manager, Bill Shankley, on the i player. He was a man ofrom a different time, about the game from a different time. But just as the modern world was coming in. It is a story how one man turned a sleeping club round, and set in place foundations for European domination.

And then he resigned.

But the club went on. Went on winning.

And then we watched Monty in America, which was colourful.

And that was it.

Time for bed? Indeed.

Friday, 24 January 2020

Epilogue

I have decided to stop writing about Brexit because it was bad for my mental health.

Knowing all this stuff caused me stress. I mean it, going over in my mind the lies, the law breaking, the suffering that has gone and that which is to come.

The facts of Brexit, what it will cost, and what was sacrificed in order to drive it through is all out in the public domain, and yet nothing has changed. Law breaking, giving the Monarch unlawful advice and much, much more has had no consequences. Johnson is still PM when he should be in prison, the rest drummed out of Parliament for offences far more serious that have ended others careers.

What goes on at Westminster is one thing, but what will happen to the country is another. It will be the poor, the disabled, the sick, the single parents that will suffer. Social spending will fall to level not seen since before the war.

Much of what we take for granted now will be lost. Forever.

Whole industries will crumble and fall.

Communities and whole area will become industrial wastelands. Again. Te Tories did it once before and clearly have no qualms about doing it again.

And yet people. Working class People. Voted for them. In huge numbers.

Do I feel sorry for them? No. They knew and yet did it anyway. I held my nose and voted for Corbyn because even he was better that Johnson and the Brexiteers. Others did not. So here we are.

I was going to record the long slow decline of Britain, but I won't.

What's the point.

We will all know the reason, even when Johnson and Co try to deflect blame. They own this.

Many thanks for reading, I will now go back to my orchids, churches, football and music and beer.

It won't stop the damage that will be further done.

Thursday 23rd January 2020

Back to normal.

Meaning that no football to go to that night, and two hours less sleep to work on.

I was a grump in the morning when the alarm went off.

My legs said there was no way they were going to be able to do phys at that time in the morning. So I had coffee and listened to some radio while Jools made busy to go to work.

I will do phys at lunchtime, I said.

Not really believing myself even as the words left my mouth.

Instead of sunshine, there was grey, and a slight mist outside. No use for photography. At all. Best do some work.

So I do.

I have breakfast, and then get down to work, but soon I find myself getting cold as the heating had switched itself off. I could go and switch it on, or let it get colder and then go and do some phys, and only after phys could I put the heating on.

Sounded like a plan.

So, just before midday, I go upstairs and do 20 minutes on the cross trainer. This time with no ill effects, and with a great soundtrack. Meaning as soon as I got off, I went into our bedroom to switch the heating and hot water on.

After a working lunch, I have a shower, and soon am warming up. Which is nice.

The cats sleep through the morning and into the afternoon, but Scully wakes up at three demanding "meow", and Mulder brings me in a mouse for a snack, and then demanding kibbles as a reward.

Twenty three In giving him his reward, I see his muddy paw prints on my hifi, though he denies all knowledge.

I finish work at four, and sit on the sofa to watch a recording of last night's football, fast forwarding through City's game, only to look at how the second goal for Spurs went in.

Sigh.

Dinner is to be kofte kebabs and fried potatoes and beans. This usually means there will be a large brew (of tea) to go with dinner. But turned out it was a wine day.

Wine.

We tidy up, then listen to radio until nine, at which point we decide we were so pooped we would go to bed early doors.

So, not much happened.

Thursday, 23 January 2020

Final Brexit post.

I am stopping writing about Brexit.

The WAB has passed and received Royal Assent.

There is no stopping it.

So, rather than go over all the old arguments, here's Ian Dint from politics.co'uk with a summary as to why Brexit is not done, not by a long way.

I have been writing about this since the refeendum, and has been bad for my mental health. It is time for those who forced Brexit through, without a plan, to take ownership.

But these are some of the main issues that need addressing by Johnson and his brave band of Brexiteers:

(https://www.politics.co.uk/blogs/2020/01/23/brexit-2020-everything-you-need-to-know-about-johnson-s-trad}

Cool, so everything's sorted right? Brexit is getting done, everything's going back to normal and I never have to talk about trade again.

Oh yeah, no sorry. That's all a lie. We are about to enter the most perilous system-level recalibration of an advanced economy in trading history.

What.

Yeah, all that nightmare of the last four years was the easy part. Now we have to figure out our future trading relationship with the EU.

I saw Boris Johnson on the telly the other day.

Really? That never happens anymore.

No, it was crazy. He just popped up. It was like a Big Foot sighting. Anyway, he seemed to suggest it was all really easy. We'd get it done in a year and then be free to do whatever we want.

Yeah, that's the official narrative. But the reality is very different.

Are you suggesting that the government is making a sustained attempt to deceive the public in order to hide the fact that they have an impossible set of negotiating goals and no competence to deliver them?

Yes, I know. It's hard to believe.

I know what happens now. You start talking about fisheries and regulatory alignment and customs procedures and then I gradually lose the will to live and have to order extremely expensive whisky.

That's right, that's how this works. So here's the thing. The government wants to get the Brexit deal negotiated, ratified and implemented in eleven months, before December 31st. They were entitled to an extension but have decided not to take it. That means the deal is going to have to be proper bare-bones - a completely stripped-down set of negotiating goals.

Like what?

Tariffs, basically. Nothing else. Just eliminate the tariffs.

What are tariffs again?

They're taxes on goods crossing borders. The thing is, most tariffs are already very low. Decades of worldwide tariff-reduction rounds have hammered them down in pretty much every area but agriculture. So it's a very modest bar to set. It also means that services - which are kind of key to our economy - are completely forgotten about. And it does nothing about the real problem areas of trade - alignment, customs checks and rules of origin.

Yeah, that's it. That's where I switch off. I swear these words are like hypnotic suggestions to close down brain function.

Bear with me, they're all pretty simple when you break them down. And the implications of them can smash local economies, which then has a massive political impact. Will people blame Brexit? The government? Or the EU? Remainers? Immigrants? The knock-on effect of these decisions will define our politics for years to come. Which is troubling, because it's not clear the government has any idea what it's doing.

How so?

Take the distinction between goods and services. Sounds simple right? Goods are things and services are, well, services - legal, financial, hairdressing, whatever. But actually that's a crude distinction that doesn't reflect the reality of how businesses work. Car companies, for instance, sell cars. But many of them also often offer the financing for the car, which allows the person buying it to pay in monthly installments. So in that capacity they're actually functioning as a mini-bank. And banking is…

A service.

Exactly. The same is true for loads of companies, like IBM, say, or Hewlett Packard. They sell things. But they also sell services. So even at this very basic level, going for a goods-only deal already has a massive knock-on effect on businesses. If they want to keep on selling the services in Europe, they have to internally restructure to get into the right regulatory regime. Sometimes that'll be big news - they'll close an office or factory. Sometimes it'll be a case of moving staff around or bulking up whatever office they have on the continent to get recognition there, and it'll slip under the radar. But the long-term danger is that all the high-knowledge, proper value-added activity goes to Europe.

Grim.

Yep. And things get uglier when you look at regulations.

Yeah I heard about this. What are they exactly?

Regulations are one of the key aspects of international trade. Countries have different regulatory regimes. So when they trade, people have to show that they are satisfying the requirements of the country the good ends up in. That entails a lot of time and paperwork. Until now, Britain has been part of Europe's regulations regime. Now it wants to completely detach itself. But we're so deeply ingrained in continental trading networks that we can't afford either time or paperwork.

How come?

Basically because of our reliance on a manufacturing system called Just-In-Time. Manufacturing depends on this to keep costs down. It means that you avoid holding a lot of stock. Instead, you get the parts you need, literally, just in time. And we are absolutely locked into this. So for instance BMW makes the engines for its Mini model at Hams Hall just outside Birmingham. But the engine blocks come from France to the UK, where they're drilled and processed, then go to Cologne in Germany for more engineering, then back to the UK for final assembly. GKN in Birmingham also makes the drive line for many cars - this is what transmits power from the engine to the wheels. But it uses components from Spain, Italy, France, Germany and the UK. Millions of components come across the Channel every day to arrive just as they're needed.

Is this primarily a car thing?

No, it goes across the board, in Britain's most successful manufacturing sectors. Take aviation. Nearly 80% of aerospace components manufactured in the UK are exported. And the important part there is in the word 'components'. That's what we do. We don't make the whole plane. As a country, we specialise in wings, landing gear, engines and avionic systems - the electrical equipment in the cockpit. All of that is regulated by the European Aviation Safety Authority (Easa). Everything you see on a plane in Europe, numbering over 5,000 different parts, has been vouched for by them, down to the little trolley serving you drinks when you ask for your fourth rum and Coke and the air steward starts to look at you suspiciously. Oh, and his training is overseen by them too, as is the pilot's, and that of the engineers.

It's the godfather of aviation regulation.

That's right. The industry is clear: it needs to hold Easa tight. And not just Easa. It also wants a close relationship with Reach - Europe's chemical safety regulation system - because they use those chemicals in the manufacturing process. There is zero reason to deviate from this regulatory framework. There are literally no upsides. The UK is not going to start setting international standards for aviation on its own. The trend in the global industry is towards alignment, because everyone wants the same things - a safe product, with fuel efficiency, which is clean and quiet and cheap to run, and which can be traded in a complex supply chain with a minimum of friction.

Can you stay in Easa from outside the EU though?

Sure. It's an EU body, but it has various agreements with non-EU countries. Or you can just align and basically mimic whatever it does. And why not? The industry will make products to those specifications anyway, simply to trade them easily.

So surely that's what we'd do. It sounds insane to do anything else.

Yes it would be insane, wouldn't it? But apparently that's what's going to happen.

You're not serious.

Who knows. Theresa May's administration had pretty much decided to stay in the system. The political declaration for the future relationship she signed with the EU said the UK would "explore the possibility of cooperation" with Easa and then added: "In this context, the United Kingdom will consider aligning with Union rules in relevant areas." But then things got a bit weird. Johnson updated the political declaration when he got his deal and he made some small but quite striking changes.

Like?

Well the line on 'exploring possibilities' stayed, but the following sentence, on alignment, was deleted. That raised a lot of alarm. And then the chancellor, Sajid Javid, told the Financial Times this weekend that "there will not be alignment, we will not be a ruletaker". So right now, if we're to take the government's word for it, no - we're going to pull away, for no reason at all, and at enormous cost. Or they could be lying to sound tough and Brexity. Or they could think it's a negotiating gambit with the EU. Who knows?

OK. So you've now been talking about regulations for what feels like several days. Is that it?

No I'm afraid not. The government also wants out of the customs union. That means it's also a customs problem. Manufacturers will have to fill out two sets of forms - one for regulations, one for customs. In the case of agriculture, they'll also have to satisfy health checks - these are called sanitary and phytosanitary measures. And that takes place on or near the border.

Please tell me this section is over. Hell, please tell me it's all over and the final days are upon us. Anything to escape this relentless carnival of doom.

The worst bit is yet to come, I'm afraid. It's called rules of origin and it is horrible. It's a kind of bureaucracy that kicks in when you have a trade agreement.

How does that make sense? Surely trade agreements are supposed to reduce bureaucracy.

Yep, but they need an insurance policy. So imagine the UK and EU do a trade agreement eliminating tariffs. And then the UK does a separate agreement with the US eliminating tariffs.

Sounds ideal.

Quite. But the EU and US don't have a trade deal eliminating tariffs. So now there is an incentive for the US to ship goods to the UK for entry into the EU as a way of sidestepping the taxes on their exports to Europe, but without having to make any of the concessions a trade deal would involve. Rules of origin checks are how you get around that problem.

How do they work?

The purpose of the rules is to find out where something was made. But the way of doing that changes depending on what kind of good it is. There's different rules in different sectors. Sometimes they measure a country's economic contribution to the product, such as its capital or the labour or intellectual input. There's also different grades of change in the product. You often have to show that the product has transformed from one customs category to another in a substantial way.

Did something terrible happen to you when you were a child?

Hey I didn't make the rules. But they do make sense. And this, arguably more than regulations or customs, is going to be one of the defining issues impacting on Britain in the years to come. Actually, it's already happening.

How so?

The EU and South Africa, for instance, have a deal on rules of origin allowing components from the other side to count towards the 'local content' tally. But when the UK leaves, its components will automatically be excluded from the total. So last July BMW redirected engine production from the UK to Germany for South African production. That could be the start of a trend.

How big a problem is this?

Very big. British car production leans heavily on parts and processes in the EU and Turkey. If those are excluded from the calculations, they wouldn't satisfy the rules of origin requirements. And even working it out is a nightmare - a horrible tangled web of multiple supply chains, with their own separate supply chains for component parts, and then multiple layers of subcontractors and goods going back and forth. And it's not just goods like cars and planes either. The same goes for food. Chickens reared in the UK often go off to the Netherlands for slaughter then come back and are turned into ready meals. So how much work went into the chicken to make it British? And what happens when it's put on a frozen supermarket pizza?

Civilised people don't put chicken on pizza.

That's where you're wrong. Chicken is a perfectly respectable pizza topping. But even if the chicken is British, what about the dough, the tomato sauce and all the other stuff? It's a nightmare. Just working this stuff out will put a massive new burden on British producers, who never had to do any of it before. And that assumes they can even pass the test and get the product to a level where it has enough domestic components to satisfy the rules.

Is there any way out of this?

In terms of the faff of it, no. But there is a way to make the test easier to pass. We need the rules of origin to have something called a cumulation provision.That means some inputs from outside the UK count towards domestic content. There are two main ways to do that: bilateral or diagonal. Bilateral would mean stuff done in the EU and UK would count. Diagonal includes the UK and EU and extends it to other countries who have trade deals with both of us. That would fix the South Africa problem BMW had. But even there they have different levels. We would want something called 'full cumulation', meaning that no matter how small the work done in different countries, it counts.

So it's a no-brainer, right? You go for full cumulation diagonal rules of origin. Oh and look at that. You have made the most unspeakable words come out of my mouth.

Yep, you totally would. But that's in the EU's gift. It gives them significant leverage over us. And honestly, listening to the weirdly bullying rhetoric coming from the UK government, it's not clear Downing Street realises that.

Election went to their head.

There's a lot that's gone to their head.

OK so I think I get this. It's ultimately pretty simple right? The Brits want the Brexit talks done in one year so they've reduced their negotiating goal to tariff elimination and that is going to hurt us.

Not all of us equally. Small firms will be hit harder than large firms and poorer areas will be hit harder than richer areas.

But of course, because the reality of the world is inversely proportional to any sense of moral justice.

Pretty much. Small firms selling less than £250,000 of merchandise to the EU, of which there are tens of thousands, will be forced into filling out all sorts of forms they've never had any contact with before. That'll be a much bigger burden on them than it will the big firms selling over that amount, or who already trade with the rest of the world. And the cost of adopting the new system might outweigh the benefit of exporting the goods in the first place.

Why does this mostly affect poorer areas?

Well there's a cruel irony to the effects of a hard Brexit: It won't really hurt Remain-voting areas but it's likely to seriously damage Brexit-supporting areas.

This is insane.

Yes, it is. The kinds of industries which could get really pummelled - automobile, aerospace and that - are mainly based in the Midlands and the North. Remain-voting London, on the other hand, is less exposed to European markets. It's economy is already hyper-globalised, arguably more so than any other city in the world. Decision-makers in the capital are often on the phone to Namibia, Honduras or Belize. But the decision-makers in Hull are more likely to be on the phone to Denmark and Germany.

Gotcha.

There's another problem too.

Oh cool, another one, yeah why not.

Tariffs aren't the only ask. Britain has also got a negotiating goal on fishing.

Fishing? Really? Surely that's a tiny dot in the economy. And given that they've given up services you wouldn't expect them to get too het up about it.

True. But it matters to the communities who do it and it has a political importance that far exceeds its economic impact. Britain also has a watertight legal case for its demand. Basically, sovereign coastal states have a 200 mile limit out to sea in which they can fish, under the UN Law of the Sea Convention.

Cool name for an international convention.

Isn't it. The whole thing is very Aquaman.

I always preferred Namor.

Everyone sensible does. He has those little wings on his ankles which let him fly. That is so preposterous and wonderful at the same time. Imagine what it looks like to see him fly with the little wing thingies on his ankles.

You were talking about fisheries policy.

Ah yes. So the British position is simple. We are now going to be a sovereign coastal state. We want our 200 mile limit. We'll decide what goes on there. The EU position is very different. It wants everything to stay the same as it is right now.

And what is the status quo for fishing exactly?

Basically anything outside of 12 miles from a member state is a common area. The stocks of individual fish species are then divided up between countries in set quotas to prevent overfishing. So Britain might have a 15% share of a particular stock, for instance. Those quotas are set. They do not change. But each year scientists provide advice on the total allowable catch. If it was 100,000 tonnes, Britain would get 15,000 tonnes that year. And that's how they divide up the stock.

So they want that to stick.

Yeah. But Britain, on the other hand, will probably want something like what Norway has. Each year, in the autumn, Norway gets together with the Europeans and sorts out some annual fish arrangements. It's fraught and tense, but it has a lot of power in the talks. They haggle over how much of a quota it gets on certain stocks. And unlike in the EU, that quota can change. Sometimes, if no agreement can be reached, Norway just says you can't fish in their waters at all. Britain would love to operate just like that.

Why can't it? You said the law is on the UK side.

It is, but the leverage isn't.

Recurring theme.

Quite. We can take control of our waters and block anyone fishing within 200 miles of them if we want, but there's a problem: we don't eat our own fish. Eighty per cent of what we catch goes to the EU. The fish we actually eat - good old British fish and chips - mostly comes from Norway and Iceland.

OK, but so what?

So the European threat is simple. If we don't do what they want they'll put tariffs on fish. That would absolutely hammer our fishing industry. The tariffs are high in this area and it would apply on almost everything it sells.

OK so what about some sort of compromise? Maybe the UK could stay in the EU system but they agree to rejig the quotas a bit to placate us.

Tempting, but the trouble is that would involve opening up the whole quota debate across the EU again. It would be like opening Pandora's Fish Box. They won't do that.

So we're faced with two sides with really quite distant goals in a highly emotional area of trade.

Yep. Which is why it's instructive to look at how they plan to talk about this. Britain wants to talk about fish separately to everything else. But the Europeans aren't having any of that. They want to bring the issue into the general trade discussion. And that'll be the attitude throughout - the British trying to silo off individual topics so they can't be used as leverage against each other and the Europeans making it more comprehensive.

What is it the Europeans actually want?

I thought you'd never ask. It's quite simple. They don't want Britain to undercut them. And that's not just about price - it's about regulations, subsidies and taxes.

What do you mean?

Well take Ireland. It basically functions as a kind of tax haven. This distorts the market and leads a bunch of major international companies to set up base there, where they pay hardly any tax. Countries like France hate that. Now, they might not be able to fully control tax policy, but they will want to make damn sure the same thing doesn't happen with Britain.

This is the Singapore of Europe thing, right?

Right. Britain will be experiencing two things simultaneously after the end of the transition period. First, a degree of damage to its trading status, the exact extent of which depends on how the trade talks go. And second, some freedom it did not have before. So where does that lead you? Well you're still a big country which can encourage companies to set up with you because of your infrastructure, language, culture and all that. So why not slash corporate taxes to the bone, lower regulations and subsidise business? Make yourself as low standard and attractive as possible. The Europeans want firm commitments to stop this happening.

How do you know?

When the new European Commission president Ursula von der Leyen came to London recently her priorities were clear: "Zero tariffs, zero quotas, zero dumping." That's an interesting set of priorities. Used in this context, 'zero dumping' sounds like code for UK firms undercutting European ones.

Like how?

Well environmental regulations for one. The EU is about to bring in a massive new green initiative, including carbon tax and carbon VAT tax. It doesn't want that undermined by Britain basically exporting lots of dirty carbon to the EU. Same with what's called 'social dumping' - unfair labour practices like easy firing laws. And the same with subsidies - throwing cash at an industry so it can outperform its competitors overseas. This is disciplined at the WTO, but China does very well operating in the grey area of the rules. Britain could try and do the same.

This is really their main priority?

Pretty much. Britain isn't their biggest concern globally - the US and China are - but it is a big meaty economy, which can heavily undercut them, right on their doorstep. Lowering environmental or labour or subsidy standards would allow this, and might tempt firms over from the rest of the world to invest in the UK rather than the EU - or, hell, even get firms in the EU to move. Taken together, this is called the 'level playing field' debate. And it is central to the European negotiating aim.

So this is where one of the main battles will be?

Yep. And it has a knock-on effect on the timetable. Johnson is desperate to get this all done in eleven months. But the level playing field issue has a procedural impact which could make that impossible.

How so?

It's because of how the EU works. It's split up into different competencies. Some things member states have pretty much to themselves, like criminal justice. Some things are mixed competencies, like the environment. And some things are exclusive competencies of the EU, like trade. If the talks with the UK were completely focused on trade, the European Commission could insist that it has exclusive competence. That would be great news for the UK. It would mean that only the Council, where national leaders meet, and the parliament, where MEPs vote, needed to sign off on the deal. But if the deal expands to include things like the environment - and the level playing field issue does exactly that - then it becomes a mixed agreement. And that means you need each and every member state to ratify it according to their domestic political arrangements.

Christ alive. So every national parliament would need to OK it?

Yeah and not just them. In some cases, their constitutional arrangements mean even regional parliaments, like the one in Wallonia in Belgium, would also need to ratify. When Canada did a trade deal with the EU, Wallonia actually refused and for a brief moment it looked like the whole thing would fall down.

Damn.

And actually it goes further than that. A non-mixed agreement would be decided by a qualified vote in the Council. That's important, because it means you don't have to keep them all on board - just most of them. But if it has to be decided by every individual state, you need something for everyone in there, and nothing too terrible for anyone either. The whole thing becomes a lot more complicated and harder to negotiate.

Can the UK prevent this?

It's unlikely. Nearly everyone believes this is a mixed agreement. Member states want to maintain EU unity, but they all have different interests with the UK. They'll want to be able to have an impact on negotiations.

So that it then? There's no way Johnson can get his deal ratified in time?

Yes and no. There is still a get-out clause. The UK and EU can take the trade aspects and provisionally apply them in areas where the EU has exclusive competence. Then the deal goes out for ratification to national parliaments, for however long that takes. And then when they've agreed, it's all put back together and gets properly ratified. There's a bit of wriggle room, basically.

OK.

The trouble is what happens if a member state says no. That happens. The Netherlands rejected the EU's association agreement with Ukraine after a referendum. Greece decided it wanted protection for Ouzo in the South African talks. And if that happens, you have to reopen the agreement and work it all through again to try and find a compromise. Basically, you are sucked into the domestic and regional politics of 27 other member states. And there's no predicting which way that will go.

God.

Yeah. And then there's the thing we haven't mentioned, which is an absolute monster of administrative confusion and grim political consequences.

I can't believe this isn't over yet and you are still talking. Have I died and gone to the Bad Place?

We're all in the Bad Place. You must surely know that now.

Yeah, good point. OK, hit me.

Northern Ireland.

Christ, I'd forgotten about that.

So has the British government. This week, the Stormont Assembly voted unanimously - all parties and not a single vote against - to withhold consent from Johnson's Brexit deal. But even without their consent, it is going to be imposed on them. And it is an absolute godawful mess.

Why?

The deal Johnson did with the EU on Northern Ireland says that it stays in the UK customs territory but follows EU customs rules. It's not clear that he understood the implications of this. It means that a British trader selling into Northern Ireland would need to prove the goods are going to stay there, or pay the EU tariff.

Doesn't sound so bad.

But think about how weird it is. All around the world, goods arriving at a customs border are asked questions about the past - what is it, where was it made, how was it made? But now they are going to be asked questions about their future - where will it end up? And that is fundamentally unknowable. How do you prove it stayed in Northern Ireland? Let's say it's by a receipt on sale. How do you prove that the person you sold it to isn't then selling it into the EU? And this isn't just for final goods. It's also for goods for processing. So you need to know about the supply chain of the people you sell to as well.

I see the problem.

We don't even really have much data to prepare us for this because we don't track British trade to Northern Ireland, for the simple reason that it was always treated as domestic. The kind of information you'd usually have to prepare for a free trade agreement simply doesn't exist.

This is horrible.

It gets much worse. How is Northern Ireland supposed to prepare for this? If the British government succeeds in securing zero tariffs across the board, then life gets marginally easier, although you'd still need to deal with regulatory checks. But if it doesn't, we won't know what the outstanding tariffs will be until close to the deadline. And the Northern Irish system needs to be up and running at the end of transition on December 31st, with all the infrastructure and monitoring that entails. Put simply: It can't be done.

What's Johnson's plan?

He doesn't have one, or at least he hasn't revealed it. Probably the former. He still insist trade will be frictionless, even though this simply cannot be true by virtue of the deal he himself signed. The government also insists that "largely electronic" processes - the high-tech-solutions band back together again for a reunion tour - will solve everything. And then, even if everything works out in the best possible way and all the highest aspirations of the high-tech solutions come to pass, there is still a ghastly problem we have to face.

Alright, I'm strapped in. What is it?

Rules of origin.

No, come on. Not again man. Don't do this to me. We've done that.

Yeah, but it applies here too. The Northern Ireland arrangement is permanent. It stays in place even if the UK and EU have a trade agreement. And that means it has to function as if it's in the EU customs union. And that means…

Rules of origin between Britain and Northern Ireland.

Exactly. Those laborious, nightmarish requirements, carved right into UK territory.

Do they have to do these checks at the border?

No. You can do it away from the border. But the impact on businesses will be huge. Exporters from Britain, who are used to sending things to Northern Ireland as if it were the same country, will suddenly face the full bureaucratic horror show of rules of origin. They will need to decide if they want to go to all the work of figuring out where all their inputs come from, and where their suppliers source their inputs, and where their supplier's suppliers source their inputs. Or whether it is cheaper to simply stop exporting to Northern Ireland. Which many of them are very likely to do.

What's the political consequence of this?

It shows that Johnson's promise of frictionless trade between Britain and Northern Ireland is an outright lie. In fact, his deal creates a permanent border within the UK. It will never go away. It is set in stone. And the worst part, the really immoral part, is that this is happening without the consent of the people it is being imposed on. How that plays out, against the background of Irish politics and the prospect of sudden infrastructure and monitoring arrangements, and impossible timetables, is anyone's guess. But one thing is clear: No responsible person would have done this.

OK. Please tell me this is over now.

Yes. But also, it's only just beginning.

Just on the off chance that I fell asleep through any of that, can you give me a quick executive summary.

Sure. Johnson has set himself an arbitrary one-year deadline for a trade talk with the EU. The consequence of this is that the deal is bare bones, excluding services or - probably, if they're not lying - alignment on goods. Unless he changes course, this will be highly damaging to UK industry, especially those parts based in the Midlands and the North. He also wants control of fisheries. The EU want fisheries to stay as they were and a set of level playing field provisions to stop the UK undercutting them in future. They will try to secure these outcomes by keeping all the issues in play at the same time, so they can leverage them against each other. Whatever happens, the UK must deal with rules of origin requirements, which are extremely painful and will have potentially ruinous results between Britain and Northern Ireland.

Can you make it shorter than that?

The government either does not know what it is doing or is not prepared to reveal what it is doing. We are heading towards a truly disastrous set of outcomes unless that changes.

Thank you. And also please never talk to me again.

Wednesday 23rd January 2020

None of the other bloggers I follow on Blogspot have put up a post this year as yet. And wondering whether I should. I mean I enjoy them, and love to reread old posts and shock myself with what I have forgotten. I am seriously thinking about stopping the Brexit posts, but then things will get really fraught this year, and will be a scary shitshow and at what I can scream on a daily basis: "I fucking told you so!"

What to do? And then there is Norwich bloody City. After the no-show at Old Trafford, I really felt so let down by the players that I would just not bother with the rest of the season. And was quite resigned to this, until I got an e mail from Peter, my new work colleague, that his son's ticket at the Spurs v Norwich was free and would I fancy going along?

I thought about it for ages, and said I would be interested, and by that time the offer was now firm, and the ticket would in fact be free, and he would take me up, if I could get to Broadstairs, and it turned out, would return me in his car to my front door.

An offer too good to refuse.

Apparently.

The day started off badly with the alarm failing to go off. So, I laid in bed waiting for it, only for it to not sound. What time does the alarm go off, I asked Jools?

Six.

Its twenty five past now I said.

Bugger.

So, she scrambled around to get ready, and I stayed out of the way, as running interference is one of my key skills, apparently. Meaning that by the time she left it was twenty past seven, and too late for phys before work.

I'll make it up tomorrow I said, not believing it myself.

I have breakfast whilst checking my inbox: one mail to deal with, and then on with more reviewing.

I cook a decent lunch for myself, as I wasn't sure what the plan was for when we got to that London. Some more work and then, time to go.

All I had to do was walk to the top of the down, along Station Road, down the other side, over the Deal road and on to the station.

With my back. I mean, I couldn't leave it behind, but it has been screaming lately.

And as soon as I turned onto Station Road to climb to the top, my back began to ache.

It got worse.

But once at the top, it would be OK for a while.

But then there is other problems; the fact the road has no pavement and steep banks on each side, so the pedestrian would have to hope he is seen in time and cars, trucks and tractors drive round us, not through us.

Wednesday was dull and grey, and I was wearing my warm coat, coloured black, as it is January and would be outside for several hours later. So I was hard to spot, and when I could I got out of the road when a car came.

I reached the Deal road safe and sound. This was the hard part, traffic going 50mph and a staggered junction, and I would have to find a gap to scamper across. After a couple of minutes, I do get across, and was now over halfway to the station. From there is was downhill for a bit, then a slight rise into the village.

I do make it, but I needed to sit on the low back to reset my back, which helped. But I am puffing well when I got to the station with ten minutes to spare. I resolve to go to the back bender for a stretching session as soon as I can.

Made it But I was at the station, I buy ticket and go down through the subway to the other platform and wait outside to cool down and get my breath back.

The train pulls in and I find an acceptable seat. I am choosy, I know. And settle down to enjoy the 35 minute run up through Deal, Sandwich, Ramsgate to Broadstairs, where, if things worked out, Pete would be waiting.

He was, but I was on one side of the station and he was on the other side. A quick phone lead to him driving round to collect me. I climb into his Audi, all 362 horsepowers growing from the back box, still sounding like a bucket of angry hornets. And that was at rest.

Broadstairs And all the way up to London there was the constant background roar of the exhaust and the popping of unignited fuel escaping. He put on a UK Subs album to help drown out the engine noise, and conversation.

But we do talk, and drive north as darkness fell, and a mist rose, making driving difficult. But he presses on, staying in the fast lane up to Dartford, inching forward through the tunnel then onto the A13 into the East End.

Driving is never fun, but on a dark and misty night, driving into London in heavy traffic is anything but, but with him and his son, driving in is half as cheap as the train, so is a no brainer.

Once near to Tottenham, the traffic inches along, before turning away from the ground to park in a muslti-story car park some 20 minute brisk walk from the ground. Or a half hour fast walk for me.

Tottenham Hotspur v Norwich It is flat, so my back is fine as long as keep the pace sensible. Pete is understanding, but pushes the envelope.

Halfway to the ground, we stop at a kebab shop for a sober kebab. Skewered chicken, salad and rice all round.

Tottenham Hotspur v Norwich And it was very good indeed, and half healthy.

Out of the shop and to the ground, past the rows of shops, barbers, betting shops and "fun" pubs. And everywhere there is rubbish and trash piled up. I could not live in a city, and certainly not this city. Nice to visit, for short periods.

Tottenham Hotspur v Norwich Spurs have a new ground that towers over the surrounding streets and looks like a UFO crashlanded, all lit up like a kid's birthday cake. It is impressive, and is state of (stadium) art. But is out of place.

We walk round to the first checkpoint, up steps to the next checkpoint, then to the turnstiles and into the ground, where I find the whole area under the raked stands is one large money making scheme: bars, fast food joints and bars. Lots of bars.

Tottenham Hotspur v Norwich And it was packed, people lined up a dozen deep to pay for quid for a pint of fizzy lager in a plastic glass. Instead we go up to our seats. Their seats are in "the wall", the largest end stand in all of Europe. We walk to the row half way up, then along to their seats, almost in the middle of the goal, with wonderful views of the pitch, which glowed under the floodlights.

Twenty two Then began the pre-match build up: flashing lights, bright flashing videos on the four huge screens and bombastic commentary over the top.

Tottenham Hotspur v Norwich All for Spurs v Norwich. Which was, let us not forget, a sell-out.

The teams come out, we stand and applaud. All I had to do now was not to show I was a Norwich supporter in the middle of the avid Spurs section, and hoping I could hide that fact in the unlikely event Norwich actually scored.

Tottenham Hotspur v Norwich It was a poor match, neither side could pass the ball. And both were shot shy, when the goal was in sight, both missed.

There was little to choose between the teams, but just before half time, City lost possession, one pass and a cross, and Dele had a tap in after stealing between two defenders.

I want to hold my head in my hands, but instead stand up with the other 50,000 Spurs fans and clap.

In the second half, it is even stuff, Norwich play better, and just when it seems it would come to nothing, we get a penalty.

After waiting 5 minutes for VAR to rule on it, Pukki lined it up, ran and struck it into the corner, just out of Lloris' grasp.

I sat on my hands, and smiled.

Pete looked at me for a reaction.

I smiled some more.

Ten minutes later, a ball going nowhere near the goal was deflected and looped into the far corner of the Norwich goal, just out of Kruul's grasp.

Done and dusted.

Football is cruel.

We really did not deserve that. Honestly. And Spurs did not deserve to win. But they did win.

We leave our seats and are down in the concourse in a couple of minutes, go to the bar for a beer to wait while the crowds dispersed, but there were thousands around us doing the same thing.

At ten, we leave and walk to the car, the evening not cold at all, and me with an extra layer of clothes on, sweating for England.

We get to the car, pay the ticket and drive out along the North Circular to the A13, then to Dartford and back into Kent.

We have the Stranglers as our soundtrack, as Pete puts the horses to use. He shows me how well the car can use them as he accelerates the car to 120mph. I am thrown back into the seat, and am impressed.

The Stranglers play on.

He deposits be at the end of our street at five past midnight.

I say thanks, and he says thanks for the three points.

Back indoors I have a bottle of tripel and some crackers and cheese.

Again, apart from the result, the day was brilliant.

Brexit is happening

Just a short post to confirm that the WAB passed its final reading in the Commons last night, MPs voting down all four of the Lord's amendments, thus setting the seeds for more hostile environments for EU citizens.

There will be no right to have a hard copy of their right to reside in the UK, the print out they get from submitting evidence is not evidence in itself.

The right of children to be reunited with their families has also been struck down.

These are stupid and racist policies.

Brexit is now owned by the Conservative (and Unionist) Party: Ha ha ha, and all the bad things that will spring forth will be theirs to own.

Whether to carry on writing about this or not has yet to be decided.

I am just tempted to post: "what did you think was going to happen?" and "I fucking told you so!" Would be a post for every day.

Wednesday, 22 January 2020

Taking back control

Brexit was all about taking back control, of course.

Or so they said.

Only the reality is going to be a little different.

Today the US made it clear if the UK and other countries, did not drop their plans for an IT tax on US companies in April, it would introduce tariffs on cars from those countries.

It seems likely that the UK will drop plans for the tax, as engaging in a tax and tariff war just when you are trying to negotiate a trade deal with the same company is not a good look. But then this shows the reality of not being in the EU, being very much alone and capitulating to bigger countries as you have no leverage.

Or how about the US unhappy that the UK intends to carry out parallel negotiations with the EU and US on trade. The US thinks their negotiations should be first, so the EU is left with the scraps, or more probable that primary alignment should be with the US.

Either way none of this looks or feels like taking back control.

Thing is, make believe constraints means that once out of the EU, freedom is make believe too.

Tuesday 21st January 2020

The end of the 3rd week of the year.

And what have we learned?

Well, not much more than we knew three weeks ago, perhaps. But the year is going to be very interesting in one way or another, and not in any way dull.

And that is not just in the Brexit sphere, but for us as well.

But more of that when it comes. But there is the promise of a cruise, financial independence, and travel to ever more remote parts of the UK through work. Is that enough to be getting on with?

Crepuscular sunrise I think so.

Tuesday began with coffee, and then in the cross trainer where it seems I forgot to breath 15 minutes into my session and my heart went "bump-diddy-bum-bumbum. And soon I was breathless and sweating heavily.

I tried to carry on, not wise, and so stopped. Laid on the bed whilst I returned to normal.

I have no idea what happened, but it is not the first time it has happened. I will keep an eye on it.

But I had done 17 minutes, and felt worn out, but six session in eight days, or something. Not bad.

I have a shower, get dressed and have breakfast, ready for whatever the working week will throw at me.

Twenty one And outside the sun shone in defiance of the BBC's forecast which was for cloud with added cloud.

But there was sun. Lots of sun.

I press on with work, updating spreadsheets, firing off mails and so on.

Stop for lunch. Stare out of the window at the birds feeding, or just singing because of the sheer joy of being out on such a fine morning.

I go out to take some snaps, snap some of the birds too, but they're too far away. I think about a bigger and better lens.

For a minute.

Tiny forest In the afternoon I take my laptop and sit on the sofa to watch the final half of the NZ travelogue, train from the northern tip of South Island to Greymouth, then by car to Milford Sound. There's a whole lot of nothing. Great looking nothing, I'll grant you, huge mountains, deep lakes, passes, valleys and so on. Then a tunnel. A long tunnel and out into Milford Sound, all fjords and waterfalls dropping into the sea.

Looked splendid on a sunny day, though being one of the wettest places on earth, its not always like that I guess.

That finishes, and it being four in the afternoon, there is no more work, so I pack up for the day, and prepare dinner; defrosted ragu with pasta and garlic bread. An easy meal.

Which also means there is wine.

Jools comes home, I dish up and we toast as usual.

And so to the evening, an evening of following the football on Twitter, whilst listening to music. As you do, multi-tasking. I give up on the Chelsea v Arsenal game at half time, as it seemed Chelsea would win easily. I was wrong. As usual.

Reality kicks in

If you look behind the Royal dominated front pages, you will see there are some stories regarding the potential trade deal that the UK will have with the EU and that the EU is making life difficult.

Like this is some kind of surprise.

Once the 31st passes and the UK leaves the EU, then it will be each side for itself, size and leverage will be everything.

And experience.

The biggest leverage, as it was with the A50 process, is time. And Johnson has given the EU added leverage by saying the transition period will not be extended, so that all has to be agreed and ratified by 31st December 2020. But with the slow ratification process, this will have to be completed by the end of June. The end of June also marks the point at which the UK has to ask for an extension, if it doesn't, there will be no averting from the cliff-edge.

Of course Johnson could do what he did at the end of the A50 process and just capitulate on EU demands and paint it as a victory and a "good deal" when it is anything but, but it would need to be ratified in Parliament, as well as the EU27 and some regional assembles too.

This is not a given, as the Canadian FTA was almost blocked by an area of Belgium. With that FTA time wasn't an issue, with Brexit it will be, if the clock ticks down to the New Year, there is no FTA.

And remember, any old fool can negotiate an FTA, but it takes skill and experience to get a good FTA for UK, and we have little or no experience in trade negotiations, and it seems will have to conduct ones with both the EU and US at the same time, with the US already complaining that the UK is dragging its feet and not saying what we want with a trade deal with the US.

As soon as Brexit is written down, it falls apart as Brexiteers cannot agree on what Brexit means, other than it meaning Brexit, should be done.

It seems that Brexit Party MEPs are discovering that after the 31st January, the UK will have no representation in the EU, and are shocked. Well, as we told them, Brexit means Brexit, and you won, get over it.

But reality bites.

Thing with fishing is that it makes up less than 1% of UK trade, while services makes up something like 80%, so banging on and on about something that may be symbolic but has little real value whilst ignoring the secotor that supports the UK economy might be considered foolish. But then details were never Brexiteers strong points.

On top of Brexit, the Civil Service will have to cope with a massive reorganisation as demanded by Cummings. Doing both is going to mean something will break.

But Cummings is a brain on legs, so I'm sure that's fine.

Former Australian PM Malcolm Turnbull stated on BBC's Newsnight program last night, that Austalia will always be friends with the UK and supported the Brexit result, but it and the rest of the Commonwealth cannot be a substitute for EU trade, the numbers just don't add up.

Meanwhile the NHS is engaging in a massive recruitment drive in India, to make up for the shortfall in EU citizens who will be leaving the UK. Yes, you read that right. Not sure if that was the aim of Brexit, not something I saw written on the side of a bus.

Tuesday, 21 January 2020

The Sewell Convention

So, all three of the devolved assemblies have voted to turn down the WA.

By law their approval is needed, and in a democracy should be needed, but Johnson has said Brexit will continue, regardless.

This wasn't unexpected, but the size of the votes was stark.

As was the four Government defeats in the Lords over the past two days.

It might not change anything, but there is effort to turn the Government off course. The principle of refugee children being reunited with their families, and EU citizens having hard copies of their right to stay here should be unarguable. And yet the Tories are denying these rights.

The Sewell Convention says that the devolved institutions should not be ignored But will. Brexit will destroy everything. Then itself.

The bonfire of rights has barely started, but remember where it started when they take your rights way too.

Monday 20th January 2020

On a clear morning, a morning with no of few clouds, it is obvious that light is winning. Each day there is a minute or two extra daylight.

We get up at quarter past six, and there is light in the sky away to the south east.

Day is coming.

Light spreads across the sky from the horizon, shapes from the garden emerges from darkness. Dawn turns gold, as does the very air outside.

The sky's gone out Inside, coffee is brewing, and the just-fed cats are doing their post-breakfast washing. I sit at the table whilst Jools does her pre-commute stuff, like getting dressed and making sure her bag has her lunch. And as soon as she has left, I sprint up the stairs to the cross trainer.

OK< I don't sprint, but I go up, put on my trainers and switch on the radio and begin pumping.

I do the twenty minutes, and finish just before half seven, all hot and bothered, but having done it.

I log onto work, find out what the company has been doing all weekend. Not much it seems. And once I am happy there is nothing urgent, I make breakfast and another coffee, and get down to the main task of the day, filling out a spreadsheet.

That would take most of the rest of the day. Cross-referencing data and filling out the appropriate box on the spreadsheet. I'm sure someone will find this useful at some point. That's what I tell myself.

I realise that I have not travelled anywhere outside the UK since we went to Belgium at the beginning of December, and I have not been to Denmark since the 29th November. I know I complain about travel, but as expected, when not travelling, I miss it. Another week at home this week, and next. But travel is coming, and to Denmark, but not until next month. Before then I have to go to Barrow again, and a town in Wales I have not heard of before.

But more of that nearer that time.

There is cheese toasties for lunch, staring out the back window at the birds, I am hoping to get a shot of the local sparrowhawk, which has been teasing me these past few weeks, arriving unannounced and leaving again before I can get the camera and big lens out. It has perched on the washing line post, had a preen and then flew off. Sat on the neighbours garden gate before flying off, and at the weekend was in the bush were the bird feeders, looking like a dark pigeon until it flew off, turning in a tight arc, looping the loop, into the next garden. I didn't get a shot of that either.

In the afternoon, I have a doctor's appointment. A review of medication and the rest. So I have to leave home as soon as the latest department meeting is finished, walking to the end of our street then down Station Road into the village centre. At the end of the street, there are a few early daffodils in flower, I snap the best for my photo of the day, and walk on.

Twenty By the pond and near the school, parents are gathering to collect their darlings, parking anywhere they can, blocking the roads and each other in order to get as close to the school as possible.

The long gentle slog up the the surgery plays havoc with my back, it is screaming by the time I reach the door. So slump in a chair to wait my turn.

I'm overweight still, apparently.

Thanks for that.

I collect my pills, and walk back down into the village where the screaming kids are out, and walking all over the place. Parents try to steer their cars between them, and one, I swear this is true, drive the 100 yards from the space nearest the school, past the pond and turning up The Avenue, which is a dead end. No more than 200 yards. In a car.

Cloudfront I walk on, and do well until Station Road bottoms out and climbs again. By the time I reach the end of our street I swear I am seeing stars. I turn for home and the pain melts somewhat.

Dinner is sausage rolls, as I found a pack of puff pastry in the freezer, so got sausage meet at the weekend. And by half five the house is full of the baking smell.

The white streak Lovely.

Darkness came late, it is light until gone half four, birds were still feeding at ten to five.

I watched more of the New Zealand travelogue, from the tip of south island to Greymouth. Yes, that hasn't given me ideas about more trips and holibobs, has it?