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.

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.

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.