Friday 28th February 2020

Friday.

For Jools it is already the weekend. But for me, it is another working day. "working" day, that is.

Look, I get to work from the dining room table, with a commute of several inches from one chair to another, and in the evening, I pack the screen and keyboard away and pour a glass of wine, happy in a job well done.

Jools' alarm goes off at five fifteen. Even for me it is too early, so go back to sleep until six, by which time she is dressed, having drunk her cuppa and was in the process of making my first coffee.

So, after she leaves for her yoga class, I finish my coffee and, although it was easier not to do it, I go up to do the phys on the cross trainer, and although my legs ached, I do the whole session, singing loudly as some of my favourite songs come up on the i pod.

I finish, cool down then go for a shower, get dressed and have breakfast. And once logged into work, log my working hours, book travel to Aberdeen and North Hoyle in the upcoming weeks, and I am in control.

I have a meeting with my boss where I say, I am in control. It is good you are in control. Then we spend 20 minutes talking about cats.

And for the rest of the morning I clean up the new process I have been working on, taking off all the reviews and comments.

It is midday, Jools is usually home by then, but of Jools there is no sign. I am also hungry.

I say to myself, toy will not die, all is good.

Half an hour passes. No news.

Another half hour passes, and I have to be out of the house in an hour for another eye test.

I text Jools: are you OK?

Yes.

When will you be home?

20 minutes.

So, I pack work away, and am putting the power lead away for the laptop when Jools is reversing down the drive, car laden with various lunch possibilities for lunch.

Just as well as I was bloody hungry.

Jools brings in the shopping, dodging the raindrops. I make brews, make ham rolls for lunch, so within ten minutes we were sitting down to eat. Which was nice.

And with the weather outside, grim, I have to go out to go to into town for my actual eye test.

I park as close to the shop as possible, behind the back of the Maison Dieu, walk through to Biggin Street and along to Specsavers.

I am booked in, have the same tests as two weeks ago, then the actual eye test, reading the letters on the screen. My eyesight is worse, but not that bad, but I now need vari-focals, which will be expensive. Bloody expensive.

I pick the first frames I see, and after paying I can leave for home. Going via Greggs where I buy to jammy shortbreads, which I think will go very well with afternoon coffee, which I plan to make once home.

I go home along Reach Road, which the rain had turned into a river, water all brown with mud, pouring off fields and down past the NT place. Along Reach Road, the road is almost covered by water, so I take my time, and arrive in St Maggies, then past the shop and down the hill to home.

I make coffee, put a shortbread each on a plate, and soon we are sitting enjoying a fine treat, as outside the wind howls and the rain still pours in sheets.

We listen to the radio, then I make king prawn stir fry and crispy noodles for dinner. I celebrate the weekend by opening a new box of vintage red wine. The box dates from December 2019. It was a good year.

And once the Steve Lamaqc show was done, it was all eyes on the TV for the game, Norwich v Leicester.

A must win game for Norwich, against a team that was going through a rough time.

And Norwich dominate the first half, but ends goalless. In the 2nd, Leicester start to take control, and score 5 minutes in, but that is ruled out due to handball.

Just when it seems that all was last, Lewis hammers the ball home from outside the box, and the silence inside Carrow Road was broken. Leicester dominate, and come close to scoring, but don't.

Norwich win, 1-0. Don't matter how, just that they did.

21 points instead of 18.

The Great Escape might be on.....

Getting some in part 16

Dateline:23rd April 1991, AWM 218, RAF Cosford.

Dear Mum and Dad,

Shock news from your loving son as to why he's not rung: I lent Mark some money and he failed to pay it back. I know I'm a mug, bt, it was one of those things. A big mistake and not one to repeat.

Anyway, I enclose a cheque, please pay into my account. If you can't find the paying in book there'll be slips in the branch. Yes, I am skint again, but don't worry I will survive. After finding out how much it cost to reverse charges, I won't be doing that again. You will probably say not to worry, but I hop you understand why I won't.

Apart from money I'm OK. Mark sulks, but who cares? Saturday went well, she bought be pizza and drinks (no idea who that is), I left at 11, and spent most of Sunday in bed, watching football, etc.

We finished consolidation training yesterday, but I was the only one on the course who finished all the tasks, but as the whole course has to re-do it, so do I. To make it worse, I got a Uni7, a commendation. You can get a good or bad one, I got a good one. And I quote, "excellent attitude, which was a refreshing change. Positive confidence" and, "thorough knowledge of all subjects". I can tell you, I could hardly fit my head through the doorway.

Only myself and Amanda got Uni7s so far on the course!

So, we got four day's extra work to do now, but I'm still in a good mood. I feel as if I've done something really good. We've got an exam on Monday then FINALS on Friday 3rd May. Arrggh, mega-panic, etc.

There's a sports day on Thursday, a load of us are doing a tug-of-war. For some reason I had to have nother medical, and I am now officially 3cm taller than I was in September! By 1995 I will be 15 feet tall.

Sorry, but its getting late, and as there is more news, so I'll finish here,

Ian

Thursday 27th February 2020

Jools' last working day of the week. I still have Friday to do as well.

And it is to be another grey and cold day, meaning the digging up of the patio I have had planned all week was postponed. Again. And as was any walk round the neighbourhood on a wild flower hunt.

So, once Jools had left for work, I put the bins out and then went to the spare room for another round of phys on the cross trainer. And twelve minutes into the session I reach the end of the playlist I had been working through for the past five or six weeks. Nothing for it but to start of the beginning of the next playlist.

Press play and get pumping.

I felt good, good enough to do a second session in the afternoon? Maybe. Possibly.

Anyway, after cooling down, make breakfast and set up the office and get down to work, and I have a task I am best suited to; preparing a report on the requirements under a clause in an ISO standard. I rubbed my hands and got reading and typing.

Much time passes.

I stop for yet more cheese toasties for lunch, a huge brew.

And carry on with work. My main concern was what to do for the shot of the day, there is either my workstation. Again. Or some RAF stuff, or birds in the garden. I chose the latter, a pair of fighting chaffinches, arguing about who should be sitting on the perch at one of the feeders. In fact, the birds were much more interesting than work.

And indeed, come four in the afternoon I go back to the spare room for more lard pumping.

I can then go for a shower and a change into some clean clothes, all to be ready and sweet-smelling for when Jools came home.

Dinner was the old dependable; bangers and mash and beans. Which is a fine meal, especially when the bangers are this season's wild garlic ones, though not ones we picked the ramsons for.

And that's it for another day. More football to follow on Twitter, music on the radio, all accompanied by a glass or three of sloe gin.

Yummy.

On trade

I have said several times that anyone who talks about trade purely in terms of tariffs really doesn't understand trade. As it is non-tariff barriers that will really be difficult to overcome.

It comes back to the control/trade compromise.

I read a good article by Matt Bishop on how the UK has come to where it has, and it seems that most Brexiteers see trade in a 19th century way, one which deals in finished goods only. Modern trade is about complex supply chains, crossing and recrossing borders, because its cost efficient to do so. And that for most suppliers, this is normal. And for organisations like whom Jools works for, they send parts hither and thither to be cut, coated, treated before receiving them.

This involves a courier, and a courier will carry many consignments, I have read that one company says each truck carries on average 300 consignments. In a post Brexit world of the hardest Brexit, each of those 300 consignments would need customs declarations, proof of origin, and where a component have several parts, orgins of those too. One of the hardest is going to be foodstuffs, the WTO rules of biscuits and their ingredients and what tariff or customs rules to apply is very complex.

Things that exporters to the EU currently don't have to worry about or do, but might have to. Or not. So they will have to prepare for both, or all scenarios. Each time the UK Government changes its mind on what Brexit is, it creates costs for UK business making them less competitive.

Trade, certainly since the second world war, has been about the removal of barriers, either tariff or non tariff, so to facilitate trade, and the UK under Thatcher was a leading advocate of that, not that you would think that now. What Brexiteers cannot grasp is that the SM and CU are the reasons there is frictionless trade, you simply cannot leave either or both and expect to have frictionless trade. By definition, Brexit will create friction, which will create delay, which will create costs.

Saying this isn't the case doesn't change reality, and until Brexiteers understand reality, rather than denying it, we might be able to find a way to make this shit show work. But for now, the Government is suppressing all criticism of Brexit, stopping Ministers going on radio and TV shows that are over critical, even when there is a public health issue to publicise. This is clearly madness, but we are seeing MPs, Ministers and now Civil Servants being replaced not because they are trying to sabotage Brexit, but because they don't believe in it.

That the Government won't even start an economic impact assessment until after it has been agreed shows really they don't believe in it either, but really like the unfettered power that the WAB will bring, and will use it to justify attacks on the BBC and the Judiciary.

Reality won't change, the very real and difficult choices will have to be made, and accepting the risks and costs those choices bring are best shown now, rather than later.

The Brexit conundrum (reprise)

It is the stated aim of Her Majesty's Government to have a trade policy independent from the EU.

Today, Michael Gove confirmed that the UK would honour, in full, the Withdrawal Agreement.

The NI protocol says that for agri and some other Goods NI would remain in the Single Market.

Both cannot be true.

It is possible Gove, Johnson et al do not understand what they signed up to.

But it is more likely that they signed up to it with no intention of honouring it.

That would be a grave mistake, as I have previously said, all trade talks and agreements are conducted "in good faith", or that each takes the other at their word. If the UK were to break their word on this, it would make any of the 900 plus deals the UK have to make as the other party would insist on legal measures to ensure compliance. This is the UK, in trade terms, putting up a huge neon sign above Downing Street saying that the UK cannot be trusted.

It has been suggested that the UK will not participate in the International Patient Group, meaning that UK companies and individuals won't be able to protect their inventions and innovations. But I'm sure the Government know what they're doing.

Michael Gove has committed to recruiting 50,000 new customs officers. This is a skilled job and training usually takes two years, they need to be ready in ten months. 50,000 customs officers earning the living wage would cost £1.25 billion a year in wages alone. How's that for a Brexit bonus?

And by the end of the year, Brexit would have cost the country £200 billion in lost GDP, more than all of the UK's 49 year EU contributions.

Wednesday 26th February 2020

Rest day. From phys.

And after four sessions in two days, it felt like cheating to do none, but rest is as important. I know I'm not running a marathon or cycling round New Zealand, but even still, pays to be careful. And with nearly three weeks at home, lots of time to get plenty of phys in, and soon enough it'll be light enough to go for a walk when Jools comes home. In fact, on Wednesday she was earlier than usual, back at twenty five to six, and was still light outside. It did fade quick, but the years grows ever older.

And after a week of wind and rain, how great to wake up with clear skies and the promise of a nice day, even if the weather was turning colder, cold enough for snow in East Anglia and further north.

But not here.

So, Jools got ready, and I lazed around until she had left. Had an early breakfast listening to a podcast before getting down to work, setting up the office and dealing with the issues of the day.

Through the day I go out whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, and I see that the Snake's Head Fritillaries, at least those in the old wheelbarrow, not only have sprouted, but two have formed buds on each stem. This is two weeks ahead of usual, and thinking how the imperialis were the same, then I put two and two together and ponder the possibilities of orchids flowering next month!

Eeeek!

So much to do and so little time with work getting in the way.

I have an early lunch of yet another cheese toastie, and overcook it so the bread is thin and crispy and covered in cheese that had leaked out, also very crispy. Simple food, but lovely.

I make a bowl of hot and spicy salsa to go with the nachos we were to have for dinner, made in enough time so the flavours could marinade and get stronger. That was the plan.

Outside, the sun set in the west, not going down until well after five now. Warm golden light played on the trees and valley sides overlooked by the kitchen window. It looked fabulous.

I took a few shots, and again when Jools came home as dark clouds brought an end to the day.

Lets eat!

I was listening to the football in the evening, when the phone rang:

Ian?

Well, let me explain. I am an only child. As were both Mum and Dad, so no aunts, uncles, nieces nephews, cousins, etc. But there are more distant relations. Maureen and Donald live in Hemel Hemstead, north of that London, and it is thirty five years since I last saw them. I found their address in an old contact book of mine, thirty years old, and to be honest, I wasn't sure if they were alive or not. But, I wrote to them before Christmas to let them know what happened to Mum.

And I heard nothing.

Until last night.

Now, one thing you should know about Donald is that he has an obsession. He likes orchids.

Yeah, how freaky is that? But he grows his own exotic orchids in a heated shed-cum-greenhouse in his back garden. I do have memories of looking in and seeing exotic flowers growing from bits of tree bark.

So, what are you doing with yourself these days? He asked after he had introduced himself.

Well, I said, this might tickle your interest, but I photograph native hardy orchids.

So, we talked about orchids for quarter of an hour, ones I have seen, the ones he has seen and grown and places to visit in France and beyond. I then told him of the Kent church project, and how that is going, and he was really pleased that I had these hobbies that are a bit unusual.

Sadly, Maureen had Parkinson's, and cannot come to the phone, and when I suggested visiting, he was unsure. But we did cover a bit about Mum, though not in any great detail, so after half an hour the call ended.

And that was that, really. More football, some sloe gin and bed at ten.

Getting some in part 15

We are now drawing to an end to my trade training, and in June will be posted to my first RAF camp, which will be RAF Marham near Kings Lynn, but could have been anywhere in the UK from Cornwall to the West of Scotland, and anywhere inbetween.

That weekend we went to Fawey in Cornwall for Paddy's wedding. When we arrived after a six hour drive down the M5, we found his family and friends throwing each other in the harbour. As they do. By this time I had a nine year old Mk V Ford Cortina 2.0 lite, which we all went down to the wedding in.

Dateline:8th April 1991, AWM 218, RAF Cosford.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I hope you are both well. It is Monday morning and we have just had PT. As only seven of us did it, we played four-a-side football.

I suppose you want to know how the weekend went. We had a good time! On Friday, we went out and got slightly drunk. Went to bed at about 02:00. Saturday morning was spend cleaning our kit. We then had to walk to the church, and got lots of looks from the locals as we walked.

The wedding went OK, we then had to walk to another hotel for the reception. We had four pints each before the meal.

And then after the meal and speeches, we had to walk back to our hotel to change, before walking back to the other hotel for the disco. I was drinking lager and a 30 year old port at £3.35 a glass. I danced with a girl called Helen, but she wasn't impressed when I tried to get her back to the hotel. But Paddy tells me she was trying to find me Sunday morning, but we had already left.

We left Cornwall at 11:00 yesterday and we back on base at 16:30.

We are on guard tomorrow, so that's 12 hours of boredom. At least we are spared a bull night as we will be on duty.

We've got a very quiet weekend lined up, planning to spend it all in bed. Its the FA Cup on Sunday, and both games live on TV!

This time last week, we were in that pub in Bilston eating chilli.

Anyway, hope you are both well, see you on the 19th!

Ian

Tuesday 25th February 2020

What is this we see outside, a blue sky? And warm orange light on the horizon, meaning there would be sunshine.

After Jools got ready for work, I go upstairs and do a session on the cross trainer, and am back down again, making breakfast so I am ready to start work at nine.

But despite my commute of just three feet, I am still two minutes late. Broken points at Surbiton.

Then it is on with work, sorting documents out and preparing for a meeting.

I take a few minutes to wader round outside; there are at least eight imperialis showing already, and the first ones to show already have their leaves unfurling. In the trees and bushes, birds are singing sweet songs of love, gathering nesting material. It all sounds and looks like Spring, but it is still February, and there could be a kick to winter as yet.

Back to work, I have an early lunch then get down to the really serious stuff I do.

In the afternoon, clouds roll in, turning the sky from blue to black before they dump fifteen minutes of sleet on the house, and for a few moments the ground turned white.

I take pictures.

I also go and do another session on the cross trainer, my legs now quite tired, but I finish then go for a shower and put on some nice clean clothes.

That's better.

One final check of mails then I pack away the office for the night and begin to prepare dinner. It is to be carbonara, a variation I copied from Jamie Oliver, it uses no cream, just egg yolks, so isn't too fatty. Garlic butter made and melted, spread on sliced cornbread and then cooked in the oven until crispy.

Again, I bring it all together for when Jools comes home, soon though we will be able to go for an evening walk first, meaning more exercise!

We eat and I drink red wine, as it doesn't drink itself. Good to know I still have a job.

And that really is it. Jools was sleepy so she went to lay on the bed, and then inside the bed and so fell asleep. I followed Chelsea in the CL v Bayern, and Bayern ran out easy 3-0 winners.

Oh well. Time for bed.

Getting some in part 14

Dateline:18th March 1991, AWM 218, RAF Cosford.

Dear Mum and Dad,

How are you both? I hope you are both well.

Well, it is only eight days until Easter, thank goodness. I got 85% in the small arms exam, which I am very pleased about.

Had a good time in Swindon(!) but Mark and I have now fallen out, I won't go into details but he is moaning like a spoiled brat. Oh well, that's life.

We've got a difficult section coming up, so I'll have to knuckle down. I am feeling OK now, much improvement.

I am really looking forward to Easter and I hope you are too.

The atmosphere on the course is pretty good at the moment, I even made up with our senior man. Unbelievable, really. We lost another person off the course, Dave, due to failure in exams. He's not that disappointed.

We had a bull night, not as bad as at Swinderby, only takes about half an hour and another half hour in the morning.

I just watched Wold in Action, the "Birmingham Six" were saying the little things in life they missed when in prison; birds singing, door handles, starry skies, etc. I wonder what you miss about me?

Looks like trouble brewing in Yugoslavia (understatement by me, really), doesn't it?

Well, that's it for now, look after yourself.

Ian

Groundhog day

I know I said I wasn't going to write about Brexit any more.

And then I started doing one a week, at weekends, you know, beause its all going so fucking well?

And then something comes along and you just have to comment?

Well, two things yesterday, Ian Fucking Duncan Fucking Smith suggested that as Brexit was getting tricky, maybe let experts take over.

And then David Davis, one time Brexit Minister and dimmer than a 5 watt lightbulb says in an interview with the FT that if only the UK stands firm, German Car makers would pressure the EU into capitulation.

You fucking what?

Is this 2016? I mean, this dim twat has been sprouting this line sinc ebefore the referendum and has been proven time and time again to be wrong. Maybe he thinks if he says it ten thousand times it might come true?

Brexit was always a fucking stupid idea.

But it has been executed by dimwits and people elevated way beyond their meager talents.

All through the A50 process, unforced error after unforced error.

And now in the transition period, nothing learned, old lies repeated, old mistakes also repeated.

Words fail me.

Not really.

Monday 24th February 2020

There seems to have been gales for weeks, if not months. Monday dawned with grey clouds and rain lashing down. Jools put in her wet weather gear before driving to work, as she parks in Hythe and walks to the office, forcing her to walk to pick it up at lunchtime. Monday dawned with a pale light, and later than in recent days. So it wasn't light when I went up to the cross trainer.

I program the machine, set my ip pod to pay, and all was going well until two minutes from the end of my session when the i pod battery went flat.

Bugger.

I set on charge and said to no one in particular, I'll do a session in the afternoon. Not really meaning it.

But it was a little early, ahead of schedule, so I fill up the bird feeders, make a fresh coffee and have breakfast, whilst starting work at five to eight..

And very quickly the working day from home settled down, with meetings and coffee. Meanwhile outside, the rain continued and the day never quite got light.

Lunch is leftover chorizo hash and scrambled eggs, on toast. A prince among lunches I feel.

During the afternoon I plan my work trips between now and the end of May, six more trips and visits to Aberdeen (twice), Birkenhead (also twice) as well as return trips to Barrow and North Wales.

Phew.

Just one trip to Denmark ahead, in April to celebrate my 10th anniversary with the company.

How time flies when you're having fun!

The afternoon is drawing to an end, and I do go upstairs to do another session on the cross trainer. I set the i pod where it went flat, and off we went.

Things is, I can really see now that I have made a difference. My belt no longer needs doing up and my trousers hang down, loosely, at the back.

Maybe I should do a second workout each phys day?

Steady on!

But that done, I have a shower and get dressed in nice clean clothes. T shirt of the day is one inspired by the film, They Live.

Jools was late back as it was yoga night, so I watch some football, listen to some radio, the make garlic bread and prepare the caprese, so when she returns at quarter past seven, all is ready.

And all put away so that I could watch the Liverpool v West Ham game on Sky. An oddly compelling game, and Liverpool out of sorts, but just do enough to win 3-2 and go back to being just the 22 points clear at the top.

The Brexit "plan"

So it is becoming clear what the Brexiteers at the heart of Government want to do.

This afternoon, it got BBC employee, Andrew Neil, to make a speech in which he said that it was Johnson's Government's intention that complex supply chains should end.

Those days are over.

Instead, manufacturers should use 3D printing or local suppliers.

Craziest thing I have heard.

Only its not, try this:

The Government wants UK farmers to follow the highest food standards, whilst maintaining their livelihoods, maintaining the countryside, removing them from their largest and most profitable market, while, at the same time, allowing substandard food to be imported from other countries, cheaper that what they could grow it. This would make more thorough rules of origin checks compulsory, thus adding yet more delays and cots for those who were still exporting.

NFU President, Minette Batters, had strong words on this: "She says it'd be "morally-bankrupt, work of the insane" to embrace some of the production used abroad e.g Australia, Brazil, Malaysia."

"This isn't hysteria, this isn't mumbo-jumbo, this is fact"

And that vacancies in the care home sector is because the providers don't pay staff enough. As it cost Nan near to £4,000 a month to stay in care, I am confused as to where the shortage of staff comes from, as there is a lot of money there. Though of course, there are overheads and such like, so should be pay even more for care or accept there will not be enough staff to provide it? The equity in one's house will soon eat up those funds, so it will fall onto local authority to pick up the slack, diverting more money away from services.

Morally-bankrupt, work of the insane describes Brexit and Brexiteers quite well, don't you think?

Sunday 23rd February 2020

Sunday.

And once again the wind did blow and the rain did fall.

We have gone out and got wet. Or we could stay inside and get chores done, watch football, rugby and more football.

Spring is round the corner, it'll be better next weekend. Though we said that last week, and were wrong.

The heating switching on at half six wakes us up, though the cats had been meowing loudly for some time beforehand. Already it was almost light outside, meaning we would be waking up earlier and earlier in the weeks to come, as both Jools and I are light sensitive, though not vampires I stress. Just daylight wakes us up.

Anyway, we are up, feed the cats and have coffee., then take turns in going on the cross trainer to do some phys, then have a shower before it is time to have breakfast. Of fruit.

Yes, no bacon.

Shocking, I know.

I watch MOTD and the latest missteps with VAR, and with the weather still grim outside, I take the executive decision to have dinner at lunchtime, like Mum used to make. But this was no meal that my Mum ever made: herb encrusted rack or lamb, roast potatoes, steamed vegetables, cheesy sauce and a bottle of pink fizz.

I boil the potatoes until they are about to fall apart, this makes them extra crispy, then pan fry the lamb to seal in the meat and crisp up the fat, before coating the fat with a thin layer of French mustard and pressing flavoured coating into it. Pop into a moderate over for 45 minutes. Peel and steam the vegetables, make the cheese sauce, mix the batter pudding batter, put those in smoking hot bun tins, roast the potatoes and bring them all together to be cooked at half twelve.

Arrange on our fancy plates, pout the fix.

Toast. Eat Drink.

Relax for an hour. Wash up. Make coffee. Sit on the sofa to watch the England v Ireland game and try not to fall asleep.

Inbetween I complete the application to get Granddad's war record, write the admin cheque and take it to the letterbox to post. Now to wait to find what he really did during the war, or if he was "just a cook". I suspect he saw lots of action.

Anyway.

More sport with football, after the rugby.

Jools watched Dr Who, I make supper of bacon sandwiches.

And that was the day done. We didn't do a lot, but were ready for the upcoming working week.

The end of days

The Conservative Party under the leadership of Boris Johnson has an 80 seat majority in the House of Commons, and so could pass whatever laws and acts it wants.

But that is not enough.

The Government under Johnson and his adviser, Cummings, are attacking most of the pillars of our democracy: The Judiciary, The BBC and C4, the Civil Service, Judicial Review, Freedom of Information requests, literally have hidden in a fridge to avoid scrutiny from the media and the public.

The Civil Service is first in their sights, with the plan to remove career civil servants and replace them with political appointees, like in the US. Reports abound today or clashes between senior civil servants and their ministers. Accusations of bullying are being made against Patel among others.

And competent ministers who have their own opinion are replaced by those who are compliant.

The ability to say "yes" to anything Johnson or Cummings wants or says is valued more than actually understanding their ministerial brief. Explains a few appointments I suppose.

This is so that Government and its advisers can govern by decree without scrutiny, without question. The previous Chancellor resigned that have to sack all his advisors and have them replaced by Cummings appointees.

The BBC is set to lose its licence fee, and the Governments decision to remove free licences for the over 75s is being blamed on the corporation rather than ministers. A public broadcaster is important, asking questions of authority, debate on how it could be funded is another matter, but there is talk of selling it all off except for Radio 3 and Radio 4, the Home and Light Service, as was.

So either Cummings or Johnson bans ministers from going on Radio 4, Good Morning Britain or Channel 4 News as these are deemed hostile media. As well as ministerial contact with lobbyists is now banned and apparently a network of spies is around London to catch those who do not obey.

Does this sound normal?

What will this mean to the country, when the reality of this is understood, and if carried out to conclusion? Not be able to change anything, not be able to challenge, and also in the sights id the fixed term Parliament Act, so the PM can pick and chose his, or her, moment. The act was brought in for a reason.

We said this would happen.

Oh no, Johnson is just posturing, he'll mellow out after the election. But apparently not.

So, five years of Johnson and Cummings, end up with no BBC, no NHS, no Civil Service and dogma lead policies everywhere, regardless of the impact on people and their lives.

We get what we deserve.

Saturday 22nd February 2020

And just like that, the weekend arrives. And with it, the age old question on how best to spend it.

Well, with yet another weekend of storms due, we didn't think it a good idea to travel much. And Paul at the butchers had dropped not very subtle hints that they would like an alternative supply of wild garlic leaves, and had plied with much free stuff last weekend, so we thought we had better follow through.

Our nearest site for ramsons is Waldershare, so we could go there first, then onto Preston and then to Chislet for some church crawling.

Perfect.

I took the day off from phys, and once up and about I make coffee and warm up some cheap croissants for breakfast.

It would have been easy to come up with some excuse not to go out. But we really shouldn't stay in the house all day. So, we put on our trapsing boots, loaded the car with camera gear and plastic bags, and drove the ten minutes to waldershare and the redundant church at the end of the muddy lane, where people go now to flytip their houshold waste, as it seems the council failed to realise charging people for this would make people break the law.

Who knew?

The churchyard is very overgrown now, with drifts ofsnowdrops visble through the brambles that now rampage between the gravemarkers. I could get to some, but the weather too gloomy for macro work, really. So we carry and walk to the footpath beyond.

Down the path where I hope that it was weather that had pushed the fenceposts over, and not just wanton vandalism or an offroad motorcyclist. I'll never know.

But over the road and into the wood, soon the woodland floor is covered in lush green growth of wild garlic. And just to stand on one leaf releases their pungent aroma. Let alone thousands of them all doing the same.

We are both armed with kitchen scissors, and we set about cutting the fresh new growth and bagging it. I do manage to cut off the top of one finger. I am not knife trained. What can I say, I am a doofus, and there are drops of blood everywhere. So I have to stop gathering to stew the flow of red stuff.

Once we had gathered a bagful, we walk back to the car, and I drive to Preston trying to hold a wad of bloody tissue to strop the bleeding. That makes it sound worse than it was, but if anyone could get injured harvesting leaves with a simple pair of scissors, I'm your man.

We reach Preston with the bleeding having been stopped. The guys are happy and ply us with more free stuff, some Portuguese egg custard things, which are wonderful, we shall have them with afternoon coffee we say.

We drive through Sarre, past Dickens' favourite pub, and towards Canterbury before turning right and up the down to Chislet.

Would the church be open?

No.

So, I snap it with the compact from outside, then walk back to the car where Jools was waiting.

A short detour home is Sturry where there is another church I have yet to snap inside. I find a place to park in the village and walk down to the church laden with camera gear, only to find the church locked, despite all the welcome to our church and mind the step when you enter signs.

And that is it, most of East Kent has now been snapped, church-wise, so there is little to do than drive home along the valley of the Nailbourne which is now in full flow, and some fords closed due to it being too deep for cars to cross.

From Bridge we join the A2 then drive back to Dover and then to home, arriving back at half eleven, time to put the coffee pot on and have the egg custards.

There is football on the radio, all afternoon, of course. So, with there being blogs to write, photos to edit, I get down to work and somehow the afternoon passes. At least Norwich did not lose, as we are not playing until Sunday. THough as I write this are two down already and its not half time.

Sigh,

Being Saturday, it is cards night, and I find it hard to summon up the enthusiasm, so long it seems since we had a proper winning night.

Needless to say, this was the day when our luck returned. Winning a hand of meld, then Jools and I netting for car runs in three consecutive games of Queenie. When I try to bring the evening to a halt wafter my 5 card run in the first game John and Jen say no, it was too early.

Jools then got a run in the second, and me in the third.

There was no arguing then, we scoop our winnings and try to get John out of the door before he started on another one of his stories.

A run in Queenie is rare, we have played for two or more hours on some nights without any of us getting one, so three in a row is very unusual.

And that is it for Saturday. Just time to drive home, drop John off home, and back to Chez Jelltex for a celebration slow gin.

The cost of everything and the value of nothing

The Government released details of its points based immigration system this week.

It skews work visas to those with degrees, jobs over £25,600 a year and those with a guaranteed job.

Huge areas and sectors of the economy will be affected, adversely by this. Its not that fruit-picking, coffee making, changing beds and dressing in care homes don't matter.

This ignores the fact that people who come to work in the county in low paid jobs, stay in those jobs for life. The learn skills, go to college and night school on top of renting houses, paying taxes and NI contributions. It has been show my actual facts that immigration greatly benefits the country. But we're stopping that.

Its like there is only value in the ability to pass exams; or put it this way, driving an HGV or bus is low skilled. Clearly, Priti hasn't driven a delivery truck through London in rush hour. These are jobs with vocational skills. Many jobs are.

There are eight million economically inactive UK citizens she said. Well, they might be long term sick, disabled, retired? Thee are never simple solutions to complex problems.

The care industry has over 120,000 vacancies. If it were that simple to get the economically inactive to work, then these would be filled. But of course this is an industry that relies with so much on immigration to fill vacancies so our elderly have someone to look after them. Care was bad enough before the staffing crisis!

Industries like fish processing need immigrants to prepare fish for export.

Like, who'd have though it?

Oh year, remoaners.

Bastards.

Pressure will build from industry for alignment and opt-outs for these regulations, as reality and real life will come into play.

Meanwhile with the country having been lashed by storms week after week, and then submerged by floodwater, then the Prime Minister has gone missing. Maybe someone should look in the nearest fridge.

Friday 21st February 2020

Dateline: Aarhus.

For some reason, I did not trust my alarm to go off at half five, so woke up every half hour to check it. I do get up at twenty past five, and so when I'm in the bathroom, it goes off and so wakes up those rooms on either side.

Anyway, I switch it off, get dressed and pack, one final check round the room which I fail to spot the bottle of congestion spray beside the bed. Oh well, I have two spare hidden in my work bag and luggage.

Downstairs to check out and out into the pre-dawn darkness and heavy rain.

Sigh.

This would be a long drive to the airport.

Out of the city is fine, but once on the motorway the heavy rain makes the lanes hard to see, and its all a bit of a lottery. I press on, overtaking when its safe.

I reach junction 57, turn off and then its a smple case of following the main road to Give then across to Billund.

I am on autopilot, so fail to notice the car hire return lot is being resurfaced, and so I have no idea where to leave the car. I find a lot of another company, so leave the car there, hoping it will be found.

It is still raining.

I walk to the terminal, and my well-timed plan of getting there just after all the budget flights had checked in failed as it was holiday week in Denmark, and half of Denmark was still to check in. I drop my bag off, and then join the back of the half mile long line for security, where, once I get near the front, my eyes roll more and more as I see inexperienced travellers try to sort out their cosmetics and laptops from their bags to be scanned.

I watched one young woman, dressed in a fashionable knitted poncho (are they a thing again), spend ten minutes sorting through her badly packed carry on bag, in the process blocking one of the scanners. Finally she is satisfied and pushes four tray-fulls of her stuff to be scanned. Her large bag is rejected, so much so it wasn't a case of taking out a few liquids, she had to empty it all out.

I left her to it.

Up in the departure hall, a man asked if I wanted to try a whisky?

At quarter to eight in the morning?

No thanks! Even I have standards.....

I find a place to sit down and check work mails, while all around me families are eating cheese rolls and Dads drinking half litres of Carlsberg.

My flight is called, and being a Friday, it is full.

I wait to be the last on, and as I climb the steps I see an old freind is on this flight, Annamarie the stewardess. I have seen here on and off each time I fly for over six years now, and we are now friends. She gives a little scream of joy when she sees me and gives me a huge hug.

Did I need anything: more food, more coffee? All through the flight I get the best service of anyone. I have to tell her I will be flying much less now, and she is being tasked with ground-based duties now, so chances are we might not see each other again. A shame.

I get two more hugs when I get off, so I walk sadly to the terminal to join another huge queue at immigration.

Sigh.

All this means is that I have no chance of making the early train to Dover, so I am very relaxed about things and begin to formulate a plan of things to do with my 55 minutes at Statford.

I go to Waitrose to look at their beer selection, I get three bottles that take my fancy, then to Foyles for some bookshop windowshopping, then finally to the Turkish cafe for coffee and a slice of baklava.

Yes, over sweet and gooey, but lovely. Meaning I was all done and on the platform at half ten, ready for the train to Dover.

Despite being half term, it wasn't that busy, and I get a seat at a table in the front carriage, settle down to enjoy the trip home, as it seems months since I did the trip. Last time must have been when we went to London at the end of November.

Nothing much changes, being cloudy and dull the countryside looks ready for spring to start, but I know in nooks and crannies there are spring flowers out.

Jools was waiting at Dover ready to whisk me back home in time for lunch, as she had done the week's shopping. So back home for lunch, but before that, to my surprise I do a session on the cross-trainer, seeing as I had been away for a couple of days. And once I had done that, then we eat.

After a shower it was nearly three, and too late, really to do anything else, so we put the radio on and fritter away the afternoon until it was time to prepare the chorizo hash for dinner.

Outside the wind is blowing again as another gale system sweept in from the west. At least I wan't in a tiny jet trying to land at LCY in it!

After dinner we watch the final episode of Good Omens, and somehow that is the evening gone.

How'd that happen?

Thursday 20th February 2020

Dateline: Aarhus, Denmark.

Back in the old town. Again.

Aarhus is a fine old city, lots of interesting buildings, bars, restaurants, parks, zoos, but it does have a traffic problem. But then what city doesn't? I say this as I have to leave the office early enough to beat rush hour and to get a parking spot at the office.

I spring out of bed, have a shower and am dressed, going down to breakfast at seven, where I find several colleagues from Warrington already there, so I join them and we swap news and gossip, and the big news is my former boss and hard taskmaster, Philip, is retiring, and would they be in the office for his last day on Friday?

I have a couple of rolls with home made chocolate spread in them, as there was no fruit or cereal. I would have to find fibre elsewhere during the day, and so thoughts turned to dinner and maybe the Smokehouse and ribs and corn? Sounds like a plan.

We all depart in separate cars, as they are leaving on different planes through the day, and I am here until tomorrow. I turn onto the main road with no problem, but then after turning down by the Art Museum, where the road narrows to one lane; traffic jam. And traffic jam in pouring rain. We inch forward past the road works, then two sets of traffic lights, and suddenly no more traffic.

I cruise up to the main road, then along to Randersvej, and from there past the hospital to the offices where there were hundreds of parking spaces still, so I select one, reverse in and walk to the office building, where my colleagues were already there, working or having breakfast.

Many of them were with the company when I joined in 2010, or I trained them when they joined, all are now my friends as well as colleagues.

What would I like for my tenth anniversary present? I have everything I want. But its company policy. OK< a bottle of wine. That'd be one heck of a bottle of wine! What do you mean? Well, we have to spend 500DKK.

Oh I see.

Can the money be put towards an event we can all attend?

Maybe.

So, I set a date when I would go over to receive yet more cards and cut and eat cake.

In Denmark, everything is celebrated with cake. Even Thursdays.

On to work, then meetings, then more work, then an audit workshop in the afternoon. Yes, audit workshop. Auditors talking about audits! We know how to rock!

And we talk for three and a half hours about audits.

It was then time for them to go home. We we all say goodbye, hug, and then they are gone, and there is just Henrik and I left in the office, working away.

I had little to do, but kept busy, as leaving before five would mean just sitting in endless traffic, but after five it was pretty clear.

I leave at ten past five, drive back into the city, alongside the tramtracks then down through the university quarter, past the art museum and into the hotel car park.

I am walking across the lobby when my old mate Shaggy Shags arrives; I have some contraband form Blighty for him: tea bags, Bovril and Marmite, and he has been in exchange for me.

We go up to my room to do the exchange, then back down to the hotel bar to try the silly strong beer I had for dinner the previous evening.

He also liked it, and the small bottle had his head spinning too.

Outside it was raining hard, so we scarper down to the Memphis Smokehouse and take a table in the corner. I had not eaten since breakfast, so ordered a large rack of Memphis Ribs, fries and buttered corn with bacon.

And beer.

We chat until the food comes, and then we make our ribs and fixings vanish. Man, that was good ribs. An American smokehouse in Aarhus, run by ann American who knows his bbq.

Lovely.

Once we had eaten we walk along the canal to the Highlander and I let Shaggy buy me a Christmas La Chouffe, N'Ice Chouffe, and it is pretty damn good beer.

But the evening had slipped through our fingers, he had to be up early to drive to Copenhagen for a concert, and I had to drive to the airport at six, so we walk back into town, then hug each other farewell as he walked to the station, and I went back to the hotel.

All done.

Wednesday 19th February 2020

Back in the jugg agane.

Or back on the commute to Denmark. And this means being up at oh so early hundred hours when it is still dark and the cats still asleep. Yes, that early.

Jools makes coffee, and I get dressed. We barely talk, but we are ready to leave the house, or would have been until I checked Twitter and find that that the line between Dover and Folkestone is closed, and my train is cancelled.

Eeeek! What to do? Well, trains are running from Ashford, so Jools says she will take me there and I should be able to get into London easy enough.

So instead of washing up and filling the bird feeders, we are heading off down Jubilee Way then up the A20 towards Folkestone and Ashford. At least we have the choice to do this.

I stumble out of the car and grab my case and bag, walk into the station to get my ticket.

All going well.

Up on the platform, next train was in twenty minutes, and few people around, should be fine.

I wait, and to the left the sky brightens, and stars go out as daylight wins the battle. I take a shot of the sky contrasting with the station lights.

By the time the train arrived, the platform was heaving, and the train was already half full, so I am happy enough to get on and stand the twenty minutes into London.

It is almost daylight, so I was able to look out of the door windows at the passing countryside, while commuters stare blankly at their phones or laptops, ever-connected to an ever-crazy world. I look at the wading birds on Rainham marshes, they watch episodes of The Masked Singer. I believe I get the better deal.

Off at Stratford, walk to the DLR and a 20 minute ride to the airport, where it is quite busy. Very busy for a Wednesday, but it is school holidays, and many of the little darlings are being dragged to the slopes for some skiing.

I check my case in, walk to the security and wait to pass through.

And once through I go to have breakfast. And I am hungry so go for the full English option, with no tomato but toast as a substitute. And coffee. Thing is, the big meal is not that much more expensive than eggs Benedict, so, I tuck in.

That done, I find a place to sit and read. And people watch. Mainly people watch. And wonder who really pays four thousand pounds for a watch that just tells the time. Sure, it looks nice, but my fifteen dollar Timex from Walmart in Cody, Wyoming, still is telling perfect time.

The flight is called and I join the eight other passengers at the gate, waiting for our tiny plane to arrive and incoming passengers get off.

Time passes.

We board, I take my seat in 8A, and the flight makes ready, we taxi to the far end of the runway, wait our turn before the engines roar, and we trundle off down the runway and climb into the misty air, bouncing along until we turn to the north east, giving us on the left and side of the plane a look along the river that The City. Below, suburbia is laid out like a map, jammed with traffic in places, but soon giving way to farmland. We pass over the M25 then follow the A12 northwards to Chelmsford, Colchester and Ipswich before we turn a little eastward and cross the coast over Southwold.

I go back to read Private Eye as we head north, passing over the North Sea.

Denmark is not rainy. Not that much, and isn't hidden under black clouds, but some white fluffy ones. Though passing through them introduces some jumping around by the plane, and we are low enough to me consider how hard the ground would be if we crashed. Saying that, Denmark is pretty flooded. Or if not flooded, then saturated. Ploughed fields look more like paddy fields, and so I consider how well rice might grow this far north. Not that well, I decide.

We land, and once through immigration and collecting my case, the car hire place has my keys ready, so in a few minutes I am in the car wondering why I can't hear the engine when I turn the ignition key.

After five minutes I realise that the car is a hybrid, and the lack of sound is the electric motor ready for action. I see the sign, "ready to drive" light up, so engage drive and away we go, the engine cutting in soon after as I accelerate away.

I know the rad to Aarhus so well that I really don't think about it that much, it seems the car knows the way.

I arrive at the office just before two, so go to my department's offices and say hi to my friends/colleagues, and get down to check mails.

Soon after I arrive, many of them are going home already, as most leave the office just after three. Some will log on at home in the evening, most won't though.

I wait to five before leaving, as the traffic will be unbearable before, then take the road into the main inner ringroad, then along to the art museum and the hotel next door.

I park outside and check in, drop my case and bag in my room, but go straight back out to do some photography before the forecasted rain arrives.

It is getting dark, and the lights of shops and bars reflect off the wet cobbles in a photogenic kind of way. I walk down to the canal, through the old town, then to the main square, past the cathedral and theatre to the Highlander Bar where I decide a pint of something dark and mysterious would be suitable. Especially as the rain had just started.

Indeed, when I leave the bar after the single beer rain was falling harder still, so I walk back down the canal to see if I could get a table at the smokehouse, but it is full as Wednesdays are eat as much hot wings day, so it is rammed. I walk back up the hill to the hotel, take a seat in the restaurant and order burger and fries and a dark beer. They have salted caramel stout, which is powerful stuff.

Turns out that was all I needed, the strong beer soon smothers the sweet notes of the caramel.

But is good.

Back to the room to watch football. Being in Denmark the Champion's League is on free to air, or on one of the channels I could get in my room anyways.

I watch the first half of Spurs v Liepzig, but sleep through the second and the game is over when I wake up. So I go back to sleep.

Goodnight, Vienna. Or Aarhus.

Monday 18th February 2020

All our lives we work, if we can, to put a roof over our and our family's heads, to keep the wolf from the door, to pay for the things we like to do when we're not working. All so that when we get to 60 or 65 or 67, we can retire and not have to work. If we can afford to.

My parents bought their house, off the drawing board in 1964 for two and a half thousand pounds. We bought our house in St Maggies in 2009 for 100 times more. It seemed like an impossibly sized amount of money we had to borrow. And I won't lie, it scared me. Had we have stayed in the flat, we would have paid for it in a few years, and we could have pleased ourselves. But it wasn't big enough, had no parking.

So we both our houses and pooled our cash to buy our house, knowing that to pay for it we would have to work until we were 65 or beyond. We decided we would.

Even now, after juggling mortgages, we are some seven years from paying it off. Seven more years of working for the man. Paying our bills, the insurance, and doing what we can to make the payments. Its easier now than it was, and we have increased payments to pay it off quicker, but still.

And then there was Mum.

I am, or was, an only child. Her estate was always coming to me, but we never thought there'd be anything left. She would have spent it, or all of it would be used up in long-term care. So, it was never a factor for us.

And then there was Mum.

She passed away, if not unexpectedly, but suddenly, and for a few weeks, months, we just dealt with it and the issues. Bills were paid, stuff done. And then it all went quiet.

Then, on Friday, the solicitor said she was preparing a letter for me, and yesterday it arrived. Details of Mum's estate.

We will not be billionaires. We will not be millionaires. But, in time our mortgage will be paid off. And that means we will work for ourselves, not the man. And then, in black and white, seeing enough money to pay of the mortgage. Though we don't have it yet, and there will be charges. Still, all the money we currently pay the bank will be ours to use.

Mwah ha ha.

Sorry that it took Mum passing, in the way she did for this to happen, but you know, well, it is what it is.

That apart, it was another good day in the house.

Up at dawn, or just before. Sit with Jools while I drink my coffee and she gets ready. Then once she leaves, on the cross trainer for another session, third morning in a row, and much easier now on the next level. Scully was sleeping in the wardrobe as I worked out. Happy with her role in things.

Thing is, having cats is like having children. I went for a shower, only to hear the most awful noise once in. So I go the check, and Mulder wants to come into the bathroom. I let him in, get back in the shower and he meows he wants to go out!

He has to wait.

And then breakfast and then onto work. Preparing for more travel, and fixing the unexpected grenade lobbed over the wall to me by my former boss. Cheers.

And firefighting takes most of the morning, meaning the tasks I planned to do, went undone. Just like old times, really.

I went out in the early morning sunshine to take a few shots, before the cloud and wind was due to sweep across. One of our own daffodils was bobbing in the breeze, brilliant yellow in the sunshine.

And then back to work.

I eat at the table whilst working, marmalade and tortilla chip sandwiches. Yeah, you read that right. And were a king among sandwiches.

Morning turned to afternoon, I caught up with the mess, with just one strand outstanding. That would have to wait.

I pack up at four, pack my work bag and case, then prepare dinner: caprese and garlic bread, and as it was International wine drinking day, or something, I thought I had better support the cause.

We dine well once Jools is home, then have a brew with a short cake to make us full, before listening to the radio and discussing the financial news we will have to get used to. Though for a few months, nothing will change.

And that is it. Jools went to bed at nine, as we were to be up at half four in the morning, I stay up to follow the Liverpool score on the radio.

They lost.

Getting some in part 12 and 13

Dateline: 4th March 1991, AWM 218, RAF Cosford.



Dear Mum and Dad,

As you can see, I enclose a cheque for £20.00 for my Visa bill, as well as the cover note.

I am watching the football, Forest won 3-1; what a good result

I am absolutely shagged out, so this will be a short letter.

I woke up at 13:00, which means I had 6 hours sleep, and as always on a Monday we have a bull night, so I've been cleaning toilets as usual.

Very sorry, I can't keep my eyes open, will try to write again on another night,

Ian



P.S. DALE GORDON IS GOD.



Dateline: 14th March 1991, AWM 218, RAF Cosford.



Dear Mum and Dad,

Thank you very much for a great weekend, I am only sorry it so very tiring for you. I honestly didn't realise it was Mother's Day. I mean, having to cook a full Sunday dinner. I was lovely though. I must also thank you for preparing the fish and chips for Saturdays dinner. As Dad guessed, Mark and I were paying for everything with Paddy not stumping up a penny.

Its not been a bad week, in fact its been very laid back. IN the evening I play Mark at John Madden's American Football, and beat him most evenings.

Mark is a bit depressed at the moment, life and the course getting him down. But he's looking forward to the weekend as we're Swindon bound.One of our course, David, failed an exam for the second time, and he is now off the course, they're talking it over with him this afternoon. If he's unlucky, he could be remustered into another trade, or they could even kick him straight out of the Mob.I am just glad I don't fail exams.

Too clever by half.

You'll be glad to know that I have only had one and a half pints since I got back. All bought by Mar. A bottle of Mann's Brown Ale is 42p. I might have a surprise for you when I get back for Easter, no clues. Just, anywhere you'd like to go to on Sunday afternoon?

Now, we got back here Sunday, we had PT on Monday. We all had showers after, except for Paddy who was in and out in a flash. He has not had another shower until PT this morning, Thursday.

URGH.

Also, he has scrounged fags all week, as his fiance hasn't sent him much money to spend. He got some cash yesterday, but never offered to share the fags he bought.

Anyway, I've been in a good mood all week, which is good.

See you soon,

Ian

Monday 17th February 2020

It only seems a week or so ago that it wasn't getting light until half seven or so, now when the alarm goes off at quarter to six there is light on the horizon, and at the back of the house, nearly light enough not to need the lights on.

So starts another week, with the crescent moon hanging low over the horizon, marking where the sun will soon rise underneath. Venus shows bright too. I pause to look at the celestial ballet before me, slowly playing itself out, but the day beckons, not least with the aroma of coffee freshly brewing.

It will be a long day for Jools, but for me, a normal eight or so hours, working hard at the dining room table. But I have a new task, a spreadsheet on which to record my progress in arranging and carrying out tasks.

I like a good spreadsheet.

Jools is all a whirl as she gets ready for work, then is gone, just like that.

Not like that.

And I go upstairs to get the phys of the day done, so I don't have time to think of a reason not to. And I grit my teeth and increase the resistance by one level.

I engage the i pod, some Grace Jones and Big Audio Dynamite, and away I go.

Puff.

Puff.

Puff.

And do twenty minutes, though I was getting pretty tired at the end. But I did it. And as the day went on, I felt more and more healthy, glowing with fitness.

Outside the brightness of the dawn is replaced by clouds. Then gales. And sheets of rain. It gets so dark I put the table lamp on so I don't have to procrastinate in total darkness.

I get on with the spreadsheet, colour-coding it, adding hyperlinks and the such. Oh, its good.

The day gets old and the clouds clear and the sun comes out, so I go out to do some light gardening. As its light. I take of the dead twigs of the two acers and ponder the pruning of the climbing roses. I am joined in my work by two cats who let me know they are there by meowing for food/attention. All the time. I am looking at the wisteria, only for Mulder to jump on the roof of the shelter so I could poke his belly through the slats. Oh this is fun, he thought, so we spent ten minutes with him chasing my finger and purring and dribbling.

Back to work.

Dinner was to be toasted crumpets. Not home made, sadly, I gave away my crumpet rings to someone, and have regretted it ever since. As you do. But these were Tesco finest sourdough crumpets. And pretty good, though not as good as home made. It seemed a slight meal, so I rustle up a batch of Norfolk short cakes to follow the crumpets. And it takes a LOT of willpower not to try one as they cooled on the work surface.

Jools was doing yoga, so I waited until she returned home at quarter past seven before toasting the crumpets and making brews. Then we had a shortcake each. And another. Then it was time for football.

Chelsea v Man Utd, the battle of the has beens, as neither are that good at the moment, but it would be a battle royale to see who would come out on top. Like it matters to me.

Anyway, Chelsea dominate but can't score, Utd score two in the second half after Chelsea have two ruled out by VAR.

And so to bed.....

Sunday 16th February 2020

Second day of Storm Dennis.

Usually, on a Sunday we would be looking at going out, or gardening, or doing something out of the house. But on Sunday the winds continued to blow and the rain continued to fall. So, there seemed little point in going out to take photos of taking photos was almost impossible.

So, after coffee, I do a session on the cross trainer, then go downstairs to cool down, then as Jools did her session, getting cooking the bacon butties.

Heck, there was just the one game to watch on MOTD as I had watched the Norwich game live, so I skipped that and did other stuff while the storm blew itself out. Which it did by half eleven.

Our friends, Gary and Julie, had moved into a new house, and what with work and the weather, we had not been there, so with the wind and rain having eased, we drove over to River.

River used to be a village outside Dover, but now is part of it. And River has a river running through it. The River Dour, from which Dover takes it name.

Anyway.

They have moved into a smart two bedroom house on the edge of River, overlooking Kearsney Abbey gardens and park. Which is very nice.

They have almost unpacked everything, and things are going well, except Gary had just drilled a hole into an electrical cable and shorted the house out. That has to be professionally fixed now. We've all done it, just bad luck to find a cable one time.

Anyway, they have wonderful views over the rooftops to the valley side a mile away, and Gary has already got many species of birds coming into the garden to eat at their feeders.

We leave to go back home for lunch; a large pork pie each.

Pie.

And a brew.

And then to the football.

Many years I used to think how nice it would be to spend a winter's afternoon watching football. That was before Arsenal v Newcastle kicked off, mind. That was a dreadful game. And failed to get any better into the second half, so I gave up and went to make dinner. No sooner had I switched the TV off, did Arsenal score, not once, but twice. I don't care, my Dad would have said they couldn't have scored as long as they had a hole in their bum. And was right.

We feast on warmed up ragu, pasta and garlic bread, and was as wonderful as always. Maybe more so as the flavours had matured.

And somehow, despite doing very little, I was pooped again. Too tired to stretch my brain into a game of Uckers, so we frittered the evening away until it was time for bed.

Getting some in: Part 11

Dateline: 18th February 1991, AWM 218, RAF Cosford.



Dear Mum and Dad,

Thanks for your last letter. I must say, not that I am being sarcastic, but I do know your address by now, no need to put it on any letters now.

It would save you some time.....

Its Monday afternoon and we are doing a 6 hour revision session before tomorrow's exam. I spent most of the weekend in bed watching rugby, football, pop videos, etc. When not in bed, I went to the Cav Club, there was a 12 hour disco going on. I didn't get drunk. Honest. OK, I had a couple of drinks. Snake bites. But that's all. We, Fudge and me, got back at 2 AM. I watched videos you taped for me: Black Rain, Sea of Love and Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Again. Ellen Barkin is the new apple of my eye, though not much chance of meeting her in Wolverhampton or Telford.

Mark and I are looking forward to the weekend when we will come to visit. I can't decide where we should go Saturday night. City Lights is crap, so any ideas? I'd take him to Norwich but it's so expensive to get back in a taxi.

Time passes.....

It is now 18:50 and I'm waiting for the radio commentary to start, I hope Norwich win! Mondays means domestic night means bull night. I have to clean my room plus the toilet opposite. What a bitch. We have another exam tomorrow. Oh dearie, dearie me.

Can we have fish and chip at the weekend? And roast beef on Sunday? Pretty please. Then we can have roast beef sandwiches for the journey back. I'm getting hungry already.

You'll be glad to know I've been in a brilliant mood all day, I think I am getting over Vanessa, which is about time.I have decided I need a publicist to tell the world what a wonderful person I am, because something good had better happen soon. According to my horoscope in The Mirrow, I'm going to fall in love today. Some bloody chance.

Anyway, that's it for now, see you Friday.

Ian.

Saturday 15th February 2020

Storm Dennis (day 1)

I, like most Brits, love the weather and talking about it. I am sure that growing up and before I joined the Air Force, there were few flooding events. I'd like to think I would remember.

But this century there seems to be flooding every year, winter and summer. Something has changed. Many things have changed.

And storms like Dennis, an almost record low pressure of 917 mb was heading our way. Strong winds, torrential rain, flooding, building damage. Again, just a week after the last named storm.

Luckily for us, it was due to hit later on Saturday, at least here in Kent, so we could get out and do some stuff first.

First of all was to go to the butcher, as Mark had posted that they had made a batch of wild garlic sausages, made with hand picked ramsons, and these are just wonderful. So, while Jools went on the cross trainer, I got in the car and drover over to Preston to get the meat.

Traffic was very light, except the dick that tailgated me as I drove away from Sandwich. But I arrived safe after inching my way through the flooded lanes at Nash. The guys were, as ever, in great spirits, but the guy who picks the wild garlic has just lost his wife, and it is possible that this will be the last batch they will make.

Oh I know where there are loads, I can get you some fresh ramsons.

Have this steak cheap, have this free cheese. And so on, I think they want me to get the wild garlic.

So I had better do it next weekend.

Laden with meat and pork pies, I walk to the car and drive home. I was now running a little behind as we talked about football so much. But back home Jools had breakfast ready to cook upon my return; croissants to warm through, coffee pot to bring to the boil. Even so once we had eaten ad drunk, there was barely enough time to gather our stuff together and get to Dover to meet our friend, Will.

We had not seen Will since his marriage some five years ago, and since then he and his wife have bought their own house, got new jobs, had a daughter and now waiting for the birth of their second child, a son. So, quite some catching up to do.

He arrived on the twenty past nine bus from Canterbury, and he had just got off as we pulled up, so we let him get in, laden with camera gear, and we set off for Ashford and then the Romney Marsh. His partner had suggested he get back into photography, and he thought of coming along with me on a shoot.

There would be churches I said.

Fine he said.

From Ashford we took the road to the marsh, tailgated again by some throbber who overtook when it was dangerous, and nearly had a head on crash. He got ahead, and then we caught up with him at the roundabout a couple of miles further along.

First stop was the always picturesque Fairfield church.

Fairfield is no longer a place as such, if it ever was The church sits on a island made of drainage ditches and Hastead says people used to reach it for services in boats. What we see now was constructed in the early 20th century, though Hastead again says that the church he describes was not that different to what we see now, and that church was probably a recent construction.

The key is hanging outside the nearest house, so I go and get that while Jools and Will walk to the church.

I soon join them, walking along the top of dykes and over wooden bridges until I reach the church, the large key turned in the lock of a door that is clearly centuries older than the church itself.

And we go inside.

It is as it always is, clean and pure; box pews and a triple level pulpit. Years old hops still hung from the hand-hewn rafters. We get our shots, not taking that long before we go to leave. And meet a dogwalking couple and pass the key to them, with instructions on where to leave it once they were done.

We go back to the car, then turn round and go to nearby Brookland to visit the church there. St Augustine has a unique bell tower, but one I have not seen inside of. Maybe it would be open?

No it wouldn't. Though the church was.

I snap it again, just because we were there, and Will also snaps it, he seems to like snapping churches.

With the wind building, we go into Sussex to go to Camber Sands, as there is a west-facing sandy beach, and we hoped it would be.

Camber is home to a large holiday camp, once the mainstay of the British holiday. This one is hanging on, though not in February when not even the British would consider a seaside holiday.

There are other hardy souls, most with dogs in tow, so we park then walk up the sandy path leading up the dune. It was OK until the slope flattened out, and we got the westerly straight into our faces. Wind-borne sand grit-blasted our faces, and at ground level the sand in the air could be seen making patterns as it flowed through the tussock grasses.

We reach the beach, find we can't speak to each other as our words are stolen from our very mouths, so I indicate I was going back to the car, Jools and Will agree.

Just up the road is Lydd, home of the largest church on the Marsh, though not on the Marsh, really. On the way we see swans and geese in the fields, feeding on winter crops, and on a lake I catch a glimpse of a smew.

Lydd is a fine old town, but the chuch towers over all other buildings, and the nave is on as grand scale too, 199 feet long.

It is open, so we go in and the church is so vast that the wide angle lens isn't really needed, the 50mm getting most of the building in.

I take shots of the monuments and details, and point out to Will some of the features. Not sure if he's impressed or bored. He says the former.

Once that was shot, time had crept on and was now half twelve. We had already decided to go to the Woolpack at Brookland, so went back down the coast road then along to the turn off. We find we were the only ones on the main bar, and after ordering drinks we tae seats in the chimney to warm up, and for me to take a photo.

The Woolpack is a 15th century pub, and not a flat surface or right angle anywhere. Only downside is the poor choice of ales, either Spitfire or Masterbrew.

We then moved to a table and ordered ploughman's all round, and waited until the food arrived.

By then the wind was building outside, so we decide to cut the afternoon short, and take Will back home to Herne Bay.

Back off the Marsh to Ashford then up to Challock to Faversham, and back along the M2 and Thanet Way to his house. We turn down a cuppa as once again I had forgotten my allergy spray, so we had to get home so I could breathe again.

We get home at half three, with the football in full swing. Over a fresh brew I sort through pictures and listen to the footy on TV, multitasking at the highest level.

And at half five, settle in front of the TV to watch Norwich v Liverpool, the return game of the opening weekend.

It was a close game, and Norwich play well, really well, without creating much, but just before half time, its seemed harder not to score, but somehow Liverpool clear. In the second half, Mane come on and scores a blinding goal to win the game. So much effort for no reward, the stroy of the season, really. Pride intact, Norwich are cheered off the pitch, still rooted to the foot of the table.