Friday 4th December 2020

St Barbara's Day.

St Barbara is the patron saint of amrmourers, so her feast day holds a special place in my former RAF trade's heart. We celebrate it, or used to, my drinking even more booze than we would normally.

Every year, before 2020 anyway, there is a get-together in Lincoln, I have even been twice. Last time was in 2015, when I realised I wasn't that person any more. I met a few friends, then left early to photograph another church, then go back to the hotel room to listen to the second half of the football on the radio before Jools and I went out in the evening for a meal of BBQ'd pork.

Like many things, the thought of it was better than the experience, and each time I think about going, I remember being bored as I heard people talk about nothing else other than the high jinks they used to get up to in the dim and distant past. Not that there is anthing wrong in that, but I was in the RAF for 15 years, and I am now 55, so 40 years on this planet not in the mob. I identify wth everything I have done, not just that.

Hope that makes sense.

Anyway, no one is going to Lincoln for a booze up this year, of course. We have lost many people from our bretheren, and so will hoist a glass of something red later in the day.

I slept through the alarm again, meaning it was half six when I got up, even then it was Scully jumping on the bed hoping I was there for the day so she could curl up next to me. She had woke me up during the night too, apparently all the food bowls were empty, so she jumped on my feet, walked up my legs and body to sit on my shoulder and meow in my ear. I was able to roll and she fell off me and the bed.

So I get up and find the steaming cup of coffee waiting downstairs. Which was very nice.

I manage to get dressed and make breakfast and second coffee, finish both before eight when the first meeting was due to start.

At nine there was the Brexit webinar, and the true horror and scale of what Brexit is bringing to good honest professional people, who would rather be harmonising trade and standards rather that coping with the diverging. And that is the truth of Brexit, a trade deal, or no trade deal that will make it harder to trade and will put UK companies at a disadvantage. My colleague, Jesper, was more horrified as he thought Brexit was all about trade, but as ever, it the Brexit of the small things that will hurt us all.

Jools went to Jen's to do yoga, then went into town, coming back at half eleven, just when I was finding the hunger almost unbearable, she returned so we could have lunch. I will be honest, I wasn't going to actually starve, just felt like it. Being dramatic.

Earlier, I had gone out to fill the bird feeders, and once I walked back to the house and closed the kitchen door, I looked back to see a sparrowhawk swooping down through the garden, two feet from the ground, following the footpath between the beds and feeders. Sparrows and Goldfinches scatter. And a few minutes lather I saw the hawk flying over at about 50 feet, just looking.

A third pass, and I saw the brid had landed at the end of the garden. Mostly they don't settle long, but I got my camera out, put on the big lens and went to the back door to take pictures, and it was still there, puffing out its chest to keep warm.

It then flies off, gone to sit in a nearby tree until a magpie chased it off.

Excitement over.

More meetings in the afternoon before calling it a day at half two.

That'll do, pig.

Jools goes into town, and I sit and watch another video from the cab of a train in Japan.

Jools comes with Jen at four, we have a drink and talk. I have a glass of sloe port, I offer one to Jen, and good news it that likes it, ad will accept the offer of a bottle.

I cook chorizo hash for dinner, so simple for me, and produces three big plates of spicy, hearty goodness.

After clearing up, we play cards until ten, the rain had returned, and hammered down all evening.

Jen and I drank another bottle of sloe port between us, and I made the last two small bottles of triple vanish too. I celebrated the day in the traditional armourer's style after all.