Thursday 29th April 2021

Day two of the great investigation into what is wrong with my shoulder. Even if day 1 didn't go to plan, day 2 should be better.

The Canterbury appointment was on insurance, this one was on the NHS, would there be any difference, other than the waiting time?

We shall see.

And for this, I would have to go to Thanet, a place I have not been to for over a year, maybe nearly two.

I think.

And as in the middle of Thanet is a large "shopping centre" or "mall" as Americans would say. Its Westwood Cross, a huge collection of big box stores and car parks, normally in unCOVID times, this is nose to tail with traffic, so for a twenty minute drive, in theory, you have to decide how long to allocate it: one hour, two hours?

Jools said to give it two hours, as I had to be there at ten, which meant leaving home at eight, and drive to Whitfield then along to Sandwich, then to Ramsgate and join the queue to inch towards the hospital on the other side.

As it happened, the queues weren't there on the way, meaning I had a 90 minute wait in the car park.

I put the radio on.

I twiddled my thumbs.

At half nine I went to check in, maybe sit inside?

Oh no, you can only enter the building five minutes before your appointment.

Sigh.

So, I wander round, doing a botanical survey of the grassed areas and banks and see a wide range of plants. No sign of any orchids, though.

And at five to ten I was allowed in, and after having my temperature taken again was allowed to go to the waiting area.

Where I waited.

And waited,

In time, a nurse asked me to go in, where there were two ladies, one the ultrasound lady and the other worked for the company that made the new ultrasound machine.

I was their test rat.

Eeeek.

So, for an hour they scanned, changed settings, scanner heads and angles. I had to move my arm there, there, then here, and back to there.

And the result was inconclusive.

THere is fluid on the joint, best they could do.

It was nearly midday. And on the approach road to Westwood Cross traffic was jammed. I took the quickest road out and found myself heading towards Canterbury and Grove Ferry. Now, in previous times that would have meant a pint and a bite to eat at the pub, but because of gout, there is no beer. Yet.

I park up, and instead of beer go for a walk round the reserve.

Back in the 80s, I used to dream of having a 200mm lens. I took out a £300 bank loan to get a 70-210mm Pentax one, I thought that had some reach. I now have a 130-400mm, which I thought was great, but its not enough for decent birding. This is quite a crop of a small bird not that far away, shot at 400mm. Not sure how much a 600 or 800 would cost, an arm and a leg I suspect.

I get some not so distant shots, but nothing that will win awards, but they're my shots, and to be out, walking in the sunshine with birdsong all around, was good enough to warm the coldest soul.

I get shots, then turn for the car and into the still biting wind.

On the way back, I stop for a bite at a greasy spoon outside Sandwich. Or, a sandwich in Sandwich.

Which was nice.

Double sausage in half a French stick and a cuppa.

Lovely.

And back home for two, where I should have started work, but my toe throbbed, so went for a lie down with Cleo.

That worked.

Dinner was fritters, with a new combination of herbs and spices, the surfeit of cardamom seeds failed to boost the taste, but fritters are never bad.

And there was enough for lunch on Friday.

A win/win there.

And just like that, it was evening again, time to write, listen to music and chill out.

Not much happened.

Not much to happen.

Brexit will eat everyone

This is not the Brexit people voted for.

Is the cry from the braindead in the ERG.

But it is the one you voted for in the House of Commons, the one JOhnson negotiated.

We told you it was dog shit, you chose not to listen.

The UK is still under the control of the EU!

Well, living next door to the largest free trade area which also happens to be your largest export market, its what happens.

There is now talk of dropping out of the TCA and WA again. I won't go into the reasons why that is the only idea dumber than Brexit itself. But it is.

Meanwhile the realities are that the hospitality industry, now it is reopening, can't get enough straff, what with EU workers having gone home, having been told they were no longer welcome, meaning that for many, restaurants won't be at full capacity.

The UK Government quietly wound down it's "pick for Britain" campaign, which was hoped would get folks out in the fields, picking strawberries and other crops. It failed. Turns out picking produce 12 hours a day is tiring, and for minimum wage so Tesco can do cheap as chips deals.

And those Brexit bonuses keep rolling in as Nestle is going to close its Newcastle factory, 600 jobs gone, so they can move production into the Eurozone.

So it goes, so it goes.

Arline iwas the first to be sacrified for the effects of the very Brexit she demanded, and the much warned of consequences.

Who'll be next?

Finally, the UK has failed to negotiate a fishing deal with Norway, so has given up on the idea for 2021. No UK boats can fish in Norwegian sub-Arctic waters, so crews will have no work, Meanwhil Norway can import fish to the UK tariff free.

Hows that for taking back control?

Wednesday 28th April 2021

First of two days off work for medical appointments.

Private medical insurance is included in my job, and has been for the last 11 years, and yet this is only the second time I have had to use it and even now I did it so not to use the over-stessed NHS. If my insurance can pay, then why not? I could have waited for an NHS appointment, and the treatment would have been just as good. And free.

So, I asked my doctor to refer me to the private hospital in Canterbury and I was to make an appointment with the doctor so I could have an MRI scan on my shoulder.

THe appointment was at 11, but to get there I needed a car and Jools needed a car to go to work. I guess we could have managed using just ours, but for eighty quid, JOols hired a tiny Japanese hatchback, and I was to drop her off at the only car hire place in town, as COVID has killed all the others off, probably never to return.

So, at quarter to eight, I dropped Jools off on Townwall Street, she siad I could drive off and she would call me if there was problems. Se had left her mobile at home, but there were no problems.

I came back as the roofers were due to start replacing our tiles. I had received a call on Monday, so I was expecting them.

By half eight there was no sign, so I left the house, they guy said they didn't need to get in the house, as I was expecting it to be pretty much done when I returned in the afternoon.

I had an hour to kill, so drove to Samphire Hoe to check on the ESOs, but not the ones that most go to look at, there is a small colony tucked away in a quet corner, where a microclimate brings them into bloom earlier and can get bigger plants, just like in the south of France.

Anyway.

I drove down the tunnel to the reserve, parking up I heard a photographer talking to a warden. She asked him if he had found any orchids, he replied only four. I chirpped up, I know a place where there could be more, if you have time.

He said he would come once he had paid for more parking.

We walked along the sea wall, passing the worm-danglers who were having a right laugh, generally not working and enjoying the glorious weather.

At the end of the sea wall, we step down oto a narrow path, and begin to look at the soil that had falled from the top of the cliff and created steep ground, ideal for orchids, apparently.

A quick look and I see the first spike, and just further along we found a good ten, and looking up there was another 14 out of reach except to the longest of lenses.

I bid Trevor goodbye, and begin to walk back, but I had a hunch, and looking at an area of rocks that had fallen, I had seen a spike there many years ago, maybe there would be some?

There was a good two dozen, with many more emerging, some with two or three flowers on a spike. They were glorious, especially one little stunner that had a lip of unusual colours, and the new lens made it big enough to fill the viewfinder.

I took a few others, called to Trevor who came over, to take some snaps too.

I walk back to the car, then drive to the entrance to the tunel to wait for the lights to allow me to drive up, its single track.

Canterbury is a fine city, not as good as Norwich clearly, but has one cathedral, timber framed houses, cobbled streets, and most main roads in Kent converge there. It is a medieval in the 21st century, and the traffic jams are legendary. I had to allow 90 minutes to get there just for the traffic on the ring road, which was grim even during a pandemic.

I inched round to the turn off, then have to find a parking space, for which I have to pay two quid an hour for. So, I drive round the car park until fid a space, I reverse in and have half an hour to wait. I could only go inside 5 minutes before the appointment.

So, I waited.

Time to go in, there was an automatic temperature checking device, I was fine I had forms to fill in and then some more waiting.

I was shown into see the very nice consultant. He'd better be nice the appointment was costing two hundred quid. But my wonderful doctor had failed to send a referral, so instead of being scanned, I had to tell the doctor what was wrong, my medical history (again) and then he had to see where it hurt, so for half an hour I moved my arm this way and that.

He agreed I needed an MRI and an x-ray too, but there were no appointments that day, so I would have to come back another day.

Sigh.

It was half two, just time to go for a walk as I had been either driving or sitting in waiting rooms for four hours, so I went to Yocklett's, which was a short cut and a twenty minute drive down Stone Street away.

"My" parking space was free, so I reversed in, and grabbed my camera and ring flash, and set off.

There were Common Twayblades coming up everywhere, and bluebells in flower as far as the eye could see.

BUt it was cloudy, and cool, so no butterflies to be seen at either meadow. And I found no Fly Orchid in flower either, so walked to the other side fo the Gogway and up the steep path, checking for Lady and Greater Butterfly, and none were out in the wood, of course.

But at the top of the path, in the meadow, a single Lady spike had a single flower open. NOt much, but it counts! I snap it loads of time, of course.

Futher on the bluebell meadow, there were the occasional EPO spike to break up the blueness, then down the steep path to the clearing that had been made two years ago, and there I found a COmmon Twayblade with two open flowers. That counts too!

I snap that too.

I walk slowly along the lower path, through deep grass, but find no butterflies on the wing or roosting, nor any Fly in flower either.

I was certain there would be one in flower. Certain.

I walk back towards the car, but stop at the fallen tree where the thickest colony of Fly spikes, I check every one, and as I looked at the last one, I see magenta/purple.

YES!

So I get shots, and under the shadow of a thicket, there wasn't umuch colour, but the results show what the new lens and ring flash can achieve.

Happy with that, I walk back to the car, then drive back up the hill to Stone Street and then down towards Hythe and the motorway, then back home, getting back at half four, just time to feed the cats then prepare lunch, which was chicken kiev salad.

Lots of chopping of onions, tomatoes and other salady delights, putting the chicken in the oven at twenty past five, so it would be ready for when Jools came home.

Still no booze for me, and if I'm honest, I fine with it. Happy to be able to sleep and go out, orchiding.

The evening was spent reviewing the shots I took, writing and eating the remaining choc-pot that Jools made the night before. I mean we had one each, and coffee, so I wasn't greedy, oh no.

The Big Stink

The stench of corruption wafting out of Downing Street is overpowering.

The simple fact is, if there was nothing to hide, it wouldn't be hidden.

Or worth hiding.

Three days Johnson, Gove and the Cabinet Secretary have stonewalled any questions regarding the Downing Street loan mystery.

Already in the last 24 hours, two peers have announced they were approached to head a trust to oversee renovations based on donations, but Lord Darling turned it down as he only saw conflicts of interests in the role and the job of the trust.

Meanwhile, all papers now lead with the story, with the exception of the Express which still has it on the front page, but calls it "Flatgate".

Nothing to see here.

The details will come out, its just a metter of when.

While the Mail suggests Johnson could be the first PM to be interviewed by the police while under caution.

Well.

Well, indeed.

Tuesday 27th April 2021

We are all getting older.

There can be no avoiding this.

As we get older, our bodies begin to fail, and when we get aches and pains we dread it is something terminal. Or when we get something like a sore shoulder, rather than get it sorted, we just learn to live with it.

This is about me and my gammy shoulder, which has been giving me jip for over six months now. As long as I can sleep, I'm fine, but when the pain began to wake me every time I turned over, I went to the chiropractor and he did some good, but it got bad again and again.

So I had to call the doctor and request further action, which meant scans on Wednesday and Thursday at different hospitals.

All of which, and why I'm telling you this is:

1. not to worry.

and

2. I had to finish my data analysis by the end of Tuesday.

Which meant slaving over a hot keyboard and not getting distracted.

THat was the plan.

It was a glorious day outisde, even from sunrise, with a faint mist rising along the Dip from Westcliffe and through the farm below the house. Jools was busy as usual, getting ready for work, but not as quick as she norally is, so doesn't go for a walk after all, and leaves for work just after seven leaving me with my work computer and two spreadsheets and a database.

And so I knuckle down, and get the work done. I plough on through the morning, inbetween calls, but I turned down meetings too so I could get the job finished. Gosh, makes me seem so important, doesn't it?

I have breakfast, break for brews and an early lunch of warmed up mushroom stroganoff, which was still nice.

In the afternoon, I musltitask and make a loaf as well as join a meeting, when I have to interrupt to get the loaf out lest it burned.

But by half three all work was done, the meeting over and I got news my gout pills were ready for collection, a good reason to go out for a walk then, and taken in the fine, if cool weather.

I stride out across the fields to Fleet House as usual, then past the still empty pig's copse, turning down Norway Drove to the Dip, which was dry and the mud had turned to concrete.

Up the other side, I tried to stop as little as possible, so to do some keep fit of a kind.

I get to the top, puffing, but happy enough.

Along to the top of Otty Bottom Road, then over the cliffs where I was hoping to find some of the Dense-flowered Fumitory I had been searching for in vain near our house, and I found just one, but large clump beside the path. I snapped it good.

I then carried on over the fields, where tractors had flattened any kind of growth that might have though forming a hedge, so there is just a dusty track to separate the fields.

Then up the final slope to the Monument and cliff edge, where I hope there would be some Early Spiders open.

Sadly, there wasn't, just four trampled rosettes, but looking good for next week.

I snapped them anyway.

I sat on the bench for 20 minutes, giving it time for the surgery to oepn to pick up medicines. It was cool, but sunny. I did my coat up to the neck and was warm enough.

I turned inland, over the common and to one of the "private" roads that lead to the centre of the village, and would lead to the doctor's. I met an elderly couple who had been out picking other people's rubbish, just as Jools does. We have a long natter about the village, the war (in the village), nature and birdspotting.

I leave them to walk home, and I walk down the slope to the junction, beyond which is the surgery.

I ring the bell, tell them what I want, and in 5 minutes they find it. I can go home.

So, down the footpath past the school, into the village peoper, past the duck pond, before walking past the old Red Lion, now a house, and onto Station Road, and so down the hill.

My toe was throbbing. Badly. I looked at my watch, it was half five, if I was right, at some point Jools would return home, and if she spooted me would pick me up saving me the slog up the last hill to home.

Which is what happened. She stopped at the bottom of the Dip, waited until I got in, then took me home. I didn't even put my seatbelt on for the 30 second ride, and the car got very angry, making three different kind of chiming noises, each one louder and mose insistant than the previous.

We got home without an accident. Which was nice.

Once inside I cook the asparagus in butter, slice the bread, butter it and grate some cheese. WE were eating within ten minutes of getting in, all washed down with some cold squash.

Still no beer or wine for me. But I now have the proper gout pills, so should be getter better really soon.

He said.

Jools made some chocolate cups, a mousse thing, which is very nice, and not that naughty. I made some two weeks back, Jools made them last week, and again now. THere is enough for four ramekins, and we eat one each with them still warm and runny with a fresh coffee.

Aaaah.

We listen to the radio, I write and edit shots.

It gets dark, the full moon rises, partially hidden behind clouds, the shots not worth posting.

Sigh.

Infamy, infamy, they've all got it in for me

Yesterday, news came that most DUP MPs in Westminster and Stormont had signed a letter of no confidence in DUP leader and First Minister, Arlene Foster.

She resigned today.

And is walking away from politics, probably made as much as she can what with the "cash for ash" and the billion quid bung she got from May.

Still, good while it lasted.

She railed against the NIP, saying how unfair it was on Unionists and NI as a whole. But that is the problem with Brexit, there has to be a border.

Somewhere.

Just where.

Or, have arrangements in quivillence so that standards on both sides are the same, but that would be unnacceptable to the headbangers in the ERG, and the DUp who wanted Brexit, yet almost anything but the softest of Bresits would have profound effects in NI more than anywhere else.

There can be no easy solutions, just acceptance on all sides and how to make it work, because the alternative is chaos.

Meanwhile, Johnson is being surrounded by scandal. He refises to way where the money for the flat refurb came from originally, but it looks like a new appointed member of the House of Lords is likely, appointed by one Borish Johnson. The lord is also CEO of a company that won a PPE contract last year.

Well.

And report that Johnson's gorlfriend, Carrie Symonds, aka "Carrie Antoinette", said that the current decor was a "John Lewis nightmare", so they spunked £200,000 on some wallpaper and a sofa. Or something.

Meanwhile the Electoral Commission is looking into the role of the COnservative Party, as it is likely that laws have been broken.

Well.

The Mail carries on digging up more shot on Johnson, while the Express, Times and Torygraph back him.

That might change.

And today, in PMQs, the PM shouted at Starmer that he had answered the question, when he hadn't. Of course.

And the real kick in the teeth is that it is the PM who gets to decide if anyone, including himself, has broken the Ministerial Code.

Monday 26th April 2021

Ahh, Monday morning. I've been expecting you.

Jools, who let us not forget has three days off, says that weekends are not long enough. I, who has just the usual two, agrees.

Ahead, I have up to three days data analysis to look forward to, which I actually am, as figures can't answer back and/or tell lies.

Before then, we have our usual tasks; Jools does stuff while I drink coffee. Cats are fed, and drinks made, I manage to get u without furter incident. I can say that my toe is almost pain free, maybe I should celebrate with a beer for breakfast?

Or not.

Jools goes for a walk, and I make a second coffee and power up the work laptop to find what fresh hell awaied me.

Next was to power everyone's ;east favourite business app, SAP. If you work for SAP, I appologise. In fact its not as bad as it was back when I had to use it every day seven years back, but it is a shock to see the unfriendly interface.

My assigned task, is to download data from our projects in China so I could analysis how good they were.

I have the wrong interface.

I can't imput the correct transaction.

A colleague downloads me the data and sends in an Excel file.

Does this make any kind of sense? I mean this is going to be three days work for me each month. It is better than stuffing giblets, as I can have a break whenever I want and even go for a wander in the garden once an hour.

I have to check every few minutes with the guide I work, and then swap between my actual desktop and my virtual one. It is complex stuff, and is slow going. I am not motivated.

I work though having down 5% of my task by lunch, which looking in the fridge will have to be mushroom-based. I check the internet, and what screamed at me was mushroom stroganoff. I even had all the ingredients. Which was nice.

I put on the brown rice to cook. Peel and mash garlic, get some frozen onions out and simmer the two. Make some stock with a cube of something I found in the larder, I put in a small jar of pepper sauce that was a year out of date, but what the heck.

I cook it all, combine with the rice and simmer for 5 minutes. I have enough for at least two lunches, dish some out in a bowl, and eat whilst scrolling through the hellhole that was Twitter.

YUmmy.

And back to work, and during the afternoon post-lunch lull, I do another 15% of my work, meaning I have 80% still do do on Tuesday, where I have to finish as Wednesday and Thursday I am off work for hospital appointments. Nothing major, just scans of my shoulder.

Anyway.

I was pooped.

Not sleeping too well, thanks to cats, my shoulder and my overactive brain sending me on tasks in my dreams. And getting all stressed.

Sigh.

I should have gone out for a walk, but it was cold, if sunny, so I say to myself, I'll go tomorrow.

Dinner is aubergine, over-ripe ones, but more than enough for a good, golden shallow-friend feast.

Jools arrives home, also shattered, so we eat right away, tidy ap and make coffee.

I couldn't even be bothered to watch the footy, Leicester v someone. Palace?

When I go to bed, an almost full moon is looking straight at me, so I snap it.

Then go to bed.

Oven ready but undercooked

Yesterday, the Daily Express website ran four articles on how Johnson's Brexit WA, NIP and TCA had failed Brexiteers, leaving the UK still under the control of the EU.

It was always going to be thus.

In order to trade with the EU, you have to abide by their rules, and if you diverge from standards, there will be consequences.

It was always thus.

Two of the first things I remember learning about trade was that the more control you want, the less trade you will have, and that anyone talking about trade in pure tariffs doesn't really understand trade. That the TCA was trumpeted because it was tariff-free shows this, and as the UK exerts more control, there is less trade.

What we can say is that the cliff edge just has not happened, and may not, so one of the Brexiteers line of attack/defence is that Brexit wasn't as bad as you said it was going to be. Still a 15% drop in trade is pretty grim. But what we should be pushing back on is that Brexit was nowhere near as good as the Brexieers promised it would be. They said we would be better off, not 15% worse off.

So, if there is no cliff edge, and the Government create work-rounds to overcome difficulties, like temporary work visas for EU based fruit pickers, and so on, we might not get that much worse off, but what will be more difficult for those still fighting the worse effects of Brexit is that we won't be as wealthy, as a country, as we would have been had we remained in the EU.

That will be hard to quantify and prove, but as we look at the EU recovering from COVID and taking UK trade for its own, then we will see how their economy surges while ours stagnates.

One last point, and it is important that we point out the mistakes on both sides too; Sturgen states that if Scotland won independence, left the UK and rejoined the EU, there would be no border between Scotland and England. But there would have to be, a regulatory one, just as there is between Britain and NI.

Nicola, like Boris, cannot have her cake and eat it.

Lawnmeadow: April

We left our former back garden in the middle of March, just stirring and showing signs of life.

April is when plants begin to reach for the sky, all flush with the vibrant green of frsh growth, and the first of the flowers begin to open and welcome insects.

ON the first, the first cowslips opened. We bought six plug plants a few years back, but five died in the heat of late spring, one survived, even then we were not sure it had. The next year a small plant flowered, which then prodced three the year after, to the point now there are a half dozen plants or clumps, in disperse parts of the old lawn. This, the first grows beside the path, underneath where Jools would normally hang washing, she still does, but it careful. That one small plant has now produced this group, which in nearly four weeks has morphed to this:

Same group as the first picture.

Meanwhile, this is how the lawn looked on APril 3rd.

Biggest surprise was the group of Snake's Head Fritillaries I planted three or four years back, each year fewer and fewer appeared, so I had little hope for them this year, but the wet winter must have suited them, and one morning, the rays of the afternoon sun picked out this group with the fresh grass as a backdrop:

Within a week they looked like this, all very healthy:

As usual, on a warm sunny morning, the air just abve the meadow was full of Ash Mining Bees, looking for bare soil to bury into th lay eggs, I even managed to snap one as it rested.

And finally, on the 11th, the first signs of the Yellow Rattle plantlets could be seen, their distinctive leaves spreading out in the sunshine, feeding off the roots of grasses, thus making room for other flowers and plants.

The same day, a new species was found by Jools when looking at the tadpoles in the bigger pond. THis is Salad Burnet, a good native plant, and much loved by bees and butterflies.

And finally, the grasses we want to grow, like this Ribwort Plantain have begin to flower, and this really is the flower of a grass:

Not many butterflies so far this year, just a couple of Peacocks, but that will change, as in the next could of days the Hedge Garlic will flower, then we shall see Orange Tips.

And then comes May when the lawn will just EXPLODE with colour.

Sunday 25th April 2021

April.

Apparently.

I say that, as the sun from Saturday had been replaced with cloud, a strong north wind and temperatures of five grees that would climb to about nine by the middle of the afternoon. We were to go to Samphire Hoe early on, but the lack of sun and the strong wind really ruled that out.

We get up, have breakfast of crossants, and with the knowledge we were not going out until nine, turn the heating up a couple of notches. We have the radio on, and quietly we let the morning slip by, until nine comes round and we leave for Folkestone.

13 days before, hairdressers and barbers opened, I waited until the surge had died down, but needed a haircut badly. And Sunday was the day.

We drove through Dover, up the A20 before turning off and driving through Capel, down into Folkestone, parking in our usual spot near the top of the Old High Street.

I walk up to the old Town Hall, and find the place already open at half nine, an early bird getting theirs done first. I put on a mask and go in and wait until one of the other guys comes in to start work, and he biegins "operation big job".

He takes 50 minutes, shearing me of my long locks, creating a carpet of hair ankle deep around the chair. Always amazes me that for 40-50 minutes I get charged twelve quid, whereas for less than half that time, Jools get charged twenty five knicker. Maybe she should go where I go?

I come out, and it is still cold, too cold to have second breakfast or a coffee at one of the eateries with on street seating, as eating inside isn't allowed. But I do buy two slices of cake from a new shop. I ask te owner which is his best, he says in his thich Spanish accent that they are all good, but the nut cake is great. I buy two portions, and they are huge and look sweet.

But what the heck.

I meet Jools back at the car, as she had given up walking in the cold weather and sat in the car, reading.

We drive home, not stopping as all the lights on Townwall Street were green for once.

And that is that.

Jools did some work in the garden, but my foot was achey again, so I sit with it elevated. I watch a podcast, make ham rlls for lunch as Jools was going swimming at one, now that the pool is backopen, though with reduced numbers.

I stay home and write, watch football, and make sure the coffee is already to go when she got home at half two. We have fresh coffee with the portion of cake each, it was sweet, but not heavy as what looked like sponge was merangue. Or something.

But was sweet.

I watch more football, Man Utd at Dirty Leeds, it was dull as watching Ipswich and ended 0-0. Then it was time for the League Cup Final, Spurs v Citeh. And Spurs, now without Jose, were dreadful, lacking in ambition or apparent desire. They lost 1-0 and were lucky to get nil.

The day rushed to a close, I made chorizo hash, which seems to be the new Sunday lunch, at least until I can eat beef again. And have a red wine spritzer, though there was so little wine it was realy just coloured soda water.

In the evening it was time for more #wildflowerhour action on Twitter, and that was that, another weekend done and dusted.