Friday 17th September 2021

31 years since I joined up, 16 since I left, which means I have been out of the RAF a year longer than I was in it.

Frightning.

Anyway.

Friday. Last day at work before holibobs, and I have to make sure I am up to date. Jools was off, of course, her yoga had started up again, so she left for the studio at quarter past six and I tried to focus my eyes. I had been awake since four, when my brain decided I should eb awake and thinking about things.

Nothing in particular, just "things".

So, I was up, if not fully awake.

I switch on the computer and finally pluck up courage to look at the planning "tool". It tells me what I should be doing in the next few weeks, and amazingly I have not missed anything, one audit to arrange, invites and agenda sent out and up to date.

I have three meetings, aligning on training for when I return, and amazingly despite it being "top priority" no one had reviewed the work I did ten days ago.

Sigh.

As far as I'm concerned, as long as I do as I'm tasked, all is good.

This means at half one when I switch the computer off, I am more than relaxed and had been in holiday moder for several hours. If not days.

In the meantime, Jools had finished yoga, been shopping, returned home, gone to Jen's and then went swimming, doing 80 lengths and once back, we had a brew then headed out to Folkestone so I could get a haircut.

We don't make the mistake of using the App, but that is harder when the machine is broken and it says you have to use the app. Last time we were here, I paid online, got a receipt and we were still given a parking ticket. Jools drives off to find somewhere else to park, I walk up the the barbers and was shown into a chair.

Half an hour later I was well shorn, and go to meet Jools outside. We stop off at the Italian cake shop and buy ice creams, I have an Oreo one, and it is excelelnt.

I take a picture.

We eat those walking back to the car, and then drove home.

Being a Friday, there was a music quiz, and I came third, geussing it was Iggy Pop as I recognised his parrot. I said parrot, wash your mouth out, dirty boy. His parrot is called Biggy Pop. Obviously.

We leave for Jen's.

We have provided the evening's food: a selection of party food, one lovingly prepared by Jamie Oliver, which was crap, Jamie. For dessert we had the limoncello and grappa tart, which was sensational.

Of course.

We then play cards, and not much of import happened until I scopped the jackpot for a run of four cards and we could go home.

Again, we were shattered.

The nearly full moon shone through occasional breaks in the thin cloud.

Was purdy.