Operation Save Christmas, part 2

Last year, Johnson went against medical advice to partially unlock and loosen restrictions for Christmas. This created a surge in January and February of new infections, hospitalisations and deaths that cost 30,000 extra lives.

So, there is quite some cost to "save Christmas".

The message from Number 10 is the same this year: carry on and enjoy Christmas.

That is the message in today Daily Mail.

On top of that, there is the demand now that all adults over 30 years old be given their booster by the end of January. This is quite the task too.

This will mean that the NHS across all its facilities will have to focus on this rather than anything else; less cancer treatment, monitoring and preventitive actions which will have long term effects on excess deaths, which was always going to happen, and is a function of a pandemic.

Had the Conservative Governments since 2010 not cut NHS spending, stopped nursing bursaries, made it clear that EU workers were not welcome to work here, and the privatisation by stealth, then maybe, probably, the UK would have been in a better position to tackle COVID. On top of that, incorporating the Lessons Learned from Operation Phoenix and other drills and practices that showed gaps.

When the Government was more focussed on grifting for themselves, their friends and backers rather than on the only talks they should have been, public health, no wonder we are here.

No lessons learned activ ities have been undertaken after each of the three previous waves, so we will blunder on, and more and more people will die before their time.

Monday 29th November 2021

Amd just like that it was Monday. Again. And thanks to a mess up with the alarm, we were awake at half four, same as on Saturday! So, after twenty minutes we get up and get ready for the day.

It was darn cold in the house, as outside there was a hoar frost, and so the central heating needed to do some hard work, until then I put on my socks and jumper to keep warm.

Jools had a shower and got ready, and once again before six was gone to work. I had time for a second coffee and some toast before work.

There's not much to tell, really. About work, that is. No mails waiting, so just meetings and writing the recommendations on an audit report, before I could send it off.

Outside the clouds cleared, the crescent moon hung high above the house, just about bright enough to cast shadows, while in the south, the horizon lightened in preparation for sunrise.

So it goes, so it goes.

The day progresses, and I get on with work, play music and listen to podcasts, all in all, I kept busy, or at least look as though I was.

Although it was just the cats that could see me.....

Early in the afternoon, I decide to go for a walk, putting on my shoes and grabbing a camera or two to head out onto the rolling downs above Chez Jelltex.

Nothing much seen, just walk up Station Road to the first track, cust past the war memorial.

I mean, I wanted to do more, but my back had started a low grumble, so we agreed I would cut down back through the estate to home, just to be safe.

I made it back, and my back expressed its happiness, and let me get up to make a brew.

I check mails, and find I wasn't missed, so fire off the report and set up a meeting to discuss the findings. Much to my surprise I am told I did a great job and raised some really good issues.

Well.

At four, I was done, so pack up and as we were having pizza for dinner, nothing really to prepare.

We were both still pooped from the weekend, so after eating the pizza, I make coffee while the radio plays in the background.

News of the pandemic is grim, so I resolve to speak to my boss to get next week's trip postponed, as I would be travelling through Amsterdam, a hub, and a high risk of infection.

We shall see.

And so, to bed at nine, with football still to watch.

Well.

Doublespeak

Yesterday, the Health Secretary sttod at the dispatch box and implored the country to get a third COVID jab in order to help stem Omicron's spread.

Mask mandate will be brought back for everyone inside.

Behind him, Conservative backbenchers looked on, all unmasked.

Later, the PM and his entourage was photographed in a meet and greet, inside, with all of them unmasked.

Johnson has spent most of the last few months avoiding wearing masks he said we should be wearing.

Leadership comes from the top, leading by example. Is it any wonder we have the levels of infections we do in this country when, clearly, the PM doesn't give a fuck?

Hopefully, they will change today as the mandate came in at 04:00, but I wouldn't be surprised if JRM came up with some excuse why Tory backbenchers didn't have to.

Johnson has already caught COVID, he seems either to think he can't catch it again, or wants to?

I have no idea.

Last last night, I saw a report that in Isreal, a triple vaccinated docotor caught and passed Omicron onto another triple vaccinated doctor. I hope this has been poorly reported and isn't true. As the implications are truly frightening. But totally avoidable.

Sunday 28th November 2021

The train trundled the last miles into Euston, dropping us off at platform 4. All other trains had left for the night, the station concourse was empty, no one waiting for one last train.

Out into the cool night air, I gave my last change to a guy wrapped in a grubby duvet, he would be spending the night out on the street, this very street, he was trying to collectenough money to pay for a night in a shelter.

The original plan was to spend the night in the hotel at St Pancras station, but in the two weeks when I first looked at prices and last weekend, all rooms had gone. The other side of the British Library was the Pullman, we were booked in there.

We find our way into the lobby, just dog tired and wanting to get to bed, the poor guy on the desk had to try to sell us a £27 pound breakfast.

We declined.

We stumbled into the lift to take us to the 12th floor, and getting out, the panoramic window revealled the view to the City, all dark buildings silhouetted against the lighter sky, all topped by flashing red aviation lights.

Just breathtaking.

I take shots.

We open the door to our room, get undressed, brush our teeth and go to bed. Darkness took us.

[six hours passed.]

We woke up at dawn, and the views over to The City were almost as good.

I took more shots.

We had showers, got dressed and went down to check out. We had an hour and twenty minutes before the first train to Dover, from Charing Cross, as the high speed line was closed.

We went onto the Underground and took a Piccadilly Line train to Leicester Square, deciding to walk the last quarter mile to the station.

We walked past theatres, restaurants and ancient pubs, along the side of Trafalgar Square, cutting through to the station.

I went to Costa to buy coffees and Jools went to the pasty shop to buy, well, you can guess.

All done, and our train was waiting on platform four, so we show our tickets and walk to the front of the eight coaches, nearing the end of the platform, and almost on the start of Hungerford Bridge.

I go to take more shots, so you know we were really there.

Sitting at a table, we eat our pasties as the train moved off crossing over the river, through Waterloo East past Borough Market to London Bridge, then through a maze of junctions into the suburbs of south east London and into the countryside.

It took an hour and 50 minutes, twice as long as the high speed, but we were in no realy hurry.

We get off at Dover, go through the barriers and find all four wheels were still on the car.

Which was nice.

We threw our stuff in the boot and drive off, along Townwall Street and up Jubilee Way to home, getting back at five to eleven.

We put the heating up, put on the kettle and make brews.

The cats had learned how to say "meh" in a meow, but they did sniff around in case we would like to feed them, but Gary had done a fine job in keeping their bowls full.

It was took cold to go out, so we put the washig on, drink coffee, eat cakes and later I watch football.

It was snowing elsewhere in the country, making football even more of a lottery than before. Between the two games we had dinner, some more of the things Jools made on her course on Friday, plus some curried rice. All very nice with a glass of wine.

Chelsea played Man Utd, a poor game which ended 1-1, but it passed the time.

We skipped supper and instead went straight to bed, me taking in a chapter of JCC's book before sleep took me again.

Our Government hates business

With just five weeks to go, the Government has published, finally, measures that UK businesses will need to coly with in importing goods into the UK.

A quick reminder that there are 52 weeks in a year, so 47 have passed before the announcement.

Five weeks to prepare, with just the small matter of Christmas to to prepare for, and COVID to mitigate against.

Sure, business is on it's knees, why not fiish it off with more needless red tape?

Or red white and blue tape as it will be portraied.

This will add costs and delays for consumers.

It might not be that bad, of course, but as nothing has gone well with Brexit, there is every chance this will be an omnishables.

At the same time, the Government is also going to scrap its Brexittracker that helps businesses with information needed.

Is it because "Brexit got done"? Just as the next round of complaining about the Brexit they did negotiate starts?

If we could, we would leave Britain, most are unaware of what is coming, and that the shortages of fuel seen a couple of months ago was just a dress rehearsal.

Happy times ahead.

Good luck.

You'll need it.

Omicron

I have been off social media, or had been, from Saturday morning to Sunday lunchtime, and the post yesterday took many hours to write and the photos edited.

So, here we are, back in the new normal.

Last Thursday I wrote about the new variant found in South Africa, and withing 48 hours Johnson had held a press conference informing the nation that the mask mandate was back from Tuesday, as would various restrictions on inbound travellers.

In the meantime, nothing.

Flights arrived from South Africa from which passengers disembarked and were allowed into the country with no added testing, they are now in places unknown the country.

It is already here.

At the same time, enhanced testing was taking place in Holland.

As usual, the UK is behind the curve, talking tough and acting shit.

So it goes, so it goes.

Mankind had a narrow window in which to vaccinate the entire population, instead vaccine protectionism meant that those in th first world got done first, first dose, second dose and now a booster, while many in the third world are yet to receive one.

We're not safe until we're all safe.

But we protected patients and Big Pharma, and now ever more dangerous muntations can evolve.

This is Omicron, the 15th letter of the Greek alphabet, as it is the 15th variation identified, but those between this and Delta (Kent) were not deemed dangerous.

Omicron is.

Very.

But the UK is adopting the wait and see approach, which in a pandemic is deadly, because JOhnson and his Government do not care, really. They would rather protect the economy.

And yet at the same time defend Brexit even the damage it does to the economy.

So, in both cases the Government is dancing the tune layed by the ERG/CRG which is basically the same group of backbenchers, over-riding the public health.

Over the weekend in Blackpool, no one was wearing masks, except Julie and I, and then we forgot when we rode the tram. In bars and restaurants, no one was wearing masks, just carrying on as though everything was normal. Not caring. It was slightly better on the way back from London on Sunday, most on the train out of Charing Cross were masking up. But its all too late.

And I can't get angry about it, I mean, what's the point? Few seem to care now, not even with 50,000 new infections on Friday, not with over 100 deaths per day for months now.

Truth no longer matters. Facts no longer matters. It's all culture war, and following the tribe you believe. Its the case here and in the US.

Saturday 27th November 2021

Blackpool is where the north, and most of Scotland, used to go on their holidays.

Once unions and pressure had allowed for workers from industrial towns used to travel en masse, buy train, to one of the three huge stations the town had, for a week. Each town had their own week, a wakes week, when it would go on holiday to Blackpool.

Blackpool grew huge and prosperous, catering for the masses going on holiday at the seaside The town had three pleasure piers, a Winter Garden, threatres, a Pleasure Beach and hotels and B&Bs all the way down the Golden Mile that looked onto the Irish Sea. In the centre was the Tower, and below that the Ballroom.

Its all still there, and at the end of the 19th century, when electric light was brought to the town, there came the "illuminations", brightly lit displays that lined the Golden Mile, and stretched the holiday and visitor season well into autumn.

The illuminations are best seen in the autumn, when night falls ever earlier, and at five (or was yesterday), they are switched on, so a long line of cars and coaches inch down the Promenade admiring the lights.

Also in Blackpool is the trams, the largest Victorian Tram system still working in the country, been there so long it saw just about every other system taken down, and is now witnessing new ones having been put into cities like Manchester, Sheffield, Birmingham, Nottingham, London (well, Croydon), and Edinburgh, with many more planned.

Although the best way to see the lights is by foot or by tram, and best to arrive by train. Which is why we were getting up at half four on a Saturday morning, so to travel to London to board a railtour that would take us to Blackpool and back in a day, though arrive back too late to get us back to Dover so a hotel in that London would be needed.

We have coffee and do the last of the packing. Our friend, Gary, was coming in to feed the cats on Saturday afternoon and Sunday evening, so no cat roundup needed. And so at quarter past five into the darkness and light drizzle.

It was very cold.

I found a place to park on Priory Gate Road, Jools went to buy the tickets, and with the train already in the platform, we go on and took our coats off.

We left on time, 05:49, and were in London some 70 minutes later, all ready to walk the ten minutes to Euston. Now if only we could find a place for some light breakfast.

Pausing only for some grabbed shots, we took the escalators down to the undercroft and headed out the westerly exit behind the British Library and the Crick Institute, where a bright light shone brightly in the distance, offering the hope that a café might be open.

King's Café was just opened for the day,, but they were willing to serve us. We had coffee, of course, while I opted for nutella on toast while Jools had a mountain of mushrooms on toast. Both good, and all for under a tenner.

Our hunger not killed off, but we were due to have fried breakfast on the train.

A short walk from there to Euston, and quickly walked to Platform 16 where the train was waiting, and thankfully with the heating fully on.

The train, eight carriages and two service coaches top and tailed by class 90s, all prepped and raring to go, and the smells of breakfast was already escaping the kitchen car.

We were sat at a table for four, on the other side a single guy sat, who had plenty to say, not all of it good.

Initially, it seemed he knew what he was talking about, but then he mentioned Liz Truss had done a good job, then that Nigel Farrage should be brought into the Government. I replied that there isn't a gibbet high enough in London town to hang that traitor from. He changed the subject

That notwithstanding, and his jibber jabbering, it was a fine trip up, us having breakfast served before we had even left the London suburbs.

Fruit salad followed by a full try up then rounded up with toast and preserved. All freshly cooked or prepared, and served with lashings of tea of coffee.

Would we like a drink, was the next question. It was nearly ten, and opening time somewhere. So, I asked what ales they had. He got as far as Bishop's Finger and I told him to stop, bring me a bottle forthwith!

The journey north, however, was becoming difficult. Friday had seen a storm batter the north east and north west, with there being many trees down and trains in the the wrong place. The WCML was also closed, so we had to meander our way north via Stoke before edging back along a single line to Crewe.

Everywhere there was huge crowds of people just waiting for a train, we inched past as I supped dark, strong ale.

At one point it seemed possible we were not going anywhere. We had reached Northampton, and apparently Network Rail had no requests for us heading any further north. So, we sat there for 40 minutes whilst the paperwork was sent in and approved before we moved off.

All around us was a covering of dusty snow, not much, but enough to make the scene pretty as a Christmas card. It looked cold, this was because it was cold.

Anyway, we reached Crewe, moved north through Warrington and Wigan before halting again at Preston. This was where the line to Blackpool branched off, on the station people were waiting everywhere, we were sat in British Rail luxury in the best carriages the British rail industry ever made, the Mk 3s.

We pulled out, and snaked across the main line onto the newly electrified line, and headed to the coast. At station photographers were waiting, recording our progress, while inside we got ready to head out once we arrived at Blackpool North.

We walked to the end of the platform, through the station and across the main road, heading into the town centre. When we reached the top of the slope, the north wind hit us like a truck.

It took our breath away.

Now, even though we had two breakfasts, we were both hungry, so once we decided which place to try, we went into a local version of Wetherspoons called Vintro Lounge, and got the last table .

We felt normal, but around this were Mothers with daughters, and the daughters have very inappropriate make up, some with false eyelashes, all this on girls no more than ten years old.

There will dolls, all delicate with painted faces.

We found out later there was rehearsals at The Winter Garden, and these were trying out for the chorus, but it did look odd, to say the least.

We both ordered the sweet potato and lentil curry and people watched, and it has to be said, has a different class of people to watch.

I have been to Blackpool many times; first time as a child of about four when we were on a coach tour, and we travelled in said coach to see the illuminations late that summer evening, although I guess they were not the full show being in summer.

I returned twice with my second wife and her son, and I did enjoy the experience, but it did seem to be a town that was trying to wring every last penny from my wallet.

Finally, I did an HGV course round here, and drove down the Golden Mile curing the course of one lesson, not able to admire all the trams on the prom.

I have been up the Tower and to the Pleasure Beach, rode "The Big One", so, what else is there to do? On a bitterly cold November afternoon, little more than go out for short periods before diving back inside a bar or a place for a coffee.

Trams were terminating at the pier, and so the plan to ride to Fleetwood was blown out of the water, so, after photographing the prom around the tower and finding the North Pier closed, we retired to the Winter Gardens for another coffee and to shelter until the sun went down.

The Winter Gardens was playing host to a Labour Conference, so earnest men in sharp suits talked in heated tones hunched over bottles of Italian lager (brewed under licence), and I thought of all the open goals that Labour has missed these last five years, and that the party seems happiest fighting amongst itself. I looked down at Dad's union badge on my coat, and thought of the firebrands of the past who wouldn't have done this.

At half four, we went back outside to snap some lights during the blue hour, but found most of the lights were not yet on. We were to learn that they got switched on at five.

We had tickets for a free ride on a vintage tram, so went to the stop before time, and saw a large crowd on men of a certain age had already gathered and were trying to board the tram already there. A second one trundled past us, we kept pace with it, so when it stopped and the doors opened, the conductor had just to mouth the words "railtour ticket holders only", we dived on and bagged seats upstairs at the back, which would soon be at the front as the tram was at the end of the line.

They turned the heating up so we could warm up, but that meant the windows misted up.

Bugger.

I tried to get good shots, and did OK on the trip back.

The wind was blowing sand along the prom, causing cars parked on the side of the road to become embedded in drifts. And a group of drunk young men tried to force themselves onto the tram only to be foiled when we didn't halt at the next stop.

Seeya guys.

We got back at ten past six, we had an hour to kill, so we went to find a micropub I had spotted earlier, passing long lines in the cold night waiting to get into 'Spoons.

The pub was a quarter full, I had a pint of chocolate stout, and Jools had a cider. It was warm, welcoming, all that a pub chain isn't.

I had a pint of Stay Puft, another sweet stout, which was most excellent too.

We walked back to the station and got back on board, settling down in our seats, letting the heat revive us. Jabber was back too, his pub crawl round the region's Wetherspoons had been foiled due to trains being cancelled and the suspension of most of the tram route.

I delighted in telling him of the several pints of fine stout I had supped.

The train pulled out on time, and as soon as we were under way, dinner was served.

I had some kind of tomato soup. It was OK, I mean, had herbs in it, but you really can't mess up tomato soup.

Main course was gammon with two kinds of potatoes, vegetables and madeira gravy, which was also fine. Not amazing, but to eat a four course dinner on a train is a rare treat.

I had also ordered a bottle of Zinfandel, which was light and fruity, and went down very easy indeed.

Dessert was some kind of pear thing with cheese, was a savoury choice, but still sweet, and tasted better than it looked.

And then cheese.

And two glasses of red wine.

We settled down to the long journey home, and being dark, we could only look at our reflections. Somehwere south of Warrington, I fell asleep, waking up at Milton Keynes, the second of our stops.

They got off just after ten, in time to see MOTD, not us.

Jabber got off at Watford Junction just before midnight, leaving us alone and in blissful silence.

Will continue this in tomorrow's post, as we did arrive back in London on Sunday.

Phew.

Friday 26th November 2021

Or the day in which I discovered how much time it takes to do chores and work!

Jools was in Rickmansworth for the night as she had a cooking course on Friday, and I had to:

1. Do the shopping.

2. Put out and collect the bins and garden waste.

3. Work.

4. Drop the house key with Gary so he can feed the cats when we're away on Saturday.

5. Change the kitty litter.

6. Put the shopping away.

And did I mention work?

So, the alarm goes off at ten past five, I fight my way through a crowd of hungry cats, fill four bowls and scatter them around the kitchen and on the stairs, make a coffee and decide I had woken up enough, so that at six I could gather the shopping bags and go to Tesco, as we wouldn't be home until Sunday lunchtime and needed food.

So, I drive to the store, park up and find people in line waiting to go in.

Seems the sensor on the door failed, so wouldn't slide open for us. An old guy bangs on the window and we were let in.

I get hunting and gathering and manage to spend a lot of money. Just as well we were paid at midnight, then.

I go to pay, drive home as dawn was creeping over the land, get home just on seven. So I set up the office, check mails, and with nothing urgent, I could put the shopping away and make second coffee along with some toast.

The cats were all sleeping, I munch on toast as I speak to Henrik.

Let the chaos begin!

My boss is on holiday, so in the social department meeting where the rainy season in India still isn't over, and they are all now worried about the new COVID variant.

Eeek. At half ten, I drive to River to see Gary and hand over cat feeding instructions and the spare key. We chat, but it was just five days since we last spoke, but a bit more small talk was good.

I have to leave to get back home for work, although nothing had happened really, but I was on call to put out any fires if needed.

I get to two, and nothing much else was going on, so I log off, make a coffee and after eating the curried rice and banger dish I made the night before, I watch a two hour documentary on Paul Gauguin and his art. So talented, and yet a man out of place, not really at home anywhere, least of all in France.

I get a text from Jools saying she would be back in Dover at just gone six, so I make sure I'm there to pick her up. She was coming back with some of the stuff she cooked.

Indeed, when she got in the car the food smelt delicious, so when we got home she warmed up the jambalaya, I opened some fizz and we dined like Creole Royalty.

And that is it from me until Sunday.

Be good and stay safe.

Treaty of Le Touquet

Treaty of Le Touquet is how the border between UK and France is controlled.

This alls the UK border to be in France and the French border in UK, so that you clear both before boarding, allowing you just drive off the other end.

Simples.

This means that France is, in effect, policing the UK's border.

Currently, while the UK insults it.

It won't take much for France to scrap his treaty and so just send all to the UK border in Dover or Folkestone.

Numbers will not go down.

And we would not be able to return them.

Because the UK left the Dublin agreement. It need not have left, or could have negotiated a replacement.

But didn't.

And Article 16 of the NIP is not a weapon.

Not as Brexiteers understand it.

It's a dispute resolution mechanism, which, after a period of time, allows the other side a proportionate retaliation.

And for it to work as being sold, the UK would have to show the NIP isn't working as negotiated.

But it is.

So, if the UK were to take unreasonable action, the EU could take proprtionate unreasonable action back.

It would hurt us more.

These are lessons the Brexiteers have yet to learn.

But will.

Though, they'll blame France and the EU.

Thursday 25th November 2021

A month to Christmas.

Get your sprouts on now, or they'll never be cooked.

We were both awake before the alarm went off, Jools had to leave as soon as she could, as she was going away, just for the night, so had to do as much work as possible before leaving off at half three.

Which meant, all bar half an hour, I would be home alone to Friday night.

I had it all planned: strippers, mobile bar and a smoker to cook half a cow

But back in the real world, it was just normal.

Jools comes back usually at about six, we go to bed, which means it would be that part I would not be seeing her, so there was still dinner to cook, cats to feed and blogs to write.

Jools left at ten to six, and all was quiet, apart from a couple of hissing cats.

I made some toast and a second coffee and put on a podcast. More music chat with Dave and Mark.

I was done for seven, so started work, and got down to the tasks of the day.

Just the usual stuff.

Outside, the sun rose and the clouds parted. It was going to be a cold but glorious day, it was just a case when I could squeeze a quick walk in. I would find time, oh yes.

The time came at ten, I put on my coat and skipped the macro, correctly thinking there would be no insects to snap, so I just had the nifty fifty instead, and so set off along the street and across the fields to Fleet House.

In the small paddock, two Shetland Ponies have been housed in the new stables, one black and the other white. Blackie ignored me and just carried on reading, while the white one kept its eye on me, but came no closer.

I kicked my way through autumn's golden gown to Collingwood, down to Fleet House where the three white ponies were very interested, so came to say hello over the fence. I couldn't feed them, but ruffled their manes and let them check my hand for treats.

I turn and walk back along Collingwood, past the two new houses in the old quarry, though they're not really new now. They are fighting, and losing, a battle with nature at the roadside where various wild flowers and plants are invading the newly laid strip of turf. Wild flowers not attractive, apparently.

I walk to check on the path of Heliotrope, then down the alleyway back to our street and home.

Not missed much.

I make cheese on toast for lunch, and a brew and listen to some music whilst catching up on work.

The afternoon passes.

Jools comes home at four, she changes clothes, make a cup of tea in her travel cup, then its time for me to take her to the station for the quarter to five train. Traffic was heavy, but I get her there in time, then come back along Reach Road, along the cliffs and darkness falls, and the lights of Calais shining bright some 23 miles away.

Sanity, so near, and yet so far.

Back home I check Faceache, and find a mate from my Air Force days has passed away.

Lofty was someone hard to like, I have to say. But had been through a lot, had a son, but his marriage had ended, so was trying to keep a relationship with the child from the other end of the country.

I have no idea what happened when we finished our corse, but he went to some base, I went to a different one, and we both got on with our lives. And a short post announcing his funeral times was posted. No idea how or how his life panned out between.

So it goes.

I had got a pot of something out of the freezer. Either pasta sauce or "something else". It defrosted and was sure it was Mexican for tacos so started cooking some rice, at which point I then opened the pot fully and tasted it; roasted vegetables and chicken.

I think that it would go better with pasta, so put that on abut then have to think what to do with the rice. I had defrosted some sausages, so fry those up, cut into chunks and put half in each pot, and make curried rice which I will have from Friday lunch.

Nothing wasted.

I make a coffee and have a small slice of Jools' birthday cake.

I had washed up, cleared away, nothing else to do. So, I put the radio on and follow the footy via Twitter and the BBC website, liste to Marc on the wireless, as usual, and as my toe had twinged during the had, avoided booze.

I did stay up to very nearly ten, and three cats watched as I climbed the stairs to bed.