2021: how was it for you?

Two years ago, we went into the new year full of hope, with thoughts of paying off our mortgage, maybe getting a new car and then travelling. A lot. In the words of Mr Loaf, two out of three aint bad.

Of course, March 2020 came and everything changed.

Last year I outlined reasons for optomism and hope, and for the vaccine, that came true. Everything else has been shit. Inlcuding the Government and the percentage of the population that think masks is some kind kind of infringement on their freedoms.

But, if 2020 was the year of the virus, then 2021 was the year that science fought back. And of course the year ended with Omicron and the virus fighting its own battle of the bulge, we hope. And the New Year will bring an end to the pandemic.

We didn't go to New Zealand in the end. The border into NZ is still closed I believe, so the trip is delayed a year, but who knows, really?

We received our first vaccine dose in February, and then the second in May. By then it was spring and life seemed full of possibilities once again. We then both received the booster in November, but all through, we were careful and worse masks when out in public, mostly for their safety.

Both Jools and I managed not to catch COVID, we were careful, though at times we did go out, sometimes go on a trip or two, but no real holiday to speak of.

For the first four months of the year, what kept me going day after day was our lawnmeadow. Each day going out to see what had grown, was there something new? And so on. Later in the year it would be Jools who discovered an actual wild orchid growing in it, a single small Pyramidal, but that filled me with such joy you can't imagine.

As it usually does, my life from April through to September was filled with orchids, though through April I had to cope with gout, which meant I could not leave the house due to a swollen foot. My memory tells me it lasted six weeks before fading, but the reality was nearer three, as I was able to put on a shoe and walk, at first to the shop, then further and further.

I did have two relapses, major ones, but the last one was in July just before we went to see A Word in the Park in that London.

The days got longer, but the weather turned bitterly cold. Into May temperatures at night fell below freezing, and it was cool during the day, thus delaying the orchid season, meaning that once I was ready, the season exploded.

As far as Kent is concerned, the major news was the Serapias vomeracea, a species from southern Europe that had somehow appeared beside a main road. It had been found in 2020, but its location was kept secret, but somehow news of its location leaked out, and then begain the ugly side of the orchid world of those who knew on one side and those who didn't on the other.

Pictures were posted, there was much gloating. I did get to see it in the end, promising, like a child, not to tell him or him or them. I kept my word, but it stunk. I hope those responsible had a good hard word with themselves.

Otherwise, it was a fine season in Kent, good for most species, especially Bee and Late Spider which grew in huge numbers.

I did travel to see orchids outside the county, first up to Lancashire to see the Lady's Slipper.

Tuesday 25th May 2021

The birthday of the second Mrs Jelltex.

Sadly, she passed away a couple of years after our divorce. Her story has come up a couple of times in the past few days, a heartbreakingly sad story, and one of her being unable to break the cycle of pain.

All I can do, we can do, is hope she found peace.

But she was the most selfish person I have met, and that is up against my own Mother and the first Mrs Jelltex.

Anyway.

Travel.

Yes, travel, and a night away. In a hotel. Overlooking a railway station, three railway lines and the lst remeaining steam locomotive shed in the UK. But that wasn't even the reason for going.

That was for an orchid.

Yes, I know you're shocked at that news. But to drive six hours each way to see a single plant, or two in this case, next to each other, they would have to be either rare or spectacular. In fact, they were both.

The original plan was to set off just after nine in the morning, but I saw a wasted day, so in the end I rose at ten past four, had a coffee and breakfast, then loaded up the car with bags and cameras I had packed the day before, as well as a piece of paper with postcodes, grid references and so on for the two days I was away.

I put the radio on, but didn't set the sat nav, as I knew where I was going, at least until within half an hour of the site.

I went via the A2/M2/A2 to Dartfird, the radio played in the background, the sun rose away in the east and traffic was very light indeed. In under an hour from leaving home, I was driving under the Thames at Dartford, into Essex, then round to the start of the M11, then up past Standstead to Cambridge, getting there by half six, and before the expected rush hour into that city.

I turned west on the A14, now upgraded into a virtual motorway, cutting a swaithe through the Cambridgeshire countryside like a seeping wound.

At the A1 junction, in a change, I turned north, mainly to avoid the roadworks on the M6 and rush hour in around the towns and cities along its route. Up to Doncaster, the A1 is a four lane road, so I got caught being lorries struggling to overtake, but I had all day, and once I got to Newark, I knew I was well on the way, a road north to Pontefract I have driven up for many years.

Once at Pontefract I turned up the M62, which runs from Hull to Liverpool, but crosses the Pennines, which could be an interesting experience over Saddleworth Moor into Lancashire. It usually rains. Or snows. Or both.

Traffic was heavy, but I pressed on past Heddersfield, and up across the moor. In fact the weather improved, it had been raining up through Essex, but was cloudy but dry. I followed the signs to Preston and places further north.

There be dragons.

Onto the M6, and once past the turning for Blackpool, traffic was very light, the motorway ran beside the West Coast Mainline, but I saw no trains, I was half-concentrating on driving.

At Lancaster Services, I stopepd to program the sat nav: half an hour to go. It was ten fifteen, I would have nearly a full day here.

Eeeek.

I turn off at Carnforth, then follow ever narrower lanes, up into the foothills, through villages with roads barely wider then the car, fields and woodlands lines with moss-covered dry stone walls. There was rain in the air.

I came to the postcode I had programmed; there was a hostel and further on a bridge over the Furness railway.

I turned round and parked on the side of the road, across from me I could see the start of a bridleway into the reserve. It was less than half a mile from my goal.

I got out, stretched, then fitted the ringflash to the camera, put on my coat and walked to the gate and down towards the lake. The path lead me round an aread separated by another dry stone wall. I looked over and could see no orchid, nor no way in.

On the other side I found a gate, which didn't say we couldn't go in. So I went in.

There was a path, so I followed it. There were cowslips, and a few fare Alpine Bird's Eye Primroses, which looked fabulous. I snapped those. But still no orchids.

And then, there it was.

Or, there they were. Two plants, robust, each plant with a single flower. THe flower was spectacular: yellow lip that had curved upwards to make a "slipper", and three burgundy sepals, twisted reaching out at 120 degree angles.

It was an emotional moment.

I took lots of photos.

Most were repeats, but best to be sure.

Behind there was a larger clump, that had been in flower the week before, but were already going over. Their time is very short, I suspect these two plants will be the same be the weekend.

As I leave, a guide with a group of 29 ramblers were being prepared to go and see the orchid, they being another tick in the box on their day's walk. It is good people know, but this is a sensitive site, and 29 people plus a guide, after by mighty plates, creates damage. I hope they srvive here, as these are pretty much the last publicly accessable site for these left.

I walk round the lake, but realise I needed a comfort break, and a place to find something to eat. So I walk back to the car, and drive round looking for a pub in which to eat and refresh.

I find one, but the door is locked. An old guy comes out, asks me what I want. He gives me directions to another local, but he must have got his left and right mixed up, as I don't find one. So, using the sat nav I go from village to village, until I come to a small market town, and there was a parking space next to the public toilets.

Phew.

Once refreshed, I look round and decide I wasn't that hungry anyway, so drove back to the reserve, to the main car pak. I say "main", it had space for five cars.

I walk down the track, it was lined with primroses which held hope for seeing some of the local colony of Duke of Burgundy. I don't see any, but I find there is a protected area of the reserve I fail to make it to.

I come to open meadows, and a path leading off up a hill. I walk over one meadow and halfway across the second where my feet says, we've had enough. So I lay down in the long grass and look at the clouds passing overhead. Birdsong filled the air.

It was half two, I was footsore and hungry.

I walked back to the car, then drove into Carnforth, parking at the station, which was opposite the hotel I was booked into staying.

The hotel's bar wasn't open, so I walk up the main street, and find that the Carnforth Hotel was open. I went in and took a table in the corner. I order aCumberland sausage ring and chips, and order juice and lemonade instead of beer.

The food is simple pub fayre, but hearty stuff, and the landlady was very friendly, and nothing too much trouble.

Once I pay the tenner, I go back down the street to the hotel, check in and take my stuff to the second floor room that had views to the station, the mainline in the foreground, the line to Barrow beyond, and behind those, Steamtown, where a loco was being fired,a nd black smoke weaved into the cloudy sky. Trains hammered by on the main line every now and again, I got a 20m glimpse of the line between the end of the station and the bridge. It was enough.

I put the radio on, make two brews and relax.

I was to meet a fellow orchidist later, and he was to take me to see some more sites. But, easy as it is for me with no family or commute to speak of, to drop things and head out, for Richard who has a young family and commute from Preston, it wasn't until half seven he got free and came to collect me.

He had an Audi, that looked normal, but under the bonnet had 400 plus horses, which he would engage to get past slower cars when it was safe to do so.

He took me to an industrial site where there were dozens of Fly Orchid spikes, but others had been before, some had been trampled, which is always a pain, as the people who trampled the spikes had actually came to see the orchids.

We go to his hometown, or where he lives now, Silverdale. We park on the main street, then walk though a gap in the dry stone wall, to the first of two meadows that lead down to Morcombe Bay, into the second meadow, which was carpeted with thousands of Green Wing and Early Purple orchids, some almost impossible to tell apart.

All the while, Richard is telling me of orchids from all over the UK, Europe and the globe. He knows his orchids, and how the plants "work" in creating variations and hybrids.

We retre to the local pub, he orders us pints. I have a pint of shandy, just in case. It still feels daring, with my gout.

After we had supped, he took me back to the hotel, racing down narrow lanes, and racing a train from Barrow.

I get back at just gone ten, I go to the Co-Op over the road for a sandwich, a drink and some crisps, then walk back to the hotel and up to my room to have supper, and look at the shots I had taken.

I was pooped.

I slimb into bed just before eleven, trains hammered by all night, I heard them not.

Wednesday 26th May 2021

I woke up at six fifteen, not enough sleep, but deep and restful.

The original plan was to look round more local sites before heading south, but I was impatient, and the grid references to find the orchids I wanted hadn't arrived by seven, when it was time for breakfast, so instead I decided to head south to visit my friends who visited Kent last week, but live in Gloucestershire. Duncan had promised big.

I packed, checked the room twice, and went downstairs where the landlord showed my the fruit, cereal and coffee, took an order for sausage and bacon butties, while I took some fruit and a coffee.

I eat and drink up, say goodbye to the owner, and remind him again the name of the orchid I had come up to see.

I load the car, program the sat nav, which told me I had 183 miles to go.

I drove out of the car park, up the High Street, then along to the motorway junction, I turned south and engaged most of the horses, the car leapt off, overtaking a truck, and joining the motorway, filled, as it was, with light traffic.

It started out dull and grey, but brightened up, meaning I was even more enthused about some orchiding in a new county.

Down through Preston, round Manchester, bypassing Liverpool and further south until hit the roadworks between Crewe and Stafford, so we crept forward at fifty, the fifteen miles dragging.

Out through the roadworks and onto the clear three carriageways of the M6 Toll Road, driving for the sheer joy of it. I stop at the services for a coffee and a slice of cake, then back onto the road, taking the M42 to the south west, joining an old friend, the M5 towards Gloucester and Cheltenham.

I used to drive this road every week when I was still with wife number 2 and at Cosford on my fitters course, I think we must have travelled on it too when we had a holiday on the Long Mynd maybe 14 or 15 years ago now, but time matters little. Much has changed, and yet, much is the same.

I turn off and head east through Regency Cheltenham, I should have stopped for photos of the Georgian houses, the stonewear four sided bench and the fine pub named The Tivoli. But I had orchids in mind. I arrived at their house, and reveresed into their parking area, Duncan came out, and said he had already put the kettle on.

We have a cuppa, and a Danish pastry, catch up and then it is time. He will drive as I had already done nearly four hours, which was fine, as he also knew where to go. We take endless winding roads, through stunning verdant rolling countryside, climbing all the time, until we made the final climb to Selsley.

Selsly is a Common, but seems to be another name for a chalk down, it seems to have free grazing, and there were a few horses in the distance, as the Common is huge.

We set off across the buttercup covered grassland, until it began to drop away, bringing into view the village at the foot of the down, the land dropping to the River Severn many miles away, then the hills of south Wales rising darkly in the distance. It was breathtaking.

We had to climb halfway down to the village, and in a location looking the same as any other,there was a spike of an orchid, but with flowers of a different shape: this was the spike of a hybrid, a hybrid between the Bee and Fly Orchid, and amazing it looked.

And then the sun came out.

Wow.

There was no one else about.

We both took lots of pictures, then began the climb back to the top, then over to the car.

The next call promised a climb of even steeper slopes.

Eeeek.

Duncan took us down narrow twisty lanes, along the valley and up the other side, past a huge pub to another Common, where we find a parking space, and ebfore we set off, we call in at a place selling what Duncan claimed were the best ice creams in England. A bold claim.

I had stawberry and cream in a snazzy waffle cone, and it passed the QC test, though I might need another to be sure.

The Common was covered again in buttercups and cowslips, we walk on, and the ground began to drop. We walked on.

Below us the sides of the down dropped away to the narrow lane we had come up, it was down there we had to go, there weemed no way of getting down. And remember, we'd have to get back up afterwards!

Duncan said if we took a certain path, and dropped down a gulley, we might get lucky and see some Dukes (of Burgundy).

It was a scramble alright, but once we reached the lower path, there were butterflies all around, including at least three Dukes. I managed to get a distant shot, and then one planded near me, so I managed to sccot closer and get a very acceptable shot.

Happy.

We climb further down, almost to the road, then along some, and ahead, Duncan lets out a cry: here they are!

Sword Leaved Helleborine is extinct in Kent, probably extinct, though I think one was found a few years back, and in Gloucestershore they're pretty rare. There were four plants, two full sized, and two much saller examples.

We were joined by two ladies who had also been looking, we all took shots before it was time to turn round and climb.

Sigh.

All journeies begin with a single step. Followed by a second. And a third. And so on. We make it to the first path, then up, zig-zaggin up and to the right each time, it was hard going, but in a few minutes we had left the two ladies and a rude butterfly chaser far below. There was the remains of a cart track, probably at about 40%, but easier on the feet.

We reached the top after twenty minutes and plenty of pauses for breath and photographs. We walked back to the car, then drive to the motorway and back to Cheltenham to their house. We had an emergency brew, then I climb in my car to follow Duncan for the last call; more orchids.

We drive through the villge, past schools and their roads jammed with Mothers in 4x4s, clogging up traffic, then into the countryside, climbing up through woodland, and turning off down a narrow lane, stopping on the corner of a lane, which looked like hundreds of other scenes.

But jsut along the lane, in the leaf litter, olive green spikes were emerging, many such spikes, each one a new season's orchid, Bird's Nest Orchids, rare, and rarely grow in the same location. Here, over 40 spikes were seen, with more coming. Sadly, none were quite in flower, but they looked impressive.

And that was it, it was nearing five, and I had another 180 miles to do, but this time along the busiest roads in the country.

I had to get to Swindon, then pick up the motorway, and for a while it was easy going, along roads I knew well 25 years ago. Into Swindon, past the huge Honda factory, and then in a long queue to get to final roundabout and get onto the motorway.

I edge on, and cruise at seventy, listening to the radio as I motored through Wiltshire, into Oxforshire and Berkshire, past Windosr Castle, and there was me expecting there to be awful traffic any moment, and yet there wasn't.

Onto the M25, and OK, there was a few delays, but nothing like I was expecting, so made good time, and was on track to get back home before eigt, which was a right result. The sun was sinking fast as I entered Kent and turned off down the M20, traffic light again, but I was being followed. Well, worse than that, tailgated by a van with ladders on the roof, it was about two feet from the back of the car, so when we came to some heavier traffic, I put my foot down and got the heck out of there.

It had followed me like that for several miles, and I could see it as I zoomed off into the distance, trying to keep up, but failing.

I slowed to seventy, and there was no reappearance for the van, so just took my time driving down to Ashford, then to Folkestone and finally, Dover.

I parked the car and as soon as I tried to get out the car, my legs screamed, OW WE HURT.

I know.

I carried my bags into the house, Jools already had the kettle on. We had brews, we talked, then when she went to bed, I had supper and watched the end of the man Utd v Villareal game, which Utd lost 11-10 on penalties. It was ten past 11.

I went on a three day trip to Cambridge in September. Back then it still seemed that the virus was on the wane and we would be through it soon.

Welcome to Cambridge,

It had stopped raining, was getting light and the traffic was jumping, or going past the window, down on the street, which, in fairness, was the best place for it.

After a while I got up to have a shower and get dressed, put on a mask to go down to breakfast.

A guy already sitting down at a table, maskless, was complaining about people and staff not wearig masks. I watched as he got up to go to the buffet table and he failed to wear as mask, but those others!

I hadn't eaten since one the previous day, so I pay an extra tener to have a fried breakfast as welll as a selection from the buffet. A china pot of coffee was brought and so I lived like a king for a while, splashing coffee and ketchup on the startched linen of the table cloth.

I was ready, but was Cambridge?

We shall see.

The hotel looked over the River Cam, and there was a bridge to Jesus Fields over the locks just down from the hotel. I crossed the road, went over the bridge and then followed the path beside the river. Joggers puffed past, and I stopped occasionally to take shots, as I am a photographer. Of course.

Lining the river were punts tied up, do people still hire punts? Seems like they do.

The path changes into a boardwalk, with a College on the other side, but I was making for the stone bridge a hundred yards away. Or so. As I was on a mission to find the camera shop that had a lens waiting for me to buy, I didn't really notice how quiet the streets were, I snapped a scene looking up from the bridge as a dray was reversing into an old coaching in, I was the only one looking at the driver's reversing skills.

I followed the main road into the centre, turning right at a rounabout, passing the round church and St Clements which I would get to know better much later. 15,000 steps later in fact.

Past more colleges, all looking like possible new Harry Potter locations, but all displaying "college closed to the public" signs. Sadly.

The road opened out, and on the right was King's College, with the chapel towering above all buildings. I walk on, past Great St Mary, and found the shop just as the owner arrived to unlock it. It was quarter to nine.

I gave him ten minutes to get the shop straight, I go in and intoroduce myself, he produces the lens. I put it on the camera and take two test shots. It all works. I pay the remainder off the coast, and the lens was mine.

Back outside I took a few more test shots, then set about trying to find a church to pactice on.

The unusually named St Bene't's was open, so I donned a mask and went in.

St Bene't's has a find Norman arch in the tower, it's best feature, apart from the extra punctuation, I record it all and am happy with the results.

I had watched the priest open Great St Mary's, but before I went in there, I thought I would have a coffee.

So I found a nice little independent place, who provided me with the best Americano I have ever had, which I take to a bench seat on the street so I could look at the people going by.

Electric cycles amd "motor"cycles glided past on the cobbles. I looked at the ticket I had for King's Chapel and saw the gate was a ten minute walk away. I had half an hour, so popped into St Mary, followed the one way system and got shots, trying to leave the couple arranging a family funeral alone in their saddest hour. I like Cambridge.

Tuesday. I do.

But I feel I need to say this too.

There are two Cambridges, one for the scholars and one for the rest. Towns and Gowns, as I heard one local put it.

The city centre is useless as an actual city centre, it is full of shops and emporiums either for tourist sor ones that cater for the colleges.

I found no pub in the centre at all, the nearest I found was on King Street, a good five minute walk from KIng's Parade. There is one on the river, by the lock, called The Mill, but few others.

Most streets have a college wall on one side or the other. I mean, it looks fabulous, but in a Harry Potter fantasy kind of way. I can't remember seeing a place like it. Oxford I suppose, but I remember a main shopping street near to the colleges.

Set back from King's Parage, through some lanes and across the market there is a shopping centre, so I guess that and the market caters for non-college types.

I say all this as on Tuesday, my plan had been to visit three churches, one should be open, the website said it would be open from twelve to two, the other two would be more of a gamble. St Edward seemed locked and only suggestion seemed to be that it would be open on Sunday for services. It is an important church in England, a building with that history should be open, sometimes. St Bene't's is open every day from nine, so if that can do it, maybe the others?

And then there is the colleges; oonly Corpus Christi was open, you could pay a fiver to go round, and they probably have a chapel, but I thought I could fill my day.

And as there was no lens to buy this morning, I could laze abed, have a later breakfast and write a blog before I went out.

At least outside the sun was out, and casting warm light on the early autumn colours of the park, Jesus Green, opposite. I looked so inviting.

I left my room at nine, walking over the road, across the bridge and along the river, where the guys drumming up business for punts were already at work. One, Ashly, remembered my from yesterday, and I promised I would go back later in the day. Remembering a casual conversation from 15 hours previously was pretty good customer interaction.

I walked down to King's Parade, and the place was already busy, with an oriental lady with a gold or brass headscarf and some kind of traditional dress on, walking up and down while a guy took her picture. I thought she was a tourist, but I think she was just wanting people to pay to have their picture taken with her. Not very Cambridge I have to say, but it must give her a living.

I got a coffee and sat on the low wall, people watching. Folks on cycles with places to guy, ringing bells to alert tourists this is a living place, not an educational Disneyland. But then it might be.

I walked through the market to St Andrew the Great, a large Victorian church, which seemed to be welcoming, open at ten the signs said, so I go for a coffee and a slice of Victoria spnge to wait the half hour out before ten.

I went back at then ast ten, and saw the sign said, in small text, the ten openeing was on Sundays. There were signs saying the entrance was to the left. These I followed on each door until I arrived back at the first one.

I went to check on St Edward, the antiquarian bookshops on the two alleys approaching the church were open, full of ancient tomes, I could have spent hours looking through them, but then I might have bought something.

The church was locked, of course.

St Botolph was to open at midday, so I walk down King's Parade to the church, and wait for half an hour for the clocks over the city to strike noon. Noon lasted some five minutes.

I checked the two doors to the church and neither was unlocked. I waited until half twelve and no one came to open the church.

I gave up.

I went down to snap the Mathamatical Bridge, and was approached by two guys selling punt trips. I told them I was promised to Ashley, they were dimissive.

It was a glorious day, so it seemed a shame that so few people were taking trips, but then there are fewer overseas visitors, I guess. I tell them I would think about it.

I remember seeing a smokehouse somewhere in the back lanes, so went off in search of lunch.

I found it behind St Bene't's, took a table on the narrow lane and ordered a full rack of ribs.

Ribs are never bad, and there were good. Not brilliant. But good enough, and with the two beers I had with them, as well as lots of water, I suffered no ill effects.

Yay. I was a bit angry about the churches being closed, and on top of that, poor Jools had been called into work on MOnday as her boss has gone sick, so instead of relaxing, she is doing more hours than ever, and so I decided then to cut the trip short by a day and return home on Wednesday. And to make up for it, I would hire a punt all to myself, so walked back to the bridge and Ashley.

Ashley was pleased to see me, and I asked about the private tour, that would be expensive her said. Two hundred quid he said. Then thought about it, business was slow, he would do it for eighty. I gave him a hundred and shook on it, the guy has to make a living.

So, ten minutes later I was climbing into a punt, with a punter, Adam, to look after me and point to me the best things to snap.

It was one of the best decisions I made, really. We arrived at the Bridge of Sighs and there was no other boats around, which never happens, one did inch ahead of us, to make a most pleasing scene.

We cruised along, finally passing King's and coming to the Mathamatical Bridge before turning round.


By then the river was packed, and other looked at me in a punt of my very own with green eyes.

Light was better this way, with the sun behind and i made good with the shots.

The landing stage was right near to the hotel, s once on dry land, I could walk back across the bridge to the hotel, up to my room and be having a brew in ten minutes.

It was a golden afternoon, and really too nice to sit in it all all evening, so decided to go out for some evening snaps, and my friend Simon told me a good pub to go to.

King's Parade was packed too, as people picnicked and took in the sights and fine light. I mostly people watched.

Once the sun set, dusk came quickly, and I walked along some of the most picturesque lanes to King Street, then along to the pub, which looked very welcoming in the dark.

There was a group of four having a laugh with their beers, one quit guy at the bar, and the barman. And me. I had thought long and hard about whether I should be doing this, but I was going home in the morning, so why not?

I ordered a pint of Black Sheep and had a Scotch Egg to go with it, which I smothered with lots of Piccalilly, all very nice.

I was checking on the League Cup scores, and after just five minutes Liverpool had taken the lead.

Sigh.

I had a pint of Citra and chatted with the barman, who came from Croatia, and I told him about my first wife, from Serbia, but he knew with her surname she wasn't really Serbian, but Hungarian.

All water under the bridge, really. A long, long time ago. I'm no longer bitter.

I drink up and walk back along the quite streets, deciding not to take the riverside walk, as it looked a little to ill-lit for me, instead taking an extra five minutes to walk along the street the other side of Magdalene College and back to the hotel, via an offy from where I bought some Orange pop to wash some of them darn crystals out.

I hoped.

Back in my hotel room, Norwich had lost 3-0, could have been ten, apparently.

Sigh.

I went to bed.

Oh yes. Football.

As before, it was a year of two halves, with Norwich again winning the Football League and getting promoted to the Premier League. It was a procession, really. Win after win, week after week, month after month. The only fly in the ointment was that no fans could attend any of the games in the second half of the season, so some of Norwich's best ever performances were witnessed by banks of empty seating.

Norwich spent a lot in the summer. A lot for us, anyway. £50 million pounds or more, on nine players.

We had high hopes, even with an opening four games of Liverpool, Citeh, Arsenal and Leicester. All lost, and the first two 5-0 defeats. Dreadful result came after dreadful result, and with them poor performances, until the manager, Daniel Farke was sacked five months after signing a new contract. That City recorded their first win that day didn't save him.

So, 19 games to go, we are bottom of the table, only eight goals scored in the previous 19 games, but just three points off 17th place and safety. It could happen, but it seems a tough ask.

There was the European Championships, and England reached the final beating Germany and Denmark on the way before running out of juice aganst Italy in the final. The final at Wesmbley was marred by violence and the stadium sormed by drunken yobs who forced their way in, breaking COVID procols and for a time something far worse could have happened. Opposition fans were abused, one fan put a firework up his bum in a "celebration".

I have no words, its not how I would have chosen to celebrate.

Back at home, we had frog spawn in our pond. I thought it was newt spawn at first, but turned out to be frogs, and we became proud parents to hundreds of tadpoles and polywogs. Then they all grew up and left the pond, I am wondering if some will come back to spawn in the same pond they were born in.

Work has been a mess. I was taken on into the new/old company. I have a job in the central quality department, but beyond that its all a bit unfocussed. I am quite happy, I have a task for the new year, and we will see how that pans out. I did get to travel with work. Once. A four day trip to Teesside to our site north of Middlesborough to do some audits.

It was good to get reconnected to what it is the company does, and met old and new faces and friends. But a trip to Denmark in December was postponed thanks to Omicron, and it seems like it will be the spring before I can think about going back.

I guess I could go on and on. But I won't.

Nor will I do a review of the orchid year. There seems little point.

So, here we are at the end of the year, darkness has fallen, and the year has just seven hours to go.