Saturday 4th March 2023

Our family friend, John, has what he calls his funeral suit. I suppose we are now reaching the point where I need one too. In fact, I have lost several friends, former colleagues from The Mob, something that will accelerate as the years pass.

Last week, I noticed that a friend of mine on Flickr, Günter, had not commented on any shots for a few weeks. He used to leave funny one sentence comments that almost always brought a smile.

The lastest shot on his photostream was of a fresh grave.

His.

Sadly, Günter passed away on New Year's Day, and his family posted this last shot to let the world know. Or his friends, anyway.

We had visited his and his wife in Bonn, and he had come to stay with us too, we share interests in railways, photography and beer.

It came quite a shock I can tell you.

Online, people come and go, mostly without fanfare or announcement. One day they are there, and then they're not. Did they just get fed up, or something more terminal?

Most of the time, we'll never know.

I am lucky in that I have met many online friends in real life, sometimes here in Kent, but also in the US too, so know they are more than screen names and photos, but real people with lives, who are pretty much as wonderful as thei online presence would have you believe.

Life goes on, of course, but I will miss Günter, and sad for the fact we will not raise beers in a friendly toast to each other.

We woke at half six, I went to the bathroom and looked out the window. Still too early for birds, but there wasn't a breath of wind either, nor any cars to be seen moving. So it looked like someone had paused time.

Cleo is perpetual motion, however, and coming downstairs revealed her to be always on the move until her food is placed just where she wants it.

I went to Tesco by myself, with a list as long as a long thing, while Jools stayed behind and fed the hungry washing machine two loads of dirty laundry. Good news is that Tesco was fully stocked with fresh produce, including rapsberries from Spain. We like them for breakfast at weekends, its a hard habit to break.

Back home to unload and makaid breakfast; fruit and yogurt followed by warmed croissants.

Jools said she had been sitting all week, so would not come with me to go churchcrawling, so I go on me tood, driving up the M20 to Maidstone, to revisit All Saints church, where I had not been for over 12 years. I had checked Google, and it said the church would be open from 10:00.

I timed it to arrive dead on ten. I parked the car opposite, and didged traffic to get over the main road, I went to the first door only to find it locked. But a sign suggested there were two more possible ways in, so walked round, checked the north door, and that was locked too. That only left the west door, under the tower, to try. That was ajar, so my hopes lifted. Only to find the inner door locked.

Maybe I was too early?

A lady came in, I asked about the church. She said she was a bellringer, and disappeared up the steps to the ringing loft, where sounds of poorly rung bells could be heard.

I went round the church one more time, ending back at the west door, and again all way in were locked.

Sigh.

But there was a runners up prize; a church on the edge of town, in what used to be a village, at Bearsted. THe sat nav told me it was just a ten minute drive away.

So, I drove across town, through the crazy one-ways system, out the other side and along to Bearsted, where there were ancient timber framed houses, so old they had settled over the centuries into strange angles, none of which were right ones.

I found church lane, which wound its way through a modern housing estate, parked outside the chuchyard, and I could see a nice "church open" sign before I got out.

Although it looked spendid from the outside, inside it had been reordered at least twice, so that any ancient features were well hidden indeed. Even the glass, usually a resueing act for over restored churches, were either just average or poor here. But it was my first visit here, so another tick in the box.

I now had to get home, as Jools is joining the speaking ciruit, as a lady has asked Jools to lead classes in beaded jewellery making.

I hightailed it back to the motorway, and once on, settled down to cruise back down to Dover and home, getting back at half twelve, with an hour to spare before Jools had to leave for the class.

So, it was just me an the cats for a few hours. There was football to entertain me, so I sat beside Scully on the sofa and watched the Championship game while she dozed beside me.

At three, it was time to concentrate on Norwich away at Millwall, one of six teams above us, and a win here would put us back in the play-offs. It was an exciting game, Millwall took the lead, only for City to level before half time, and then score two more early in the 2nd half. Millwall plled one back in the last ten minutes, but we hung on to win 3-2.

Not perfect, but a win at the New Den where they had been unbeated since September. And then, along came Nodge.

Dinner was a rushed one of pizza and iced squash, as we were going out to a gig.

Lawrence was the singer in an indie band in the 80s called Felt. He then formed Denim, an ironic pop band for the 90s, which also stiffed. He now fronts Mozart Estate, which does a fine line in ironic pop. Still.

We drive over th Ramsgate, to a small venue called The Music Hall. We were early, but got in, and went to the bar where we chatted to a couple about our age about music. In fact, most folks were about "our age".

First up was a young female singer/songwriter, who strummed her guitar along to her 6th form poetry.

The hall, which was barley bigger than our living room was about 50% full, but comfortable. We went to find somewhere to sit, thinking that the bar would be empty, only to find it rammed with more people than when we left it half an hour before.

We went to get some air, and finding nowhere to sit, went to the car.

Jools was shattered and fell asleep, and I really did not feel like being rammed into that room unable to see the band, and not able to lean against a wall to rest my back.

I said we'd go home.

So we did.

I don't regret it.

We got back at ten, Jools went to bed, while I had a glass of sloe port.