Sunday 22nd December 2024

I am not taking many shots this month.

Not on purpose, just that I have not travelled and weekends just seem good for relaxing in, not churchcrawling and there being little botany abut.

It might be the first month perhaps for nearly 15 years that has less than a hundred shots in its album.

I did try to increase the number last week by visiting a couple of churches, only that neither had a huge amount of detail to record, so neither have more than 30 shots to show for the effort and cost of the visits.

But, I have now increased the number of Kent churches visited to 390, if my calculations are correct, with number yet to do, getting few. Perhaps.

I did make a master list a few years back, of all the listed churches, and notes from John Vigar's talks on Kent churches of those yet to visit.

In the new year there will me many more opportunities for filling in the blanks, so who knows.

And there will be many more sites for orchids and other plants to seek out and explore.

As we come to the end of the year, it is always a time to draw breath, but for Jools and myself, time to think more of the future than we have ever done before: places to visit, old friends to reconnect with.

On Sunday we were going to go out, but in the end, didn't.

I laid in until gone half seven again, and by then the wind was blowing again from the north, too cold for a casual walk or some low key gardening.

We will get round to those tasks at some point.

We have coffee whilst listening to the radio, then have breakfast.

And when Jools goes to visit her sister and drop off presents, I stay home and read the book a friend wrote on the history of our trade in the RAF.

A couple of pleasant hours passed, and seeing familiar names jump out off the page. One name, and accompanying photo was of one of the larger than life characters I bumped into, Jeff "Bonz" Poole.

Jeff is no longer with us, another one who was taken before his time, and I wonder if it was the cocktail of chemicals and other hazardous stuff we were exposed to during our time serving.

I am still here, however.

And there is football. So after a small pork pie salad and some more Belgian Christmas beer, I settled down with Scully on the sofa to watch the two games, and maybe stay awake.

The Fulham v Southampton game ended 0-0, but there was little chance of that score being repeated at the Tottenham Stadium, where Spurs took on LIverpool.

Ended 3-6 to Liverpool, and could have been double that. Entertaining for the neutral for sure, maddening for the Spurs fans who have paid good money to see comical "defending".

We end the day with cheese and crackers, then break out the Trivial Pursuit Jools bought last week, and so the evening drew to a close and we went to bed.

Saturday 21st December 2024

Cheese.

There's room in the fridge that only cheese can fill.

I could have got a cheeseboard from Sainsbury's, but there is No Name Shop.

But to avoid people, we would have to go early.

Jools went swimming, I however, carried on sleeping, not waking up until half seven.

I make coffee, then wait for Jools to return, and once she did, and drunk her coffee, we could go out.

Deal was already busy, but there was spaces in the main carpark, the roads around Sainsbury's (a smaller branch) were already jammed.

A quick walk along Middle Street, then cutting down an alley to High Street to the shop.

We get some fresh bread, but the selection of cheese is now limited, mainly thanks to Brexit, so all available were all pre-packed, rather than the individual small batch artisan stuff they used to sell.

We buy four, and I'm sure they will be great, but also lament the loss of choice for us at home another victim on the altar of Brexit.

We also call in at The Black Pig for some sausages; some venison and spicy pork ones, and back to the car as rain began to fall.

And that was the exciting part of the day done.

We have breakfast, then a bacon butty and sausage sarnie near to midday, both glorious.

We pop round to see Jen, as its been a while since we saw her, all is good there and final arrangements made for Christmas Day.

Back home for the football, the second half of the live Championship game, then sat with Scully to listen to the radio and watch Final Score and the videprinter.

Norwich took the lead at Sunderland, and were still in front at half time. But The Mackems levelled straight after half time, City then had a player sent off, thus allowing Sunderland to net a winner.

Sigh.

Ipswich, however, managed to leak four goals against Newcastle.

Supper was an Iberian cured meats board and the fresh bread bought, all listening to Craig on the wireless and watching Arsenal thrash Palace.

Too much football

Since the start of the 2018-19 season, Arsenal player, Bukayo Saka, has played 186 times for Arsenal and 43 times for the full England team.

He is 23 years old.

At the weekend he suffered a hamstring injury that will keep him out of the team for "several weeks".

Meanwhile, Tottenham Hotspur will have played at least twice a week since the last international break at the beginning of November all the way through to the end of February. Many of their players will be expected to play in most of those games.

Spurs already have significant injury issues, with all central defenders out, and against Liverpool yesterday their bench was made up mostly of teens.

Since the beginning of November, the once almost unbeatable Manchester City have won only won one game, the month before their holding midfielder, Rhodri was ruled out for a year with an ACL tear. They also have other players out through injury.

Those losses have been:

1. Bournemouth 2 Citeh 1.
2. Sporting 4, Citeh 1.
3. Brighton 2, Citeh 1.
4. Citeh 0, Spurs 4.
5. Citeh 3, Feyenoord 3.
6. Liverpool 2, Citeh 0.
7. Citeh 3, Forest 0.
8. Palace 2, Citeh 2.
9. Juventus 2, Citeh 0.
10. Citeh 1, Manchester United 2.
11. Villa 2, Citeh 1.

Since 2020, and the great restart of football in June of that year, football has been pretty much relentless, with the remainder of the season played, then the next season completed on time despite starting late. That was followed by the delayed Euros, followed by another season with qualifying for the 2022 World Cup to be completed within a year. The Finals were inserted into the season in Decemeber, and all football had to be moved to accommodate it, and the season only finished a week or two later than normal. In the remainder of that season, qualifying for the 2024 Euros had to be completed, so that this summer the finals took place. Then came this season, which at the end of it there will be the first FIFA Club World Cup finals.

THere is no time for player's mind and body to rest, just have a week off and get ready for the next season. And modern tactics are the high press, which involves lots of running backwards and forwards either pressing the man with the ball, or chasng it if the opposition got the ball through the press. This season there is also the expanded Champion's League, with two extra group games, an added round of play-offs for those who don't finish in the top eight.

And who will stop this madness?

The argument for the Premier League was more money to buy more players, to reduce the amount of game time. But every game must be won, and to win you have to play your best players. So they play again and again until they break either their bodies or their spirits.

There can be no real changes in football until something that comes along to reduce, significantly, the number of games players at all levels are expected to participate in.

And then there is the elevated risk of early onset dementia that studies have now proven professional players are at risk from.

We could all do withless football, with a gap at least every other year of three months, and a gap that clubs could not arrange lucrative overseas tour to expand their brand reach.

Enough is enough, if clubs or football itslef cannot reduce the number of games to protect the players, then the Football Regulator should do so.

Tired players are at a higher risk of injuries like hamstring strains and the such. So, either limite the number of games in total, or number of games that a player can take prt in over a season.

Friday 20th December 2024

Why was I sitting in a parked car in the centre of Dover at twenty past six in the morning?

Good question.

The reason.

Reasons.

Well, Jools had her yoga class, and later in the day was their office Christmas party after the factory closed until the New Year, and there was talk of cocktails, so I would have to drive her home, so I had to have the car.

There seemed no point in dropping her off, going home for 45 minutes, then returning. So, instead I listened to the new Sound of Football podcast while watching the town wake up. An army of council workers clearing dropped rubbish, and a constant stream of buses come to collect passengers off to early starts in the jobs. I guess.

Workers for Poundland arrived, then the manager who opened up and turned on all the lights, thus turning night into day in the car.

Jools was done at twenty to eight, so we drove up the Old Folkestone Road, onto the M20 then through the old Army base in Shorncliffe, and down into Hythe, along the promenade to the factory.

I got back home safe, and with the sun low and bright in the sky, and in a position that made reversing down the drive impossible, so I parked outside and went inside to make a brew and have breakfast.

The plan had been to go to Sainsbury's having dropped Jools off, I though Saturday morning would be better, at least at six in the morning.

But by eleven, I had watched as many videos on YouTube and listened to as many podcasts and I could in one day, so girded my loins and drove back to Folkestone to the big Sainsbury's.

Sainsbury's, as Jools's employer had given each worker a £150 gift card, so I wouldn't be spending our money.

There were parking spaces. And trolleys. Inside, it was chaos.

The neat and tidy shelves looking rather like Liddl after a few pints and a fight.

I had a list, so got all of what we needed, by which point I had had enough, and skipped the fruit and made for the checkout.

It was good to escape, load the car. Now, I had two hours before Jools would be ready to leave the party, so I drove to a quiet street some 800 yards away, parked up and listened to more podcasts.

Jools had drunk two ciders, no cocktails, but still needed me to drive. She was waiting outside, so climbed in and we drove home, through the mad traffic and out the other side, up Dover Hill to Capel and home, getting home just before dark.

Phew.

I put the shopping away, made brews. We locked the doors, closed the curtains to keep the outside world out there.

No music quiz this week, so we have some of the pie I had delivered last week with some piccalilli and a bottle of Christmas beer.

Cheers.

Thursday 19th December 2024

After 18,000 over two days, my back suggested, in the strongest terms, that for Thursday we should take things easy.

With the wind shifting to the north and now having an icy edge, it wasn't a hard decision to make.

I said I would do chores which would include hoovering and doing something for dinner, other than that, not much planned.

Jools asked one last time if I wanted the car for the day. I declined, so she sped off into the still dark morning, and I made a fresh pot of coffee.

Dawn showed well in the south east, almost worth going out to snap, but my back sighed.

So, with the fresh coffee I put on a podcast and the day began to slip through my fingers.

Cats slept, and indeed the sun shone brightly outside, birds, including a Jay filled the garden, but it was bitterly cold.

Not actually bitterly cold, just felt like it.

I keep an eye out for the postman, so to give his his Christmas box, but get no mail. So the bank note stays in my wallet.

As we near the solstice, light begins to fade from about half two, maybe a bit later, so I grab a shot of the long shadows and go for a shower, thus delaying the cat's dinner time to nearly four.

For dinner I make Spanish chicken. Chicken as it contained chicken, and Spanish as it contained chorizo, smoked paprika. I put in onions, chickpeas, tomatoes, Moroccan spice, honey and preserved fruit.

I put it in a pot and broil for two hours with rice and water added.

It came out pretty good, and as a bonus made enough for three more meals to be put in the freezer.

Delicious.

Then there was the madness of the Spurs v Man Utd game: seven goals, no tactics but 100% excitement and madness.

Tuesday 17th December 2024

So, here I am, first day of Christmas break, and here I am walking along the prom in a light drizzle, trying to kill a couple of hours.

I had an eye appointment at nine, then would catch a train, hopefully at ten or so, heading to explore a new Kentish town, or one I have only passed through.

With light drizzle in the air, I didn't linger on the prom, instead made my way via Newbridge down to the town centre, hoping to sanp the town's Christmas lights, but they were switched off at this time in the morning, even though it is still dark.

Few places open for a brew, but Costa was, so I go in and order a large gingerbread latte and a mince pie.

And people watch.

Regulars come and go, parking outside, grabbing paper cups full of java before leaving again, to go about their daily tasks.

I checked work mails and the morning passed slowly.

I walked up to Specsavers so they could flash me and blow air into my eyeballs. Hey, we all need a hobby, so I don't judge.

I need new glasses, so get the cheapest two dark frames and still costs me an arm and a leg. But thats that for two, if not four years.

I walk back out into the drizzle on Biggin Street, cut through to cross over to the roundabout, then up to the station where a train for Charing Cross was due to leave in twenty minutes.

I get on and close my eyes, there was few others so the carriage was quiet. And remained so until we got past Ashford, then we began to pick up more and more at Staplehurst, Marden, Paddock Wood and then onto Tonbridge where I get off as more try to get on.

Up onto the main road, and to the left, heading out of town, is a church, St Stephen's, I didn't hold out much hope of it being open.

But they had a coffee morning, as well as a craft activity group, a jigsaw puzzle group and a cancer support group, all at table in the Chancel.

I buy a cupper, then set about taking pictures, though in truth there wasn't much, through the glass in the east window was good.

I did receive a warm welcome, and people talked to me, offering me advice, and that's what I take from this project, if ever it comes to an end, is that people are generally nice.

And want to do good.

I leave, and walk up the High Street, back over the railway, over two bridges that spanned two forks of the Medway, and up past two coaching inns, and there, down an alley was Ss. Peter and Paul.

A huge banner hung on the Lych, "Welcome" it said.

All doors were locked, of course, and no indication of a keyholder or when it might be open.

I took a few shots, then walked back to the main road where I noticed there was an interesting looking bar, Fuggles.

It was interesting: I had a pint of winter ale, half of Christmas from Belgium, and another Belgian tripel. With them I also made a large bowl of pork scratchings disappear.

I calculated it might take twenty minutes to back back to the station, so gave myself forty, and set off down the hill, taking a few shots as I went.

I got there in time, so stood on the platform waiting.

The train was busy, but I got a seat, and as it was going all the way to Dover, I could relax and snooze. Which I did, and as we headed east, the sun set and dusk began to fall.

A taxi whisked me through the busy port traffic and up Jubilee Way to St Maggies, dropping me off on Station Road.

It was twenty past four when I got in, time for a brew and feed the cats, all starving of course, before cutting up potatoes, onions and peppers for chorizo hash, which I had just about got down for when Jools came home.

Another good day, 11,000 steps, a new church snapped and shagged out, so we went to bed at half eight as there was no footy on.

Phew.

Wednesday 18th December 2024

So, here we are at Dover Priory again. This time before dawn, as the keen wind had brought frequent rain showers, and I had no desire to sit and huddle in a shelter on the sea front in such weather, watching dawn come up over the Channel.

So, instead, I got Jools to drop me off at the station and I head north, as the weather was less windy in the north of the country, and drier too.

I arrived, bought my ticket and just made it onto the waiting Javelin to whisk me north.

On the downside, leaving so early meant paying peak fare, so it goes.

The train filled up with the bleary eyed office workers and executives as we headed norther to that London, though I would be going no further north than Ebbsfleet.

With just a few seats remaining, I clambered off the train as it pulled into the old International Station. I guess I haven't been here since about 2017 when I used to have to go to Leuven for meetings with the customer.

I say old station, its less than twenty years old, all brutalist concrete, but this is where the High Speed meets the UK Victorian infrastructure, a few hundred yards further on the wires stop and we join the north Kent Line.

The escalator has been out of service for some weeks, still is broken, so I take the lift up to the concourse, past the now abandoned Eurostar entrance and check in desk. Out the doors, and up a wide flight of steps to the platforms built on the flyover.

I had four minutes before my train was due to take me the three miles to my destination.

I guess, were it not for a certain historical figure, fewer people would visit Gravesend that do now.

The town sits on the branks of the brown Rover Thames, several hundred metres wide at this point, opposite the Port of Tilbury in that Essex.

Once upon a time, pilots used to leave their station in the town to guide ships up the river to the Port of London, and I think still do, though few ships now go beyond Dartford.

Leading down to the river is a find old street, High Street, cobbled and lines with old shops and places to eat, drink and be merry. And at the bottom, between two pub, the river and the Essex bank of the river can be seen.

To get to High Street means walking through the modern part of the town, all 60s and 70s retail units and shops, at eight in the morning all closed and unlit.

I found a place to have breakfast, and so having ordered watched the numerous omnibuses leaving on the main road out of town for exotic places like Dartford, Northfleet and Ebbsfleet.

My fry up arrived, and entertained by the Danny Dyer soundalike behind me, I tuck in.

So, why was I here, in Gravesend?

Well, some legends, some stories are based on facts, real events, real people, and sometimes there is evidence that shows they really happened.

Pocahontas was a real person, but unlike in fairy tales or the movies, there is no happy ending.

Coming to England when she was only 22, married to John Rolfe, she was taken ill as their ship left London to return to Virginia, they put ashore at Gravesend, but she sadly died.

She was buried, so it is said, under the chancel of the church. That church burned down soon after, but as it was on the same site with the chancel in roughly the same place, a memorial tablet was erected, and it is there today.

There is also a statue in the graveyard, but isn't particularly attractive and possibly seems to be rather "wild west" than anything. But the statue is signposted from the station, through the town, so people must come to see it.

I mean, I did.

The other reason is that Kent is a large and varied county, I have not churchcrawled up here for over a decade, so I made arrangements for the church to be open, and here I was. Am.

Only, my early start, and even with an extended breakfast, I had two hours to kill.

I sat outside listening to podcasts, but got colder and colder. Until at just after half eleven, I sought warmth and refreshment in the tea shoppe on High Street.

I ordered a scone with a cup of tea, but what came was a cream tea. A pot of tea, milk, a large warm scone, a small pot of jam and a tub of clotted cream.

Now, there is some arguments whether the jam or cream goes on the scone first, growing up it was always jam first, which is the "Devon way", the "Cornish Way" is cream first.

Either way it is good.

And this was too.

Down to the waterside, where there were two still closed pubs, one looked like it might still be an actual pub, and beyond the now closed ferry terminal for the foot passenger only Gravesend Ferry which took foot passengers to the delights of Tilbury until the service ceased in March of this year.

The pier was open, but deserted.

It was time to go to the church, and I was greeted warmly by Jim, the Vicar, and Sue who was my substitute contact after Neil fell ill.

I was made to feel very welcome, and I spoke to most of the congregation who were then leaving the service.

So, after talking and shaking hands, I went round taking my shots. Jim also showed me where Pocahontas's memorial was, as I am never too sure whether it is good in view of people to approach the altar.

I get my shots and am done.

It is just before one, so I decide enough is enough and I would go home, and get there before dark.

The shopping area was busy, which is good to see, even if one woman viewed me with camera with suspicion.

I arrived at the station to find I had a three minute wait for a train to Ebbsfleet, and once then I walked to the International station where in 5 more minutes a train arrived to take me to Ashford.

Five minutes there, and the last train of the day took me via all stations to Dover. Outside, the same taxi driver as yesterday brought me home, dropping me off on Station Road, leaving me with a short walk back to Chez Jelltex.

The cats were happy with two handfuls of kitty kibbles, then went back to sleep, so I put the kettle on for a brew.

Jools was bringing home chips, so no dinner to prepare, just review my shots and listen to some music.

I put plates in the oven to warm, as otherwise the fried food goes coold too quick, and keep the kettle on a rolling brew, so that once Jools does arrive back, make the brews, dish up and carry it all through to the living room, all in a couple of minutes.

We have battered sausage each, as the fish seems to go soggy and limp, while the bangers are fresh and crispy.

After washing up and making brews, there was an evening of football, with three League Cup quarter finals to watch and/or listen to.

I drink wine as I listen, so that come half ten, I went to bed and slept straight through for eight hours.

Our digital life

I have spent fifteen and a half years taking shots, writing and recording the parish churches of the county of Kent.

I have visited nearly 400 different churches, taken tens of thousands of shots, of which I have posted, so far, 21,420 diffeent images of inside and outside each church, written about them, my visit, the history and so on and on.

I have the shots backed up on three external hard drives, but they are only filed correctly, with each church having it's own album on the photographic social media platform, Flickr. Its where I embed shots for the blog from.

If Flickr were to fail, the project, as it stands would vanish too.

Flickr must spend millions, tens of millions, hundreds of millions on servers and the people to run them.

And it could all vanish tomorrow.

As could the whole internet if a burst of energy from a nearby supernova or even a mass corona ejection from our own sun were to bathe our planet in comic energy, most electronics would fail, and we would be back to the stone age.

I am reading an article by a writer, and a lot of her early work is vanishing. (https://www.theverge.com/24321569/internet-decay-link-rot-web-archive-deleted-culture)

The message used to be that the internet was forever, only it isn't. As companies merge, go bust, or upgrade systems, old stuff will get lost. Some of it important stuff, or stuff that might become important in years or decades to come. There might be a citation or two to suggest something important was there, but its now gone.

Maybe it doesn't matter, life is just a passing thing, and when life itself forgets you were here, does it matter? Possibly not.

From centuries and civilisations past, there are records of what they said, did, thought, written on clay tablets, papyrus, walls of temples, in scrolls or in books, magazines and newspapers, that sometimes these things survive and educate us.

What will there be left for our times, for history to remember us, or for future generations to study?

Possibly very little.

Monday 16th December 2024

The final working day of the year.

Due to my three trips away, each involving at least one 16 hour day on each, or working all or part of Sunday, I am owed three days in lieu.

Due to the amount of work and getting reports out, I have not had the chance to take them, so I will take them this week.

All I had to do was get through Monday.

Yes, four meetings, two of which I would have to crack the whip due to inactivity. Then travel expenses. And wish dozens of folks Merry Christmas.

It would be a long day.

And the weather would be in the mid-teens and not really getting much cooler in the evenings.

Jools went to work at twenty past six, and I make a coffee and begin work.

Updating databases over and over again, even if there was no new information, the data got updated, so in the exif file, it will look like I did something.

I did do something.

I updated the file.

As soon as work started, the "decline" messages from those who HAD to attend my meetings came in. One appologies because of a family emergency, at least he had the decency to write a reason.

By two, there is me and the travel expenses.

The car hire in place in town, whom I chased for an invoice from my trip to France in October, instead sent me one from February.

No bloody use at all.

I do what I can, set my out of office message and close the laptop down.

Its Christmas.

Though doesn't feel like it.

Nor do I feel like going to the gym, and I know I should, but Tuesday I am due to go our exploring, and need my back to be as pain-free as I can, so I bail.

Jools still goes to Aquafit, good on her. I feel guilty.

But I do chores. Clean the cooker, and do the washing up among other things. And put the pizzas in the oven for when she comes home so we can eat, drink and be tired.

There was football. Ended 1-1, and two Prem teams sacked their manager.

Plus la change.

Sunday 15th December 2024

Christmas wrapping.

So, another quiet day with not much planned.

Up at half seven, get up and have coffee, before having breakfast and more coffee.

We have just about bought all the presents, and Jools is the chief wrapper, so I stay out of the way so not to distract.

Once they were done, we went to see Jen, but she was out, and nothing much else we needed to do, so we came back for early lunch of bacon butties and more brews.

The day can be divided by before the knock and after the knock.

There was a fest of football on TV, so I watch the first half of the M23 Derby between Brighton and Palace, which Palace were leading 2-0 at half time.

Norwich were on TV as well, kicking off at three, and so just after kick off is when the knock came.

It was Steve, next door, did I want to go round to watch the game?

I did, and I'll bring a bottle of beer. A big bottle of beer, the magnum of Chimay Grande Reserve.

It was a bugger to pour, but Steve got it open and poured. We went to watch the paused game, and City score almost straight away.

Yay.

But, didn't build on that, and in the second half Burnley level and in the last ten minutes score a winner.

By this time we had drained the Chimay, and Steve opened the magnum of Bush Christmas beer I bought them, and through the Manc derby we drained that too.

By which point, not much made sense, but we did watch amazed as Uts level on 88 minutes, then score a fine winner to inflict another defeat of Citeh.

A bottle of Delirium Christmas each, and i wander back home for supper of pork pie, then head to bed at half seven.

I sleep well.

Saturday 14th December 2024

Another weekend where we planned to go to Hastings, and then changed our minds.

Not that the weather was bad, just didn't seem like a good idea at this time of year, just didn't feel like going.

Instead we would do chores.

Of course, we went to Tesco, got lots of stuff, though nothing really outrageous other than a cheap bottle of rum and a box of wine. But still came to £252!

We came back home, unpacked and had breakfast.

The morning was filled with cooking. Batch cooking.

First up was a huge pot of ragu, for which I remembered to get ingredients for.

So, peeled onions, chopped carrots and celery, then fried them in some olive oil before adding the meat, passata, puree and water, then let simmer for four hours, so it's all a delicious sludge.

Sludge isn't be best word, clearly.

Whilst that was cooking, I then did a pan of jambalaya, which is quicker and easier.

It all smelt so good that we decided to have jambalaya for lunch, with some wine.

Even if I nearly forgot to add the shrimp, it came out glorious, and was a fine meal, if meant I slept through a lot of the football, at least the first half in which Liverpool went 1-0 down and had a player sent off.

The sun actually came out, so I went into the garden to snap some lichen, though the shots in shade came out best.

Go figure.

Liverpool came from behind twice to draw with Fulham 2-2, then there was more football with Forest beating Villa.

Not much for a Saturday, but sometimes you just need to chill.

Friday 13th December 2024

And to Friday.

Half of the company was taking either a long weekend, or their Christmas vacation had already begun.

I had a few things to do, three meetings this morning. One the presentation of last week's audit findings, and then two follow up meetings.

Audits are all well and good, but any findings need addressing, and there is the bandwidth of usual work would be taken up with any such actions, and so any chance of getting out of doing them is a plea worth making.

I get up at quarter to six. Jools has yoga, so is dressed and drinking her tea. And she has made my coffee, which I drink while checking on the world.

In a word: we're screwed.

Once she leaves for the Oddfellows Club, which is where the classes are now, so I can then deal with the bins and other assorted bird-related tasks.

Its going to be another dull and cloudy day. Its been six days since we last saw the sun or blue sky, and it all seems so dreary.

I prepare for the first meeting: the presentation, which goes as expected, but we hold firm, so now they have time to come up with evidence to contradict any of the findings.

The next two are not so bad, as its mostly coaching on what we want them auditees to do. And I guess that by the end of the decade we might just get there.

We shall see.

I have databases to update, two formal letters to send out. And I am done.

I go for a shower and shave, and once all clean and shorn, the world and life seems better.

I have fried cottage pie for lunch.

Yes, fried.

Potato and ground beef go crispy. And takes a few minutes.

I clear away the computer, wash the dishes and am done. So spend the afternoon writing and watching stuff on YouTube.

I gamble early in the music quiz, and fail big time. Not End of the Century but was Combat Rock.

Sigh.

After supper we have coffee and panettone. And then there is football, while temperature falls outside.

There is a promise we might see the sun on Saturday. We shall see.

Friday was the earliest the sun sets this winter. Days will get shorter until the 21st, but sunset will come later each day.

We'll take any small victory at this time of the year.

I sip rum whilst watching the footy.

Lost in translation.

The end is nigh

If you missed it, on Monday I gave notice to my employer that I would be retiring at the end of Q1 next year.

We have been thinking about it for some time, of course, and the meeting with the advisor last week just cemented it.

There are many reasons for retiring, apart from the fact we can. But to sum it up, I amworn out, this has been a tough year, one that started well, ended well, but included a mini-breakdown in August, and my soon to be ex-boss of accusing me of insubordination.

As I said in a meeting, if I wanted to be insubordinate, there would be no doubt, rather to make some shit up that she did.

That manager was so well experienced, and should have been a great fit and come with new ideas. She did come with new ideas, but all of them hers and shit. We are unpicking her mistakes on a daily basis.

When I requested to move departments, HR focussed on my mental health instead. That was the meeting with the accusation of insubordination and "doxens of other examples".

In fact I use some of her improvement suggestions now, and they really do work, but that were a few tweaks here and there. She tried to fix something that wasn't broken, and when we said otherwise, we were either ignored or browbeaten.

And, all of us tried to point out where she was going wrong, and that no manager above her would even care if she was doinf 16 hour days and working all over weekend.

But she kept going.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep and being weary from work and family life, or a life spent battling to get where she did.

She is gone. We have a new manager who has so much other stuff to do, I have not spoken to him since mylast day in Aarhus two weeks back. But the fight has worn me out, and I don't want to fight any more.

There are other reasons at work, which I can't go into, but the knowledge is like huge weights I carry around. Its a huge responsibility, and for responsibility the company can't actually express in ways that would increase our pay or corporate level.

We do our job, and the machine goes on.

I called it a meat grinder, because it takes fresh meat in and crushes us, us people, and leave us broken. I spoke to two friends this week, onw of whom is medicating with wine, who are on the edge.



We are just collateral damage.

I feel we have won the game. Worked hard, served my country, saved, bought a house, paid it off, and now we get to do as we please. It sounds like winning to me.

No one has tried to talk me out of it, so far. And to do so, pay would have to pretty much double, and with other demands, that they could never meet, it aint gonna happen.

So, one more day before Christmas, then about sixy or so in the new year, and then, the rest of our lives.

Thursday 12th December 2024

Its not beginning to feel anything like Christmas.

And yet, it comes.

So, we make the best of it.

A lot is done, though we're not trimming again this year. I asked Jools, and she wasn't keen. Neither am I, so we will put up cards as we get them, and in fact, it was on the 12th that we received our first cards.

I guess I only just sent ours, so it goes.

Jools took the day off to use the hours she had accumulated after working after a serious incident at work, but would make sure we was out of the house most of the day, going shopping, swimming and then an extra bit of splashing (aquacsise).

I carried on working, finalising my audit report from last week, ready for the closing meeting on Friday.

Outside it was another dull and grey day, no sun seen, so after putting the bird food out, I make a brew and breakfast and get down to work.

We have a virtual coffee morning with our colleagues in India, there are just five of us now after resignations caused by our previous manager, so we catch up and talk of our plans for Christmas and the New Year.

There is some Christmas in Chennai, and one has Christian friends, but they like the decorating and fake snow.

Its rainy season, with temperatures a chilly twenty degrees C, so feels almost like Christmas.

Jools comes back at just before one with fresh rolls, into which she slices the leftover kofkes and makes a brew as I talk to a colleague and hear her recount the pressures and stress she is under.

I listen, but there is nothing I can do.

Just after three we go out. We were going to visit both Sandwich and Deal, so I could take some night shots, so I drove us along the Eastry by-pass in the gathering gloom, we have to wait at the level crossing, then park behind the Guildhall.

We walk round for half an hour as darkness ends the blue hour, I take a few shots, but not as good as I had hoped.

We go back to the car, then drive to Deal, but find it barely four, so we go to The Green Berry for a drink, where I knew they had Harvey's Old Ale on barrel.

Traffic not too heavy, so we got to park outside the pub in Walmer. The landlord, Chris, is another Norwich fan, so we swap views while he pours me a pint.

Old is so good, I have a second, and I confide in Jools that I really wasn't that hungry, so didn't feel I needed a curry. And neither did she.

So we drove back home. Jools did, and once home I defrosted two tubs of jambalaya, warm them and serve some twenty minutes after we got in.

Just right.

I listen to Rangers v Spurs while drinking black cherry flavoured rum.

Can confirm, was good.

Wednesday 11th December 2024

Days to do are getting few.

Is what we used to say in the military as our detachment or time in mob was getting close to being done.

We would create what was known as a chuff chart, a chart counting the days when your time was done.

I have done one for work.

There are three days left to do this year, and about twenty or so each of the first three months of the year.

Call it seventy for cash.

Getting few.

Tuesday night I wrote Christmas cards, and so on Wednesday afternoon I walked to the box on Collingwood to post them, though someone has bought the house on the corner, and the hedge that the box used to poke out is now gone, so the box is out in the open.

And then there's work.

There are tasks to be done before work ends for the year Monday evening, so I arrange some final meetings, and send out mails.

Outside its another dull and grey day, with 100% cloud cover, and the cloud being low and dark. There is little daylight, and so the table lamp stays on all day once again.

The cats sleep, I work, and the central heating fires up meaning the cats snuggle up tighter.

There are no words I can use to describe how dull and repetitive days become, so you'll have to take my work for whatever I did, it took me all day to do.

And some three in the afternoon I had done it, or as much as I was willing.

Dinner was Carbonara, so I made some garlic butter to put in the ciabatta I got the weekend, that would be bakes, and the butter melt and soak into the slices.

Once Jools was back, I boil the water for the pasta, mix the sauce with eggs and cheese, but the bread into bake once I had inserted slices of the butter in. Bring it all together.

And Mama Mia, it was wonderful. If a lot.

But even if I say so, I'm getting pretty good at this cooking lark.

There is football in the evening, more Champions League, where Citeh lose 2-0 in Turin to the Old Lady.

I laugh, and go to bed.

Tuesday 10th December 2024

It is Tuesday. I have a week to go before Christmas holidays begin, and I have enough work to keep me occupied, and then some. I sleep poorly, my brain waking me up at quarter past four, and only letting me back to sleep just before I was due to get up. I slept to ten past six, at which point Jools wakes me, and so begin the usual tasks before I can start work.

I have an audit report to write, and then other audits to follow up on, and then there is the usual monster that is travel expenses, which I might save for next Monday, the last day of the year.

The day is another dull, grey and cold day, no sunshine seen, and as we approach the shortest day of the year, the table lamp burned bright all day beside my computer screen.

I drink my coffee, check the world via the BBC website and see its as screwed as it ever has been.

We go on.

Not much to report really. No news from our new manager about any plans for this year or next, and nothing from HR either about my retirement.

We go on.

Lunch was taken late, due to meetings; oatcakes with butter and marmalade, which is always surprisingly filly and yet tasty.

We are yet to receive a Christmas card, and for the last two days the postman hasn't called. I think back to my parents and the 150 plus cards they used to get every year.

I finish work at three, have a shower and feel much better.

By four its really dark. The light just fades and then its evening and then night.

We are emptying the freezer, and we found a half pound chunk of roast beef, so I mince that up and make a cottage pie, making a jus from some frozen fruit and lamb stock. Topped with cheesy mashed potato and served with Boston baked beans.

All ready for when Jools gets home, and enough for lunch for one of us later in the week.

Hearty and tasty.

For the evening there is football: Norwich on the tellybox at Portsmouth, so I watch that whilst listening to the Champions League. City draw 0-0, which is, well, average to be honest.

Monday 9th December 2024

And so to the last full week of my last full working year.

I am still feeling tired, but looking forward to Christmas and nearly two weeks off, and no thoughts of work will enter the vast empty spaces of my brain.

It is still blowy outside, and rain is falling steadily as Jools left in darkness to go to work. She had her waterproofs on as she planned to do some walking before work, but the driving rain when she got to Hythe meant she didn't go and went straight to the office to get ahead of things.

I drink my coffee, and I have no audit to lead, I can start a few minutes late.

First task it to write my official letter informing the company through HR of my intention to retire early next year.

My boss's boss is online, so I call her and fulfil my promise to let her know by the end of Monday.

She knew it was coming and accepts it, wishes me well.

So the deed is done.

There is work to do, and yet I am oddly distracted, and struggle to concentrate, but get some done.

I call Rune and Henrik to let them know face to face that I submitted the letter, and they are sad and yet pleased for us.

Its a bittersweet moment for sure.

Outside the rain continues to fall, so I nip out to put bird food out, and a few minutes later rewarded when a pair of Choughs fly over, though don't land this time.

I get my camera ready with the big lens just in case.

But it is the time of the shortest days, so when its cloudy, or like this, rainy, ten it doesn't get fully light, so the table lamp burns bright beside my monitor as I work.

Jools is splashing in the evening, and I have said I would try the gym in the leisure centre, I even bought a new pair of trainers for the task last week.

But as time to go approached, I felt less inclined to go, Jools called to make sure I didn't need an induction and could pay on the door.

I could.

No escape.

I put on the new sneakers, then drive us to Whitfield and to the centre, park out the back in the large car park. We scamper across the car park, into the teeth of a north easterly.

Damn cold.

I pay to go in, and so up the stairs to the first floor, into the large gym room, all brightly lit and a large array of instruments of torture.

I pick a recumbent bike, program it for a quick start, steady resistance, put a podcast onto play, and away I go.

Listening to something interesting is the key, so the podcast plays and time drags.

Plan was to do half an hour, in the end I do 25 minutes as my right knee was aching, so stop.

Jools is still in the pool, so I went out to the car to wait, put the radio on, and watching the rain sweel in from the darkness beyond the five-a-side pitches, all brightly lit.

Just after eight, Jools comes out, fighting against the driving rain, and then we drive back home.

A quick pizza in the oven for supper, and a large tripel for me and a cider for Jools.

As we broke out the peanuts, I pour a second Le Chouff from the magnum bottle as I watch the relegation six-pointer between West Ham and Wolves.

A fight to the death.