59 year old, soon to be retired, twice divorced, thrice married 2008, male living in the garden of England on the white cliffs just north of Dover, Kent. I used to be a geophysical engineer and before that an RAF Armourer, but now just earning a living anyway I can. Now working for a supplier of offshore wind turbines; I think I can say I have something to do with quality. Life even better.
Soon to retire. Yay!
Hobbies include photography, music, history, travel.
Hates Brexit.
It's the end of the month, February doesn't seem to be as long as the endless darkness of January, but it feels good to be nearly at the end of it.
Wednesday dawned clear with a stunning sunrise, so I was able to snap it before work.
Jools left and the cats all went to their beds, leaving me to earn a crust for us all here.
Its been an odd quiet week, with my new boss out of office most of the week, and me on top of my tasks, meaning I monitor mails and the new "improved" Teams for action. Then, like a Quality superhero, I leap into action!
Or something.
Rain swept through, and with my knee grumbling again, I did not go out at all, so watched the world from the kitchen window when I went to make a brew or breakfast.
So, another quiet day at the coalface, but once work done, some research on what I could make with the leftover lemons from the weekend.
And the answer seemed to be Pasta al Limone. Pasta with lemon.
And garlic.
And chillies.
To me, that should not work, but I found recipes and was so quick and simple, why not? If it failed, there's always the chippy.
Anyway, after softening the garlic and chillie, I added the lemon zest and juice, finally the pasta and grated Parmesan, brought it together and dished up.
Was amazing.
So amazing, with the lemon I had over I would make it for my lunch on Thursday.
So, Thursday is also February, the 1/28th extra we get this year.
We have been back from Iceland three weeks, I think. And some thoughts on what was good and what we could have done better, and so maybe help you plan such a trip.
Biggest lesson for us was that staying in Reykjavík meant that when the northern lights appeared, we relied on the tour company to arrange buses and get us up to the viewing point at the correct time. Us and nearly a thousand others.
Our experience that night on the mountain waiting for the lights was grim. Cold and grim.
Our original plan was to stay at the Northern Lights Hotel near The Blue Lagoon, where the skies were dark, and we could just walk out of the hotel to see the lights. The eruption in November closed that hotel, but there are many others, in the countryside and so when the lights appear you can just walk outside to see them. When our hotel was changed, we just accepted staying in the city, not realising how much of a faff going to see the lights would be.
Staying in the city is fine. Lots to see and shop and eat. But probably three nights is enough. Downtown is a compact area, with most sights being just an half hour walk from the main street.
We hired a car, orginally as we were staying in the Northern Lights Hotel, and that would give us flexbility. When staying in the city, no car is needed. We ended up using it just once, due to the poor weather, and parking is hard, especially in winter when there is piles of snow everywhere. There are parking garages, but hard to find. If you hire a car, make sure it is fitted with studded tyres. Off the rain roads in the city, roads are icy and dangerous.
Most people stay just a few days, less than a week, and do the Golden Circle Tour. Everyone. Each site is packed most of the day, and you see the same buses and same people at each site. If you go in the summer, doing these in a car and planning could mean you have these to yourself, pretty much.
Food and drink is wonderful. But expensive. You can buy tax free booze at the airport when you arrive. Do this. The food tour we did was excellent, if expensive, but fun, and we got to meet other people and chat in a relaxed fashion as the three hour tour went on.
Be prepared to chage plans. The weather and geology are unpredictable. If you want to see the northern lights, allow as long as you can afford to maximise chances, even then, the weather could block them out. Choose a time at solar maximum in the week of a new moon. Stay somewhere out of the city and hope the weather and sun spot activity are kind.
It can get very cold. And windy. But also can rain. Most times, I just wore what I wear at home in winter, but on two occasions it went beyond cold.
Thing is, I have been working hard and am ahead in planning for the next few week's work, so there was a chance I would take some time off during the day to get some sun and maybe some work in the garden.
Not only was it going to be sunny. And warm, there would be but a gentle breeze, so would be most pleasant. And a certain black and white cat named after the female lead in the X Files would want me to join her on the bench.
So, I did my morning admin, dealt with the urgent and not so urgent mails, had breakfast of toasted cheese cob and a large brew.
and all was well with the world.
Come nine and I did did out with Scully, looking at the birds on the feeder and soaking up the warm sunshine.
Maybe warm enough for butterflies though none seen this time.
There were two tasks to get done: one was to cut the buddleia back to the stump, then to transplant the wisteria from the large pot into the old raspberry beds, which should make it easier to care for and the plant happier.
I was helped in this by the fact my knee was almost pain free, so got sawing on the buddleia and leaving the branches to picked up later, then digging out the wisteria and digging the hole in the old bed.
That done, I watered the wisteria in, stamped the soil down, and although not pretty, it was in and I could sit some more and survey my work.
The birds sang, though the daily inspection of the pond revealed no spawn still.
I worked through the day, though not much on. I am the go-to person apparently for advice on several areas, so deal with some questions, but by two I decided to log off and sit in the garden some more and read.
I was putting the branches in a waste bag, and I saw a flutter of tiny wings, and a Blue Tit, all puffed up, came flying over and landed nearly at my feet.
Fearless.
It had something stuck to its beak, so was washing it off, and taking its time so I sould go inside and get my camera go back outside and rattle off 20 shots. I only used the macro, but even this was good for pretty good close ups, and the fluffy feathers.
Until four when it became chilly, so back inside and think about dinner, which was to be dirty burgers and beer.
Because.
So, burgers with onions and sauce and Christmas beer from Norfolk went down well, and required not much clearing up. So I could watch the FA Cup action with Scully from the sofa.
And with a bad day with my knee, there was no going out for me, so begins the daily stress that is finding a subject for the picture of the day.
Jools got an amaryllis for Christmas, it came with a pot and dehydrated soil: just add water.
And so two months later the bulb produced a spike with two, and soon to be three flowers.
And back to work, now with less than 18 months left at the coalface.
Main task of the day was travel expenses. A task always worse in the expectation than in reality, though it does apparently require a working knowledge of tax rates in all countries you might be travelling in.
I take shots of receipts, post them to the reporting tool and click "submit".
It'll get rejected. Probably more than once, but the worst is done.
Then there is the updating of audit reports and outstanding actions, a task I had given myself several hours to do.
I was done in half an hour.
And so the next thing was planning.
And so the day passed quickly, with me, coming close to earning my crust this day.
Which is nice.
The cats slept through most of it, but Poppy has learned standing on the table behind the laptop will get attention and probably some food too.
She's probably right too.
Jools was going to aquafit again in the evening, so no dinner to cook, though once she had left I defrosted a pot of jambalaya and finish off a bottle of wine which had just a glass of the red stuff in it.
Truth be told, I was tired. The knee had kept me awake the night before, and I was cold, could not stp yawning, so once Jools came back, despite there being two games on the tellybox, we went to bed.
For the first time in four weeks, I went out walking around the neighbourhood, looking for signs of Spring.
I didn't do as many steps as usual, just tried to do as many as I could until my knee began to ache.
Anyway, saw some new plants in flower, most amazingly a large cowslip at the end of the street.
I got back just as the clouds thickened and the heavy rain forecast arrived. Walking off the pavement down the lanes is out of the question due to thick mud.
My knee still ached, but I knew I had to start doing something. So, I decided on a walk round the neighbourhood and in doing that I could do a wild flower survey.
Jools had suggested going down to Dover to walk along the prom, but I liked the idea of being able to get home within a few minutes.
So that was settled.
And with heavy rain and strong winds blowing in from lunchtime, it would have to be a morning walk.
We woke up hungry, so I made bacon butties and strong brews, which went down well. And after clearing up, Jools went to town and I put on my shoes for a walk.
Not far, just up to Hardy, along there, doubling back along Collingwood, past places I know there would be wild flowers, possibly blooming.
It was cold and grey, but walking soon had the blood pumping, and once up Station Road, slightly downhill along Hardy, then cutting up Seymour and back along Collingwood, just so I could check out the Coltsfoot that grow in a small area beside one house.
The dull day meant they weren't open, but there were four spikes, just not open.
I took a shot, then walked back down to home.
Not far, but enough.
Said my knee.
Once Jools got back, we had breakfast for lunch, and then there was football.
Of course.
With the main even being the League Cup Final between Chelsea and Liverpool, which ended in a 1-0 win for Liverpool after 120 minutes of play.
Chorizo hash for dinner, quickly rustled up between the gaps in the football, so we sat down to eat at six, and listen to Desert Island Disks, and once again, the weekend was over.
Saturday morning, and the usual task of going to Tesco. Our early start was rewarded with a splendid morning, and stunning sunrise over stormclouds over Northern France again.
It would stay clear all morning, but rain would rapidly spread from the west after lunch.
The colours and dramatic skies was too good not to stop on the side of the road near Wallett's Court to take a shot.
Then to home to unpack, have breakfast and a shower.
We had a fine day planned:
First up was going to a country pub to meet the two other Mods from the orchid group and discuss the upcoming season and our plans to see the remainder of UK species. And to have a bite to eat.
Secondly, Sean and Ang were coming for dinner, so I had a three course Italian meal to plan and cook.
Between, there would be football and rugby.
Of course.
At half ten we drove out along the A2, through Bridge and over the fruit orchards to Stone Street, then up to Nackington to visit the church.
I have been twice recently, but found the door locked, which I thought unusual, I mailed the wardens and was told the church is unlocked during daylight hours.
It was open this time, Jools pushed the inner door open and the cool interior was revealled.
I wanted to come for yet another revisit as the church as two of the oldest windows in England, dating from the early C13th, depicting the Tree of Jessie and the other a representation of St Thomas Becket, so early that the maker of the window might have been alive then the Archbishop was martyred.
So I take my shots and am soon done, the next job is to drive back to Stone Street and then to the crossroads to The Granville where we were to meet Ian and Terry.
It is the start of another orchid season, and the first Kentish spikes could just be four weeks away, if the mild weather holds up. So we have an annual meeting to discuss changes to group rules and so on, but also to discuss our plans for the upcoming season, and maybe I will complete the task of seeing all UK species this year.
We also have lunch, and a beer each, which goes down well, and the hour soon slips by. I had also offered a member meeting afterwards, but no one turned up, so come half one, we all shook hands and left.
Jools drove us home, where once inside and having had a brew, I had to make the filling for lemon tart, and get the ingredients out for dinner.
First up was a small Caprese, with a tomato each and a small mozzarella too, and a Tesco made Italian loaf. There just wasn't time for me to make one.
All preparation having been done by three, I could relax and follow the football, where Norwich only draw 1-1 at Blackburn.
Sigh.
Then there is Scotland v England rugby, which we watch most of, but as the thrilling climax is reached, Sean and Ang arrive, so I switch the TV off, and pour drinks.
We have the Caprese, chat, then I make Cabonara. All good, really good. And we round off with the tart.
Tart.
Somehow, it was gone ten by the time they leave. Two wine bottles were empty, as was a bottle of Chimay, and we had made a dent on the bottle of port Sean brought too.
A fabulous day, but one that left me tired and wanting sleep.
A full day at work, then off to the chiropractor for some phys on my knee.
As I went to put the bins out, the cloud formations over northern France caught my eye.
It is now pretty much light by seven, so I can check the flower beds before work, and I found the top of two imperialis spikes having just broken ground and beside the back door, Pasqueflowers have put up spikes too, and will flower before their leaves emerge.
But back inside for work, and another meeting where auditors talk about audits.
These are never ending and go round in circles, with what was agreed last round now having to be re-discussed. And so my mind wanders as I stare out of the window.
At half one, I present my final audit report I had been working on all week, then switch off because Jools had come back from work, and it was time for me to drive down the hill for phys.
I thought my knee was getting better, but he knew where and how much to press on my inflamed tendons to reveal how bad things still are. Thirty minutes of what amounts to torture, of which I pay fifty quid for the pleasure of, then back up the hill to home to apply ice packs and take more drugs.
Good news was that I wasn't limping.
I had no inspiration for cooking, so Jools went to the Chinese, while i stayed home and took part in the quiz, which i was useless at, as my knowledge of Led Zeppelin LPs is somewhat lacking.
Oh well.
And then the big game of the weekend, Leeds v Leicester, the top two in the Championship, and an entertaining game it was too, with Leeds running out 3-1 winners somehow.
So, late yesterday afternoon as the light was fading, I went into the garden where I heard a strange noise.
I followed the noise to our small wildlife pond where three common frogs were engaged in wrestling, or an orgy, with one of the frogs croaking at a loud volume, causing the surface of the pond to vibrate in time.
I saw them swim out to the middle of the pond, where I took two shots with my phone, before I was spotted and the amphibious lump swam back under cover.
Other than that, a normal Thursday.
My knee continues to improve, meaning I sleep better most of the time too.
Which is nice.
I would have gone for a walk, if it wasn't for my knee and the unexpected rain. So, instead, I worked.
A two hour meeting where auditors talk about audits and the audit process. Yes, that wasn't the highlight, but took most of the morning.
As you can tell, this was a day during which very little happened, and I struggled to get a shot of the day until I saw the frogs, but then how to describe a day which was pretty much the same as the three preceding it?
It also came to pass that I wrote my 7,000th blog post. I have been writing them since 2006, and since 2008 on the current site. I had a good idea but it petered out, but here's to the next thousand!
And that was Thursday. A day nearer the weekend than Wednesday.
Listening to Radio 1 these days, which I don’t, with all the auto-tuned dance music and the suchlike, its odd to think that the station began life in 1967 with four hours output a week given over to children.
Junior Choice, for that was its name, broadcast Saturday and Sunday mornings, and was all Hello Mudder, Hello Fadder, the Laughing Policeman, and the toppermost poppermost poptastic hits of the day.
In our house, the radio was always on, and it was Radio 1 that would be burbling out. So, my choice for song of the 1960s was one that was played heavily on Junior Choice, though it wasn’t until later that I understood how sad the story it told was.
The plan had been to write and record a whole opera for teenagers. Or children, and the first fruits was Keith West’s “Excerpt from a Teenage Opera”, aka Grocer Jack. It’s a pit proto=prog, as Steve Howe from Yes played guitar on it, and became a hit after John Peel played it. I guess Junior Choice played it not only because it was requested, but because it had children singing on which made it a children’s record.
Possibly.
I chose it as my record of the 60s when I was on Radio 6’s “Hit the Decs” (decades) for the 1960s.
For the 1970s, a song I have written about before:
Is this real life,
or is it just fantasy,
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality.
I was the music correspondent for my junior school class from 1972 to 1976. In that I, alone, went home for lunch (or dinner, we called it dinner and the school had dinner ladies), but anyway.
On Tuesdays, I would wait until quarter to one to listen to the top five rundown on Radio 1. They would play the top five, in reverse order, then before the number 1 would do the top 40 rundown.
School restarted at one fifteen, which meant I could stay home, listen to numbers 5 to 2, the rundown and the opening bars to the number 1 and scamper back to school along Hadleigh Drive, up Woods Loke West, along the passageway that lead to the school, and be in class as the bell went.
And then along came Freddie.
We had the radio on all the time at home, Radio 1, as there was little else if you wanted to listen to pop or whatever that was modern. And, I cannot remember Bohemian Rhapsody being played before. These were the days that a record entering the charts in the top ten were almost unheard of. Slade did in 1973, I think twice, but no act had a record go straight to number 1 again until The Jam and Going Underground in 1980.
So, in at number five was Bohemian Rhapsody.
It was twice as long as all the other singles at the time, and the DJ played pretty much all of it.
I had no idea what Bohemia was, of what a rhapsody was either, for that matter. And I had to remember these two new words for as long as I got to school to tell my friends who would be waiting.
The words left my brain like a butterfly leaving a flower, I couldn't remember the title. I had to say some long record by a group I had not heard of before, Queen had gone in at number 1. I seem to remember it as summer, and running to school trying to beat the bell for start of afternoon lessons, but it was released on the last day of October, so was into November when it crashed into the charts.
By Thursday we were waiting for Top of the Pops so we could see this band play, but instead of the band miming in the studio, there was a video, the one we all know, with the three parts of the song, special effects and fancy, for then, video effects.
And it stayed around for like ages. Number 1 for nine weeks, so much so even the BBC got bored and added their own effects to the video.
And that would have been that, the song become something of a kitch classic, a guilty pleasure and would really only get played on Simon Bates' Golden Hour, rarely on other shows. And then came Mike Myers and the song took on a whole new life for a new generation.
For me, it will always remind me of that Tuesday lunchtime, looking at the clock and wishing the bloody song was over so the rest of the top 5 would be played so I could get to school without being later.
Nothing really matters, Anyone can see,
Nothing really matters,
Nothing really matters to me
Any way the wind blows...
Since going solo in 1988 Stephen Patrick Morrissey’s stock has fallen somewhat. I always liked the music rather than he or Johnny Marr or whatever they might say in interviews. So, for me, it has been possible to separate the man from the music. Although his output in the 21st century has been pretty patchy and he, himself coming over as whiny and needy.
Going back to 1983, I think the best year for music in my lifetime, I can’t remember their first single, Hand in Gove coming out, nor hearing their sessions, and I listened to almost every John Peel show. So, when the shimmering beauty that was This Charming Man came out, it was something very new.
As were the lyrics and its literary references.
“Punctured bicycle,
On a hillside,
Desolate.”
Now I have just looked at the song’s wikki page, and can find no literary reference mentioned for the song, and get I am sure I remember there being one. Reading more, it is supposed to be semi-autobiographical, and the language deliberately archaic, which partly explains it, I guess.
I would go out tonight
But I haven't got a stitch to wear
This man said, "It's gruesome
That someone so handsome should care"
Ah, a jumped-up pantry boy
Who never knew his place
He said, "Return the ring"
But the reason for choosing it is not because an indie single became a huge hit, that had happened before to New Order among many, many others, its that The Smiths became huge stars. And Morrissey for decades inspired such devotion.
That a main singing with a fake hearing aid in one ear and a pack pocked stuffed with gladioli could become a stay, fey and wane in a field of male stars. But then Marc Almond, George Michael were stars too. So, I don’t know.
I bought the single when it came out, and my recollection does not agree with wikki, in that I bought the US remix 12 inch, and I feel sure I must have bought it before what it says was that version’s release. I only bought the remix because it was the same price as the regular seven inch and a quid cheaper than the other 12 inch version.
I bought most of their records. Some were great, others not so. And with such egos in the band, it really should have come as no surprise when the band spit up, with Marr becoming a guitar for hir, Moz becoming what it is he became and Joyce and Rourke having angered Morrissey by suing him. And in the trial the judge found that Morrissey "appeared devious, truculent and unreliable where his own interests were at stake".
Years later he appeared on Desert Island Discs, and seemed to be acting a part. Its all so bothersome, dahling, saying at one point, something along the lines of: “I’m not an island”, then pausing to add, “except romantically.”
Many bands would kill to leave something like This Charming Man, or Still Ill or Panic as a testament to their career. The Smiths had many, many more. But also Stephen Patrick Morrissey too.
Pulp had first appeared on John Peel’s show in session as early as 1981, so their overnight success, hen it came, took 14 years. For a 90s song, I guess I had to chose a Britpop song, as that term and music dominated the years from 1993 to 96 until it collapsed under the landfill Britpop bands failing to have the talent to carry the genre forward.
M’Lord, I give you Menswear.
Guilty as charged.
But for a few months, maybe even two years, Britpop soared and at time eve made it to the front pages of the mainstream press. Blur and Oasis: who would get to number one?
Blur had split up, reformed, joined a minor indie label, moved to London, signed to a new label, before signing to Island, and then releasing Babies and Lipgloss became the overnight stars they always promised not to be.
Lead singer, Jarvis Cocker had moved to London to study art at St Martins, and there the band reformed, and he also got an idea for a song:
She came from Greece she had a thirst for knowledge
She studied sculpture at Saint Martin's College
That's where I
Caught her eye
She told me that her dad was loaded
I said, in that case I'll have rum and Coca-Cola
She said fine
And then in thirty seconds time she said
Promoted with a state of the art video, Pulp became stars, and of all the poptastic Britpop, this is the longest lasting, as it has an air of self-deprecation to it, all so knowing. Later that year, after injury caused the Stone Roses to pull out of Glastonbury headline slot, Pulp filled in.
I wanna live like common people
I wanna do whatever common people do
Wanna sleep with common people
I wanna sleep with common people
Like you
Oh what else could I do
I said I'll, I'll see what I can do
I can remember the moment I last listened to Radio 1. It was a midweek morning, in the missile prep building at RAF Coltishall, and my friend, Adam, switched the radio from 1 to 2. Radio 2.
Radio Quiet.
Ken Bruce did the late morning show, chat, travel news and interesting music.
I get my love for Gram Parsons from those days, but there was another station.
Radio 6.
Radio 6 Music.
I can’t remember wen I began to listen to it, but soon after it started, and on a good day would get up just before seven, put on so I could listen to Phil Jupitus, then Gideon Coe, then Andrew Collins, Steve Lamacq. I’d be waiting to hear what was played next, lest I miss something exciting and new.
Radio 6 was the reason I didn’t look for work from returning from the Us in September 2005 until the following summer when I ran out of cash. I was writing too, but mostly listening to music and drinking whisky.
I could have chosen many different songs to illustrate this period, but Portion for Foxes came on the radio the other week, and took me right back. Back then it seemed Rilo Kiley would go on to be huge stars.
They didn’t, but left this wonderful song to remember them, and those long autumnal afternoons and evenings of 2005 when this record seemed to be on constant rotation.
There's blood in my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week
I keep on talkin' trash but I never say anything
And the talkin' leads to touchin'
And the touchin' leads to sex
And then there is no mystery left
The music industry of the 21st century bears little resemblance to the one of the century before. Charts mean nothing, physical sales of product pale beside downloads or streaming. How do we make sense of this, and when is a single a single, or a record a record?
Or even, can a band or artist create something new, a new genre and break through?
Maybe.
Public Service Broadcasting started life a a project to add a score to information films. Public information films. Of the 40s and 50s, it shouldn’t have worked, and yes, does.
The War Room EP, and actual record, lead with the track I am bringing you for the 2010s: Spitfire. It is this that catapulted the band to national and international recognition. There was nothing like it before, although acts like BAD had mixed dialogue with music before, but not these kinds of films, and with this kind of result.
The band released an album of similar tracks, before going to make a series of progtastic albums on single themes: The Race for Space, Mining and life in Berlin.
And so to the 2020s.
What I said about the previous decade. With knobs on.
One band appeared from nowhere.
Nowhere, Ile of Wight as it turned out. And with a driving drum beat, a guitar riff and a chaise longue, launched to international fame and glory.
Would you like your muffin buttered?
I have been writing blogs since 2008, two weeks before our marriage, and no sign of stopping yet. Music means less to me know, and yet its what I come back to.
Morn is a multi-use term that my Danish friends use to say good morning, afternoon or evening.
So I make it that means I have learned my 4th Danish word.
It was Tuesday, I had to complete my audit report after failing so badly on Monday.
My knee is still painful, though more variable now, and so getting up I don't know if I would be pain-free or not.
The night before, I had tried to massage my knee, and the tendon that runs on the inside of it, but all I managed to do was to inflame it and make sleep much harder to come by.
The day started off bright, but soon clouded over, and the wind strengthened as they built towards the storms on Wednesday and Thursday.
I was all settled down for work at seven, and began to work on my report.
I had it done by lunchtime, but did two more hours in the afternoon, giving me an hour to catch up on mails and calls.
I made steak and ale pie for dinner, with roast spuds, steamed vegetables and instead of gravy I made a white cheese sauce.
Lovely.
And it will come as no surprise to find the evening was full of football on the wireless.
Yes, the 50th day of the year. The time when it is noticeably lighter in the mornings AND evenings.
And sometimes, warm enough to sit outside.
Which is nice.
I am back home, working from the dining room table for the next ten days until I go -an-auditing again on the Isle of Wight.
Yes, so soon after being there, I get to go again.
Lucky me.
At least it won't be school holidays, so there'll be room on the ferry, though the floating bridge will be out of action for its annual major service.
Bugger.
So, Jools now does now go swimming in the mornings, so we get to lay in until six. Or later of you're a lazy slugabed and sleep through the alarm.
And after a hard week's auditing last week, comes the drudge that is writing the audit report, and catching up on last week's mails and news.
It would be a full day or two.
And because my knee is still not right, and I had lots of work, there was no walk even though the weather was splendid.
Just as I got my juices flowing, I'd get a call or message, so that by the time four came round I was only about 40% though, and there was dinner to cook.
So I thought.
Jools had mentioned that she had booked aquafit for Tuesday, but that could move to Monday. It did, but the news did not sink in, so I made a huge pan of jambalaya and rice, all rustled together in little over an hour.
When Jools came back at ten to six, she said that smells nice, but I can only have a little as I'm off to the pool in half an hour.
Bugger again.
I however, have a full portion, with wine, and declared it another triumph.
Day two of the quiet weekend, enforced rest due to my knee. But it seems to be working, with me not need gripping furniture as I walk round the house, and most of the time, no limp.
It was walking weather, but I don't go, though Jools does go to Samphire Hoe for a wander, and ends up being gone two hours.
I stay at home and prepare cottage pie.
Cottage Pie is like shepherd's pie, except in a cottage pie the reused meat is beef rather than lamb, obviously, in a shepherd's.
I boiled three spuds, chopped up the leftover beef, mix in the last dregs of the gravy and add a few part-boiled carrots. And finally, after combining these, I grate a good 6oz cheddar on top to make it crispy, and defrost then warm up a container of Boston beans
After we ate, there is football, so the afternoon is spent in the timeless battle against falling asleep.
Brighton thrashed Sheffield Utd 5-0, but Man Utd struggled to overcome Luton. Engaging, but not enthralling.
It might not sound much, but seven days away in Iceland and five days on the Isle of Wight, with just four days at home between, has made me rather yearn for a quiet weekend at home.
And thanks to the knee, I have the excuse, to myself, not to be going out doing stuff.
In fact, on Friday I had visited four churches, and had two more on my list, but my knee said "go home".
So I did.
It is getting better, though a numb pain does develop if I'm on my feet, standing still for ten minutes or more, so I am hopeful.
Saturday morning, Jools went to Tesco and then into town, while I stayed home, did the washing up and making breakfast.
Outside it was a cloudy start with cloud building which would lead to ten hour of heavy rain overnight. I was happy looking out at the weather.
And come half twelve, there is always football to watch, and then listen to games on the radio from three and finally Citeh v Chelsea on the telebox at half five.
Norwich knocked in another four against Cardiff, and the question now is have we really turned a corner of is this a longer blip in good form.
Time will tell.
We got round to put up the clock I liked and so bought in Iceland, which in a day of little action becomes the shot f the day.
There are strikes in most area of public services from the NHS to the railways to the post office.
Productivity has stalled since 2010 when the Coalition Government brought in austerity.
A new round of auterity is being planned by the Chancellor to find tax cuts.
Brexit has had a devastation effect on the economy, and will continue to do so. Inward investment from international companies has crashed. There are hundreds of thousands of vacancies, and yet the answer is not to let more EU national back in, but is to force the sick and disabled look for work instead. Causing more stress and heatache. Meanwhile the Government is prepared to bin millions and millions of COVID vaccinations rather than give them away or allow non-at risk groups to buy them. And at the same time do nothing about the hundreds of thousands suffering from "long COVID".
The Parliamentary Conservative Party is now spit into 5 or six factions, with the latest "Popular Conservatives, aka PopCon, lead by the lest popular Prime Minister of all time, Liz Truss, and JRM. The factions mean that the PM cannot pass any substantive legislation other than its dreadul Rwanda policy, which is now with the Lords.
This week the Conservatives suffered two of the worse by-election results both ended up as Labour gains. And yet the reslts, apparently, mean the Government is getting the job done, and going to Labour is worse than going back to square one.
Sunak has said there will be no election until the end of the year, if so, the country will continue to drift and crumble.
Askil was booked on a flight from Southampton at half nine, so to get him there in time we had to be on the six o'clock ferry. And to be on that, we had to be on the road at five to drive to Newport and then back out to East Cowes as the floating bridge does not work at that time.
So, alarm at twenty to five, finish packing, and out to the car to load up, and inching past us on the Solent was a huge cruise ship, like a Vogon Constructor fleet vessel, lit up like a Christmas tree, but the shape of a brutalist concrete block.
I was pretty sure I could find the ferry terminal without the sat nav, so we drove through the empty streets of West Cowes, then on the main drag to Newport past the two illuminated prisons, past the retail park, over the now narrow River Medina, and out of the town towards Cowes.
Not much traffic, but what there was, was in a train behind us, all heading to the ferry terminal.
We arrived at half five, the ferry had just arrived, so we waited in line to be allowed on.
The ferry was not even a quarter full, but there was a rush up the stairs to get to the cafeteria in order to get fresh food.
We joined them and had a child's breakfast, which was four items off the menu, which was two sausages, bacon and hash browns for me.
The ferry glided out of her moorings, down the river and out into open water, with only light winds, it was a pleasant crossing, and near to Southampton dawn's warm light was spreading from the south east. The city itself was only just waking up.
From there it was a fifteen minute blast up to the motorway and along to the airport, dropping Askil and his bags off at the railway station so to avoid the £2 drop-off fee at the airport.
We were not the only ones doing this.
And I was alone again.
I turned the car round, drive back to the motorway, then up the M3 as the first rays of the sun lit the Hampshire countryside.
It was going to be a fine day, and I was heading back home.
I thought it was going to be the drive from hell, getting up the M3 before eight, then along the M25 the following hour. I mean, traffic was going to be awful, right? It always is on the M25, it used to still be mad at midnight when I used to drive back to Lyneham after a weekend at home.
Well, maybe because it was half term, but the traffic on the M3 was light, and lighter still on the M25. Only hold up being the A3 junction where it is being rebuilt, even then just for a few minutes, and clear after that.
I had some time to kill, so wasn't going straight home. I was doing some crawling in west Kent before then.
First up was Westerham, so important it is mention on a junction of the M25.
Off the motorway at the junction before Clacket Lane Services, so still in Surrey. I followed the A25 through Oxted, which I supposed was still in Sussex, though was hoping there be a sign where Kent began.
Indeed, at the midway point between Oxted and Westerham, there was the welcome to Kent sign, so the crawling could begin.
Westerham is a small town, just 4,000 souls live there, and the church it situated near the green. Around which I could find no parking. But opposite, through an arch there was some public parking, so abandoned the car there, grabbed the cameras and walked over to the church, and from the churchyard, the ground fell away steeply, revealing the roofs of the town in the warm spring sunshine.
I took a shot.
The church was open, a voice reading softly in the north chapel turned out to be the Vicar, conducting a service for just himself.
When he finished, he came to speak and told me not to miss the chapel behind the organ.
However, in the tower there is a remarkable survivor, the only known representation of the Royal coat of arms of Edward VI, who ruled after Henry VIII until his death at the young age of only 15, declaring Lady Jane Grey to succeed him.
It did not end well.
A short drive along the A25 is Brasted, the church just down a side street. I parked behind the church, seeing the vicar get out of her car. And at the priest's door, a warden was arranging two urns with fresh flowers.
The west door was locked, so I asked if I could go in. I could, but there was a funeral in just over an hour, so I had to be quick.
The tower is medieval, but the nave and chancel both Victorian, and the roof even more up to date after a major fire in 1989.
I received a warm welcome, but rushed my shots due t the funeral, and as I made my way back tot he car, the first mourners had already arrived.
One last church to visit, and a short drive further east is Sundridge, though it would take 15 minutes to enter it due to roadworks.
St Mary sits at the end of a dead end lane, and the church is glimpsed though the lych gate. I had been promised by the vicar that all benefice churches would be open, and indeed St Mary was.
A bright and airy church, with much of interest and fine glass.
Time was getting on, so I took my shots and made my way back to the car.
It was a short drive back to the motorway, and two junctions down, the turn to get to the M20 and the road home.
Again, not much to tell, little traffic and no queues at Dover, so I was able to get to the car hire place, and get one of the guys there to drive me home, saving Jools and I the job of dropping it off later.
First job when home was to inspect the garden, seeing what had grown or flowered. The air was full of the scent of imperialis, but of a spike, there was no sign. But the garden was warm in the sunshine, warm enough to sit outside.
Then inside for the feline welcome, I had a brew, and a bowl of All Bran, before emptying my case, shorting my washing and putting stuff away.
I then sat on the bench outside, having filled up the feeders, the birds filling the hedge and bush, singing for the joy of it. It might have been only the 16th of February, but felt like it was April.
My knee was aching, but not as bad, so I hope I am over the worse, although I will rest over the weekend just in case.
At four, Jools came home, so I had another brew before getting down to cook: warmed up beef and the trimmings for a midweek roast.
It went down rather well, and was a good idea to save the leftover beef for the meal.
As always, there was football in the evening, so I watched the game with a glass of Irish whiskey, so can't call it a wee dram.
Thursday, and the final day of the audit, and even better news was that it wasn't going to be a full day.
In fact we did not have to leave the hotel until after half eight, then drive to a different site in Newport, and do our auditing there.
We were done by eleven, so a dash back to the hotel to drop off our work things and for me to grab my camera bag, and the rest of the day was ours.
As I waited for Askil to come out of the hotel I could hear the mighty throb of powerful marine engines, and a black MTB thing with no markings except X-01 made out in shiny paint among the matt finish of the rest of the boat.
All black of course.
I was going to show Askil Godshill and then maybe go to the far end of the island.
Who knew, least of all me.
Askil came out, so we climbed in the car, I programmed Godshill, which was half an hour away, and we set off for Newport and its crazy one way system, the sat nav taking us down the wrong road before we had to go round again.
The town was soon left behind, and for Askil who had not been further than Cowes or Newport, the rolling countryside, green fields and distant downlands were a delight for his eyes.
We parked on Church Hill, and as we walked to the church, the owner of two of the thatched cottages c had come out, so we chatted for ten minutes in which she explained having to deal with English Heritage and the Highways Agency.
Why they can't talk directly to each other rather than use her as a conduit is a mystery. Like some Kafkaesque tragedy.
We walked to the church. Walked back down again after I took more shots inside, then to find somewhere for lunch.
A nice thatched country pub I thought, but none were forthcoming.
One fine looking place with signposts, we discovered had closed, so we drove on to Yarmouth, and on the edge there was a family pub, they had seats and a good menu.
We ate there.
I had a ploughman's. A three cheese ploughman's, which came with what felt like an 8oz block of Cheddar, 6 of Stilton and a generous wedge of Brie.
And three slices of bread, slaw, three large pickled onions.
There was more than enough, what with three different pickles too.
After eating, I set the sat nav for The Needles, some 8 miles away. Closed roads made the trip "interesting", but we reach the car park, after a climb of two miles, but a few yards further on, land ended.
My knee made the case for staying in the car, so Askil went to walk to the Needles Battery and the fine views it has. I tried to read more of Frankenstein, until my eyes got heavy.
After an hour, Askil returned, enthused by the view and experience.
Shall we go back to the hotel?
We shall.
I took a wrong turn out of Freshwater, so we went along the southern coast, where the downland dropped away steeply from left to right, to the sea, at the their base, earthen cliffs, like in Norfolk, were surrendering to the waves at an alarming rate.
Then inland, going round Newport and along the north coast to Egypt Point and the hotel.
We booked dinner for half six, so I went to my room to take drugs and strong cuppas.
And so to our last meal, again in the hotel due to my knee.
I had haddock and chips, he had beef lasagne and chips. It was all very nice, if soul-less.
We paid our bills, as we were off at five in the morning, so that done, all there was left to do was to pack.
Wednesday, an second day of the three day audit, meaning there would be little time for snapping if my knee didn't buck its ideas up.
This was also the day that rather than have a sausage and bacon sandwich, I would have a "full" English, or sausages, bacon, hash browns, scrambled egg and fried bread.
Fried bread is really the best part of a fry up, I think.
It was a warm and humid morning, but not yet raining. Anyway, it was just a short quiet drive to the factory for a half eight start. As before they plied us with coffee, cakes and cookies.
I'd rather be sleeping.
It turned out.
We finished work at half three, with just a short session to do the next day, I thought we should investigate the real ale pub I had seen the sign for on the way back.
The Traveller's Rest was half a mile down a road lined with semi-detached houses, not where you'd expect to see an old school boozer. But there it was.
We had a pint of Old Peculiar each and retired to the easy chairs to sup and chat.
And it was a fine pint too.
I could have stayed there all evening, but I was driving, so I took us back to the hotel, giving us just over an hour to relax before meeting for a walk into town.
I put the strap on, had my stick, and so we set off in a light drizzle which would increase to a heavy drizzle as the evening wore on.
On the beach a couple of hardy fishermen dangled worms in the Solent, while a small fully lit cruise ship made its way out into open water.
I limped along, at half speed.
The pubs near the yacht club were closed, so we pressed on into the High Street, and after much discussion ended up in the Harbour Kitchen.
It was crazy busy, what with it being Valentine's Day, but they got us a table, and our burgers arrived very quick, along with a local abbey ale.
Also good.
Ad then along to the Ale House for another beer, before we turned for the hotel as the drizzle got heavier, carried on a light westerly.
I made it back, but had done too much, and would suffer for it through the night.
I am here for work, after all, not for sightseeing.
This is the view outside my hotel window, of the fence marking the boundary on a hill from next door.
It is, at least, quiet at night.
Up at six, and the rain was already falling, and would get worse.
Down for breakfast at half seven for a sausage and bacon butty with Askil, before leaving for the factory at eight, expecting to encounter traffic into Newport, but being school holidays, it was very quiet.
And so, turning down Stag Lane, and down the hill to the Medina, and the factory.
This is where we earn our wages.
I won't bore you with details, but time went quick, we had lunch, did a tour round the factory.
I have been coming here for a decade, and most people I audit are now really friends, meaning its good to catch up as well as earning our corn.
Rain hammered down on the factory roof all day, so at the end of the day we hurried to the car, and drove back to the hotel.
The tour round the factory meant my knee was very angry, so no walk into town even if the weather had cleared, instead we book a table at the hotel and i went to my room to take drugs.
Dinner was roast beef and some of the trimmings but the fresh vegetables were good. And back in my room to follow Norwich at home to Watford, and running out 4-2 winners and back in the top 6.
Its been a while, but just four days after returning from holiday, I was packing my case again, this time for a work trip.
Just to the Isle of Wight again, so I needed a hire car. So, after coffee, Jools dropped me off on the promenade on her way to work, so I could have a wander, take in the air and have a look at which wild plants were blooming.
My min target was Alexanders, and a few of those were in flower. It is a plant introduced by the Romans as a salad crop, and die to climate change is seen everywhere in east Kent at this time of the year now.
I walked to the car hire office, through the underpass and through St James, and after a short wait was given a Nissan Qashqai, which was nice to drive, and a hybrid too.
Back home then to pack, have breakfast and be ready to be on the road before ten.
There was a change to my normal plan to get to the Isle of Wight, in that I had to collect a colleague from Southampton airport at five, so I had time to fill. Which is why I programmed the sat nav for Hythe in Hampshire, to fill my time.
Hythe has a pier, and on it is the oldest pier railway, I think in the world. And just when I was down here last, it was planned to close, but there was a outcry, and it seems to have been saved, but I have promised myself a trip down to snap it.
Not much to tell of the run up the M20, along the M25 and down the M3. You know it my now; crowded, frequent jams and mad drivers. At least it was sunny.
I made good time and pulled into the car park near the pier just before one.
Time to buy a parking ticket, walk the the main street and the pier, buy a ticket, then walk along the pier before the next train was due to run.
It was an exceptional high tide, and with no wind, the Solent was like a lake.
The train rattled along, swaying on the track, and inside had two passengers, but seems comfortable enough for the 750m run to the pierhead station, though I turned back.
I walked back to land, turned left and came across a pub. Was I thirsty? Yes I was.
Inside, it was a warren of wood panelled rooms and bars. I went to the snug, where a couple were drining.
Want a drink, the lady asked.
Yes, if I can.
I'll ring the bell she said.
And as if by magic, the bartender appeared and served me a pint of foaming ale, or John Smith's Smooth as it was called, and a large pack of cheese and onion crisps.
Which hit the spot.
I had two hours and then some to kill, but there was the main road back to Southampton to get along, busy at the best of times, but this Monday had two set of major roadworks just a mile apart, so a ten minute drive took nearly an hour.
Back around Southampton and back onto the motorway, stopping off at the service station for a coffee while I checked the arrivals at the airport, now just five miles away.
Now, not all airports are created equal, some are big and sprawling with many terminals and space age shuttles to get between them. Southampton is not like that.
I followed the signs, the road took me past the railway station, past the post office depot, and there was a low two story car park, and the small terminal building opposite.
Once parked, I went to the terminal, where the previous flight from Belfast had landed and people all left either to the station or their cars.
There was a Costa Coffee, a large WH Smiths, but both had no customers, as I and a tattooed guy waited for the arrival.
The plane landed, but it was 20 minutes later, before Askil appeared from the customs hall.
We shook hands and walked to the car, we had 50 minutes to get to the ferry terminal, lest we'd have a further 90 minute wait for the next one.
With darkness having fallen, Southampton was a city of bright lights and heavy traffic. We inched along the main road until we got to the turn to port, where the lanes were all full with traffic waiting to board. The ferry itself was there, but disgorging traffic from the island.
Anyway, we all got on, the boat was busy, with a number of screaming children because a sea journey had to be accompanied by screaming.
We went up on deck to look at the lights of the harbour, and away to the left, the behemoth that was a new cruise liner, looking like a Christmas trimmed Office black laid on its side.
Brrr. It was cold, so we went back inside and stared at the short rolling, ever-repeating local ads showing on a dozen screens around the lounge.
We were one of the last cars off, and I expected the queue for the floating bridge to be huge, but there was none, and I looked I could see the ferry down the ramp with a member of the crew waving at us to come down before the ramp was raised.
Result.
Two minutes later, we were across, then through the maze of streets and along to Egypt Point and our hotel.
Phew.
After checking in and dropping our bags off, we went to the restaurant for a quite meal looking out of the front of the hotel at the blackness of the Solent.
Wednesday dawned clear with a stunning sunrise, so I was able to snap it before work.
Was amazing.
