Wednesday 30th October 2024

Why did I have y camera fitted with the big boy lens all day?

Because I can reveal we have seen a new species seen in the garden.

I had put peanuts out late the night before, so some dawn on Wednesday, there was a good selection of corvids feeding on the ground: magpies, carrion crow and a raven.

But one was feeding, and took off as I went into the utility room, so the movement must have spooked it, but there was no doubting the red bill holding a peanut.

Later, I saw either the same or another Chough, flying over the garden, then call, and do two loop the loops, something I have never seen any other corvid do, and indeed is one of the identification tips.

Last year some red billed Choughs were released near to Dover Castle, and this year at least one pair bred.

But this is the first time I have seen one, other than in Spain.

Other birds seen included the usual clutch of wood pigeons, goldfinches, house sparrows, dunnocks and a wren.

Also feeding was the family of brown rats, one I snapped as it dashed out to gather a nut from the turf off the lawnmeadow.

That was exciting.

About the only thing that was. Until late in the afternoon, there was an emergency department meeting (never a good sign) and news that another interim manager had been appointed.

So, more change.

Eleven managers in ten years, and the first one, Bo, had been in charge for several years. One lady, was our manager for barely a month due to changes.

The only constant is change. Apparently.

Once the afternoon ends, I make chorizo hash, and wash it down with a new beer, an 11.5% imperial stout which cost seventeen quid for a small bottle.

Was robust in the extreme.

And, as ever, the evening was spent recovering and watching football.

Tuesday 29th October 2024

It gets no lighter in the evenings, I can tell you. With the cloudy and overcast skies, light begins to fade from about four, and dark soon before five. And there are seven more weeks of less light until just before Christmas.

The loss of light was really obvious before an after our trip to Tuscany. Felt like summer, or light until well into the evening before we left, then when we came back, an hour less light, or so it seemed.

And in the mornings, it is at least just about getting light as I get up between half six and seven, though dawn came slowly due to the clouds, a half-light giving way to a flat light. But it was light.

I am enjoying work again, so begin work, with the task to find places to stay on my trip next week. Instead of using a something like Hotel.com, I use the company travel portal, and find chain places with parking, though out of city centres.

But it'll do, as I a travelling for work.

Then there is the travel expenses from my last trip to upload. Take pictures of receipts, upload and then work out VAT rates.

And so on.

The day moves on, not much happens. So that by midday I was ready for yet another audit.

I was the ringleader for the audit, some 15 people attending, and as it turned out, talking over each other for four hours on headphones, which was a bit of a pain.

But we end dead on time at four. Time for a brew and chill, before making dinner for Jools and I.

I had made a ragu through the day, the pot simmering all day, and the goodness simmering down to a meaty, spicy goo. I cook pasta once Jools got home, I grate some cheese and mix it all before serving.

For the evening there was the delights of Fleetwood v Salford, which was better than it had any right to be, with Salford getting a leveller 9 minutes into injury time.

All 20 of Salford's fans that had travelled, went wild.

Monday 28th October 2024

It is Monday again, and over the next few weeks I am travelling to both France and Denmark, so that it will be December before my work travel will be over.

That being said, I have travelled less than most in our small department, and see the light at the end of the tunnel now. In that for next year's planning I will only be there eight months or so,

I also have a backlog of shots to post on Flickr. I am now coming to the end of shots from the trip to France and Tuscany, so I am now editing shots from the same month, though it is is the 28th October, and soon a new month.

Travel also means travel expenses, and submitting them to the Danish tax authorities, so rules have to be obeyed, no matter how stupid and petty.

The reality of the travel expense app on the intranet is always better than the thought of it, even still it was after lunch before I started the task.

Monday morning dawned all red and angry, so I took shots of the blood-red sky to the south east, which soon faded to pastel shades as the sunrise approached.

Mails to sort through, and calls to return, and so the morning slipped though my fingers.

Most of the afternoon was spent preparing jambalaya, something to have when Jools came back from aquasicse. But I got a call at five, her heart wasn't in it, so had cancelled, so leaving me with a rush job to finish off the jambalaya, add rice and frozen, bit cooked shrimp.

It was done by quarter to six, just time for Jools to pour a cider and me to open a new bottle of red wine, and we sat down to eat.

Spicy, but bearably so.

There was football in the evening, Blackpool v Wigan, though I went to bed with twenty minutes to go, so missed Blackpool's leveller late in the game.

Disunited

It should be pointed out, that over the last 70 years or so, Manchester United have only been a great side under two managers. For the remainder of the time, they made up numbers in the league, won a cup or two. But also got relegated.

Sir Matt Busby created two great United sides, won the League and European Cup, but also oversaw slump soon after winning the European Cup.

He managed UNited, according to Wikki, from 1945 to 1969, so 24 years, and yet has a win percentage of only just over 50%.

After Busby left, United finished 8th, 8th, 18th then 21st and were relgated.

After promotion back to the top tier in 1975, they finished 3rd, 6th, 10th, 9th, 2nd, 8th, 3rd, 3rd, 4th, 4th, 4th. At that point, Alex Ferguson was appointed, and in his first season they dropped to an 11th finish.

Then 2nd, 12th, 13th, 6th and 2nd.

Since arriving at Old Trafford, Ferguson had rebuilt all aspects of the club, from scouting schoolbys to recruitment, coaching and developing young professionals.

In the 1992/93 season, they won the title, the first Premier League title.

Ferguson retired at the end of the 2012/13 season, putting Ferguson's choice, David Moyes as replacement. That lasted ten months.

Then came Louis van Gaal. He stayed two years, with a win percentage of over 52% and won the FA Cup in his last game, but was still fired.

José Mourinho took over, the same summer as Pep Guardiola was made Manchester City manager. It seemed we were in for a Battle Royale. But The Chosen One only lasted 144 games and a little over two years.

Ole Gunnar Solskjær was made manager, despite having no real record of managing a top flight team, has last also two and a half years winning 54% of games.

Ralf Rangnick was made interim manager. He had had a quiet career as a coach, and had been one of the architechts behind the high press that most teams now play, so the appointment made sense. But he was no manager of players. Or ones with egos, and left at the end of the season, going on to transform the Austrian national side.

And then came Ten Hag who was fired today.

What is the point of this post, then? Well, to point out that in the 80 years since the War, only two managers had any real success at Old Trafford, and between then they account for 50 of those 8 years, and both had period when they didn't win any trophies. So, Manchester United winning things wasn't the natural way of things, and Ferguson's run of trophies from 1993 onwards really has been the exception.

United were warned that Ferguson was going to retire, he changed his mind but did step down a few years later, so United should have been prepared. But cleary were not.

The choice of Moyes was Ferguson's, but the picks since were all by the club's management structure. Choices that as the years went by, go no better. Neither did their recruitment of players since Ferguson left, hundreds of millions of pounds spent with few cups to show for it. Meanwhile, Pep had lead the Noisy Neighbours to glory year after year.

The same structure that appoint the succession of average managers and results since 2013 will be the same that appoints the next, with little real chance of the club getting it right. Ineos are now in charge of the footballing side, if they have a say, will they get it right? Maybe, maybe not. They didn't do well in cycling this year, so the omens are not good. Looking at this year's record in cycling for Ineos, its not good either. Maybe they took their eye off the ball to manage UNited, in which case that didn't work, but in total, the once mighty Sky/Ineos team won just 14 stages in the whole of 2014, and none of them in a Grande Tour.

Ineos cannot wave a magic wand and make it all better.

Uniteds hiring and firing and spaffing over a billion quid on players shows that profligacy is no guarantee of success, and ends up frustrating players and creating a series of part-built squads that each manager was over-hauling.

And now that process starts again.

Probably with the same result.

All Hallows Eve

It is odd to think that before the 1980s, there no Halloween in Britain.

At least not in the form we see today.

I was born in the mid-60s, and there was nothing about Halloween for us to do. I can remember one year, maybe when I was eight or nine, suggesting to Mum I go trick or treating, and given short thrift as no one on Britain did such things then.

I used to make up scary stories for my friend, Stephen, using a torch held under my chin to appear evil. This was instead of Halloween not as well as.

I podcast I listen to pondered when the American idea of Halloween came to Britain. Maybe it was the scary annual Simpsons episode, or maybe Sccoby Doo from a decade before.

Not that Britain didn't, in its own way, celebrate All Hallows Eve.

The carving or swedes of manglewurzels was centuries old, and so the carving of pumpkins is somehow linked.

But there was no ailses of clothing, plastic skeletons and the such back in the 70s. It seems sometimes we barely had any light, though we were aware. Maybe through "holiday" episodes of our favourite imported American shows.

The dominance of American culture, the gakekeepers protecting us from this, the old TV stattion, made jobless by the arrival of satellite and the internet meant that those gatekeeprs of our cultural references were sidetracked, and we came to wonder what it would be like to trick or teat.

I did take my step-son out trick or treating once or twice, going to where gardens and houses were decorated. He got little candy from what I remember, this being the late 90s. A few years earlier, when posted to Germany, the next day, All Saints, or All Halls Day, churches were packed the bells rang out to banish evil.

Its just another commercial oportunity for shops, but does little harm.

In 2003, I was staring north of Boston, so had time to call into Salem, and see the American version. With bells on. That people really lost their lives there, having been accused of witches matters not a jt when there is fake spiderweb or a plastic skelton to be sold.

Maybe, I shouldn't be so cynical about the whole thing and just let kids and their parents enjoy it.

We'll have the curtains closed and the lights out, nevertheless.

Sunday 27th October 2024

The annual question of "what to do with the extra hour in bed" had the usual answer.

Lay in bed, wide awake until its seven, or near as dammit. And ignore the cats as their stomachs will take some time to work on GMT.

Up and a slow start, make coffee and tea. Jill comes down, I make tea and an egg roll for her. Jools and I have fruit and more coffee.

It is a glorious morning, and we had promised Jill we would take her to the cliffs for a walk.

So, just about nine, we drve the five minutes to the Monument, parked up, and Jools and Jill went for a leg stretcher, and I inspected the grass surround of the monument for sign of orchids.

ALTs.

I found two dried spikes, so napped them, then the abundance of Harebells I saw there and on the cliff tops, before walking to Leathercoat Point, the closest pint to France, and look down at the waves lapping at the cliffs a hundred yards below.

My phone picked up the French phone signal, so was an hour ahead, suggesting to me and my stomach that it was nearer lunch time than it actually was.

Jools and Jill come back, and we drive home so that Jill could have a brew before she drove back along the coast to the Solent, and life in Chez Jelltex would return to normal.

Not that it was dull or not fun with Jill, of course.

Jill left, and we were both suddenly hungry, so I sliced the remaining beef, fried it in goose fat, then put them in two rolls, drizzled with warm gravy and we feasted with a huge brew.

Worked very well indeed.

After a shower, I settled down to watch football: 60 % of Chelsea v Newcastle, all of Norwich v Middlesborough and 60% of Arsenal v Liverpool.

Norwich came from 3-1 down to draw 3-3, but did not inspire confidence, and the latter game ended a 2-2 draw.

Meanwhile Man Utd lost 2-1 at West Ham, a result and performance which would cost the manager his job in the end.

Oh well.

Dark by half four, of course, and so we closed the curtains and had a slice of cake for supper with a coffee.

Saturday 26th October 2024

As stated in yesterday's post, on Saturday we had a guest staying over.

Before then, there was coffee, hunting and gathering at Tesco in Whitfield, then some last minute tidying up of the house, so it wouldn't look too shabby when Jill arrived.

Jill was the wife of a guy I served with in the RAF, he passed away few years back, and we met back up with Jill and her daughter at the funeral. And we have been in contact since.

After some hard times, she is now very much on the up, so a weekend at Chez Jelltex was arranged, with Jill due to arrive at about ten.

Sadly, the weather had other ideas and was going to me mild, grey and drizzly, so until it cleared somewhat, there were endless brews and chats about what has happened in the six years since the funeral.

By about eleven, the drizzle had cleared, and so next came the decision as to where to go. Sandwich won out as it would be less busy than Canterbury, but more to see than in Deal.

So, off we went.

A quick blast up the Sandwich Road, into the town and parked behind the Guildhall. First shock was that the stinky cheese shop, No Name Shop, is currently closed because of some fault with the shop. So that saved us at least thirty quid.

We walk on to St Peter's, to window shop in the indoor market. Lots of stuff to see in the old church, even some details, but we bought nothing, and walked on.

Along the alleyways to The Strand along to look at The Barbican, the old tollhouse next to the bridge into town. A walk along to snap The Fisher Gate, before doubling back to The Crispin for lunch.

A few weeks back, I was watching a TV cooking or food show, and the American host was touring UK and called into Sandwich to eat a sandwich in Sandwich. He ate at the Crispin where they serve the Earl of Sandwich sandwich: pulled brisket, mac and cheese, pickles, salad and fries.

Which I ordered. Jools and Jill had the vegetable tart, and to finish it off, I ordered a pint of Harvey's Best.

The pub is an ancient coaching in, all crooked timers, open fires and character you just can't fake.

The food came, and although the sandwich was too big to bite, was pretty good and the flavours did go well together.

Back outside and along The Strand to St Mary's, where there was an art show on. One picture took my fancy, but we didn't buy. The old church is looking good, I have to say.

So, at two, back tot he car and back to St Maggies via Deal where there were n parking spaces, so we drive on and go down to the Bay, where there are spaces, and the slate black sky was reflected in the near waveless Cannel waters lapping at the beach.

I listen to some football as Jools and Jill go for a walk, then back home for brews, and me to prepared dinner.

I had defrosted the hunk of côte de boeuf, oiled and seasoned it. So, oiled the potatoes, but then spuds in red hot duck fat, then sear the meat and cook for 35 minutes before boiling the vegetables.

Just after seven we sit down to eat, and mighty fine it was too. And not too much for once, which was more accident than by design.

We tidy up, make coffee and talk to half nine, but weary eyes, made worse by some Vin Santos meant we went to bed at half past, all ready to use the extra hour in bed the end of BST gifted us.

Friday 25th October 2024

The end of another working week, and the sun shines brightly and warmly once more.

But with the clocks going back on Saturday night, it did feel like the last hurrah of summer before the long dark days arrive.

So nothing better than once finishing work, to sit outside, watch the birds and insects go about their work, while Scully and I sat soaking up the warmth.

Work was quiet, it is yet another holiday period over there, what they call potato week, when traditionally, children had this week of school to help with the spud harvest.

Children no longer are needed for the harvest, but potato week is still school holidays.

Once work was done, we went to Jen's to play cards. John will no longer drive in the dark, so once the clocks go back, maybe there will be no cards until the spring. We shall see.

But, once there we learn that Jen is going in for a hip replacement soon, and John is going to be a live in carer for a few days, maybe weeks.

Cards was good, as I scoop the jackpot of several pounds at the end of Queenie, darkness was falling outside, so we leave to get home, as does John before its too dark.

And so, the weekend.

A brew. Some football, then early to bed as we have an actual guest with us for the weekend, more of that next time.

The Brexit facts of life

Labour's Wes Streeting stated his week, that the damage Brexit caused to the economy was "a fact of life".

Odd then that Labour is unwiling to do much about it, with Starmer ruling out any kind of relaxation of freedom of movement for the under 30s, something that the EU has offered.

That Brexit was sold on a "no risk" vote and there would "be no downsides, just considerable upsaides", this should be being shouted on every front page, instead most of the right wing press are more concerned with tarring Starmer for arranging police escorts for Tatlor Swift when she played in London recently, and being given tickets. That Swift had been subject to terrorist threats causing gigs to be cancelled in Europe, and lets not forget the attack at Manchester a few years ago at a Ariana Grande causing multiple deaths.

But the culture war must be fought, no matter how desperate.

The one sure fire way of creating growth would be to rejoin the Single Market and/or Customs Union, this is the obvious solution, so in Brexit Britain it is off the agenda, of course.

Britain will be the sick man of Europe until things change wth our relationship with Europe and the EU.

Meanwhile the Conservatives are still deciding on their leader, with leaving the ECHR being promised, no matter what damage that would cause to the Good Friday Agreement and peace in Ireland.

Remember, in a banned (in the UK) episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, Data states that Ireland was unified in 2025. THat's science fiction,isn't it?

Thursday 24th October 2024

There is a point in our lives when we, the children, become the adults in the relationship with our parents.

It will come for most of us, no one tells you this will happen, and you are unprepared for it. But it comes

And each of us has a different relationship with our parents than everyone else, what's right for me, and my views, do not apply to you.

Yesterday, was the funeral of the person I have known longer than anyone else on this earth, now that my family is all gone. Margaret and Brian were married a few weeks before mine, and moved into the new build bungalow also a few weeks before my parents.

They also had one child, a son, and Douglas and I have been friends longer than I have been friends with anyone else, although he is a year younger than me.

I have my views on Margaret, but the reason I travelled back to Suffolk for her funeral, was to be there for Douggie, and give him the support he has given me through three weddings and two funerals.

Norfolk isn't far away, and the funeral and wake were taking place just a mile or two over the border from Suffolk, but the roads beyond Ipswich are poor, twisty and where there are accidents or roadworks, no real alternative routes.

I was also leaving just before six, so had to get across the Thames at Dartford and up the A12 during rush hour, so it wouldn't be easy. But at least there would be no rain.

I was up at five, dressed and washed, with time to drink a coffee before leaving. Loading the car with me and my camera bag, as I had plans in case I had time, to visit a church or two.

It was dark up the M20 to Dartford, and busy with traffic, but I made good time, and listened to a loop of old music podcasts all day, so chat and music kept me awake.

I got onto the M25 with no problem, and through the tunnels with only a slight slowdown, but on the other side there were queues.

Despite not wanting to spend money on a new railway, there is always money for road and junction improvements, even if it will just increase traffic. So it is that the M25/A12 junction is being upgraded, and with narrow lanes, speed restrictions, jams began a good four miles before the roadworks started.

I forced my way to the left hand lane, which became a filter lane, meaning it was much quicker than the remaining four lanes. But then came the roundabout. The roundabout under the motorway is the reason the improvements are needed, and queueing traffic blocks the junctions and causes even more backlogs.

Of course, traffic lights on roundabouts are never good ideas, so I was confronted with a wall of traffic, so when the light went green, I went in front of a track before it could shuffle forward and block more of the junction, then there was some clear road.

And ducking into the extreme left hand lane, I dodged past the queuing traffic that was blocking the exit from the A12, and onto clear road.

Yay.

The sky was clear, the sun about to rise, and it was going to be a glorious day.

Just north of Chelmsford, I stopped for breakfast: two sausage rolls and a coffee from Greggs, then filled up the tank and on my way north.

More traffic at Ipswich where the A12 meets the A14 to get over the Orwell, but then clear traffic again after ten minutes delay.

Soon, though, the road narrows to two lane blacktop, and all is well until you meet a slower vehicle. Like a tractor as we did soon after Whickham Market.

For 15 long minutes the tractor lead a growing snake of cars along the winding lanes until it pulled over and we could get past.

My plan was to visit the large and impressive church in Southwold. I turned off the A12 and drove along the straight road into the town, where I found multiple sets of roadworks, and few places to park for a short time, anywhere near the church.

My back is achy, so I wanted somewhere close to park. Anyway, I drove round the town twice, found nowhere to park, so turned the car round and headed back north, until I came to South Cove.

South Cove is a small village, a few farms really, but has a fine, if rustic, well-proportioned church, set in a large churchyard.

And the church was open, so small the wide angle lens wasn't needed, and with windows close to the floor too, no big lens needed either.

Next town up is Kessingland, which until the 80s had the A12 running through the centre of it, but now a bypass lays to the west and the village is quiet. I don't think I had been of the main street, so I went in search of the church, and found it on Church Street.

Obviously.

I rarely research churches before I visit, so nothing prepared me for the interior of St Edmund.

It seems in the last two years, they church had sourced some banners with apt slogans on, banners which were made to look like large tapered ensigns, hanging from or along the supports of the roof.

A man was practicing on the organ, and the notes echoed round the church. Not only does the church have banners, it has ship's wheels and other nautical stuff, although most traditionalists won't like it, I think it hangs together, and if the congregation wants it thus, who are we to argue?

I take my shots and leave, driving back onto the A12 and heading into Lowestoft, my main task was to drive over the new bridge which spans Lake Lothing.

The town had been waiting since at least 1966 for a new bridge, and the 3rd crossing was opened in September, and offers fine views as you drive across.

I went to see the old family home. It has been renovated and looks splendid, and not much like it was when sold four years back, it looks cared for and lived in, which is what the buyer promised us he would do.

So then to the crematorium, a drive north through Gunton and past Hopton where Dougie lives, then through the housing estate behind the area hospital to the car park, and then wait.

Margaret was 89, had a long life, but friends of the same age are few, and families are now scattered. So, one can never be sure how many will attend. The chapel was half full at least, with people coming from Kent, Wiltshire and even California to be there.

The celebrant spoke for twenty minutes, saying nice things as they have to do. But, avoiding, or just hinting at faults. Whatever she had done in her life to Dougie, he still loved her, and he was in bits.

Afterward we lined up to shake his hand or give him and Pennie a hug, and allowed me to tell him he was the brother I never had. He was always there for me, and will be there for him.

More tears.

There was a wake at the pub in Hopton, but there was no one I knew other than Dougie and Penny, so I had a drink and made my excuses. These things are really for family and close friends, so I left at quarter to three, hoping to get home before midnight.

In the end, I made good time, I was going round Ipswich before four, and at the M25 junction less than an hour later, and was able to easily join it and zoom round to the bridge. No queues on the southbound side, but the queue northbound went all the way back to the M20 junction, so six miles.

I zoomed on.

I got home at ten past six, happy to have done it and go home in under three and a half hours. Dinner was defrosted ragu, pasta and reheated focaccia, which we were sitting down to eat twenty minutes after getting in.

Wednesday 23rd October 2024

Wednesday.

Neither last weekend, or next weekend. Just between.

Days begin to merge once again, however, I do have a trip or three to plan.

My main task is to book a hire car for France for the beginning of November, and then a week in Denmark two week later.

As long as I can get a direct flight.

As ever, I hear Jools get up then fall back to sleep, wake up several times, and fall back asleep, snoozing.

I do get up at ten past six, outside it was getting light.

Just.

Cats are fed and happy and sleeping. I start work.

I wish I could say how much constructive work I did, but that would involve create writing and some fiction.

I like to think I got my message through to those with close ears.

At the end of the day I have a meeting regarding my findings from last week's trip to Ireland. Always easier to report good news rather than bad.

Through the day I make "no-knead" focaccia, so that come four its ready to be baked. Soo the house smells of fresh seasoned bread.

Before we eat, we have to go to Jen's to borrow her car, so I can do a road trip on Thursday in our car, and Jools can use Jen's car to go to work.

I receive my order of Good King Henry Special Reserve Stout. At 11% it'll be memorable.

Or not, when drinking time comes.

More football on the wireless through the evening, once we had eaten our Caprese and fresh bread.

Lovely.

Tuesday 22nd October 2024

After the excitement of last week; travelling to Ireland, three different hotels, meeting people and so on, it was inevitable that this week would be dull in comparison.

Already on the second day working from home, there isn't much to tell other than I said on Monday. Or any other Monday.

Tuesday was going to be sunnier, warmer and so I should have gone for a walk. But the short afternoons, and which will be an hour shorter next week, meant I did not go out.

Scully and I did did sit outside for nearly an hour, on and off through the day. Her demanding to be stroked and me watching the birds and insects coming and going, and way above, jets soaring high in the sky, heading destination way beyond western Europe.

I have meetings, doubly so I have no manager now, and so several points in the day I had to be careful not to tell people how stupid they were sounding.

There is a comet to see this month, but it has been mainly a southern hemisphere event, but now it had reached as near to the sun as it will for 80,000 years, its an early evening object until it disappears under the horizon. Each day it gets dimmer, and already is lost to eyesight. What with work and weather, I have not gone to look for it.

While we go about our daily grind, the cosmic dance carries on whether we look at it or not.

Bubble for lunch again, as the day stretches into the afternoon, and then logging off and returning the living room to a place in our home, rather than an office.

I prepare dinner, so that it will be ready when Jools comes home, now just as dusk is falling. In a week, it will be dark.

There is football to watch and listen to. By the time I put Norwich on the tellybox, they were 2-0 down after just 12 minutes, but they fought back to draw 2-2.

Meanwhile Arsenal struggle to win in Europe.

I open the Irish whisky, and life isn't too bad, you know.

Monday 21st October 2024

Monday again.

And back to work, though with no travel, meaning I could lay in before coming down for coffee and start work, though quarter past six was a little later.

Still, ready to fire on some cylinders, if not all.

Another day of driech, though light winds. It was so dark all day, I had the table lamp on from dawn until dusk.

Not much mail to catch up with, just my next trips for work to plan and book. All exciting stuff.

I am due to go to Arhus at the end of November, which could be my last trip there, it depends on what happens next year.

We shall see.

Travelling to Denmark means not only work, but catching up with friends old and new.

Lunch was salmon and bubble.

Bubble is short for bubble and squeak, something of a south-east England dish, and a way to use up leftover potatoes and vegetables from Sunday roast.

Mix them all up and fry it up in a pan so the potato goes crispy.

Lovely jubbly.

It fills me up and also satisfies my fibre intake for the day.

The day goes on into the afternoon, the rain continues.

Jools was back splashing of the evening, so nothing to cook, just make a brew for when she came back home to change, and she was gone again, this time to the pool.

Obviously there was football to watch: Forest v Palace, and the home side scoring the only goal, by which time it was time to put in the pizza for supper, all cooked for when Jools returned.

Doubtful Thomas

Last week, the FA appointed former Bayern and Chelsea manager, Thomas Tuchel, to be England manager from January 1st next year on an 18th month contract, taking him to the end of the World Cup in the US.

This caused the Daily (Hate) Mail to lose their shit: "Its a dark day for England as the managers job goes to a GERMAN."

As if his nationality is an issue.

If we were to ask the Daily Mail which English manager or coach should have been appointed, I guess they would say Harry Redknapp or Same Alladyce. Truth is there is a darth of top flight English coaches, the one there is, Eddy Howe at Newcastle, his club made it clear they would not welcome an approach for Howe. Former Brighton and Chelsea Manager, Graham Potter, who replaced Tuchel as manager at Chelsea in 2022, has not worked since being sacked six months later.

There are other reasons to be concerned about the appointment: that Tuchel has clashes with those in charge of the club he is managing, usually in under two years. So, an 18 month contract makes sense. Kinda. How he will deal with the blazer wearing FA committees is another matter. But is is a top flight coach, who in six months after taking over from Frank Lampard at Chelsea with the club in the lower half of the Premier League,lead Cheslea to winning the Champions League the same season.

His ability to coach and improve players should not be over-estimated.

If nothing else, it should be entertaining.

And fuck the Daily Mail.

Sunday 20th October 2024

Sunday.

Much the same as Saturday, but with more wind and rain.

As the southern hemisphere enters spring, we are well into autumn now. Days are shorter, nights are longer. Snow already came to the Alps when we were in Italy, it'll come to us all, soon.

Up again after a long lay in, put on the radio and make coffee, feed the cats.

No swimming again for Jools as the pool was closed all day, so we go a little stir crazy at home.

I finally found one of next year's Pyramidal rosettes in the lawn meadow, so mark it with a larger stick.

Any early sun soon gave way to wind and rain, as the first named storm swept in, though went mostly north of us, so we just got the southern edge of it.

Jools did go out, by train to Sheerness and back, just to get out of the house, while I stayed and watched football on the tellybox. Chelsea at Liverpool was the big game, and was entertaining, Liverpool winning 2-1.

And that was the weekend, quiet, restful. And autumnal.

Saturday 19th October 2024

And I am back home for the weekend. And beyond.

Jools had done a click and collect for food and stuff, I just had to prepare and cook it.

To be honest, I was whacked. Friday really seems to take it out of me, coming after three nights on the pop too, makes sense.

So, we were going nowhere. Jools didn't even go swimming as she overslept so missed the 07:00 adult swim session.

I had even had a haircut the day before, so no trip to Folkestone needed, instead, just chill, make brews, cook and watch or listen to the football.

Highlight of the day was putting three new feeders out, as the old ones were getting hard to clean. Goldfinches love the new one, as they can pull seeds right through the wire and not sit on one of the four perches.

There was football: Luton v Watford, then the main games on the wireless at three, and Arsenal on telly at half five.

Norwich only drew 1-1 away at Stoke, while Town played poorly and lost 2-1 to Everton.

Pizza for tea, as its easy. As is beer, easy to open and drink.

Cheers.

Friday 18th October 2024

Time to go home.

And I had planned well, allowed plenty of time so I would get to the airport in plenty of time, just as long as I woke up.

I set the alarm, and it went off at half five. I was up, washed, dressed and packed and on the road in a loaded car by six.

The sat nav took my via some very dark and twisty back roads, so much so that after the third turn down a narrower darer lane, I began to suspect I had put the wrong destination in.

But we came to the A41, which nearer to Belfast becomes the M1, the main road between the tow capital cities on the island.

I cruised at 50, sitting behind a truck so not be tempted to rush. I had three hours to get the 70 miles to the airport, so time for breakfast on the way too.

Again, the border between the two countries was only noticed because of an old customs and excise office being signposted, and again milage and speed was back in KM rather than miles.

I stopped for breakfast at a service station, where other bleary-eyed travellers were seeking coffee and fat-laden breakfasts.

I got a coffee and a cheese sandwich that was microwaved, or so it seemed, the process did not improve its looks, but was crispy in places.

My phone chimed that it had received a message.

Due to fog in the London area, there was a strong chance my flight would be delayed.

No worries.

I got back in the car, drove to the gas station and filled it up.

The phone chimed again.

My flight wasn't to be delayed, instead it was cancelled. I was to rebooked on the 19:20 flight.

19:20 instead of 11:20, an eight hour delay, and so nearly ten hours to fill with something.

The minutes and hours stretched out like a long stretchy thing.

I confirmed my seat on the new flight, called Jools to let her know and make arrangements for her to pick me up from London City as I would not get there until nearly nine, then have to get to Dover after that.

I drove back onto the motorway, thinking I needed somewhere to go to waste some time, a sign to the town of Drogheda.

I took the exit and went to see what there was to see.

Fairly heavy traffic at first, and misty gloomy weather, I found my way to the river, crossed over and went into a parking garage. It opened at eight, it was five past.

I sat in the car wondering what to do.

I would go out with a camera, obviously.

The town is spread out either side of the River Boyne. Yes, that River Boyne. A mix of old and new, with fine old buildings, modern blocks, and currently closed pubs.

I saw on the Wiki site for the town, pictures of St Lawrence Gate, so I went to investigate and take shots. Along St Lawrence Street, three barbers had opened, so once I had my shots, I got some money out, and went into Wiggys for a trim.

Andrew shorn me, and we swapped news about our sports teams, and things to see and do in the town.

I walked back to the river, then over the modern footbridge to Scotch Hall shopping centre, where I had a pumpkin spiced latte with an extra shot. I looked at a travel site, and the number one thing to do in the town was not in the town.

Newgrange is one of the oldest and largest corridor tomb in the world, and is one of three that looks down into the Boyne Valley.

I drove out to the visitor centre, where there seems to be a job creation scheme in place, as the greeter sent me to the ticket desk, who asks the same questions as the greeter, then sends me on with my ticket, to be checked by someone who had heard and seen it all happening.

Interior tours seem to be include both major tombs, and the next space was in the afternoon, but an exterior tour round Newgrange was due to leave in 15 minutes.

I went on that.

A bus takes yo to the site. To get to the bus you walk through the centre, down the spiral steps, over a bridge spanning the Boyne, down and round, then over two smaller bridges to the bus stop, where the driver knew he had eight passengers to pick up.

When we eight were seated in his ancient Mercedes bus, it roared and lurched off.

At Newgrange, we debussed, then walked up to meet our guide, who took us up the slop to the side of the monument, then after an introduction, took us round showing us the points of interest, ending at the grand entrance.

Round the base of the tomb are three highly decorated kerb stones. We all take shots. Me more than most, I suspect.

So, after about 45 minutes, we were done.

Onto the bus for a trip back, only this was a modern electric bus that made no sounds or emissions.

Back at the visitor centre, should i et there or find somewhere less expensive that had a wider choice?

I googled a place to eat, and came up with The Thatch, a pub-cum0restaurant that did a carvery.

And who doesn't like a carvery?

I drove there, parked and found a place more like a canteen, but they did have a carvery. So I had been, roast potatoes, carrots, cabbage, broccoli and loads of gravy.

It more than filled the hole, so I drove back to the motorway, with the plan to go to the next services and park up to read my book.

I go onto the motorway, paid the toll, then at the services, a great weariness overcame me, and I fell asleep soon after parking, and I slept for 90 minutes, maybe nearly two hours.

I went into the services, bought a bottle of pop, some chocolate, went to the car to eat, drink and read, then drive the remaining 20KM to the airport, through light traffic.

The car was checked, and I, along with three others, waited for a bus to take us to the terminal. Ten minutes I was waiting in line to check in my case, then up through security, where I still had two hours to wait.

I people watched, because you see all sorts at an airport.

Signs said it was a nine minute walk to the gate, so I set off with an hour to go, only to find it was delayed another half an hour.

Sigh.

We waited like the 99 other passengers on the flight, then there was the usual scramble when the flight was called, it took over 30 minutes to bard, with me having a seat on the very back row.

We took off into the night, for the short hop over to England, only there was turbulence, which needed us climb 6,000 feet higher to avoid it.

We landed just after nine, I was quickly off as I was near the rear door, then had a ten minute wait for my case.

That came, and out to the arrivals hall, where Jools was waiting. We hugged, and she took me to the car, parked beside the taxiway, loading it, and the sat nav took us into Kent via the Blackwall Tunnel, though endless roadworks and speed restrictions.

But the other side of the river, we sped up, and made our way south to Dartford, then into deepest, darkest Kent, down the A2.

There were times when it felt I might never get home, or that day. But miles were eaten up, and we arrived back at half eleven, time for a brew and take my shoes and sock off.

That'll do, pig.

There is no finer feeling than slipping into your own bed, made perfect with clean sheets and pillows.

Thursday 17th October 2024

Dungannon. Portadown. Craigavon. Armagh. Newry. Lurgan.

Some of the places I drove past on my way from Enniskillen to meet up with an old friend in Lurgan.

Rory was in the RAF with me, he came from Northern Ireland, and we have been planning a meet up for a decade when my employer had a yard in Belfast, but things didn't work out.

I mention the above, because a member of the Armed Forces between 1990 and 1998, we were viable targets for the Irish Republican Army, and we had to take precautions. Rory doubly so, when he went home.

We have not seen each other since June 2004 when we left after his service ended, and as I had to get from Enniskillen to Dublin airport for my flight, I arranged to stay Thursday night near his house, so we could meet up once he got back from the office in Belfast.

I woke that morning in my luxurious room, still dark outside. But we had some work to do before I could drive towards Belfast, so arranged to meet Jimmy at half seven when the breakfast service started, so had to make sure I was all ready, so packed and did what I could before going to eat.

And after breakfast, I loaded the last of my stuff in the case, and went to settle the bill, and Jimmy was already waiting outside in his pick up truck, so I was to follow him. Which went well until we went to leave the car par; traffic was dreadful, and once he was let out and I got out, several cars and vans were between us.

He called to say to turn at the next traffic lights, and he would wait there for me to catch up.

Which I did.

We then drove the half mile to the service hub, where we parked, put on PPE and went in to work.

Work again, was mostly drinking tea and eating biscuits.

Which was nice.

I finished my tasks, and then had time to write my report before leaving at two.

Again it was through verdant Irish countryside, the road going where it wanted, leading me now eastwards towards the motorway to Belfast.

Large dramatic louds caught the afternoon light, promising heavy downpours, but delivered none.

I couldn't check in until half five, so had a lot of time to kill, cruising at 50, letting a truck in front set my pace and other traffic overtaking me.

With having seen so little traffic since arriving, it was a shock to arrive in Lurgan to be stuck in a jam that stretched through the town centre, it must have been the school run.

I inched my way through until I saw the hotel, no parking spaces outside, but there was a car park nearby, so went in that and switched the engine off, while all around me, parents were dropping their children off for football practice, or just to run through the recently fallen first red leaves of autumn.

It looked more autumnal here in the north, even with late afternoon sunshine falling through the golden clothed trees in their autumnal finest.

Squirrels scampered about, collecting food and burying it, then two chased each other up a sapling, while behind, two brothers kicked a plastic football around for an hour.

And everyone who passed me sitting on the bench spoke a warm few words of greeting. So unlike England.

I drive round to the hotel, find a place to park opposite on the side of the road. There's an hour's free parking, but restrictions end at half six, I'm gambling there are few wardens on a Thursday night checking twenty minutes excess time.

I was right.

I checked in, and went up tot he small room on the first floor. More like a box room with a single bed, and enough room to walk down one side. It had a TV, lamp and was also en suite, so was fine just for a night.

I would just be sleeping here, anyway.

I went to the pub opposite for a pint of black stuff and to read. There is a mixed bag of folk in the bar, couples, old soaks and all between. I sit in the corner, read and watch.

Rory arrived at ten to seven, traffic out of Belfast was dreadful. Anyway, we go to the bar-cum-restaurant next to the hotel, and we both have a pint of Guinness, and begin to catch up.

Married, three children (one grown up and graduated, one about to start university and the third doing A levels), divorce, unemployment, new career, remarried, a new child, happy enough.

Twenty years in a single paragraph.

I say what I did, who meet from the RAF days, we eat, drink and chat.

All is good. Only, I have to be up at half five to drive to Dublin, so come nine, I have to bail. We hug, and I go back to the hotel and crash out, still partly dressed.

Wednesday 16th October 2024

Good evening from Northern Ireland.

I am staying at a country hotel which overlooks a lake to the west, and this was the view last night.

Just as well I had my camera.

Cameras.

The day began with mist and drizzle. We had agreed to meet for breakfast, late at eight. So by the time we ate, packed, checked out and were ready to go, it was getting on for nine.

We were supposed to be at the hub at half eight.

I followed Patrick along the main road before turning down a side road, across the beat bogs to the warehouse.

I had set the team one task for the morning, but the van was called away, but would be back.

Sometime.

So, we had a brew and chatted.

Once the van returned, I briefed the team on the task, and so off they went while I watched.

That done, I ran over my findings, and I said I would leave for the four hour drive to Enniskillen in the North.

I drove back to the peat bogs to take shots of the abandoned railway, now almost hidden by vegetation as it meandered across the bog, the track rustic and at various angles, but usable still, if would cause rough riding.

I programmed the hotel into my phone, and off I followed its directions: back to the motorway, then off and north through rolling countryside, passing through small picturesque, but still clearly Irish villages and towns.

The road turned and twisted, the main road north, but sometimes via a 90 degree turn after traffic lights in the middle of a market town, then back into the countryside.

I stopped at a church which I had pointed the way down a narrow country lane with a lawn growing down the middle between the tyre tracks, only to find it looked more like a dethatched house with large windows, but was locked fast anyway.

Past lunchtime, and heading further north. It rained, it stopped, I pressed on.

Into Northern Ireland, where the border is only noticeable as the speed limit is in mph in the north, and road markings as they are back on the mainland.

I turned off the main road, through lush green countryside, between trout-filled lakes. The road dipped and dived over small hills, and turning down ever smaller roads until I came to the gates of the hotel.

It had been described as a place for people of a certain age to go at weekends. Certainly, I felt like I was the youngest there.

I checked in, and was given a room on the ground floor overlooking the lake.

I've stayed at worse.

I was working away, then noticed a light coming in through the window, and it was sunset.

I grabbed my camera and went to take shots, as the wind had dropped and there were perfect reflections in the waters of the lake.

I had a coffee on my way in, sitting at the large picture windows, as the scene faded as dusk rolled in.

Jimmy arrived at half six. We had a table booked, another view of the fast fading sunset.

I bought a bottle of wine, and we ordered dinner.

Cheers.