That being said, I needed a haircut, and so some walking in Folkestone would happen.
We had coffee and breakfast, and with the storm raging, plan was to go via St Martin's Battery and Capel to wave watch.
Thing is, with the wind from due north, most likely the land and downs would protect the inland waters from the wind, and so not many waves.
So drove down Castle Hill, through the town and up Military Hill to the car park, and the sea was pretty calk, at least in eyesight, as all was in the lea of the land.
I drove in a huge semi-circle, went out of the car park and down the hill, turning up the A20 towards Folkestone.
At Capel we could even without getting out of the car that the sea was pretty mild, we slowed down, thought about walking on the muddy grassed area to the cliff edge and thought better.
And drove on into Folkestone.
I dropped Jools off at the harbour, but soon the wind and incoming rain forced her up the Old High Street and into a coffee shop to get warm while I was shorn.
The usual in the barbers, some pleasant chat and then out with the heavyweight gear to lop off my locks.Jools was waiting, or just coming up the hill, so we went via the Italian deli, bough some twisted spaghetti and some almond and date focaccia, walked to the car and drove home for brews.
Damn, there was some chill in the wind, and not nice.
Morning passes into afternoon, and me watching 22 millionaires running around kicking a bag of wind: Arsenal draw with Fulham 1-1 and Spurs and Chelsea invent a new game where there are no tactics. That ended 3-4. A new Spurs dawn fades.
We have ragu, into which I add some crispy guanciale and the rendered fat from it, some of the twisty pasta, and warmed the focaccia up.
It was damn near perfect, even if I say so myself.
The bottle of XV made it even more special.
And that was that, to bed to read at eight, and sleep by nine.
Rock and roll.
Ahead my last full working week of the year.
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