Saturday 13th December 2025

Today, Saturday, the sun sets at its earliest. Although mornings will get shorter, and the days themselves until the 21st, the afternoons will lengthen, and the evenings come later.

Light will win.

Again.

Saturday rolls around again, but this one finds me home alone, though Jools was due back later.

The gym doesn't open until seven, so in theory I can lay in to six, but there is Scully to think of. In that her injections should be 12 hours apart, give or take half an hour.

And delaying the injection, testing and feeding to six of an evening would mean a chorus of meows from all four cats for several hours, it was best to be up at twenty past five, then test, inject and feed Scully, and then the rest of the cats.

Then make coffee.

Clear the half-eaten bowls of the three healthy cats, so that Scully does not eat the kibbles and so increase her blood sugars.

Would I go to the gym?

No one would know if I didn't, except myself, but I really don't mind the phys now. I can listen to a podcast as I peddle, and at weekends, the place is really very quiet.

So I leave at seven, the roads were quiet, and light was beginning to show on the horizon, a promise of a fine and sunny day.

I cycled round Vienna, though it "meant nothing to me", whilst listening to a description of the 1980 Runaround Christmas Special TV show, hosted by Frank Butcher, sorry, Mike Read.

The thing about this series of podcasts, is that they're 35 or so minutes long, just about perfect for my forty minutes on the treader.

I am don, so go back downstairs, don't go to the café, back to the car and drive home, getting back at ten past eight.

I had, I guessed, correctly as it turned out, to about three before Jools would arrive back at Martin Mill. All I had to do was tidy up, feed myself and vacuum the living room like I promised.

Just don't get diverted.

I get diverted, but there was enough time to have breakfast, and then get the Hoover out, though not made by Hoover, and give the kitchen and living room a good going over, all before midday when the football was due to start.

And Norwich were on, playing in-form team, Southampton, at home.

Potatoes had been peeled, left to soak, drained, soaked, drained, boiled and left to steam dry, all ready to cook an early dinner of hash when Jools came home.

Southampton started like an express train, and could have scored three in the first ten minutes.

I could barely watch.

But Norwich got better and began to match the visitors.

Just after half time Norwich scored a fine goal, but conceded five minutes later.

A winner was scrambled over the line by young centre forward, Jovon Makama , with his hand.

The referee didn't see it, so it stood, and Norwich easily held out to win. Again.

Jools arrived back at Martin Mill at twenty past three. I went to pick her up and drive her up the hill home.

And once back I cooked the vegetables, chorizo and potatoes so we sat down to eat at twenty past four, as the main batch of game reached their crescendos.

It was good to have Jools back. I even told her so.

And despite being away nearly three days, the thought of two more hours of football was too much, so she went upstairs to craft and listen to some music.

Peace and normality had returned to Chez Jelltex.

Bregret

Bregrets, I've had a few,
Then again, to few to mention.

Brexit is in the past tense, but also the present, and the future.

As Brexit waits for no main. Or no politician.

Compliance drift happens, and has happend, as the EU updates various compliance requirements that existed before 31st January 2020, and the Uk hasn't.

This creates a complaince gap, which widens daily, weekly, monthly, etc.

Also the consequencies of Brexit take a long time to emerge.

Fancy.

A good assessment would have revealed tha, but Brexit was done at speed, lest people change their mind.

Fancy that!

Anyway, an article on the Daily Mail this week revealed that Polish builders are returning home because of a better standard of leaving.

Nowm I thought this is what the Mail, Torygraph, Express and Times wanted? But, no, they lament this exedus is happening.

I pointed this out earlier this year, I think, when the Polish economy overtook the UK's, and those of the Baltic State's would follow in a few years.

So as well as being home, they wouldn't be subjected to hate and would also earn more money.

Fancy that.

Migrants, either economic or refugees bring with them an economic benefit, if they are allowed to work. They earn a wage so can be income taxed, they rent or buy a place to live, they shop and fo increase the economy and so pay VAT. If they were not here or not allowed to work, then this activity is not carried out ad the economy is poorer.

The UK, like many western nations, has experienced a falling birth rate for several generations, which has profound effects on the moneis the Exchequer receives, and the social contract of the Welfare State that means we all accept paying in for what we get out in our dotage or times of need.

Successive Chencellors have had to, and are, balancing how the reduced payments from those working can carry on, and in many cases, increase spending for those in retirement. The answer is growth, and growth is what our current Government is chasing. With income and productivity flatlining since 2010, and then Brexit, COVID and the political will to get immigrants to leave, and to discourage new ones from arriving, means that the chances of any real growth is minimal.

Getting the sick, disabled or those who are economically inactive back to work is now they apparent key to national productivity. This after 15 year of auterity, when the same groups were subjected to tests, reduced or even stopped financial support.

Allowing people to work while their claim to remain would mean they could find and pay their own accommodation, and buy their own food, would mean the tens of billions spent on hotels could be saved, whilst inflating the economy.

Rejoining the Single Market and/or Customs Union would do that further, as leaving both reduced the nation's GDP by close to 8%, leaving each man, woman and child some £3,000 a year worse off.

These are the real issues, anything less is fiddling whilst the UK economy burns.

Friday 12th December 2025

I am home alone until Saturday afternoon, so all the tasks Jools dies early in the morning, I have to do.

But no chance in forgetting to feed the cats, as once I am awake and put the bedroom light on, Mulder is up meowing loudly.

He follows me to the bathroom, meowing all the way. Just so I don't forget.

I check Scully, inject her with insulin and then feed here, then Mulder, then Poppy and Cleo.

Then while they eat, I can put the kettle on to boil water for the mocha pot, so I can make a fresh cup of coffee.

This is now my only coffee of the day, which is something worth getting up for. Even if I had to make it this morning.

Then to the bins: empty the ones in the house, transfer the trash to the bins outside, then put them at the top of the drive.

And when that was done, off to tesco for some hunter/gathering, so we don't have to do it until well into next week.

Tesco is wonderfully empty at half six in the morning, and the shelves full, so am able to get some nice rolls for lunch.

And back home before rush hour starts, so I can reverse down the drive, unload the car and put the stash away, before boiling the kettle for a brew and have a bowl of cereal for breakfast.

It was a very dull and cool day, not a day for doing much in. I had no churches I needed to visit, so was happy enough procrastinating all day.

I do make a batch of creamed spinach before the leaves degraded into a green mush. So steam the leaves so they are a different kind of green mush. Fry a chopped onion in butter, add plain flour to make a roux, then add the milk and cook until it thickens. Add cheese, wholegrain mustard and chopped spinach.

Done.

Lunch was corned beef and onion rolls with lots of salt and vinegar crisps, which went down well.

I went out fr a quick walk, just up Station Road to snap the plants in flower, and so was delighted to find a rare white Red deadnettle, something I have only seen once before.

I sat with Scully through the afternoon watching a program about the fall of the Egyptian Empire, then Bangers and Cash.

And the day was nearly done.

I am called by Danny Baker to regale a tail about a trip to eastern Hungary back in 1993, where I rode in a Trabant and was invited to play the new rage there, Bingo.

Instead I watched and drank cheap local beer.

Dinner was pizza and German bier, which was wonderful. I mess up the music quiz, but its the taking part.

And then there was football, which was too dull to watch the second half, so missed WBA's two goals.

So it goes, so it goes.

Trumped

On the 15th November Donald J Trump, idiot in chief, announced he was going to sue the BBC for a Newsnight edition that had been broadcast in the UK some 54 weeks ago, before the US election.

The Newsnight edition was not shown outside the UK, not available on the i player for anyone outside the UK, and was not repeated after November 2024.

Trump's lawyers wrote to the BBC stating the considerable reputation and financial damage Trump had been caused.

Careful reading of the letter revealed that no instances of said reputation and financial damge that had been caused, despite the claims having been made at least three times in the letter.

The UK media, especially the BBC, reported on the story, that Trump was going to sue the BBC. Resignations followed of the BBC top brass.

Lawyers for the BBC responded asking for evidence of the reputational damage, and that records of such needed to be retained.

To my knowledge, no reply to the BBC's letter was received.

The broadcasting regulator wrote to the BBC asking for evidence that the program had been broadcast in the US, specifically, the State of Florida.

In other words, there was no evidence that the Newsnight edition was broadcast or available, legally, in the US, and as such the US regulator had no juristiction.

The story was huge for days, wreaked huge damage on the BBC, and then nothing.

Now the BBC is insisting that presenters, permanent and freelances abide by regulations to limit what they say onstage: critism of Trump, support of the LGBTQ community, so much so that Robin Ince, creator and joint presenter of the long-running radio show, The Infininate Monkey Cage, has resigned.

This is where the BBC is, where the country is.

Thursday 11th December 2025

Thursday.

And, well, lots happened first thing.

And then not much happened.

Being a T day, I went to the gym first thing. Up at half five and in the gym by twenty past six, I was in a hurry as Jools was travelling with Jen to go to Sylv's in Bolton/Bury, never quite sure is nearest. And Jools was itching to get going to get ahead of the traffic.

I get back, and Jools wants me to drop her off at Jen's already at quarter past seven.

Have you called Jen?

I'd just check.

Good job as Jen was still needing a shower and would be half an hour before ready, so we have a brew and wait at the clock ticked towards eight.

It was busy on the road, but the school run had yet to begin, so not many cars parked near to Jen's. and she had packed and just locked her front door when we arrive.

We all hug and kiss, they climb in the car and are ready, so I do the same to let them out, driving home via the new Co-Op to buy some rolls and peanuts.

Back home i have breakfast, then a shower and so am ready for the day. But the sun quickly faded and a steady drizzle fell.

I had nothing to go out for, so listen to podcasts, watch stuff on YouTube and keep the cats fed all morning and into the afternoon.

In the afternoon, the cats really settle down, so I sit on the sofa with Scully snoring beside me as I watch Bangers and Cash.

Dinner is fishcakes, steamed veggies and all smothered by the leftover cheese and mustard sauce, which was all wonderful I have to say.

The cats having been fed, Scully slept on the office chair as I ate.

All very rock and roll.

Wednesday 10th December 2025

Wednesday.

Middle of the week.

Or used to be until we retired, and then it's just a milk delivery day, and for me, a rest day from the gym.

And as I could lay in to eight, my stupid brain had me awake at ten past five.

Again.

I lay in bed and put The Sound of Football podcast on, at least for half an hour, before leaping out of bed, getting dressed and going downstairs where Jools had made a coffee.

Not much on at first, but an otherwise packed day with bridge in the morning and the churchcrawling group in the afternoon.

First up was to drop Jools in town for her next fitness class, then go back home for breakfast and be ready for ten past nine when I would leave for Walmer and the bridge morning.

Whatsapp chimed, and as we only had four playing, were anyone to drop out, we'd not have enough for the game. And indeed one lady messaged to say she had a migraine, so the morning was cancelled.

Instead, I went into town to buy Jools a Christmas card, then meet for lunch at her new favourite place.

Before then, as she was having a hair cut, I went up to St Martin's, where Kent County Council had built a proper path round the gun emplacements as it is part of the Saxon Shore Way.

It opened last week, so I thought I had better record it, and the morning light was glorious, so I took a dozen or so shots walking round past the three emplacements until the view over the town and St James opened out, with the castle in the background.

Snapped.

And that was that.

I found a parking space in Ladywell, walked down Biggin Street, calling at the Card Factory to get the card, then to Café Melange.

And then to wait for her to arrive, I looked at the menu card and thought a cheese and bacon toastie would be splendid.

Which when it came, it was.

Anyway, Jools arrived and had a frittata: cheesy mushroom thing with cheese and chorizo on top, which she said was filling.

Anyway. That eaten. I go back to the car to drive to Walmer to be in place to pick up Martina to take her to Eastry for the church.

Just time to pop into the Berry for a pint of Harvey's Old I thought.

But on arrival, it opens now at four, in some three and a half hours.

Bugger.

Instead I went to Deal and parked up, listening to a podcast to fritter away the forty five minutes until it was time to pick Martina up and drive to Eastry.

I take us out through Upper Deal, Sholden and nearly to Sandwich before turning down the Eastry by-pass, turning off and going into the village and finding a parking spot outside the church.

We had forty minutes to wait for the rest of the group to arrive, so when they did, I began to read John Vigar's description of the outside of the church, the tower especially, and then entering through the lean-to porch and down into the Nave.

The Warden was waiting, and we all shook hands, so I carried on with the description, pointing out the paintings above the Chancel Arch, and then the Dominican Perpetual Calendar on the hexagonal pillar on the south side.

We talk more about funerary hatchments, something new for the warden to learn, and touched on other things she did not know about her church. But all done in a friendly manner.

It was getting dark when we left at twenty to four, and several cars did not have lights on, even when the gloom deepened after I dropped Martina off, and on the Deal Road going through the wood.

They must drive by brail.

Back home and we have a brew, were not hungry, but I use up some breaded chicken to make chicken in a bun, followed by a slice of Christmas cake with a brew.

Yet more football in the evening, which I won't bore you with the details of.

Bed at ten, and I slept well for once.

7,824

This is a true story.

A story about a box of matches.

Most fast military jets have what is called survival equipment, and this is to be used in emergencies, as part of kit available when the crew has to eject or bail out.

In the kit there can be things like emergency rations, signal flares, thermal blankets and matches.

This is about matches.

All equipment on an aircraft has a "service life", and when that expires it either is inspected and recertified or replaced.

In RAF srivivl kits there could be one of three different matches:

1. Safety matches. Like the ones we use at home.

2. Windproof matches.

3. Waterproof matches.

The latter two come in plastic containers, on te lid of which is a surface for striking the matches, and these will light in either very windy or very wet conditions.

This is a story about a pack of ordinary common or garden. Or kitchen, safety matches.

It was December 1993. I had been posted to RAF Laarbruch in Germany, where two squadrons flew Harrier jets. I worked in the bomb dump, and our job, mostly, was to get exposive stores, including matches, but could include bombs or missiles, ready for issue.

One of our jets had landed at RAF Gatow in Berlin, and the aircrafts survival equipment had gone life expired, or the safety matches had, and the jet could not take off until the box of matches were replaced.

As we were transporting explosives into the shared occupied zone around Berlin, certain regulations had to be followed. An RAF MT driver was needed for the vehicle, someone traned in handling exposives (me) was needed to be responsible for the matches, and an armed RAF Military Policeman had to accompany us on the six hour drive across Germany to Berlin.

I was tasked, at short notice to get an overnight bag and kit, and report back to the dump in half an hour.

When I returned, a red locked metal ammunition box was waiting, I signed the paperwork and took responsibility for the box and its content. The MT driver arrived with a high spec Austin Montego, which had been the station commander's car at RAF Gütersloh.

The car came complete with a mounting on the bonnet for star flags. A set of star flags. These were used when one of the occupants was an Air Commodore or higher, and so anyone in uniform who sees a car with a star flag showing, had to salute it.

The car also came with at least three sets of numberplates, which could be exchanged when needed. It had a set of UK BFG plates, a set of civillian German plates, and I think Dutch as well. When on official business, it had to have the BFG plates on.

These were fitted.

The Policeman with sidearm arrived, and we were briefed on our route, which had been agreed with German authorities, which we were not to stay from. And we could only stop in the case of an emergency.

Remember, this was to transport a single box of safety matches.

We set off in a light blizzard that did not let up, but the driver put his foot down and went to over 160km/h all the way, as we were on official business, and that was one of the perks of the job for a driver. At the time there were very few places on the German autobahn netowk that had any speed limits anyway.

I sat in the passenger seat, and the approaching snowflakes was like the stars whizzing by on Star Trek. I was pretty scared. Of his driving.

But he was having none of it.

We arrived at the Berlin Ring Road in amazing time, but he took the wrong exit of the main east-west autobarn and straight into the Russian zone, where the Russian Army was still there even in 1993.

And ther we were, driving past in a vehicle clearly identifiable as British military and clearly breaking the agreed rules with the Russians and the route specified before we left. This was the short period between the Wall coming down and Putin gaining power, so things were relaxed, and we found our way to Gatow without incdent.

I deposited the matches in the Station Armoury, the policeman checked in his sidearm at the same place.

And as Germany's biggest Christmas Market was under way a 15 minute drive away, the driver swapped the number plates on the car to German ones, and we went hunting for bier and gluhwein.

We found a place to park, spent two hours eating and drinking. Or at least the policeman and I did, as the driver had to drive us back. And as we were told it was Supply Squadron's last ever Christmas party at the base that night, and we were invited, we made tracks and went back to camp.

I remember little of the evening, except at the end, the base's RAF Police took us back to our transit accommodation in their VW Van, classic shape.

And went to bed, tipsy fart.

And in the morning, drove back at warp factor nine in another blizzard and so had been away just over 30 hours.

Thanks to a box of matches.

Tuesday 9th December 2025

Being a Tuesday, its a gym day.

And with Jools feeling better, she is going to her fitness class before eight, so I have to be at the gym even earlier, like just gone six.

I wonder if I am mad, but I like the empty-ish gym and being able to get on and do my session before crowds get there.

And anyway, if I do it early, I have the rest of the day for other stuff.

What other stuff, you ask.

Well, breakfast, lunch, teas and coffees and having a shower and so on.

In short, nothing much, I would have got the phys in.

I try to complete the ride round New Zealand North Island, but it defaults to something in France, so I select an Italian hilly ride, and get going, while the phone plays a podcast: A review of the 1992 Big Break Christmas Special.

Its odd to think that for a few years, Jim Davidson was a mainstream star and hosted the snooker-based quiz, Big Break and then the Generation game.

This a man who had a thick line in racist jokes during the 70s based on his "friends" Chalky, who was African descent.

Its all PC now, you can't say anything lest you offend someone. Well, I would say that Jim "fiend of the Forces" Davidson is about as funny as herpes.

Now his star has fallen, he is reduced to making videos complaining about woke and snowflakes.

I also listened to a review of the Des O'Connor Show from 1991, when he was a huge star, apparently. And on this show had guests of: Bernard Manning, Cathy Dennis, Jackie Mason and Barry Manilow.

All were huge at the time.

Des, best known perhaps for being a foil to Morecambe and Wise, and Bernard Manning best known for being a sexist racist, who I once saw in cabaret on Jersey, and the show being so rude, he was banned from the island for life.

That was the time I was invited onstage to be a magician's assistant. I kid you not.

But that's another story.

The podcasts made the forty minutes fly, and enabled me to get back home before dawn.

And in time for Jools to have the car to drive into town for her class.

I stayed home for a brew and breakfast, before having a shower and shave, so I smelt lovely.

Gentle rain fell all day, blown by a keen wind. A storm had passed up the west coast of England, Wales and Ireland, bringing force 10 winds and heavy rain there.

But not in Kent.

Birds were fed.

We had our main meal at lunch. Jools had gone to Canterbury to finish the Christmas shopping, so I peeled and boiled the potatoes and prepared the vegetables, before putting in the boiled spuds to roast for 90 minutes.

We sat down to eat at two: beef and stilton pies, the potatoes, veggies and onion gravy.

It was splendid. But also caused us to be rather sleepy through the rest of the afternoon as darkness fell.

No supper needed, so I could watch Norwich play at Sheffield United, and draw 1-1. And play well. And should have won with a last minute breakaway goal. But put it wide.

Still not a defeat.

Monday 8th December 2025

I was going to use this for a GWUK, but Monday was quite quiet.

So here we are.

Jen caught flu or some bug on the last few days of the cruise, and has been ill in bed since last Thursday, so that's why there was no cards on Monday.

And no gym as it were a Monday, and to be honest, my legs still ached from the walking on Saturday, but that was easing, but not enough to join Jools on a walk to the post office to post our Christmas cards.

As during the morning, we sat down and wrote the Christmas cards.

I stared at the list of my elderly relatives and wondered if I should, or had they passed away in the last year.

I don't know, I hear nothing from them, so maybe they're still here.

I last spoke to them about four years ago when I found an old address book with their details in, as Mum's address book had been thrown out by the house clearance people.

One had passed, another had dementia, and so talk was short and visits discouraged.

And that was that.

We dopped a couple of cards off in Whitfield and River, then we went to the Lydden Bell to pay the deposit for a Christmas lunch we booked for the 22nd with Sean and Ange.

And that's where I saw this sign, so snapped it.

There are a couple of old Army training areas nearby, no longer used I think, so anyway. After paying the deposit, we drove home on a dull but dry afternoon.

That would change later as storm Bram would blow in overnight and into Tuesday, sweeping strong wind and rain over mostly the north and west. Just wet and breezy for the south east.

Back home for lunch of buttermilk chicken, homemade mac and cheese (with wholegrain mustard) and the least of the fresh corn.

Was lovely.

But made me sleepy for the rest of the afternoon.

I listened to a podcast on the sofa with Scully who is now back demanding food most of the time.

We needed no supper, but I did have a pint with the last of the sweet and salty pretzels as I watched the Wolves Man Utd game, which was a poor game between a poor team and a dreadful one. Utd won 4-1, but I wouldn't read too much into that.

Sunday 7th December 2025

I said to the guys on Saturday that I would get up early Sunday morning and go to the gym.

At half six Sunday morning, it didn't seem such a good idea.

But after coffee, we both got in the car and drove to Whitfield, where we were the sixth and seventh people in the gym. The rest had gone to the poo, or were playing squash.

My legs ached from the 13,000 plus steps I did the day before, so with a pod cast on, I rode round the coast of some of New Zealand North Island, ending up at some geothermal parks with steaming pools hidden behind the long grass.

My aching thighs said to call it a day after half an hour, which I did, so we could go downstairs and walk to the car, and more people arrived to do their session.

Back home we put the wireless on, as outside the low dark clouds began to produce the steady rain that would fall all day.

We had breakfast, and listened to the radio until the Jazz noodling on Cerys's show, meaning for our sanity we had to turn it off.

Silence returned.

Lunch was warmed up jambalaya, with added shrimp once the pot was getting hot, and then dished up in about half an hour from start.

Then there was football, as the rain continued outside. Brighton v West Ham was up first, and was dreadful fayre. Misplaced passes, no shots on goal, and dull as anything. How either team scored is amazing, but right that neither team won.

That was followed by Fulham v Palace. A better game, and won by Palace, 2-1. Better than the first, but still very average.

There was another early night due to early mornings and several poor night's sleep.

Saturday 6th December 2025

Saturday, and instead of getting up early to go to the gym, I get up early to catch a train.

Or so I thought.

Can had said we might meet up in Great Yarmouth on the 6th, but then heard nothing, so it came as a surprise to hear on Tuesday it was still on.

And after some rearranging of a family event, I agreed. Bought a new old folks railcard and ticket on Friday, and up at six, showered, dressed and had coffee, all was set.

All I had to do was catch the quarter to eight train from Dover.

Jools dropped me off, I walked in and went through the barriers, where three members of staff were hanging around.

There's no trains, one said.

He pointed to three empty platforms behind him.

But there will be, won't there, I laughed.

There's no electricity, he said. So no trains.

We're in the process of arranging replacement buses. My connection at Stratford of 50 minutes, looked in doubt.

Oh dear, what to do?

I call Jools to see if she'll take me to Ashford, as that's where staff said trains would be "normal".

She returned, and we zipped up the A20, to be met with three miles of stationary trucks waiting to get into the town. Not much fun for them.

Onto the motorway, and up to Ashford, she dropped me outside the station, and once I checked that there were actual trains running, I let Jools know and she went home.

I ended up catching the same service that would have run from from Dover, then starting at Folkestone. It was busy, but I got a seat.

Back on track.

Off at Stratford International, and instead of taking the DLR, as I had 50 minutes to kill, I walk through the shopping centre, or mall as I believe they're called these days, ignoring the endless windows full of shiny things.

Leaving Westfield, there is the arcing bridge over the regional rails and Underground lines, the sun had just risen ahead, and cast everything in warm golden light.

I walk down the steps and into the hall of the station, waiting to see when the platform for the train to Norwich would be announced.

So I people watched, the kid with the latest fashion in street ware, pushing through the barriers so not to pay, not taking his eyes from his mobile.

He had places to be.

Platform 10 in fifteen minutes, so I walk along the subway and walk up the steps to the platform, where a train to Clacton was just boarding. Not sure what was on, but the train was rammed.

Next train in was mine, so I walked to the far end of the platform, so upon arrival in Norwich I would be near the barriers.

The forecast was for rain all day, so the blue skies and endless sunshine was a welcome surprise.

Up the line, through Chelmsford, Colchester and Ipswich, where Simon got on, so we could talk on the last part of the journey up through Stowmarket and Diss to Norwich.

We walked round to platform 5 and found Cam on the train, so got on board, shook hands and waited for the train to depart.

There are two routes to Great Yarmouth from Norwich, the usual one through Acle, and the lesser used one to Reedham past Berney Arms, where the station now serves a single isolated pub, now closed, and a house or two.

And much to my joy, our train was the once daily service that stopped at the tiny station, to allow a walker to get off.

The line ran beside Breydon water, the water lapping at the brick wall of the flood defences, before running into Great Yarmouth Vauxhall, as was.

We get off and walk to the front of the station, for another to join us. We were no five, so we set off along the quay before setting off inland through the maze of rows, lanes and old houses and walls, crossed by modern roads, out of season the roads very quiet indeed.

We carry on, past the old Tollhouse and then along a section of the old town walls, emerging from under a tower to find the Blackfriar Tavern in front of us.

Inside, it was warm, and a bar filled with at least ten pumps of ales of all styles. We made our choices and settled down to talk and watch Norwich play on a mobile phone.

Sadly, Norwich lost 3-2, but not the step backwards that the result might appear.

At some point between rounds we order lunch, I have splendid fish and chips, and the cod was so fresh the flesh was the colour of fresh snow.

At four, we leave and walk in the gloaming to the second and final pub, only a short walk to the station, which was just as well as I had to get the 17:17 train to Norwich so I could get back at nine fifteen.

Inside the Red Herring, more like a terraced house than a pub, we have one more beer, and with half an hour, we leave and walk to the quay and back over the bridge to the station, arriving just as our three car FLiRT arrived.

We got on, and in a few minutes it trundled off into the night, heading west beside The Acle Straight, before stopping at Acle.

Into Norwich, which gave Simon and I ten minutes to get to platform 2 for our train south. We found a seat with a table halfway up the train.

We talked as the train went south, over the Wensum at Trouse, then accelerating to whisk us through the night back to Diss, Stowmarket and into Ipswich where I said farewell to Simon.

And hour then to London, I bought a coffee from the trolley, and that helped made the ride through the dark Essex countryside.

Down the Brentwood Bank, over the M25 and into London now, I just wanted to get home.

I climb off at Stratford, walk to the DLR station, wait three minutes for a train to take me to Stratford International, where I had a twenty minute wait for the Dover train.

When it pulled in, the train was rammed, full of shoppers and families. I stood to Ebbsfleet then got a seat next to a guy with a four pack of Kronenberg; he was halfway down the first can and was fast asleep.

Jools was waiting at Priory, I climb in and she drives us home back past the docks and up Jubilee Way to St Maggies.

There was time for a brew once inside, and some ginger nuts before I was so tired, I climbed the stairs to bed.

One of them good days.

Friday 5th December 2025

Friday again.

A rest day.

Bin day.

And not much of anything else day.

It was a glorious late autumn day, if it is still autumn, but cool with it.

We went out at nine, down to Priory Station to renew our old folks railcards, and for me to buy a ticket for Saturday's adventure.

Something was going on at the port, with traffic, lines of truck along Townwall Street and back up Shakespeare Cliff on the A20. These queues coming after waiting up to two days at Ashford for customs clearance.

It can't be much fun.

We come home for breakfast, and I spend the morning chopping vegetables for Jamalaya, which I was to cook in the afternoon, if the chicken defrosted.

Jools went to the craft morning in the library, and I stayed home, chopping and drinking tea.

In the garden, a clump of daffodils are showing very well, with leaves a foot long, though no buds as yet. Spring is coming.

By three some of the chicken had defrosted, so I took what had and chopped some more, then began to combine it all in a large pot, adding cooked rice as the pot bubbled.

During the afternoon we tried the first of the Christmas cakes, and was so filling we didn't have the jambalaya for supper after all, the pot going in the fridge when cooled, and we snacked on the leftover stuffed focaccia from the previous evening.

The football started late, due to the World Cup Draw, I guess, so I skipped that and went to bed early, though not tired.

And another day of retirement was over.