Stormy Weekend and other stuff

By the time Friday evening came round, the pressure of dropping me off and then Jools going to look after Nan was getting hard to bear; not that she or I resented that, but after a hard days work, it was hard work again. And so Friday night, on the eve of her parents return, she fed Nan and came back. and so we had and evening together. Although we were both tired, it was great to sit on the sofa listening to music and just being with each other.

The promised storm arrived with much huffing and puffing on Saturday, and after I went to Tesco and Jools to see Nan and give her her breakfast, we headed back home, had flavoured coffee and hot butter croissants before heading down to St Margaret's Bay to see the waves crashing up the beach and the ferries struggling to get into Dover.



The light ever changed and as I had my cameras with me, I snapped away to my hearts content.



Back home for lunch of toasted cheese sandwiches and then me settle down to watch an afternoon of sport; mainly international football, but some rugby too. The wind howled outside, and the rain poured down. We lit the fire and piled up the logs on the fire, we sat the evening through watching the flames eat the logs and loving the crackles as each knot burned.

Sunday dawned grey and windy, but with the promise of sun later. Perhaps. A few weeks ago, when Andrew and myself went to the Bluebell Railway, we had passed through Hastings, and I thought it had photographic potential. And so we drove out to Ashford and then south west across the Romney Marsh to Rye and then along the coast to Hastings. The rain stopped, and some kind of brightness was in the air.

We parked the car and Jools realised that she had forgotten her jacket, and as the wind was keen, there was no other way than for her to go and buy a new one. Whilst she found the shops I wandered round the abandoned fun fair and in-between the fishing fleet grounded on the stony beach.



I came to the Maritime and Fisherman's Museum; all around were these wonderful tall wooden sheds, called net shops, where nets and fishing tackle were hung up to dry so not to rot. But now looking like some Tim Burton-esque film set with old fishing boats laying between them.



Jools called that she had her coat, and we arranged to meet back at the car and then find somewhere to have a cuppa and maybe a bit for brunch. Across the main road, we saw a narrow high Street, and there was a great little place where we ordered coffees and then pancakes with lots of maple syrup and bananas for Jools and bacon for me.

It was just what we needed, and once full of coffee and pancakes we headed off up the promenade to see the pier and a wonderful art deco building I had spied. The wind blew, but we wrapped ourselves up and loved walking and people watching.



The pier is closed now and in a sorry state; it looked like it might fall down after what looks like decades of neglect. But I took pictures; many pictures. South of the pier is a double-decked promenade bult in the 30s, and still impressive. It provided some great lookouts and picture opportunities.



We made it to St Leonards and the Marine Court; I dutifully snapped it; the light was perfect and I got some great shots; or I think so!



And so we turned round and walked back to the pier. The skies grew dark and we took shelter in a hotel bar and I had a wonderfully warming winter ale; and the rain hammered on the window.

The shower passed; and we headed out back to the promenade and for me to take more pictures. we ended back at the museum, and found another cafe and had tea and chips; just what we wanted.

And as the light faded, we got back into the car and headed back for Kent and home.

All by myself!!!!

Not as bad or as tragic as it may sound; Jools is away at her Fathers' looking after her Nan whilst Tony and his wife go up to Bolton for her Mother's 90th birthday. Hope you got that.
So, each night Jools drops me off at home and then heads to Whitfield to look after Nan, whilst I entertain myself and the cats here.

The week has flown, but I do find it hard to send myself to bed, and have been staying up to near midnight, one night looking for obscure 80s music on youtube. And then there is the whisky; I'm not a huge drinker, but whisky seems to wake me up for a while and drives me to find or play song after song after song.



Last night I had the car for a while as a steam locomotive was passing through Dover, and I went down to the station to take some shots, which came out rather well. Although it was a long chilly wait until it huffed and puffed into the station.



I snapped away, and go some great shots, low light with blurred steam and smoke. And then back home, pizza in the oven and washed that down with an ice cold beer, whilst the cats watched.

I have an interview at the factory next week for a permanent position, so fingers crossed for that. More news as I get it.

OK, just one day to go and then the weekend!

Repackage; resell.

We have just made a couple of box sets for the record company of a certain Mancunian miserablist where they have repackaged the first fourteen singles by this artist into two box sets.

They are two very nice boxes, and the singles when they are put in will look very wonderful. But the fact remains that these are all old records, albeit on vinyl, songs that have been issued, reissued, remixed, mastered apparently hundreds of times before.

Maybe the record industry would be in a better state if they found out some new talent rather than selling us songs and records we already own. How many times do we need copies of our favourite records? Remastered; the 20th anniversary edition, the 25th anniversary edition; the legacy edition; the de-luxe edition; and so on and on and on.

There is great music out there, and it out there if we hunt for it; so why can't the majors? In years gone by they would release hundreds of singles and albums that might or might not be hots, but they tried. And then they realised they could sell us shiny silver discs to us of stuff we already owned, and it was easier and a better stream of income than risking it on some bright new home from 'up north' or somewhere else.

But they will run out of things to sell us again, audio fidelity will reach to point where to go any further would be pointless. One day they will wake up and realise that there are only so many editions of Rumours any one person needs; only so many out-takes and alternate versions.

But I'm not holding my breath.

The Uncertainty Principle

It is Tuesday evening, and as far as I know I will lose my job on Friday. At the moment I am covering for Pete's week on holiday, and when he comes back on Monday I will be surplus to requirements.
It is hard not to think of this as I do my rounds daily, and what is going to happen next. I have applied for a couple of permanent jobs there, but I am fairly sure they won't offer me either, I'm not experienced enough to be a 'team leader' or have not done box making as such.
So, I am working the week out and getting the job done in a professional manner as possible and still they seem to be pleased with my work; and in truth I do like it there, although the job can be a pain at times, negotiating problems out when not everything is black and white, but I have made friends and manage to have a few good conversations as I walk round the factory doing my inspections.

Jools is looking after Nan this week; she is having to stay at her Father's house, as Nan staying here is a non-starter; and so once Jools has eaten, she leaves and it's just me an them cats.

Talking of which, them sleeping on the bed is not going to happen after last night; meows, purrs, my nose being licked, Sulu being sick, some poor animal's kidney just outside the bathroom, and all of them being hungry from about half past midnight. And I need my sleep, and so I will be going to bed, alone!

Mauerfall.

In the summer of 1989 a survey-taker asked me when I thought the Iron Curtain and the Berlin Wall would come down. I said something like 40-50 years. Of course, I was a little out.

The signs that it was about to come crashing down were there, but I think we were all concerned with Madchester and the suchlike. Anything except the Soviet Bloc was about to collapse.

I remember watching it on TV, eyes wide open with shock. But only now, hearing people who had lived in the east, what they thought of it. On reflection, I think this is the most important event in my lifetime, causing so many changes in the way the defence of our country and it's actual raison d'etre.

Lets hope that we never see things like the Iron Curtain and the Cold War again, when both sides were poised to hurl multi-warhead nuclear weapons at each other.

All quiet on the Dover front

OK, I'm having trouble in giving these blogs an original name, during the week it's all about boxes and work, and at weekends it all the other stuff that work makes possible.

Except this weekend, I was just so worn out on Friday night, and into Saturday, that after battling the evil of Tesco. There was the chance of heading out into the countryside for more church and pub pictures, but in truth I felt like having a quiet day.
My team, Norwich, were on TV playing the might of Poulton Rovers in the first round of the FA cup. Although it should have been easy, the cup sometimes throws up surprises, and nothing could be worst than being on the end of a shock result live on TV. In the end, City ran out easy 7-0 winners, and so I could relax and listen to the Premiership games on the radio.

We sat down and watched a TV documentary all evening on the history of the Berlin Wall; it was very good and full of eye-witness accounts and archive footage. And the suddenness of its fall.



Sunday morning we got up fairly early for another Flickrmeet, this time nearer to home in Deal; and the plan was to meet up on the pier early for breakfast. Breakfast being sausage, bacon, beans, mushrooms, toast and tea. And we got to share it with our friends and swap news.



Once again the weather wasn't very good, cloudy with a chill wind, we wandrered around the familiar streets of Deal, me snapping away, before the cold got to us and the thought of a nice pint of ale whilst sitting beside an open fire won through.



And we were the first ones to arrive in the Kings Head and settled down in soft chairs and supped deep golden autumnal beers as our friends arrived one by one.

We went home for lunch, instead of eating out, and so we left our friends and headed the short drive home for toasted cheese sandwiches and a large cuppa whilst watching more football.

And that was our weekend!

Another week nearer Christmas!

Sorry to spring that one on you, but it's true. Seven weeks I think it is, how scary is that? What I mean is that it seven days since I last wrote down what has been going through my brain and what is happening in our life.

So, in no particular order:

Nan is back home; she was discharged from the care home this morning, and is now back in the bungalow of no conversation, or that is what it should be called. Anyway, we are all so glad she is well enough to be allowed home, and now hopefully, she can get better and even be playing bowls in the near future.

Sulu is still with us; the vet's assurance that he was at death's door back in March now seems overly pessimistic to say the least. That he is obsessed with food, and anyone in the kitchen is pounced upon with fervour not seen since the Manic Street Preacher in Life of Brian. That he would rather beg us when we are cooking than eat the food in his dish seems odd to say the least. But, he seems full of life and happy enough.

Our 'Indian summer' has ended, although no frosts yet. The big blow that was forecast last weekend was not quite as bad as promised. The trees are losing their leaves, however, and soon enough they will be bare. The moon for the past few nights has been stunning, huge and yellow as it rises above the horizon, and then arcing high above our house as the night moves on towards morning.

So, back to the last weekend. Every now and again, the factory has a 'closed Friday'. And after a hectic summer where we worked all hours, the management agreed to close the factory once a month again. And last Friday was the first one in many months. Jools and I decided to head to France for the day for some wine shopping and sight-seeing, and maybe some scrummy food as well!

We rose at five, and were out of the house by six and heading the short drive to the Channel Tunnel terminal. The sunrise and dawn were stunning, the sky all pinks and reds, and awe-inspiring. Jools drove for a change, and so I could take in the show. Once at the terminal and queueing up to board the train, I took a series of shots through the windscreen; I hope you like them.



After we drove on, the doors closed. And after a short safety message we pulled away, and within 40 minutes were in Calais and ready to drive off.



We were greeted with thick fog, and the drive to the Belgian boarder was tricky, but at least the traffic was not too heavy. We went to get some tobacco for Jools' sister, as it so much cheaper there. And so we were asked if we could go there so Jools would not have to go with their Father, whose driving is legendary and frightening.



The tobacco shops were already open well before ten in the morning, and we got the carrier bag full of Golden Virginia and headed back towards Calais and the wine warehouses.

From my memory, there were more wine and beer warehouses than you could shake a dirty stick at. But we could not find one, we drove up and down the Euroroute through Calais a couple of times before spotting a French one, rather than one owned and run by cockney wideboys.

We bought some cheap red wine, buy the crate, for a couple of pounds a bottle, and headed out before I could spot something else lovely and fruity sounding.

We headed out to the coast and ended up at 'la plage'. We parked up and walked around a bit. It was then we realised we had to Euros, and so if we wanted breakfast we needed a place that took cards or some cash. We headed south into a village called Bleriot Plage, which, as you can imagine, is where the pilot took off on his cross-channel flight in 1909.



We parked up opposite a street market and got some cash from the hole in the wall machine and made for the local cafe-cum-betting shop. After a cup of Java, we wandered around and came across a war cemetary.



A few hundred simple stones lined up in neat rows, each with the fallen's brigade or regiment insignia carved upon it. I chocked back the tears as I cam eupon the row of those that fell in the week of 11th November 1918; I guess they thought they had done it; survived the great war only to be slain on the final day of the war. But the killing went on into December and indeed, into 1919 and 1920; victims we thought of UXBs whilst trying to defuse them.
At either end of the cemetery, Chinese and Arabic workers were buried, a little apart from the soldiers, sailors and airmen. Showing, I guess, that even navvies were victims; their graves were marked by mostly just a number and a proverb.

We drove on.

South of there and the town of Sangate, the land rose into huge rolling hills and stunning cliffs. We parked at Cap Blanc Nez, that's Cape White Nose to you, and walked to the cliff edge. England was lost in the mist on the channel. But the mist had cleared some and the sun shone.



Just across the road was a place to eat, and so hungry enough we went over and sat at a table in the big windows with views down to the cliff's edge and the ocean below. We had a beer and pork something with chips, sorry, fries. And they had wonderful creamy desserts. I had a cup of thick Java coffee, and we headed back towards Calais as the sun went down to catch our train back home.

Saturday, we headed to Ramsgate for another Flickr-meet. Not quite sure if any one would turn up, or whom either. The weather was not kind at all, all low grey cloud with a threat of rain, which did happen a couple of times. We walked around the harbour and snapped away and talked.



The clouds got darker and lower, and we went to a Belgian cafe for a beer and decide what to do. After a beer we decided to head back home and chill out, and for me to listen to the radio and catch the football.



Sunday, as promised, the heavens opened, and the rain did fall. And fall. We visited Nan and went to Tesco, and then baked a cake. A traditional Dundee cake, laced with lots of fruit and brandy. We cooked it on a low heat for a long time. Afterwards we cooked a huge bowl of stem to warm up each night once back from work.



Not a perfect Sunday, but we got lots done for sure. There was just enough time to settle down and watch some NFL on tv and the return of Brett Favre to Lando. All that was missing was the inches of snow on the field.