Thursday 12th December 2013

Sometimes, we take the wonders of the modern age for granted. That we have the sum of all of mankind's knowledge at our fingertips with the interwebs, that I can take a photo and upload it to flickr (other photo sites are available) and the world can see it in seconds, that I can carry my entire music collection in a box no bigger than a pack of fags, we have sent probes oude of our solar system. And so on. and one closer to home, is that from leaving home here in St Mags, we can be in France within the hour.

Oh la la.

So, on Tuesday, we got up at five, had a quick breakfast and headed to the terminal at Folkestone. If we were lucky and time it right we can be driving straight on the train and be off within minutes. Sadly this time we had to wait 50 minutes for a space, which kinda scuppered our plans to drive to Arras that day. Arras is a 120 mile round trip, and with so little daylight at this time of year, we decided to leave that trip to the spring.

What better than a drive along the coast, past Cap Gris Nez and onto Boulogne? Nothing we thought. However, the Gendarmerie had other ideas. One road was blocked, and as we followed the diversion to the main coast road, that too was blocked by stern looking policemen. We headed back to the motorway and sped south and west towards the port.

Our plan was to head to the old town, have coffee, visit the basilica, have a drink in The Vole Hole and then see where doing for time. So, we headed to the ancient walled town, found a parking space and walked a few hundred yards along to the main gate and inside and along the narrow cobbled streets. It is wonderful.



we headed straight for the basilica, hoping to get inside, or at least I wanted to as last time we tried there was a service going on. As luck would have it, workers were installing christmas trees, and the main door was open, and before they could cover everything with plastic sheeting, I got my shots. Sadly, the dome and crypt were closed, so another visit next year is called for, but it was still wonderful to go in. The dome of the basilica is some 100m tall, and can be seen from most places in the town. The view from up there must be wonderful.



We went back outside to find a place open for a coffee; only place seemed to be the tbac we used before, so we went in and ordered our coffees and I had a croque monsieur, my first one ever. And I have to say that I was mighty disappointed, as it is a just a couple of slices of Mother's Pride (or french equivalent) with a slice of jambon inbetween and then some toasted cheese on top. Not even as good as cheese on toast!



Oh well.

With the weather so wonderfully clear, we decide to take a stroll round the town walls, as these command fine views over the town to the port and Channel beyond. We are passed by several joggers, one pair passed us something like 4 times, so either they were fast or we were slow. I'll let you decide that.



Once all the way round we find the Vole Hole is not open, despite it being ten to twelve, and so we decide to head to the car, go to le supermarche for some stinky cheese and then get some wine and head home. A quick blast up the motorway to Calais, along to Carfours, get the cheese, checkout, back to the car to the wine warehouse. Check the prices, get six cases, pay for them and down to the tunnel to check in, on the next train and back to merries old England.

And back home for three in the afternoon with just about having down all we set out to do. Time then for a coffee, a generous slice of tatre de pommes and a pistachio macaroon and we're set for the rest of the day.

Wednesday 11th December 2013

Where were we?

Oh yes, life stuff.

To begin with, Nan is suffering a relapse and there is the feeling that this is the final slide towards the end. She is too weak to get around much and so stays in bed pretty much most of the day. We went to see her today, she is pale, almost paler than the sheets she is laying between, hardly creating a bump in the bedding she seems so thin now. She now need pretty much 24 hour care, and so Tony is investigating care homes in the area. However, it a trial as so many have closed and those that are open are full.

and then there is the money. If she has too much then she will have to pay until her savings are eaten up, or if she has too little then she has to apply, be assessed. Be reassessed. and assessed again. It goes on and on. It feels there is little dignity, and trying to explain to someone who lies there wanting to be a rest and yet scared at the thought of the visit by the dark angel.

I guess for most of us, death comes unexpected, and so we have not given it much thought, but when you are 99, and have all day to think about these things, and maybe have been thinking these thoughts for years, his grip must seem very close now. And yet she says she wants to have it ended, but still she fights, is eating more and found the strength to watch the football last night.

We all wait.

Mum is not yet in hospital, but will be at the weekend as she has to go in for tests. She has been unwell for over two months now and is clearly getting fatigued by it all. The doctor seems to think there might be a problem with her kidneys; we shall know next week I guess. She has perked up some now that she has a date for the tests and hope that something can be done.

There doesn't seem to be enough time in the evenings to get stuff done. We have promised to trim up this year. This involves going into the attic for the tree. We have set aside Saturday for that task. As it it 14 days today until the big day. Christmas has crept up on us again this year, but this year it seems worse. All of our intent on getting family gifts this year has failed. We have no idea what to get people. Maybe its chocolates all round? Could be worse I s'pose.

For the next two days I have a first aid course in Folkestone. Late starts and long lunches, maybe. And then a long weekend too? We shall see. We shall see.

Monday 9th December 2013

Saturday.

Since rejoining Facebook, I have enjoyed connecting with some of my old friends, and I also am getting notice of more local events. One of my friends from Flickr is also a published author, and has is due to launch another new book this month on the history of Dover. So, after making note of the time of the event, Jools and I headed into town to do some chores, then she would head off to Folkestone for a class.



I got some fruit and veg, bought a magazine, and at 11 headed to the library only to find no one aware of the event: no posters or notices. How odd. I look at the Facebook event and the time was right, the location was right, only I was a week early! Oh dear.



So, Jools would not be back for at least two hours, what to do with my time in Dover? I had planned to visit the new micropub, The Rack of Ale, but that did not open until twelve: what better than to visit another pub before? I went into the Eight Bells for a swifter. I managed to make it last 45 minutes by sipping and reading Uncut.



At twelve I walk up to Maison Dieu and to the Rack of Ale and settle in for a nice sociable pint or two.



Or three.

It was like being in someone’s living room. The went out to the tap room to bring you a pint, and just chatted away. It was all very nice. The beer was good, but on top of the pint of Christmas Ale I had had in the Bells meant my head was swimming. After sampling the three ales on offer by selecting a sampler rack of three thirds of a pint of each. After than I stuck with the mild after that. After my second pint, there was no sign of Jools so I ordered another pint.



Jools arrived at just before two to rescue me from the curse of beer, and we went home for a late lunch of game pie. And then the long struggle to stay awake whilst the footy was on the radio. That Norwich took an early lead against WBA meant that I was on tenderhooks all through the game as our season seemed to be changing before my ears. And a minute before time, Leroy Fer scored a second to secure the three points and turn the weekend very upbeat. Or more upbeat than it was after four pints!

Sunday.

I woke up after 11 hours sleep, feeling all woolly headed, but the best thing to clear that would be a nice pot of fresh coffee and a couple of warm croissants. That sorted, I sat down to watch MOTD, this time not having to hide behind the sofa when City came on as we rode our luck in cruising to a 2-0 win at The Hawthorns. Man Utd lost, as so did Chelsea, so what’s not to like?

At ten my friend gary arrived to take me out, as we had a hot date with some birds.

Owls.

And Hawks.

We drove to Manston and then onto Quex Park to meet the organiser. At twenty quid for nearly four hours it was a wonderful bargain, and as we walked into their enclosure, about a dozen raptors were on their perches shrieking and screaming. It was all rather wonderful.



After about an hour of getting close up shots, we headed out to the wood and fields to see the birds flying and try to get some shots. Out in the fields the strong breeze made flying the hawks tricky, and I got very few shots. After that we went into the woods getting the hawks and owls to fly down a path so we would have a better chance of getting shots.



It was all rather wonderful to be honest, hawks, barn owl, snowy owl and an Eagle Owl all flew, and we got plenty of chances to get shots. My camera battery had just about been emptied and I had 1100 shots to plough through.



Gary took me home and the sorting and editing began.

I cooked roast chicken for dinner, and somehow the day was slipping through our fingers. It grew dark outside, the football drew to a close and the weekend was coming to an end. Where does the time go?

Sunday 8th December 2013

Friday.

OK, I get it: Nelson Mandela has died. And with him being one of the most important people of the late 20th century, father of a reunited country. And all that. But it seems that all regular programming was cancelled for well over 24 hours. We had to listen to endless tributes from politicians of all hues, pontificating on how wonderful Mandela was and how they were in awe of him. Sporting figures had to, apparently, put a sporting perspective in his passing.

But it was all a little two-faced for me. Especially from those politicians of a blue hue, coming as many Young Conservatives of the day were to be seen wearing 'Hang Nelson Mandela' badges in response to the lefties ones stating 'Free Nelson Mandela'. Now I don't know if our great moonfaced leader, Cameron, wore one of those badges declaring that he should be hung, but is the leader of the party that under Thatcher reaffirmed that Mandela was a terrorist right up to the end of the 80s. Of course, he might say that people should be allowed to change their mind, something the Daily Hate Mail doesn't think Ed Miliband should be allowed to do. Cameron was only 23 in 1989, and yet he accepted an expenses-paid trip from a company that defended apartheid, which is boss described as a 'jolly'.

Sportsmen broke the embargo, as did some musicians. They cared little for the oppression of the majority, or that they were kept in 'townships'. As long as they could make their money....

I became aware of Mandela thanks to a record. I was born and grew up in deepest Suffolk, where a black face was something we hardly ever saw. There were just two in my school, not that this make me a racist, it was simply something we never saw. I mention this as the situation in South Africa was hardly mentioned, except when the SA police had committed another mass murder.I persuaded my Mother to not buy Cape fruit and vegetables; a small step, but one that many made in the realisation of the brutality of the regime there. Then, a record came out. Free Nelson Mandela was a wonderful, upbeat song with a simple message: Free this man who had been in captivity for so long. That more than anything else brought the name Mandela to our attention.

In due course, concerts were organised and the pressure grew. But in the end it was the fact the police in South Africa could not cope, the country was heading towards civil war. They freed Mandela. During his years in prison, he realised the way forward was through reconciliation, not through warfare. And that is what happened. Against the odds, free elections were held; Mandela won. The rugby union world cup was held there and South Africa won, Mandela presenting the trophy wearing the colours of a team that until very recently had been something only white could wear.

Let us remember how things really were, not how politicians would like us to remember how things were. Mandela was the person we all would like ourselves to be; universally loved and liked, the world wanted to have their photograph with the great man: The spice Girls, David beckham and the rest of the z list stars liked to bask in his spotlight. But all through it he remained dignified, serene and wonderful.



In other news.....



The high tide on Thursday night brought some minor flooding, but the next high tide was due to be at twenty to two, and so an hour before I headed down from the office to see if anything interesting was happening.



There was: the incoming tide was overflowing the lock gate which separated the inner from the outer harbour. The rushing water was creating rapids some 25m long. As time went on the levels drew closer and the rushing sound grew quieter until the levels were the same.



But still the tide kept coming, inch by inch getting nearer the top of the quays. But in the end it stopped some six inches below the top of the quayside, the water stopped coming in and all was still. And then the tide turned. I went back to the office to finish the day's work, and then head home to pick Jools up from the bus stop and the weekend start.

Friday 6th December 2013

Despite the days getting ever shorter, the fact that I drive to work during the dawn, and drive home in dusk; the weather has been very kind to us indeed. Certainly, yesterday we got the first seasonal frost, or the first one since last winter anyway. There are golden leaves on most trees still, and on a sunny day the countryside is still beautiful. Our usual autumnal storms have been far and few. So, when the news of a storm coupled with high tides and a storm surge the realisation that it really is the season when we should be feeling much colder than we are.

A storm surge is caused by a very low pressure system creating a bulge of high water in the sea, the storm winds then send this down the North Sea, being funnelled through the Straights of Dover. Which we live near you know! So all day yesterday, we listened as the high tide and high winds crept down the east coast towards us in East Kent. High tide came at half midnight, and I don’t think there was much flooding, at least in Kent.

But as the clocked ticked towards ten o’clock and bedtime, news came via Twitter, at first, that Nelson Mandela had passed away. I guess this is one of those ‘where were you moments’. Mandela was considered a terrorist by the British government right up to the end of the 1980s, Thatcher even reiterated this whilst she was still Prime Minister. What happened in the years between was that he was released, and lead his people and country into reunification. After 27 years of imprisonment, he forgave his captors and the regime that put him there and lead South Africa into reconciliation. We will not see his kind again.

Mum is in hospital again. After a few weeks of great improvement, she has slipped back. Not sure quite what is wrong, she has something wrong with her digestion, and now her leg is showing signs of ulcerating again. So, her doctor has had her admitted to hospital once again. We spoke to her last night, she seems in good spirits, if subdued. I guess just glad that someone is taking her condition seriously, which seems to be a problem with many doctors.

My flu/allergy attack is getting better, little by little. At least I can sleep now and so do a day’s work without falling asleep with my face embedded on the computer keyboard. Which is always good. I did have to leave work at midday on Monday and have Tuesday off. I woke up Tuesday morning feeling like one of those cartoon characters who had been run over by a road roller and in an imprint of myself in a road. I ached all over and felt like I had been hit by a train. Yuk.

Wednesday night saw Louis Suarez score his 8th, 9th, 10th and 11th goals in 4 games against City, and we slip, or rather crash to another battering against Liverpool 5-1. Suarez becomes the first player in the Perm to score three hat tricks against the same team. Sadly, he did this feat in consecutive games. Sigh. There’s always The Hawthorns, another one of our lesser happy hunting grounds.

Thursday night we came back home from work to find the house cold as ice. Our fears were that the dodgy thermostat had given up the ghost and we would have try to find a man who knew about such things and how to replace them. In the end it was just the pilot light having gone out, but as we sat there in our overcoats the realisation struck that we are that close to being back in the stone age.



So that is the week in words, but no pictures as I have taken only three photos this week, all of the same two bottles of beer. It keeps me busy I guess.

Wednesday 4th December 2013

In all honesty, on Sunday after clearing out the fire grate, and I went to collect the vacuum cleaner and cleared the dust up, just using the hose attachment, I thought nothing of it. When my nose began to itch and it began obvious I was coming down with something, I just thought it was me catching the flu or cold that Jools had been suffering with. I forgot that I had even used the vacuum. Jools asked if I needed my allergy pills, I said no and it could wait until we went to bed.

By then I was sneezing so much and congested, it was too late. I guess I had less than 3 hours sleep Monday night, but I went into work as I had a few tasks to complete that day for a deadline. I got worse, sneezed more and could hardly breathe. I gave up at half eleven and went home and went straight to bed.

All the time I was taking medication, including the allergy ones. It wasn’t until my nose became completely blocked that I knew it was an allergy attack after all. All I could do was ride it out.

I think in fact it was both, allergy and cold. I say this as today, Wednesday, I am not completely clear, but I can breathe and got some sleep last night, which is more than I did on Monday night. I woke up feeling like I had been run over and had no strength to get out of bed. My initial thought was to work from home, but I didn’t fire up the laptop, and instead stayed in bed shivering until the light began to fade outside well into the afternoon.

At some point, my nose partially cleared, so I was able to doze in-between the visits from Mulder who wanted to inquire if I felt like feeding him. Maybe. He meant well. In the evening, I did make it downstairs and felt something close to human. Jools went out for fish and chips for dinner. Always a good idea. And that I felt hungry I take as being a good sign.

And so here we are on Wednesday evening, listening to the football on the radio. City are up in Liverpool playing at Anfield, and Suarez has scored a screamer against us.

Again. With only 20 minutes gone, this could be another very long evening for us. Park the bus, boys.

Sunday December 1st 2013

And good evening and welcome to the house of germs. Jools is sick with some kind of flu, and I am going down with it too. Or I may be having another allergy attack. I will take whisky and drugs and see if I can sleep in a while. The sun has shone outside today, but we have stayed inside, either doing our hobbies or watching Monster's University, or whatever it is called. and listening to football whilst doing our hobbies or cooking dinner whilst listening to the inquest into the day's football.

Yesterday, we went back up to London. It's been a few weeks, and we had tickets for a tour round the old aldwych Underground station on The Strand. The tickets were expensive, really, £25 each for an hour's tour, but to be able to go down a closed Underground station and see how time is eating away at the station would, if nothing else, be interesting.

And photogenic.

Of course.

We had all week to plan our day in London, decide where to go and what to see. And, and I know this will be hard to believe for those of you who have never travelled to London or maybe just been a handful of times, we could not think of anywhere else we really wanted to go. We found it hard to look at maps or guide books. And so come Saturday morning, we decided to catch a later train into the city. So we had the chance to do some chores in town, and make lunch so we would not have to buy food during the trip.

So we got on the quarter to eleven train, bought two coffees so we could drink whilst we ate the rolls I had made as the countryside slipped by.

We arrived in London and left st Pancras to inspect how much progress had been made in the clearance of what is left in front of Kings Cross. In truth it looks worse and more like a building site than it did a couple of months back when Boris declared it open or something. I took a snap from the terrace at the front of St Pancras and I asked Jools what she wanted to do now.

She didn't know.

And so I suggested we go into the Betjeman Arms for a drink and a think. This we did, and watched the unfolding horror of the wreckage of a police helicopter falling onto a crowded pub in Glasgow on Friday night. Eight died, but at the time not much was known at all, and the search for survivors went on. That it was on a half hour loop on BBC News meant that for a change they had real news to report on, but it still felt like voyeurism to me. People not knowing if they had lost friends and family.

We made our way via the Circle Line to Temple Station, and went to investigate the area west of Inns of the Court. We found some interesting stuff, quiet back alleys leading into the Temple area, locked gates and ghostly steps. It was all very good.

We walked along The strand, past the High Court, to St Clement Danes, the church of the RAF. I went in as yesterday was when my old trade celebrated St Barbara's Day, she is the patron saint of armourers, and there was a piss-up in Lincoln which I could have gone to. But, well for one we had tickets for the trip to Aldwych, and two, I really don't like to dwell too much on the past. I don't feel defined by the 15 years i spent in the mob, and reliving the old days of drinking to excess, well, doesn't interest me that much. Well, not as much as a good photo-op!



we walked up aldwych, having checked out where we had to be for the tour at the old station in The Strand, and then wandered into theatreland, past the Theatre Royal and onto Covent Garden. It was heaving, I means so crowded, that we stood behind a gate and just looked at the people coming and going, the rich, the fashionable and the criminals, there to prey on the unwary.



Time for a drink! But all the pubs were crowded, so we walked back along Aldwych, stopping to admire Boris' new buses, and back along The strand to The George where there always seems to be room and a fine selection of ales. Also the rugby league world cup was on, so over a couple of pints of porter we chilled the afternoon away until it was time to head to Aldwych Station for the tour.



We queued up outside, our names were checked off, marched inside for the health and safety lecture: don't lick the rats, and that sort of thing. A talk on the history of the station, then a walk down the 160 steps to the platform level. The station closed because the branch from Holborn is only 450 yards long, and the lifts in Aldwych needed to be replaced, and it was deemed to be uneconomical. So the station closed in the 1990s.



There are two platforms down there, we went to look at both, and at the faded posters on the walls. Heard some more history, took loads of photographs before it was time to walk back up the 160 steps back to the London night.



We did it, only running out of puff, where we thought we were halfway up the steps, but in truth were just ten steps from the top, so imagine our surprise after restarting the climb to see the landing just a few steps ahead of us.

we had planned to walk to Regent street to see the festive lights, but in truth our hearts were not in it; we flagged down a taxi and told him to take us to St Pancras so we could catch the seven twelve train to Dover. We had time to go into M&S for a salad and a sandwich to eat on the way home, so we did not have to cook once home.

The journey was made lively by half a dozen pissed Dover Athletic fans shouting and singing all the way back to Priory. Soon enough we were back in the car and heading home for a cuppa and our beds. Such is our rock 'n' roll life.