Tuesday 13th January 20145

Monday.

A day of anniversaries. Well, a few.

I have now been on Flickr for eight years now, over 28,000 photos uploaded, and many, many friends made, and so much inspiration found from there, despite Yahoo trying to mess the site up over the past couple of years. And some 5 years ago I was escorted from the shop floor of the box factory, feeling like I was some kind of criminal, although having done nothing wrong. Even after all the stuff I have done in the subsequent period, doing all the stuff I have done, it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, even if it was all for the best in the long run. And all that and everything and that.



As the wind was going to blow, no point in going into the office at Ramsgate, so I settle down for a day working from home with the cats to keep me company, and so I can watch the rain run down the windows from my seat at the dining room table. The cats keep me entertained, and busy, with the rolling on the floor, playing, demanding food an attention. As is their way.

Outside the rain falls and the wind blows.

At four, I go upstairs for another session on the cross trainer, and puff my way though a half hour puffathon. Once I cool down, I peel the potatoes and boil the cubes ready for chorizo hash for dinner, and so wait for Jools to return from work.

The day peters put with us listening to the radio, and then watching a program about pension advice, as the government is de-regulating the industry: why could possibly go wrong with that, giving people access to their life savings pension pot to spend how they see fit?

Monday 12th January 2015

Sunday.

The cats woke us up at seven as the heating switched on. It has taken some years, but they are learning to lay in, at least this time of the year when it is dark in the morning until at least eight.

Jools got up, made coffee, and soon the smell of fresh coffee was making its way up the stairs. Better get up then. We had a coffee, some fruit, some more coffee. I watched MOTD, then on the stroke of half nine we got our stuff together and made to go out. What with the ongoing projects to photograph orchids, trains, churches, pubs and the such, it means that we have not visited some places for a while. And one of those places is Broadstairs. Its a fine town, set round a semi-circular sandy bar, liked with bars and restaurants. It also is Dickens Central, in that there is hardly a house he did not stay in at one time or another. There are bars, pubs, shops all with Dickens-related names. And then there is Bleak House, where the man himself lived.



Getting to Broadstairs, avoiding the mall at Westwood Cross means driving through Ramsgate, then along the coast road, before turning down the narrow shopping area and finding a place to park. It was a glorious day, almost unbroken sunshine, stretching long shadows over the land. So, making the most of the splendid day we drive through Deal, onto Sandwich then onto Ramsgate. There was not much other traffic about, so travel was pleasant, until we got to the roundabout at the Lord of the Manor, but then it alsways is fun there with the grand prix starts when the lights go green.



In the end we park in a car park in the centre of town, much better than finding a space on the side of the road, and a couple of pounds for a couple of hours, not bad value.



We walk along to Bleak House, walking to the fence along the cliff, we look down onto Stone Bay, and see it is low tide, and looks chuffing glorious. There is a slope leading down the cliff, so we walk down there, and onto the wide sandy beach, which is scattered by chalk. Many people are about, just walking with their family or pet dogs. It is wonderful to be out, warm enough out of the light breeze, and feeling almost springlike, with just the long shadows giving truth to that lie.



I am taken with the patterned sea wall, all diamond shapes, and standing out well with the deep shadows. As we near the harbour, we can smell bacon cooking. A smell to make anyone hungry, and as we had just had fruit for breakfast, we followed our noses to a small cafe where there was no one sitting at any of the three tables. We go in and order a small breakfast each, sit down sipping on our cuppas whilst someone else did the cooking. Lovely jubbly.



Once we had eaten, we went back out to explore Viking Bay, the main area of Broadstairs, the bay around which the town is spread. It is low tide, and the action of long shore drift means that the small harbour is now full of sand, and there is just room for four boats in the lea of the harbour wall.

Still, it is great to be out and about, walking round the half moon bay, then walking up the slope beyond the bandstand, walking back along the cliffs to the car. We agree that we were walked out, and we should go home, it would take at least half an hour, and in that time it would then be tea o'clock.

I settled down to look at my shots, Jools went to visit Nan, and so it was just me and the football on the radio. However, at three I decide it is high time I get back on the cross-trainer, and pump some lard. The i pod was still charged, so off I went, not really bothered about the football on the radio.

We had cold pizza for dinner. That and beer. Took all of two minutes to prepare, and was great, even better when it was fresh the evening before. Outside it was dark, the cats did not want to go out, as it was cold, and so the final hours of the weekend slipped though our fingers.

Sunday 11th January 2015

Saturday.

And on the 6th day the wind did blow and the rain did fall. We laid in bed, listening to the show going on outside. The cats complained about not being able to go outside. Or at least two of them did: MUlder just mouthed a meow, as he had become silent over the course of the week. We shall keep an eye, or an ear, on him. Or its the vet you you on Monday m'lad.

Croissants for breakfast, two cups of coffee. And we are ready to face the world, full of wind and rain as it is, and maybe take some photos. We drive to St Martin's Battery, but already the wind is less ferocious, the waves near the Admiralty Pier certainly not as large as 2013's St Jude's storm. We get out the car, I take come shots, we get muddy, more rain comes, we go back to the car.



From there we drive to Capel, for another look down at The Warren. It is blowy up there still, and it is all we can do to stand up and not be thrown off the cliffs. I take more shots before we are driven back to the car and the hot air blower to warm our bones. We have little else planned, so we go to visit my friend, Gary, who is recovering from an illness over the holidays. It is good to catch up, exchange news.



Back home for lunch, then Jools goes out to visit her Dad and I listen to the football on the radio. I'd hate for you think I might do something different. It is hard to get fired up about going out all weekend when you've spent the week away. But I promise this will not be the case once the orchid season begins!



Norwich were playing top of the table Bournemouth, and we have a new manager, Alex Neil, a 33 year old Scot, previously Hamilton's boss. A huge risk by City, but he has done well with no money north of the border. City fall a goal behind, then pull it back just before half time. In the 2nd we have Howson sent off, but score a screamer with ten minutes to go, and hang on for the win and three points. Maybe a turn of a corner, who knows. But we are just eight points off the top now, and full of hope: hope being the fan's biggest enemy.

We order pizza to be delivered, and big ones that mean we can have some cold tomorrow, if there is any left!

Outside, the skies clear, the stars come out, and I watch as a fox comes into the garden again and again, taking food away.

I am not Charlie, And neither are you.

In my posts for Thursday and Friday, I did not mention the events in Paris. They were shocking, the offices of a magazine attacked, tweleve killed, because of some satirical cartoons published a few years back. We all know the story now.

Soon after the full horror of the story came out, a hashtag started to trend on Twitter #Je suis Charlie. Charlie being the name of the magazine, Charlie Hebdo. THe meaning of which, I guess, was the express solidarity with the cartoonists killed. Only it didn't did it?

THe next day, the fearless lions of the British press also said Je suis Charlie a lot, but instead of reprinting the cartoons to be as fearless, they chose to print an image of one of the terrorists about to shoot a policeman. An execution in fact. The policeman happened to also be a muslim.

I have seen many people on Twitter and Facebook and Flickr also say that the are also Je suis Charlie: but very, very few have actually reprinted the cartoons. Which is what Charlie would have done, but there is really only one Charlie. Thing is, we live in a global age now, someone, somewhere will be offended by alsmost everything you print. Doesn't mean you have to change, doesn't mean we have to change. But we have.

In in changing, not wanting to cause offence, not wishing to provoke another attack, the terrorists won, even as they were killed in a shootout. Our freedoms will be eroded, in the name of freedom, oddly, our free speech will be restricted, we will change, and our values will be worth a little less.

I am not Charlie.

You are not Charlie.

And neither is our press.

Only Charlie is Charlie.

Saturday 10th January 2015

Thursday.

Hoorah for a good nights sleep! I mean it does make all the difference. I lay in bed, listening to the world outside making it's way to work, and being as I'm in Denmark, and it's before nine, it is dark. As dark as night. Which it really is.

I pack, check out and have a bite for breakfast, but that is spoilt by the coffee machining being BROKEN! Oh noes! So, I skip the roll, and instead walk to the car park, load the car and make my way the 30Km to Varde for yet another day or inspecting. At least their coffee machine is working, so I have a huge cup, I am tempted to just drink it straight from the pot, but that might be considered bad manners....

Anyway, the day passes, and things begin to go slightly wrong, the first time this has happened. It livens things up and stops me dropping off.

At three the day is done, and so am I. My friends are not at the office in Esbjerg, they are taking place in a team building things, which I should have been taking part in; they did driving Landrovers and drinking beer from what I heard. Just as well I was working, but it does make it feel like I am not part of the team, but its not really true or course. I pour myself into the car and drive to Billund: once again I am staying at the Zleep and flying back to London in the morning.



After checking in, dropping off my bags, I take the car back and drop the keys off at the rental office. And then go to the cafe to grab a coffee. It was sitting there that the phone rung, then two of my team members came by on their way home. By the time the call ended and my friends left, the coffee was cold. I ate the chocolate though. In the hotel room, I send off loads of mails whilst listening to the radio, and the evening passes. I walk back over the terminal for dinner: burger and a beer only, as usual. But its good enough for me, and the beer is enough to make me get very tired.

So I go to bed, as I have to be up at five fifteen in the morning.

Friday.

The alarm goes off at five fifteen, just as I set it. I lay in bed, thinking about how long it will take me to walk to the terminal (5 minutes), check in (5 minutes), go through security (10 minutes): in doing so I realise that I am maybe an hour early, so I lay in bed looking at the street light coming in around the curtains.

At six, I hear the first of the jets warming up and making ready to taxi off. I had better get ready then. So, I have a shower, get dressed, pack and have breakfast, well a roll and a coffee, before walking in the driving rain to the terminal. I check in, go through security, and indeed I am in so much time I can answer the early mails from work.



The plane has about ten passengers, so we spread out. The wind is making the plane shake, and I ten realise that it might be an interesting flight to say the least. As we are accelerating down the runway, the plane is already swerving from side to side, but we lift off, the lights of Legoland are left below as we climb into the low cloud. Rain hammers into the plane, sounding like tap dancers. I close my eyes as the plane leaps around like an unbroken colt.

Breakfast is delayed, as it is unsafe for anyone to be walking around as we pass through many pockets of turbulence. We just about clear the clouds, but there are more above, it isn't getting any lighter as we fly south. But, as we approach the Essex coast, I see white horses on the sea below, away in the distance I can make out the shape of Thanet again, and the curve of Pegwell Bay beyond. Nearly home.



We cruise over south Essex and north Kent, making tight turns until we get a slot before we can turn and drop down as we travel up the river. Lower and lower before we drop onto the runway, no drama at all. Safe and sound, How I love the ground.



There are no queues at immigration, which means there is a wait for a change for our bags. I fed calls as I make my way over to Stratford, once again missing the train to Dover by a few minutes, so I make the most of my time ordering an early breakfast with a gingerbread latte (with an extra shot). Lovely.



The train arrives on time, and it is almost empty, so I grab a seat, close my eyes as we move off and enter the long tunnel under east London. Out into the sunshine in Essex, across the marshes, under the Thames then into Kent, passing over the Medway, under the North Downs. Getting nearer home.



I get a taxi at the station, there is hardly any wind here at all. So, he drives like Tony, not indicating, undertaking, the usual taxi driver stuff. But I am home, safe, and confronted by the three cats all demanding. Meow.

Inbetween coffees and yet more lunch, I finish of the mails from work, and that is it: the weekend.

Friday 9th January 2105

Tuesday.

After the excitement of the phone call from the home about Nan. Well, excitement is the wrong word I know, but it set our hearts racing. Since then news is slight about her: I have been here in DK, and Jools has been working. As Jools said this evening, bad news travels fast, so things must be something like stable I guess.

Jools left for work after dropping me back home, I powered the laptop up, sent some mails, and did a few hours work, before it was time to pack, and get ready for the white-knuckly experience that was Tony driving me to the station. Because his use of signals, road lanes and such things is at his discretion, and has be holding on for dear life, knuckles indeed white.

It is a relief when we reach the station in one piece, he lets me out and I am free. The train is waiting, so I get a ticket, go through the barriers whilst a member of staff watches. It might be a better use of his time to check tickets by hand instead of laughing when someone can’t get through in time to catch a train.

In the gathering gloom of the winter afternoon, we speed off through Folkestone, Ashford towards London, it getting darker all the time. I doze as darkness surrounds the train,a nd then a real darkness comes as we head under East London at Dagenham.

I cross London as usual on the DLR, there is no queue at the airport check in, nor at security, and so I am sitting down ordering dinner at twenty past 5, sipping on a nice pint of Hoegaarden. The flight has about a dozen passengers, I take a double seat to myself, and settle down to read a copy of Rail. I have three to read on the trip to catch up. I stop to look of the window as we take off, and fly low over East London, heading out over Southend and Chelmsford before climbing through the few clouds. The night was illuminated by a great big yellow full moon, a fine sight.

Needless to say, it was cloudy over Denmark, once again we only getting a glimpse of the ground a hundred metres from the ground on final approach. I get my case, collect the car keys, and drive in deserted roads to Esbjerg, check in and am gulping down a diet Coke by eleven, the day finally over.

Wednesday.

At least I can lay in bed until half seven, have a long shower, put on all my new safety gear, go down for breakfast. And then have a simple half hour drive to the factory. This is beginning to feel like ‘normal’ to me.

The day passes slowly, and then we change location, drive to Esbjerg, and then wait until seven for a talk to be finished so we can witness a move. Once night fell, the temperature dropped like a stone, and the minutes crawled, only moved along by drinking coffee. Lots of coffee.

At seven, I drive the short distance to the hotel, then walk to Dronning Louise, where I have a dark local beer with a huge plate of nachos. A great end to the day, even better with a second pint.

Cheers.

Tuesday 6th January 2015

Monday.

And so it came to pass, that the endless holiday stretching back to that boozy afternoon on the 19th December spent in The Rack of Ale. In that time, we walked, drunk and ate cake. Lots of cake. But most of all, we got to generally waste time in a non-productive manner. For over two weeks. It was wonderful.

But all that was now over, and on Monday we had to all go back to work. The alarm went off at quarter to seven, it was still dark, and the cats we all meowing to be fed. Oh dear.

So, we get up, Jools feeds the cat, make coffee, and gets her stuff ready for work. I am to work from home, as there is no guarantee that there would be a desk for me at Ramsgate. I had had two, whilst not quite nightmares, but unsettling work-related dreams about things going badly at work, of course, being a dream it all seemed so real, and so I sat at the table trying to get my head around the going to work thing. I did switch the computer on, and found as Outlook loaded, I had a two hour department meeting to sit through. Welcome to the working week.

And so the day progressed, in much the usual way, meetings, mail, tea, coffee, more meetings.

And then the VPN client failed. So, I could not get to my mails, the intranet was unavailable. I sit there watching the program tried to connect. And again. And again. And again. I go to make a brew, I can hear the chiming of the program from the kitchen, still trying to connect. I drank my tea whilst the chiming continued. My mind wandered, I did check my phone at regular intervals, no new mails came in. So at half four, with still not having reconnected, I switched the computer off.

By which time the twittersphere was alight by the news that the Norwich manager, Neil Adams, had resigned. (see previous post). I go to the BBC website to listen to Canary Call on BBC Norfolk, and listen to what the fans thought. And what I learnt is that fans really should have nothing to do with running their club, in that either the manager is the greatest person in the world, or should be sacked. Nothing inbetween. We would hire and fire on a weekly basis, and those who even see all the games could not agree on whether the team, the manager, the club management were any good. What chance have the rest of us got? I hate listening to phone ins, as the usual answers are: buy more players. get a new manager. poach that manager. should never had been made manager in the first place. stop sitting on the fence and tell me what you really think. I switch off after an hour, thankful that Norwich fans are pretty much as clueless as fans of other clubs. No real surprise there, then.

In the evening I sat down to watch Wimbledon v Liverpool game, an FA Cup tie, a replay of the 1988 final. Since then the two clubs have had different paths, Wimbledon having moved to Milton Keynes, a new club formed by fans and about to move back into SW19. It was this Wimbledon that were playing, the new club, the fan-owned cub. The result did not matter, but in less than a decade after having been form, they were live on TV, playing Liverpool and already a football league club, having finally beaten the old club in the league cup this season.

The phone went off at half five this morning: Nan was in a bad way, should they give her a sleeping tablet? Can you give her something in liquid form? Well, she's isn't really with it. Pardon? Well, she has been seeing things again. At this point I would have said seeing hallucinations, but I can't spell that. Google spelt that. The doctor is called, we go down to wait. Nan is looking paler than usual, she looks tiny. And frail. But then she is. She wants to die: she has no real quality of life, she cannot get out of bed now, and is so sad. It is just as hard on everyone else, Jools and her siblings. Its not nice to say that we wish people dead, but she wants to go, and we don't want to see her suffer any further.