Sunday 7th February 2016

Saturday

Another Saturday morning when I am laying awake before six wondering if I should get up. And that was with a late night last night whilst waiting for Jools to come home, meant we were both a little tired. Jools had said to her Dad and Jen on a few occasions how nice the steaks I cook are, and what with it being his birthday this weekend, they have been invited over for an evening of steak and cards. What could go wrong? But that means we need four good steaks, mushrooms and jacket spuds to microwave and fry until they're crispy.

So, after coffee, I say I will go to Tesco to get a few things then go to the butcher. Tesco is pretty empty so I zip round, picking up stuff that we need, not taking much that are not essential. Then along the Sandwich road, turning west to Ash then across the marshes to Preston. This used to be sea, and so is very low-laying, and the ground is saturated, the road is just about passable, if I drive on the other side when I pass the biggest puddles.

The guys are in good spirits, and rib me gently about Norwich and that we failed to beat Spurs. The joint wisdom is that Norwich would win today. Shows what we all know then! I get four nice thick sirloins, all from the same row which means no one should have a 'better' steak than any other. But, really, they will all be great. I hope.

I drive back home, taking my time, listening to Huey on the radio, enjoying the, if not sunshine, then bright weather.

Back home I put the shopping away then make bacon butties, which as neither of us have had breakfast is very welcome indeed. I maybe could be a vegetarian if it were not for the smell of cooking bacon.....

There is rain forecast, as well as gale force winds. So there seemed little point in going anywhere far. So, we listen to the radio, until I decide maybe we should go down to the bay to look at the waves crashing in, or at least the rough seas. So, at about half ten, we make the short drive into the village then down the twisty road into the Bay.

The waves are no huge, but bigger than most of the times we have been down there. I park up, grab the camera and we walk to the sea wall. Behind us, The Coastguard is closed, having been taken over by Shepherd Neame, and currently being refurbished. Wonder if they will do the great fish and chips the previous owner did?

We walk all the way along to Ian Flemming's old place; the cliff fall that nearly took it out has now mostly been swept away by the sea. A few others are also out, catching the air, a young coule struggle to get over the groynes so to walk in the lea of the cliffs. Brave folks! To our surprise the tea cabin is open, so Jools suggests we have an ice cream. So, sheltering in the lea of a fence, shivering, we eat our Magnums, then set off for home.

After lunch, there is football, of course: Leicester playing Manchester City. Surely the bubble would burst for The Foxes? We have all been saying that since the beginning of September. It is no February, they have no European games to distract them, and they thrashed Citeh 3-1 at their patch. Amazing result. Sadly, Norwich could not match them, slumping to a 2-0 defeat at Villa, one of only three teams below them in the league. A dreadful result, and a poor performance too. Not good.

Just as well that England beat Scotland in the egg chasing on TV; they played well, moved the ball quickly, and took their best two chances.

We have steak and ale pie for dinner, along with lots of steamed veg and a good batch of cheese sauce. Really very nice indeed.

Saturday 6th February 2016

Friday

You know the score: I am in the Zleep, I have to make my flight at twenty past eigt, get across London, catch a train, then a bus then a taxi home. Simples.

The alarm goes off at six; it has been a quiet night at the airport, but then with the new of the hotel they are building, and my room facing it, seems like it is dulling the sounds from the airport. Just as well, really. So I get up, have a shower, pack and am ready to go. Saying that, I look at the seven bottles of beer in my case and think there isn't enough padding round them.I take off my t shirt to pack round three of the loose bottles. Seemed safe enough. Famous last words, as it turned out.

Down the hall to the buffet; a glass of juice and a nutella roll and a coffee. See, I am enjoying destroying the rules of grammar that my middle school teacher drilled into me. Sorry, Mrs Farrell.

I am raring to go. Or so I tell myself: but outside it is the last few moments before dawn begins to show in the east; the sky is jet black, but the air feels crisp and clean. And in places, looking down, I can see frost on the grass near to the path. Brrr. I double my pace and make for the terminal.

No key for the lounge this time, but there is no queue at the desk, and only a short one at security, where it is mostly families with bleary-eyed children, griping about not being in bed, mostly. Once through, I make for a table under the lounge so I could use their free internet, as you do. I have mails to write and calls to make. Time goes quickly, and after speaking to my boss, I walk to the gate, after showing my passport at immigration. I have to show my boarding pass and passport again; how many times?

Anyway, we are let straight onto the plane, less than 20 of us on it, we make ourselves comfortable, as rain begins to fall outside.

Once in the air and Denmark is hidden beneath swathes of thick cloud, breakfast is served, and once I have another roll, I close my eyes and sleep through most of the rest of the flight, only jerked awake as we beging to drop down from the cruising altitude towards Blighty. The clouds did not clear, so we did not see London until we dropped below cloud cover somewhere over Grays. It looked dull down there, and packed with traffic as the rush hour drew to an end. Nearly home.

We are sent to the most distant slot, so have to wait for a bus to take us to the terminal, but the sheep are still queuing and pushing each other out of the way to be first off. I am next to last off, and anyway, there is space aplenty on the bus. But I had already worked out there was no way way I could get to Stratford for the quarter to ten train, meaning I had an hour before the next one. I had plenty of time.

I stood on the DLR and could smell stale beer. Some old soak had too much last night I thought to myself. And laughed. The train seemed less crowded than usual, I could have had a seat, but I chose to stand to look at the progress of Crossrail down below as we leave the airport; tracks are down and all now just waiting the trains. At Stratford I go to the cafe, order a coffee. OK< not just a coffee but a large gingerbread latte with an extra shot as well as a warm sausage roll. Lovely.

Outside the cafe, I could sell beer again; this could only mean one thing; a bottle had been broken in my case. I open it, and at first all looks well. But sure enough there is one bottle with the neck broken in an almost perfect circle, a clean t short and pair of socks seem to have soaked most of it up, but the rest is smelling of beer at leat. I take the boken bottle and a couple of shards of glass out, the rest will have to wait until I am home.

I go down to the platform to wait the last few minutes before the train arrives. The front two carriages are almost empty, so I take a seat on my preferred side, and wait for the train to glide out. Out in south Essex the clouds are low and heavy, and so a steady rain begins to fall.

At Folkestone West we get off, and those of us for Dover and beyond climb onto the waiting coach, the heating is full on, and feels like a chicken Madras tastes; I sense my case steaming fresh beery aroma. Oh well.

I flag a taxi down at Priory; since the line was cut, I guess business has plummeted; there are more than half a dozen waiting for passengers who don't need them.

Once home, I leave the case outside. I have many things to do, least of all is eat lunch. So I make a large cuppa, butter a couple of fresh rolls. Then I unpack the case, put the dirty and soaked washing in the machine. By half twelve I am all done, caught up. And so I realise I could order another taxi to take me to the beer festival. Oh yes.

By ten past one I am waiting in line outside, I had also found my new membership card, and beer tokens left over from last year. I buy a glass, I bump into my old friend Matt at the bar, and once we have a pint, we go back to where he is sitting to catch up on news. We take it in turns to go to get refills and food. Time passes in quite a pleasant manner. I meet an old Flickr contact who comes down every year; he told me he was wearing a pork pie hat; so I ask every one in a hat if they are Chris. Only Chris is Chris. Apparently.

At four Matt and I walk over to The Rack to sample their beers. Trish is pleased we had gone over, I have time enough for a pint until Jools comes to collect me on her way home from work. She is going out in the evening with Jen, going to see some ballroom dancing in Canterbury, so I will be home alone.

We have a coffee, swap news, but then it is time for her to leave. So I have a shower, I then join Molly on the sofa so we could watch the recording of the midweek games from the Prem. Norwich we worse than I feared to be honest. And Carrow Road so quiet, something will have to shake them out of their torpor soon. There is a fine show featuring some 70s rock, including many I had not heard of before: Babe Ruth, Heavy Metal Kids, Nazareth, The Sensational Alex Harvey Band amongst others. A fine show indeed. What the world really doesn't need is a documentary on 'the most dangerous band in the world', Guns and Roses, apparently. Quite how they can get to the heart of the matter when the lead singer, one Axl Rose, is only represented via vintage interviews. He still comes over as a massive cock; so an accurate show then!

Jools arrives back at eleven, and I can't be bothered with the final half an hour of the show. So, time for bed.

Friday 5th February 2016

Thursday

With another crisis having developed overnight, I had agreed in a late night call to be in work as early as possible, which I why my alarm went off at six, breakfast at half past and I am at the office by seven. There is just a couple of other people in. Sigh. Here we go again, all aboard the Skylark.

I make good progress, things get addressed and meeting have to be attended. The morning passes, time enough to squeeze lunch in in the canteen, catching up on news as we eat.

And then back to the desk to fire of mails, make calls and generally be efficient.

My batteries beginning to go flat about two, and by three, I have had enough. I think that if I don't leave the office now, I'd be stuck here until after the rush hour, so I say to people I'd finish up work at the hotel at the airport. And I make a dash to the car, load my bag and myself and screech off heading back down past the old Vestas building, onto the bypass and then to the motorway. I wish I could say it was a pleasure, at least the sun was shining, but once off the motorway I am driving into the setting sun, with the light reflecting off the road making driving even more difficult.

The motorway was packed, but I got through the usual bottlenecks, and with my stomach telling me it really fancied burger and fries as soon as I could provide them, then that would be just dandy. As I neared the airport I could feel my mouth salivating at the thought of the burger....

Hey, its not quite five, isn't that too early for dinner? I hear you say. Apparently not said my stomach, but I did tell it not to request the double burger with extra cheese and chips option. Which was a wise decision. And the burger was good, leaving me stuffed. I walk over to the hotel, check in after a bus;load of Italian women and their male tour guide. I get a room on the ground floor, all I want to do is lay on the bed listening to the radio and fall asleep. Which as it turned out, is what I do.

I am channel hopping on and off, and at ten I stumble across the first edition of the X Files reboot. I watch twenty minutes, but I need sleep, and anyway, its on back home on Monday. More about that next week, then. I fall asleep to the sound of revving aircraft engines. I am used to it now.

Thursday 4th February 2016

Wednesday

Yawn!

I should have been able to have a long lazy morning followed by a pleasant drive in the sunshine. But I have a meeting at the crack of sparrahs, and a coordination meeting before, all via Skype of course. So I sit at the desk in my big room watching the rush hour jams on the streets below, then the sun rise away to my left over the harbour.

The meetings over, I pack my work gear and go down to the parking garage, program the sat nav, put the radio on, but can find nothing worth listening to, so drive in silence other than the orders coming from the sat nav.

Soon I am driving out into the rolling countryside, past farms, woods, the usual Danish stuff. The motorway runs out, and I crawl through a large town, out the other side and back onto the motorway. The sun is shining, I am in a good mood. I wish I could tell you more about the countryside, just gently rolling farmland, villages, woods, and the occasional meandering river. Quite pleasant really.

I arrive at the factory an hour early: I program the return trip, and check mails, and while the time away.

Once we all had arrived, we go for lunch, and all is friendly and pleasant. Most Danish companies seem to provide subsidized meals for workers, and it is all good stuff: hot choices, salads, bear followed by cheese and crackers. Very nice, and most workers pay about two fifty for them. Bargain.

We have the meeting, two hours of talking. Then its all over, and I have another two hour drive back to the hotel, longer than the meeting, really. It’s a fine afternoon, skies are blue, laced with the warm tones of the setting sun. Traffic only gets heavy as I near Arhus, where it is the start of rush hour. I fight my way through the traffic, but get back by quarter past four, early enough to get a parking space in the underground garage.

That evening I meet Anni and Bo for drinks: I take them to Mikkler, and they enjoy it too. I have to have the smoked lager again, and it is as good as it was the day before. Which was nice. We have three or for more beers, but as Anni has an early start, we say good night and I go back to the hotel to try to get dinner. The restaurant seems only half full, but I am told I will have to wait 15 minutes; I have a beer and am a right grump.

When I get called to a table, there is just two choices: so avoiding the baked fish I have coq au red wine, which was OK. Ten in the evening, time for bed. But oh look there's football on the TV again.

Cheers!

Wednesday 3rd February 2016

Tuesday

Five o’clock still feels like it is too early, but after the close call last week where I only just made my train, we left 15 minutes earlier. We have coffee, then load the car and set off. It is before six, traffic light and I arrive at the station in Folkestone with 20 minutes to spare. Not sure why, but the train is less crowded than last time I went up, there were seats spare even after leaving Ebbsfleet, and it was nearly light by the time we crossed into Essex, showing that the year is aging well, and will soon be spring.

One of my colleagues loves Crème Eggs, so I search WH Smiths at Stratford for them, and find them on a display stand all for themselves, I buy two boxes of six, which should be enough sugar for Charlotte for another year! They are too sweet for me now, and I can’t remember the last time I tried one, I seem to remember last year the recipe changed, which seem to have upset people more than most other news events in all of 2015.

The airport is being improved, there are now many more places to sit, but the departure boards seem to be getting worse. I am hungry again, so have a fry up in the grill, along with two coffees, I won’t eat now until the evening, which seems about right. I find a place to sit down and read a magazine until the flight is called. A colleague is also on the flight, so we catch up some, and seems she has moved from being in the service side to now being in construction, and is traveling as much as I am, and is really enthused by the cut and thrust of it. Heck, it even rubs off a little on me, I know how lucky I am sometimes.

We board the flight, it seems calm enough here, but I know in Denmark it was going to be lively to say the least.

I snooze on the flight, waking up as the pilot announces we are descending towards Billund. It was going well until we dropped below the clouds and then the lumping and bumping began as the strong winds buffeted us. If flying level was bad, when we banked onto final approach the turbulence was so bad it felt like we might drop out of the sky. But we don’t. As we drop to the runway, the front of the plane is crabbing some 30 degrees, but swung round as soon as the wheels touched down; and we were safe!

I get a Toyota stationwagon thing, which is fine, but is no A6 as point out to my friend in the hire car office. It has a sat nav, set to England, which explains why it took me half an hour to program it to go to Arhus.

I drive straight to the hotel, which is just as well as when I am checking in, a meeting invite pops up on my phone giving me seconds to get to my room, pop the laptop on and join. So it begins. Again.

At six I go out to meet my old mate Shaggy as we are to try out a new bar near the hotel. He arrives on a train from where he lives out in the boondocks. We walked up from the station, turning right along past the post restaurant, the Chinese, the Peter Gift bar and on the right, yes, there it is, Mikkler. A simple bar, but with 16 beer taps, a menu above.

Where to start? Oh, smoked lager, that looks interesting. But not as interesting as it tastes that for sure, wonderfully smokey. We try a couple of others, then wander along the street to the diner, and have huge burgers, more beer and crispy fries.

Oh yes, we know how to live. Even better we walk back to Mikkler for some more beers until ten when Shags has to go to catch his train home. Now, I should point out we were not drinking pints, or even halves, but wine glasses of beer. Enough to get a good taste, but small enough so you can try and enjoy several beers.

I follow the football on the interwebs, City slump to a 3-0 defeat against Spurs. It seemed so poor and lackluster. Villa away on Saturday, a real must win game for both teams. Lets hope we win that then. I watch Leicester play on TV, and Mr Vardy scores a screamer from 25 yards. I leap around the room to celebrate as they beat Liverpool 2-0.

Tuesday 2nd February 2016

Monday

Welcome to the working week. Again.

A day at home before I am off to Denmark again, so the usual slow start; a coffee with Jools before she leaves, then breakfast And another coffee. A meeting is schedules for eight, so I am ready and raring to go with at least two minutes to spare. Phew.

Another morning of meetings, drinking coffee and the rest of the stuff that fills my days when working from home. At eleven, I suddenly realise I have not eaten a meal in nearly 24 hours, so end up making for ham sandwiches laces with fruity chutney, which goes down rather well.

The afternoon grows old, I am ready and posed to respond to mails and phone calls. But already I see my hours at home slipping away, I check in for my flight online, and at four go upstairs to pack ready for the early start in the morning.

After dinner, Jools checks that we have all the information needed to finalise the trip to Japan, so she mails that and the balance to pay to the tour arranger, which means we are all good to go!

It is transfer deadline day, which means nothing unless you are a football fan, so I listen to the radio, where people are talking about very little for hour upon hour as potential deals are discussed to death. At ten I give up and go to bed, but it seems all the excitement has been too much for Jools and she is fast asleep already.

Monday 1st February 2016

Sunday

The last day of the month.

January always seems to long and dark, so far away from the growth of spring and the colour of summer. This year, January is spring, what with the bulbs either in flower or sprouting strongly. Of course it could all go wrong if there is a cold snap, but for now, the days are getting longer and it seems that there is optimism abound. That does not mean the world is a less ugly or dangerous place. The GOP race for the White House seems to be even uglier and more stupid than in previous years, and let's remember in past years we have George Bush Jr and Sarah Palin! And of course Trump has chosen Palin to be his running mate if her gets the nod. Dumb and dumber iff ever there was one!

But back to Sunday and the long pause before the week of work begins again.

Light rain was falling when we got up, so after coffee, I sat down to watch the cup highlights. Not many shocks, so it was all a formality really, but still, the magic of the cup and all that! After that, there was time for chores, stuff got done, stuff put in their places. And at 11 there was no more chores, the house looked clean and tidy and there was 11 more hours until bed time!

Jools' sister said she would come round after the Australian tennis open final, so we followed it on the BBC website, but sadly Andy Murray was not quite good enough this time again, but but up a good fight, especially in the 3rd set, but lost on a tiebreak. Always another year, Andy!

Half an hour late Cath came round to talk about redundancy and the future, and she is very positive about how things have gone. Probably the same as most of us on hearing we have been sacked from the crappy job we hate. That she had put over 30 years into the job, building the quality department up, getting it certified and all that nonsense. The worry and weight of all those years fell away like an old mouldy overcoat. She looks well, and is smiling and is motivated. Which is good.

After she left, we have a quick lunch of pork pies, removing the yukky jelly of course. Then it was time for some photography.

I decided to drive out to Alkham to snap the Dellingore as it is running again for what seems to be the 3rd or 4th year in a row. I drive out along the valley and stop in the front of a five bar gate so to get the shot looking towards Alkham. That done, my next task is to go back into town now that the riots were over, and so to take shots of the final stages of the demolition of Burlington House.

In fact, there is not much of it left, hardly anything other than The Light of India shows above the wooden fence around the site. Elsewhere, the car parks are being dug up too, ready for the next stage of the project. I am still not sure whether what is planned is best for the town, however, I am sure it will be better than Burlington House. Anyway, that is for another time.

Back home I watch Chelsea demolish Milton Keynes in the cup; initially I wasn't sure which team I wanted to lose more, but as the game went on I was aware I was willing Chelsea to score more and more goals. Franchis FC is something that should never have been allowed. But, we move on, and Chelsea move on to the next round with a 5-1 win.

We had planned on going to Whitfield for another cards night on Friday, but ended up bailing because we both felt shattered. We did re-arrange it for Sunday, which as it turned out I did not feel like going out for, but I thought maybe I should do some photography on the way, which is why shortly after six in the evening, I am standing on the cliff edge above the Eastern Docks taking shots. I mean where else would I be?

Then over to the old folks place for a few hands of cards; once they had eaten Sunday dinner, moved Betty about in her onsie, and all the other stuff. Oh yeah, like finding two packs of cars with all 52 cards. A harder job than you might think.

During the night they ply me with red wine and Doritos, which is all very well, but the effect hits me hard once we get home with me having won the last round of games.