All, now not wishing to make you jealous or sound boastful, but I am rather looking forward to our trip in May. Below is a brief list of the travel plans
Day 1 London to Tokyo
Day 2 Private Car from Tokyo Haneda Airport to Hotel
Day 3 8 Hours Private Guide Service in Tokyo
Day 4 Free for wandering and photography
Day 5 Bullet train Ueno to Kyoto
Day 6 Free for wandering and photography
Day 7 Free for wandering and photography
Day 8 Bullet Train from Kyoto to Hiroshima
Day 9 Sightseeing on Miyajima
Day 10 Ferry and Trains from Miyajima to Kurashiki (JRP)
Day 11 Train from Kurashiki to Takayama
Day 12 Sightseeing in Takayama
Day 13 Bullet Train from Takayama to Tokyo
Day 14 Free Day in Tokyo
Day 15 Private car to Airport and flight home.
Day 1
Depart London Heathrow on the British Airways flight BA5 to Tokyo. The flight departs at 11:45 AM and arrives at 7:15 AM the following day.
Day 2
You will be met today at Haneda Airport with a driver waiting for you as you enter into the arrivals lobby holding a sign with your name on. You will transfer by private vehicle to your accommodation in Tokyo, making for a smooth and relaxing start to your trip. Journey time is in the region of 30 minutes (dependent upon traffic). Sit back, relax and enjoy the views of Tokyo's skyscrapers as you approach the city.
Day 3
Today you will take a full day private tour of the city with a local guide, travelling by public transport, as Tokyoites do, in order to help you to get a real feel for the Japan's capital. This will be a fantastic introduction to Tokyo and the chance to get a personal insight not only into the classic sights, but also into some more unusual and unique features of the city. With a guide at your disposal you are free to set the pace of the day to be as busy or relaxed as you choose. The guide can help you discover aspects of Tokyo that you would not find by yourself and can also help you get to grips with the city's excellent transport network. Your guide will come to your hotel at around 9:00 AM (or any time you choose) to meet you and your day will proceed from there. We are keen to help you get the most out of today, so if you have any specific areas of interest please let us know in advance, so we can pass this on to the guide. Your day of guiding will finish at around 5:00 PM with the guide either dropping you back at your hotel or anywhere else in the city you wish to spend the evening.
Day 5
You will be using your Japan Rail Pass to take a JR Yamanote Line train just a few stops to Tokyo Station where you will change to the Shinkansen. The Tokaido Shinkansen line was the first of Japan's famous 'Bullet' Train lines to open and traverses the 343 miles between Tokyo and Osaka. When the 00 series trains with their distinctive bullet-shaped noses first started running in October of 1964 (just in time for the Tokyo Olympics) journey time to Osaka was over 4 hours. Today the same trip can be done in just 2 hours 35 minutes! Your journey time to Kyoto will be between 2h17 and 2h45. Keep a look out of the right hand windows of the train for Mt. Fuji. But don't be disappointed if you can't see her as she is a notoriously shy mountain
Day 8
From Kyoto you will head on down the eastern seaboard west to Hiroshima by Shinkansen using your Japan Rail Pass. This journey of nearly 400km takes around 2 hours, during which time the train passes through several major cities along the coast, including Kobe, famous for its topgrade beef.
Day 9
Today you will have a free day to explore Miyajima Island. You may like to hire bikes to get around. These are available to rent from 8am to 5pm at the JR ferry pier (last checkout is 3pm) costing 1,050 yen for the entire day. The island has excellent cycle paths and the coastal routes are fairly flat. On the northeast coast lies Tsutsumigaura, a 1km long white-sand beach lined with pine trees. The beach is packed with sunbathers, swimmers and windsurfers in July and August, but in the off-season Tsutsumigaura makes a lovely serene place to relax.
Day 10
This morning you will leave Miyajima Island and travel back to the mainland taking the JR ferry to Miyajima-guchi port, a local train to Hiroshima Station and then the Shinkansen to Okayama. From there it's a 17 minute local train ride to Kurashiki. Total journey time is around 2 hours 20 minutes including changes. You can use your Rail Pass on both the ferry and the trains.
Day 11
You will need to take a local train back to Okayama to board the Shinkansen and speed west to Nagoya, where you will change to an express train and work your way up into the Japan Alps, past some beautiful mountain scenery enroute to Takayama. Total journey time around 4 hours 30 minutes; your Info-Pack will have all the details.
Day 12
There are many ways to spend a relaxing free day in Takayama. In the morning head to the lively riverside market to see the stands selling local farm produce, flowers and crafts. Hire bikes and explore Takayama's many temples and shrines which earn the town the nickname 'Little Kyoto'. For lunch you will find that the local cuisine is truly a joy, including Japan's best beef, soba noodles, miso based dishes and roasted rice balls. Sake is the locals' drink of choice and micro breweries abound, so pop in for a tasting! A little out of town you can visit the Hida Folk Village with its traditional farm houses and craft exhibits or walk the temple trail that takes in the gentle hills surrounding the town. Alternatively relax in a coffee shop on the one of the old streets, do a little souvenir shopping and simply soak up the atmosphere of this traditional old town.
Day 13
From Takayama you will take a Ltd Express train south to Nagoya and then head east to Tokyo by Shinkansen bullet train. Journey time is 4 hours and 35 minutes.
Day 14
Today you will have the chance to make an excursion from Tokyo using the included Japan Rail Pass. The charming town of Kamakura lies just 1 hour to the west of Tokyo and can be reached by direct train from Tokyo Station. Kamakura was formally the capital of Japan for a short period in the 12th century and at that time was possibly the world's largest city with a population of over one million. Today however, it is a sleepy coastal town which attracts large numbers of day trippers to spend time exploring the beautiful shrines and temples. The most famous site if the impressive bronze dai-butsu (Big Buddha) which is certainly a must-see for any trip to Kamakura.
An alternative trip is to Nikko, located 2 hours to the North of Tokyo. This can be reached on the Shinkansen and then by local train service. Nikko is not only surrounded by stunning scenery that makes up the national park, but is also home to the World Heritage site of the Tosho-Gu Shrine. Nikko has been a place of pilgrimage for centuries and contains many important Buddhist and Shinto shrines and temples, but the most impressive and most famous is definitely Tosho-Gu with its vivid colours and many ornate carvings. Once you have marvelled at Tosho-Gu there are plenty more temples dotted throughout the surrounding forests that will keep you bewitched for a long time. Even higher up into the mountains from Nikko, it is very much worth visiting the serene Chuzenji-Ko lake and Kegon waterfalls. There are some pleasant walks around here and you may even pass some local monkeys!
Another nearby National Park is the Chichibu-Tama National Park home to the sacred Mt Takao, with its range of hiking trails and mountain-top temple complex, virtually untouched by foreign visitors. After an easy train journey of just under an hour (covered by your rail pass) you will arrive at the base of the mountain, from where numerous clearly-marked hiking trails (or a cable-car!) wind their way up to the summit. Many of the routes offer fine views back towards Tokyo and are dotted with small temples, religious statues and offerings increasing in number as the trails approach Yakuoin, an attractive temple dedicated to the 'kami'or spirits of the mountains. On a clear day, views of Mt. Fuji can also be enjoyed. The hike to the summit of Takao san can done in 2-3 hours and is moderate in difficulty.
If you fancy something a little more quirky, then a trip out to visit the world's second tallest statue at Ushiku in Ibaraki prefecture. Ironically referred to as the 'Bubble Buddha' the Ushiku dai-butsu was completed in 1995. It stands a total of 120 meters (394 feet) tall, including the 10m high base and 10m high lotus platform. An elevator takes visitors up to 85m off the ground, where an observation floor is located. It depicts Amitabha Buddha and is plated with bronze. The journey to get here will take around 90 minutes and this is certainly an amazing site seen by very few visitors to Japan.
Day 15
We will be arranging a taxi to pick up you up from your hotel today to take you in comfort to Tokyo Haneda Airport. Journey time is around 30 minutes, depending on traffic conditions. At the airport you will be dropped right at the door of the departures lobby. Have a safe flight!
Saturday, 13 February 2016
Friday, 12 February 2016
Friday 12th February 2016
Thursday
As you may well have noticed by now, but a working day for me is either: spent at home or traveling to either our office in Arhus or to a supplier, or sometimes to visit the customer. Days working from home are generally quiet, spent with the cats with little human contact other than those I speak to on the phone. Blogs of those days are mostly short, have few photos to illustrate them, and for me any such day is like any other. THe first three days of the week were spent working from home, talking to the cats, drinking coffee. Thursday was a day for traveling.
I have been traveling up and down the High Speed line to London since it was first opened to domestic services in June 2009. All but a few rush hour trains, just one I have traveled on, fail to stop at Ebbsfleet on their way to London. Indeed, rush hour trains that do stop there, are met with crowds of passengers trying to squeeze onto an already full train. Now, the sharp-eyed of you will realise that there is a reason I am saying this, and you would be right. Since the distruption in services from Dover, I have been picking up trains to London from Folkestone, getting off at Stratford as before, then retracing my steps on the way back. Thursday, a real treat for me, I was going to travel by Eurostar to Brussels and back, departing and returning via Ebbsfleet.
Looking at the Southeastern website, I could take the eight o'clock train and arrive at Ebbsfleet with just enough time to check in to for the train and maybe grab a coffee. So straightforward, so easy.
Jools dropped me off at twenty five past seven, I get my ticket and there is time to jump onto a train which meant I would have to change at Ashford to catch one that was going to stop at Ebbsfleet. I stood on the twenty minute run upto Ashford, then got out to wait for the next train towards London, as that would stop at Ebbsfleet. No?
Before my train arrived, a 'classic' serice was due in, had to be divided then the two halves head to Folkestone and Ramsgate: it was running late, and the crowds waiting for this were large, and after it was ten minutes late, passengers for London were also filling the platform up. So, the two halves of the train pull out, and within a minute a Javelin pulls in on the same platofrm for London. The platform was so full, I could not see the full destination board, so jump on, and decide to stand again.
The doors closed, and the train eased out of the station, and the guard came on the tannoy to announce that the service was running 'fast' to Statford; which in trainspeak meant it wasn't going to stop until Stratford. There was 40 minutes or so until my train was going to leave for Brissels, and I was going to miss it. I called Eurostar and explained the situation: they were very sorry, but the next service was at 11:15, some two hours later, so much later I would miss the meeting. Or most of it.
To make matter worse, the signal gave out as the train neared Maidstone. We zoomed past Ebbsfleet at 125mph, I could see the platform I should have been standing on in about half an hour. Under the Thames and into Essex, further away from Ebbsfleet. I got a message on my phone, I could catch the quarter to nine train back to Ebbsfleet and maybe just be able to get through security to make the train. But no promises.
So, we entered the tunnel at Dagenham, rushing towards Stratford, hoping I was going to be in time for the connecting train back, but as we pulled into the station, another train was already leaving on the opposite platform. OH NO!
But, once on the platform, I looked on the information board and I saw that the train that should get me to Ebbsfleet in time was not due for ten minutes. So I had a few minutes calm before the train arrived. But once it did, every second would count.
It arrived a few seconds late, I stood looking at the door as we pulled out and entered the long tunnel back into Essex. We flew through the marshes, over the A13 and the massive jams on the M25 before diving under the river and into Ebbsfleet. I ran off the train, up the platform and climbed the escalator leaving fellow passengers training in my wake with just my sear words to calm them. The desk was still open, and the person checking the tickets recognised me, and said, oh, you made it then. I did.
Oddly enough, once through the queue for the security and French customs was calm, and I had to tell myself not to panic. Once through, people were relaxing in the chair, waiting to be called and allowed onto the platform. I saw my friend Matt, and explained my day to him, he laughed. But being at work, I was careful not to distract him. OK, showime, the train is approaching.
We wait on the platform, by the markings for the carriage were had our seats allocated. And waited.
And waited.
It trundled in five minutes late, then just sat in front of us, the doors not opening. At the other end of the platform there was a gaggle of policemen, seems like they were removing a troublesome passenger, who had done well in the 12 minutes from London had made sch nuisance to be arrested.
We were allowed on, and I found a double seat free, so sat there, and slumped, all the stress leaking out of me leaving me like a partially deflated balloon. The train pulled out, retracing my steps down to Ashford, where we took the fast lines and the station below passed like a toy train set. We were rattling on at full speed, and as the buffet was in the next carriage, I went along for a coffee, only for it to look like a throwback to the old BR days; looking very tired and a harassed lone lady serving, making coffee and warming snacks up. In fact the who Eurostar experience was a bit like that, tired: the seats and decor were also tired, freyed at the edges, and looking very much like the 22 years old these units are.
I get my coffee and sandwich, and return to my seat as we pass by Dollands Moor and the Tunnel depot. Into the blackness of the tunnel we go, traveling much quicker than the car transporters we usually take. Out the other side into bright sunshine, as the weave our way through the maze of lines around Calais to Lille and then up to Brussels. It is always amazing to see how land, just 25 miles from home is so different, small villages, country roads connecting them, larger towns having freight marshaling yards, both feeling and looking continental.
We arrived in Brussels from Lille in about 40 minutes, a quick run and so much easier than driving, that's for sure. Once off, all I had to do now was find my way to Leuven, should be easy. But then the thought occured to me, that maybe there were two stations or more in the town, and I had no idea how to find out. Looking at the destination board, I see I had just missed a direct train, and then next one would not leave until 1. But I thought there might be another, which is why some nine minutes later I am on a rattly old train, worried I might be going in the wrong direction. I tried to ask the gentleman in the seat opposite if I was on the right train. I have no idea he said yes or no to be honest, but he did smile from under his impressive mustache.
Once through Brussels Nord, the train ran non-stop and quick to Leuven, I checked to make sure it was Leuven central. It looked like it was, so I got off, followed the crowds to the exit then looked for something familiar. Across the main road, then following the signs to the centre of the town, where I hoped something would look familiar.
I saw the City Hall in front of me, so if nothing else, from there I knew the way, so I relaxed and began to look at those walking past me. I cut through to the pedestrianised street, then along to alleyway I needed to cut down to the offices. Phew, made it with ten minutes to spare. without the half hour delay on the train, I would have been in plenty of time. I ring the intercom and am let in.
Once the meeting is done, we go to the main square round the cathedral to find a bar that accepts credit cards so we could have a beer and a bite to eat. We find a place and we order Leffe Royales all round along with a sharing basket of friend croquettes, well, we are almost in Holland. The beer and food are so good we order the same again before my boss and I walk to the station where he catches a train to the airport and I try to get back to Brussels, getting off the at the right station, as there were several. Just to confuse me further, Brussels Zuid is also called Bruxelles Midi, what is a poor boy to do?
I get on an express, find a seat and watch the City slip by as disk falls It is rather beautiful I have to say. And this is work, remember.
I arrive at Midi with an hour before check in, I find a place to eat; just a bagette and a Coke, but enough for a while. I fancy another Leffe, but the bar in the station is crowded. I see an exit and some small neon signs lighting up the night beyond; could one be a bar perchance? Indeed it it, a typical continental place, lots of choice and atmosphere. I order my Leffe and watch the soaks at the bar laughing and making jokes of the poor barman. I have no idea what was being said, but barflys are the same the world over.
I go to check in and am through into the waiting area quickly enough. We wait until ten minutes before departure before being allowed onto the train. Some have a coffee, other get a meal, but its all with plastic cuttlery and looks poor fare to me. And just a few minutes walk away there are fine local places to eat and make merry.
I get a window seat, facing backwards, so as the train pulls out I see the bright lights fading away into the night. We pass by more marshaling yards, stations and other lines branching off. We leave the suburbs behind and enter the countryside, and all is dark. I do some work, preparing for yet more meetings in the morning.
Through Lille, Calais where very few get on, then past the terminal on the French side of the Tunnel. All along the line are police vehicles on patrol with lights flashing, patrolling alongside the new triple width barbed wire fence. It feels like a prison, not nice in keeping refugees out. People who are just looking for a better life. But it is what it is, I guess.
Up through Folkestone and Ashford before slowing down and spitting me out at Ebbsfleet. I wonder how long I would have to wait for a train back down the line. Again. 6 minutes is the answer, so I go down onto the platform to wait. I call Jools and she will meet me back at Folkestone.
It is half nine by the time I step off the last train, Jools is waiting outside. She takes me to Burger King where I order a Whopper without tomatoes for supper. Dirty food, but good. It hits the spot. We arrive back home at just gone ten, I have a brew, then collapse to bed, tired as I have ever been. Or so it seemed.
As you may well have noticed by now, but a working day for me is either: spent at home or traveling to either our office in Arhus or to a supplier, or sometimes to visit the customer. Days working from home are generally quiet, spent with the cats with little human contact other than those I speak to on the phone. Blogs of those days are mostly short, have few photos to illustrate them, and for me any such day is like any other. THe first three days of the week were spent working from home, talking to the cats, drinking coffee. Thursday was a day for traveling.
I have been traveling up and down the High Speed line to London since it was first opened to domestic services in June 2009. All but a few rush hour trains, just one I have traveled on, fail to stop at Ebbsfleet on their way to London. Indeed, rush hour trains that do stop there, are met with crowds of passengers trying to squeeze onto an already full train. Now, the sharp-eyed of you will realise that there is a reason I am saying this, and you would be right. Since the distruption in services from Dover, I have been picking up trains to London from Folkestone, getting off at Stratford as before, then retracing my steps on the way back. Thursday, a real treat for me, I was going to travel by Eurostar to Brussels and back, departing and returning via Ebbsfleet.
Looking at the Southeastern website, I could take the eight o'clock train and arrive at Ebbsfleet with just enough time to check in to for the train and maybe grab a coffee. So straightforward, so easy. Jools dropped me off at twenty five past seven, I get my ticket and there is time to jump onto a train which meant I would have to change at Ashford to catch one that was going to stop at Ebbsfleet. I stood on the twenty minute run upto Ashford, then got out to wait for the next train towards London, as that would stop at Ebbsfleet. No?
Before my train arrived, a 'classic' serice was due in, had to be divided then the two halves head to Folkestone and Ramsgate: it was running late, and the crowds waiting for this were large, and after it was ten minutes late, passengers for London were also filling the platform up. So, the two halves of the train pull out, and within a minute a Javelin pulls in on the same platofrm for London. The platform was so full, I could not see the full destination board, so jump on, and decide to stand again.
The doors closed, and the train eased out of the station, and the guard came on the tannoy to announce that the service was running 'fast' to Statford; which in trainspeak meant it wasn't going to stop until Stratford. There was 40 minutes or so until my train was going to leave for Brissels, and I was going to miss it. I called Eurostar and explained the situation: they were very sorry, but the next service was at 11:15, some two hours later, so much later I would miss the meeting. Or most of it.
To make matter worse, the signal gave out as the train neared Maidstone. We zoomed past Ebbsfleet at 125mph, I could see the platform I should have been standing on in about half an hour. Under the Thames and into Essex, further away from Ebbsfleet. I got a message on my phone, I could catch the quarter to nine train back to Ebbsfleet and maybe just be able to get through security to make the train. But no promises.
So, we entered the tunnel at Dagenham, rushing towards Stratford, hoping I was going to be in time for the connecting train back, but as we pulled into the station, another train was already leaving on the opposite platform. OH NO!
But, once on the platform, I looked on the information board and I saw that the train that should get me to Ebbsfleet in time was not due for ten minutes. So I had a few minutes calm before the train arrived. But once it did, every second would count.
It arrived a few seconds late, I stood looking at the door as we pulled out and entered the long tunnel back into Essex. We flew through the marshes, over the A13 and the massive jams on the M25 before diving under the river and into Ebbsfleet. I ran off the train, up the platform and climbed the escalator leaving fellow passengers training in my wake with just my sear words to calm them. The desk was still open, and the person checking the tickets recognised me, and said, oh, you made it then. I did.
Oddly enough, once through the queue for the security and French customs was calm, and I had to tell myself not to panic. Once through, people were relaxing in the chair, waiting to be called and allowed onto the platform. I saw my friend Matt, and explained my day to him, he laughed. But being at work, I was careful not to distract him. OK, showime, the train is approaching.
We wait on the platform, by the markings for the carriage were had our seats allocated. And waited.And waited.
It trundled in five minutes late, then just sat in front of us, the doors not opening. At the other end of the platform there was a gaggle of policemen, seems like they were removing a troublesome passenger, who had done well in the 12 minutes from London had made sch nuisance to be arrested.
We were allowed on, and I found a double seat free, so sat there, and slumped, all the stress leaking out of me leaving me like a partially deflated balloon. The train pulled out, retracing my steps down to Ashford, where we took the fast lines and the station below passed like a toy train set. We were rattling on at full speed, and as the buffet was in the next carriage, I went along for a coffee, only for it to look like a throwback to the old BR days; looking very tired and a harassed lone lady serving, making coffee and warming snacks up. In fact the who Eurostar experience was a bit like that, tired: the seats and decor were also tired, freyed at the edges, and looking very much like the 22 years old these units are.
I get my coffee and sandwich, and return to my seat as we pass by Dollands Moor and the Tunnel depot. Into the blackness of the tunnel we go, traveling much quicker than the car transporters we usually take. Out the other side into bright sunshine, as the weave our way through the maze of lines around Calais to Lille and then up to Brussels. It is always amazing to see how land, just 25 miles from home is so different, small villages, country roads connecting them, larger towns having freight marshaling yards, both feeling and looking continental.We arrived in Brussels from Lille in about 40 minutes, a quick run and so much easier than driving, that's for sure. Once off, all I had to do now was find my way to Leuven, should be easy. But then the thought occured to me, that maybe there were two stations or more in the town, and I had no idea how to find out. Looking at the destination board, I see I had just missed a direct train, and then next one would not leave until 1. But I thought there might be another, which is why some nine minutes later I am on a rattly old train, worried I might be going in the wrong direction. I tried to ask the gentleman in the seat opposite if I was on the right train. I have no idea he said yes or no to be honest, but he did smile from under his impressive mustache.
Once through Brussels Nord, the train ran non-stop and quick to Leuven, I checked to make sure it was Leuven central. It looked like it was, so I got off, followed the crowds to the exit then looked for something familiar. Across the main road, then following the signs to the centre of the town, where I hoped something would look familiar.
I saw the City Hall in front of me, so if nothing else, from there I knew the way, so I relaxed and began to look at those walking past me. I cut through to the pedestrianised street, then along to alleyway I needed to cut down to the offices. Phew, made it with ten minutes to spare. without the half hour delay on the train, I would have been in plenty of time. I ring the intercom and am let in.
Once the meeting is done, we go to the main square round the cathedral to find a bar that accepts credit cards so we could have a beer and a bite to eat. We find a place and we order Leffe Royales all round along with a sharing basket of friend croquettes, well, we are almost in Holland. The beer and food are so good we order the same again before my boss and I walk to the station where he catches a train to the airport and I try to get back to Brussels, getting off the at the right station, as there were several. Just to confuse me further, Brussels Zuid is also called Bruxelles Midi, what is a poor boy to do?
I get on an express, find a seat and watch the City slip by as disk falls It is rather beautiful I have to say. And this is work, remember. I arrive at Midi with an hour before check in, I find a place to eat; just a bagette and a Coke, but enough for a while. I fancy another Leffe, but the bar in the station is crowded. I see an exit and some small neon signs lighting up the night beyond; could one be a bar perchance? Indeed it it, a typical continental place, lots of choice and atmosphere. I order my Leffe and watch the soaks at the bar laughing and making jokes of the poor barman. I have no idea what was being said, but barflys are the same the world over.
I go to check in and am through into the waiting area quickly enough. We wait until ten minutes before departure before being allowed onto the train. Some have a coffee, other get a meal, but its all with plastic cuttlery and looks poor fare to me. And just a few minutes walk away there are fine local places to eat and make merry.
I get a window seat, facing backwards, so as the train pulls out I see the bright lights fading away into the night. We pass by more marshaling yards, stations and other lines branching off. We leave the suburbs behind and enter the countryside, and all is dark. I do some work, preparing for yet more meetings in the morning.
Through Lille, Calais where very few get on, then past the terminal on the French side of the Tunnel. All along the line are police vehicles on patrol with lights flashing, patrolling alongside the new triple width barbed wire fence. It feels like a prison, not nice in keeping refugees out. People who are just looking for a better life. But it is what it is, I guess.
Up through Folkestone and Ashford before slowing down and spitting me out at Ebbsfleet. I wonder how long I would have to wait for a train back down the line. Again. 6 minutes is the answer, so I go down onto the platform to wait. I call Jools and she will meet me back at Folkestone.
It is half nine by the time I step off the last train, Jools is waiting outside. She takes me to Burger King where I order a Whopper without tomatoes for supper. Dirty food, but good. It hits the spot. We arrive back home at just gone ten, I have a brew, then collapse to bed, tired as I have ever been. Or so it seemed.
Thursday, 11 February 2016
Thursday 11th February 2016
Wednesday
You know, I could get used to this working from home malarkey. That is some four days in a row now, and the cats are used to it, as so am I.
Work continues in much the same way, each problem seems to think it is the most important and screams for attention. just as well there is only the option for one exclamation mark to signify how important a mail can be. When Tony came on Sunday, to make the dining room chairs more comfortable for him, we put a cushion and rug on one of the chairs. We left them on, and now when I am working, Molly sits on them when I work, so to be nearer her, as I don't sit with her on the sofa. This is a marked change from her, well, from a few years ago anyway. Despite her contrary ways, she likes to be one of us.
You can guess as I have not mentioned my allergies for a week or so, they have been under control. That was until after scanning my travel receipts, I decided to get some of Jools' shots of the ferries scanned, and I guess the albums must have been a tad dusty. Anyway, soon after the scanning, the sneezing started. A good old fashioned sneezing fit, one that I have not had for over six months or more, a reminder I guess on how things have improved. Anyway, a quarter of an hour on the sofa with Molly soon stopped the sofa, and the sneezing stopped.
Anyway, day grows old and outside the clouds that have hidden the sun all day, parted to allow the rays of the setting sun to bathe the view out of our back room window, so of course I have to go and snap the scene. As you do.
That night we feast of the array of cheese we have accumulated over the last few weeks, some of which was over a week out of date. This what comes with buying un-pasteurised cheese instead of rubbery mass-produced cheddar.
The evenin g was taken with the watching of more cup football, this time Peterborough v West Brom, which went to extra time and then penalties. Another late night of very nearly half ten. On a school night too!
You know, I could get used to this working from home malarkey. That is some four days in a row now, and the cats are used to it, as so am I.
Work continues in much the same way, each problem seems to think it is the most important and screams for attention. just as well there is only the option for one exclamation mark to signify how important a mail can be. When Tony came on Sunday, to make the dining room chairs more comfortable for him, we put a cushion and rug on one of the chairs. We left them on, and now when I am working, Molly sits on them when I work, so to be nearer her, as I don't sit with her on the sofa. This is a marked change from her, well, from a few years ago anyway. Despite her contrary ways, she likes to be one of us.
You can guess as I have not mentioned my allergies for a week or so, they have been under control. That was until after scanning my travel receipts, I decided to get some of Jools' shots of the ferries scanned, and I guess the albums must have been a tad dusty. Anyway, soon after the scanning, the sneezing started. A good old fashioned sneezing fit, one that I have not had for over six months or more, a reminder I guess on how things have improved. Anyway, a quarter of an hour on the sofa with Molly soon stopped the sofa, and the sneezing stopped.
Anyway, day grows old and outside the clouds that have hidden the sun all day, parted to allow the rays of the setting sun to bathe the view out of our back room window, so of course I have to go and snap the scene. As you do.
That night we feast of the array of cheese we have accumulated over the last few weeks, some of which was over a week out of date. This what comes with buying un-pasteurised cheese instead of rubbery mass-produced cheddar.The evenin g was taken with the watching of more cup football, this time Peterborough v West Brom, which went to extra time and then penalties. Another late night of very nearly half ten. On a school night too!
Wednesday, 10 February 2016
Wednesday 10th February 2016
Tuesday
At least, I would have hoped, could not be any worse than Monday. Though in truth, it wasn't that bad as I really hadn't lost my job, killed anyone thanks a to a bizarre series of incidents which began when all I wanted was a cup of tea. No, in the end, Monday wasn't bad, and Tuesday was better. Which was nice.
Sadly, Jools' boss is on holiday this week, which means she is doing the work of more than two people. Again. Which means she leaves for work at half six, setting off before dawn and not returning until six. Which means it was just me and the cats for the day. In all the excitement they all took to their various beds and slept until after lunch. We have the radio on, or at least I do. Molly says she don't like Radcliffe and Maconie, but secretly I can see her wagging her tail in time to Fieldmusic.
Outside, it rained for a change. Which was nice. I mean we'd hate it to be sunny for like a whole two hours.
After lunch, I tackle the dread that is travel expenses. But being without a printer, this takes two days, the first day is the computer work, assigning credit card receipts to a trip, saving the form, then sending it to Jools to print out. Six trips, six forms, six flight receipts, six car hire bills. And so on. Tomorrow it would be the scanning, once all the credit card receipts are found, which could take, oooh, weeks. But then I like a challenge.
At the end of the day, I sat on the sofa, after having been joined by Molly, to watch both weekend editions of MOTD. As you do. I watched the City game from behind the sofa, so bad were they.
Jools arrives home, we have more pasta salad and cold breaded aubergine, washed down with cider and/red wine. There seemed to be just a glass left in the box, so I was intent on emptying it. Halfway through the third glass at some point later in the evening, I gave up, with half a glass still swilling round, and if I wasn't mistaken, at least another glass still left in the box.
At least, I would have hoped, could not be any worse than Monday. Though in truth, it wasn't that bad as I really hadn't lost my job, killed anyone thanks a to a bizarre series of incidents which began when all I wanted was a cup of tea. No, in the end, Monday wasn't bad, and Tuesday was better. Which was nice.
Sadly, Jools' boss is on holiday this week, which means she is doing the work of more than two people. Again. Which means she leaves for work at half six, setting off before dawn and not returning until six. Which means it was just me and the cats for the day. In all the excitement they all took to their various beds and slept until after lunch. We have the radio on, or at least I do. Molly says she don't like Radcliffe and Maconie, but secretly I can see her wagging her tail in time to Fieldmusic.
Outside, it rained for a change. Which was nice. I mean we'd hate it to be sunny for like a whole two hours.
After lunch, I tackle the dread that is travel expenses. But being without a printer, this takes two days, the first day is the computer work, assigning credit card receipts to a trip, saving the form, then sending it to Jools to print out. Six trips, six forms, six flight receipts, six car hire bills. And so on. Tomorrow it would be the scanning, once all the credit card receipts are found, which could take, oooh, weeks. But then I like a challenge.
At the end of the day, I sat on the sofa, after having been joined by Molly, to watch both weekend editions of MOTD. As you do. I watched the City game from behind the sofa, so bad were they.
Jools arrives home, we have more pasta salad and cold breaded aubergine, washed down with cider and/red wine. There seemed to be just a glass left in the box, so I was intent on emptying it. Halfway through the third glass at some point later in the evening, I gave up, with half a glass still swilling round, and if I wasn't mistaken, at least another glass still left in the box.
Tuesday, 9 February 2016
Tuesday 9th February 2016
Monday
Why not brighten your day by booking some well deserved time off? OK< I think I might just do that.
I say this because in terms of working day in recent months, Monday was a shocker: just about anything that did go wrong, did. I means things have been going rather well, all had their wheels come off. i mean, it was endless. I suppose some stuff could go wrong, but all at the same time??
Meanwhile, outside the wind blew. In fact it had been blowing since Sunday evening, but come Monday it was crazy. Weather, it seems, is just not exciting enough, so it seems we needed to ape the US and begin to name storms. So, for the 2015-16 winter, we have had several so called named-storms, and this week it was the turn of Storm Imogen. It did blow and blow, winds gusted to over 100mph, and up here on the cliffs, it was very blowy around the parts. Indeed. On TV, there was lots of shots of presenters trying to stand up on various seafronts and river sides, like we couldn't imagine what a windy day might look like.
The cats stayed in, demanding food and looking mournfully out of the windows. Rain hammered down in short sharp showers, whilst the parade of shot continued from work. Why, on a Monday. Oh yeah, Monday.
And then tomorrow I am gonna have to tackle the backlog of travel expenses. Oh deep, deep joy.
Finally, the working day drew to an end just after four, and I retreated to the kitchen where I peeled some aubergines ready for some egg and breadcrumbing action before shallow frying them. I had made some pasta salad earlier, so all was set for a nice summer meal, but in February.
Jools had also had a dreadful day; this was cured by the joint power of beer (for me) and cider (for Jools). And dinner.
That night it was the return of The X Files, which I wrote about in my previous post. Just so you know. And that was your Monday, and how many days until that time off?
Why not brighten your day by booking some well deserved time off? OK< I think I might just do that.
I say this because in terms of working day in recent months, Monday was a shocker: just about anything that did go wrong, did. I means things have been going rather well, all had their wheels come off. i mean, it was endless. I suppose some stuff could go wrong, but all at the same time??
Meanwhile, outside the wind blew. In fact it had been blowing since Sunday evening, but come Monday it was crazy. Weather, it seems, is just not exciting enough, so it seems we needed to ape the US and begin to name storms. So, for the 2015-16 winter, we have had several so called named-storms, and this week it was the turn of Storm Imogen. It did blow and blow, winds gusted to over 100mph, and up here on the cliffs, it was very blowy around the parts. Indeed. On TV, there was lots of shots of presenters trying to stand up on various seafronts and river sides, like we couldn't imagine what a windy day might look like.
The cats stayed in, demanding food and looking mournfully out of the windows. Rain hammered down in short sharp showers, whilst the parade of shot continued from work. Why, on a Monday. Oh yeah, Monday.
And then tomorrow I am gonna have to tackle the backlog of travel expenses. Oh deep, deep joy.
Finally, the working day drew to an end just after four, and I retreated to the kitchen where I peeled some aubergines ready for some egg and breadcrumbing action before shallow frying them. I had made some pasta salad earlier, so all was set for a nice summer meal, but in February.
Jools had also had a dreadful day; this was cured by the joint power of beer (for me) and cider (for Jools). And dinner.
That night it was the return of The X Files, which I wrote about in my previous post. Just so you know. And that was your Monday, and how many days until that time off?
The Truth is Out There. Still. Possibly
Make no mistake, I loved the X Files. I mean really loved it. I still have every episode on DVD, in nice box sets, the final four series are still unopened.
And that is the problem, or was the problem, with the show. In the end there was only so many layers of deception, scheming, lies you can in one story arc in a TV series before you give up. And I gave up in about series 6 when it was shown, and never sat down to watch the series I missed. I did watch the final episode, but then it was out of relief that it had been put out of it's misery.
All such a contrast to when it begun, and I fell in love with it. Posted to Germany, one of my friends at work, Karl Emmings was recording the show off Sky and passed me the tapes. I was hooked for the first episode, and spent many nights immersing myself in the whole series. Then there was a short wait until the start of the second series, that was even better, and you could feel the hype around the show was building. Then came the videos; first the so called "Unopened File", the final episode of the second series and the first two of the third, all in one movie length experience. I almost exploded.
There was even a proper film; Fight the Future, which was even pretty good. More conspiracies, but a good plot.
The mythology of the main arc, the abductions, the alien/human hybrid/ the consortium and so one, layered levels of conspiracy, deception, and so on that I lost as to if Mulder found his sister or not, who was good, bad could or could not be trusted. As David Duchovney took a step back, so did I. Agent Dogget came in, and the series continued with dropping ratings and meandering storylines. I stopped watching.
After the 9th series, there was a second film, so bad, I can't recall it's name, but starred Billy Connolly as a pedophile preacher who might be able to see into the future. Or not. It was dreadful. And to make matters worse, Mulder and Scully were shown in bed together, thus ruining the dynamic. Let us not speak of the film again.
And now there is a new, 10th series, maybe even a reboot. Mulder and Scully are older, they had a child, and separated in acrimonious circumstances. But wait, there is more, you know the conspiracy that we did for none series, what about if it was a conspiracy, bt not what you thought it was, or what any of the characters, including those who spoke of an invasion in the consortium, but something else? If you forget most of the alien invasion story lines, it just works, like squinting at a film not quite in focus.
That they are back, and all what has happened between them is not ignored, nor relationships with Skinner and the rest, well, OK. But the shadowy figure meeting Mulder in dark places in the middle of the night to expedite is there, just like there was one in the first series. Still ripping off All the President's Men.
And at the end, a text from Skinner; situation critical, come at once. And The X Files are re-opened. Just like that. And finally, The Cigarette Smoking Man is there, growling, the reopened the X Files. Like we never were away, and that might be the problem.
And that is the problem, or was the problem, with the show. In the end there was only so many layers of deception, scheming, lies you can in one story arc in a TV series before you give up. And I gave up in about series 6 when it was shown, and never sat down to watch the series I missed. I did watch the final episode, but then it was out of relief that it had been put out of it's misery.
All such a contrast to when it begun, and I fell in love with it. Posted to Germany, one of my friends at work, Karl Emmings was recording the show off Sky and passed me the tapes. I was hooked for the first episode, and spent many nights immersing myself in the whole series. Then there was a short wait until the start of the second series, that was even better, and you could feel the hype around the show was building. Then came the videos; first the so called "Unopened File", the final episode of the second series and the first two of the third, all in one movie length experience. I almost exploded.
There was even a proper film; Fight the Future, which was even pretty good. More conspiracies, but a good plot.
The mythology of the main arc, the abductions, the alien/human hybrid/ the consortium and so one, layered levels of conspiracy, deception, and so on that I lost as to if Mulder found his sister or not, who was good, bad could or could not be trusted. As David Duchovney took a step back, so did I. Agent Dogget came in, and the series continued with dropping ratings and meandering storylines. I stopped watching.
After the 9th series, there was a second film, so bad, I can't recall it's name, but starred Billy Connolly as a pedophile preacher who might be able to see into the future. Or not. It was dreadful. And to make matters worse, Mulder and Scully were shown in bed together, thus ruining the dynamic. Let us not speak of the film again.
And now there is a new, 10th series, maybe even a reboot. Mulder and Scully are older, they had a child, and separated in acrimonious circumstances. But wait, there is more, you know the conspiracy that we did for none series, what about if it was a conspiracy, bt not what you thought it was, or what any of the characters, including those who spoke of an invasion in the consortium, but something else? If you forget most of the alien invasion story lines, it just works, like squinting at a film not quite in focus.
That they are back, and all what has happened between them is not ignored, nor relationships with Skinner and the rest, well, OK. But the shadowy figure meeting Mulder in dark places in the middle of the night to expedite is there, just like there was one in the first series. Still ripping off All the President's Men.
And at the end, a text from Skinner; situation critical, come at once. And The X Files are re-opened. Just like that. And finally, The Cigarette Smoking Man is there, growling, the reopened the X Files. Like we never were away, and that might be the problem.
Monday, 8 February 2016
Friday 8th February 2016
Sunday
And for a change, the sun did shine and there was brightness on the land. Jools assumed that I would want to sit around in my jimjams watching football until after nine. But no, what with the horror show from City on Saturday, I would save that delight for another time. No, what interested me was getting out and taking some shots. The two ongoing projects: Burlington House and the repairs to the sea wall at Shakespeare. And then there are orchids.
There are always orchids. The season is nearly upon us, the madness awaits.
But until then there is the track repairs and the wrecking ball!
There was no traffic on Jubilee Way nor along Townwall Street, which was the quietest I have seen it since we went down there on Christmas Day 13 months back. No traffic at all for the port. Well, that might change with the latest storm which was due to blow in that evening, but until then we drove upto Aycliffe, park next to the subway, grab the cameras and begin the walk up the narrow path leading to the overview above the tunnel entrance and the wonderful views back to the port.
I take my steps carefully, dodging the dog's eggs that litter the paths around here; never pleasant, but with there so much mud around, it becomes a lottery. However, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me, as I look down on the the railway below, it looks almost ready to have tracks relaid on it; some mistake surely? But no, as I go further up, I can see more of the sea wall and all sink holes and excavations had been filled in, and a layer of hardcore had been put down, and now it looks like just the ballast and tracks need to b put down. Amazing. No official word on that as yet, mind.
I take the shots, but with so little to snap now, I don't walk back to the roundabout as I planned. Instead I walk back down to the car and drive us to near The Mash Tun so I can do one last round of shots of Burlington House. Only it isn't there any more. The final parts we demolished last week, and now all that remains is a huge pile of rubble. And the row of shops fronting onto Townwall Street. The high winds had knocked down the sheeting hiding these last remains, so I snap those. Further along, Russell Street is now fenced off as the car parks are dug up ready for what seems are newer, shiner car parks. Car parks of the 21st century where DDC can charge double or treble what they used to. Hoorah for the future!
You all know about Samphire Hoe, made from the poil from the Channel Tunnel, under the lea of the the cliffs between Dover and Folkestone. Well, it is nearly time for the orchid madness to begin, and as we're here might as well go check out the rosettes. Up the A20 over Shakespeare Cliff, then down the tunnel down onto the Hoe itself, parking near the visitor centre, which meant it was time to get out the 150mm for some macro work. It's been some time, my friend.
Samphire is home to the largest colony of Early Spider Orchids, I say this without hiding the information, as anyone can Google it and find out this information. I know, its how I first found out, and a chance meeting with another orchid fan lead me down the rabbit hole of madness. Anyway, along the path, looking down to see if there were any signs. I think I saw a few, but nothing worth snapping, at least for now. Much more impressive was the view at the end of the Hoe, looking down onto the beach and across Wear Bay towards Folkestone. Waves crashing onto the beach, with dogs and their owners having to jump out of the way.
I walk back slowly over the Hoe, unable to take the sea wall route because of the waves crashing in. Bloody health and safety!
Jools is waiting, for me and for news of the next and final call. More orchids.
We drove along the A20 to Folkestone then up through Hawkinge taking the road up to Wigham, but turning off before crossing the A2. A glorious morning, sun shining brightly, and the countryside apparently waking up from its short slumber, alive with vibrant colours.
The beech wood is in a deep valley. Well, deep for Kent, and along the bottom of the valley runs a quiet road. A bridleway goes up one side, and on the other is the beech wood. First of all, up the bridleway, is where I know I will find Early Purple rosettes. It was mussy, but I was wearing my boots, stomping along, which might explain how the buzzard some 25m ahead of me lifted up and flew through the branches of the trees overhanging the track. On each side beds of wild bluebells were showing, pushing up two green fingers to the sky.
A little further p I see the first rosettes: one deeply spotted and other unmarked. As it should be. They are well advanced, especially for the first week in February. I try to look for the Butterfly Orchids, but my eye is out on those. No sign that I can see, at least for now anyways.
Back down the track and over the road, into the wood, and where last July when I last came looking for the fabled Ghost, it was so overgrown, now there is bare ground between the trunks, bare but covered in fallen leaves an inch or so thick. And in places, there are rosettes. Some large, some small, but signs of spring nonetheless. I see Lady, Fly and Common Twayblade at least, I feel it is going to be a great season again with all the rain we had this winter.
I stomp around, see more and more rosettes, but many still quite small. It will several weeks, if not a couple of months before they will flower. Even still, it could be a very early season as long as we don't get a cold snap or two...
It is half eleven, my stomach says time for lunch, so we drive home and finish off the batch of rolls Jools had gotten in for when I came home on Friday, we also finished off the last slice of the second Christmas cake. Always a sad time, but they really did last well this last Christmas. Only ten and a half months until we have the next slice!
It is the afternoon, an afternoon for listening to football, maybe snoozing on the sofa, and make a fuss of all the cats.
The plan for the rest of the day is for celebrating: It is Jools' Dad's birthday, so he and Jen were coming round for dinner, and I was to cook the best steak I could. And as I like a challenge, I accepted.
I prepared the steaks that morning, oiled and peppered, so they would be nice and tender when cooked. I think Jen was a little disappointed when she saw I cooked them by the use of a stopwatch, just two and a half minutes each side. I microwaved the jacket spuds, then fried them. Finally, I cooked some garlic mushrooms, all done to be perfect at the same time. And it did turn out just wonderful too. The steak was very tender, red in the middle except for Tony who only wanted it pink. I had bought some salted caramel dessert things with coffee to round things off.
We ended the evening with a couple of hands of Meld, which with the booze that flowed was interesting and full of laughter. A fine evening, and Jools and Jen did the washing up too! perfect.
And for a change, the sun did shine and there was brightness on the land. Jools assumed that I would want to sit around in my jimjams watching football until after nine. But no, what with the horror show from City on Saturday, I would save that delight for another time. No, what interested me was getting out and taking some shots. The two ongoing projects: Burlington House and the repairs to the sea wall at Shakespeare. And then there are orchids.
There are always orchids. The season is nearly upon us, the madness awaits.
But until then there is the track repairs and the wrecking ball!
There was no traffic on Jubilee Way nor along Townwall Street, which was the quietest I have seen it since we went down there on Christmas Day 13 months back. No traffic at all for the port. Well, that might change with the latest storm which was due to blow in that evening, but until then we drove upto Aycliffe, park next to the subway, grab the cameras and begin the walk up the narrow path leading to the overview above the tunnel entrance and the wonderful views back to the port.
I take my steps carefully, dodging the dog's eggs that litter the paths around here; never pleasant, but with there so much mud around, it becomes a lottery. However, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me, as I look down on the the railway below, it looks almost ready to have tracks relaid on it; some mistake surely? But no, as I go further up, I can see more of the sea wall and all sink holes and excavations had been filled in, and a layer of hardcore had been put down, and now it looks like just the ballast and tracks need to b put down. Amazing. No official word on that as yet, mind.
I take the shots, but with so little to snap now, I don't walk back to the roundabout as I planned. Instead I walk back down to the car and drive us to near The Mash Tun so I can do one last round of shots of Burlington House. Only it isn't there any more. The final parts we demolished last week, and now all that remains is a huge pile of rubble. And the row of shops fronting onto Townwall Street. The high winds had knocked down the sheeting hiding these last remains, so I snap those. Further along, Russell Street is now fenced off as the car parks are dug up ready for what seems are newer, shiner car parks. Car parks of the 21st century where DDC can charge double or treble what they used to. Hoorah for the future!
You all know about Samphire Hoe, made from the poil from the Channel Tunnel, under the lea of the the cliffs between Dover and Folkestone. Well, it is nearly time for the orchid madness to begin, and as we're here might as well go check out the rosettes. Up the A20 over Shakespeare Cliff, then down the tunnel down onto the Hoe itself, parking near the visitor centre, which meant it was time to get out the 150mm for some macro work. It's been some time, my friend.
Samphire is home to the largest colony of Early Spider Orchids, I say this without hiding the information, as anyone can Google it and find out this information. I know, its how I first found out, and a chance meeting with another orchid fan lead me down the rabbit hole of madness. Anyway, along the path, looking down to see if there were any signs. I think I saw a few, but nothing worth snapping, at least for now. Much more impressive was the view at the end of the Hoe, looking down onto the beach and across Wear Bay towards Folkestone. Waves crashing onto the beach, with dogs and their owners having to jump out of the way.
I walk back slowly over the Hoe, unable to take the sea wall route because of the waves crashing in. Bloody health and safety!Jools is waiting, for me and for news of the next and final call. More orchids.
We drove along the A20 to Folkestone then up through Hawkinge taking the road up to Wigham, but turning off before crossing the A2. A glorious morning, sun shining brightly, and the countryside apparently waking up from its short slumber, alive with vibrant colours.The beech wood is in a deep valley. Well, deep for Kent, and along the bottom of the valley runs a quiet road. A bridleway goes up one side, and on the other is the beech wood. First of all, up the bridleway, is where I know I will find Early Purple rosettes. It was mussy, but I was wearing my boots, stomping along, which might explain how the buzzard some 25m ahead of me lifted up and flew through the branches of the trees overhanging the track. On each side beds of wild bluebells were showing, pushing up two green fingers to the sky.
A little further p I see the first rosettes: one deeply spotted and other unmarked. As it should be. They are well advanced, especially for the first week in February. I try to look for the Butterfly Orchids, but my eye is out on those. No sign that I can see, at least for now anyways.
Back down the track and over the road, into the wood, and where last July when I last came looking for the fabled Ghost, it was so overgrown, now there is bare ground between the trunks, bare but covered in fallen leaves an inch or so thick. And in places, there are rosettes. Some large, some small, but signs of spring nonetheless. I see Lady, Fly and Common Twayblade at least, I feel it is going to be a great season again with all the rain we had this winter.
I stomp around, see more and more rosettes, but many still quite small. It will several weeks, if not a couple of months before they will flower. Even still, it could be a very early season as long as we don't get a cold snap or two...
It is half eleven, my stomach says time for lunch, so we drive home and finish off the batch of rolls Jools had gotten in for when I came home on Friday, we also finished off the last slice of the second Christmas cake. Always a sad time, but they really did last well this last Christmas. Only ten and a half months until we have the next slice!
It is the afternoon, an afternoon for listening to football, maybe snoozing on the sofa, and make a fuss of all the cats.
The plan for the rest of the day is for celebrating: It is Jools' Dad's birthday, so he and Jen were coming round for dinner, and I was to cook the best steak I could. And as I like a challenge, I accepted.
I prepared the steaks that morning, oiled and peppered, so they would be nice and tender when cooked. I think Jen was a little disappointed when she saw I cooked them by the use of a stopwatch, just two and a half minutes each side. I microwaved the jacket spuds, then fried them. Finally, I cooked some garlic mushrooms, all done to be perfect at the same time. And it did turn out just wonderful too. The steak was very tender, red in the middle except for Tony who only wanted it pink. I had bought some salted caramel dessert things with coffee to round things off.
We ended the evening with a couple of hands of Meld, which with the booze that flowed was interesting and full of laughter. A fine evening, and Jools and Jen did the washing up too! perfect.
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