Those of you who read these posts on a regular basis will know I have been suffering from allergy attacks for the past 5 years. It took some times to work out that these were allergy attacks, not flu, but after a blood test, my GP told me I was just allergic to house dust and dust mites.
This has resulted in the situation where vacuuming, dusting and general tidying up is left until I am on a trip away, giving time for the dust to settle. In truth this did not really work, and after a time, it became clear there was something else.
Most attacks began in the evening, and looking back I can say that almost always after a shower. So, the culprit initially was aftershave. Even if I only shave once a week and attacks were more frequent sometimes than once a week. Then it moved onto deodorant. So, I stopped using one brand, then stopped using all spay on brands at all.
All this time, the attacks were getting more irregular and the attacks themselves not as severe. So, it appeared I was on the right track.
However, last weekend I remembered that on both Friday and Sunday night that when I had a shower both times I used an extra squeeze of gel, and both times an attack occurred. So, since then, I have used a grape sized drop of gel, and no repeat. And I am left with clear breathing, no sniffs nor sneezes. It is early day, but I realise now that even between attacks, I have been congested, had rasping coughs, so, this is a major improvement, and I think finally I have it beaten.
IN fact the second of last weekend's attacks was a very mild and sensitive attack, and this caused an attack, so, the brand does not matter, just the amount.
Which is frustrating for me also in a way, as I must have given about 20 bottles of after shave, shampoo and various cans of deodorant away over the past three years, but hey. I know the answer now!
Message ends.
Tuesday, 23 February 2016
Monday, 22 February 2016
Monday 22nd February 2016
Sunday
One thing that was running through my mind all day was the Young Ones joke "do you dig graves?"
Now, let me be as honest and upfront I can be about this, but we are not two of the most practical people when it comes to practical things, like DIY and the suchlike. So when we had decided to embark on some garden re-designing, there was going to be trouble. And blisters.
What with the very late bedtime on Saturday, very nearly 11!, we slept in until half seven on Sunday, even Mulder had given up on trying to rouse us and had gone back to sleep. But the boiler firing up, pumping lovely hot water round the house did. OK, up and attem.
We feed the cats, make coffee and feed ourselves. We are very domesticated after all. I begin to write the 1500th blog, and Jools does beading upstairs, whilst I play the Manic Street Preachers CD we bought during the week. At 11 she thought we do some digging.
The idea of wildlife pools goes back to the dim and misty start of last year, possibly even further than that. We had talked about it, agreed and disagreed on details and it kinda got put off. The I saw some shots from fields on Flickr of frogspawn, and we really had to get down and do something. Jools had bought two very large rubber buckets, bucket is the wrong word really, but they are large, shallow and if half buried in the ground could be an easy small pool.
We had agreed that we would put one in the garden, but it became clear what we had agreed differed greatly, so Jools came up with a compromise; we would do one each, to how we thought they should be. She went to bury hers in the bed behind the raspberries, and I went to put mine beside the apple trees and gooseberries. Only I have to do some work on mine, because yours truly decided that it should be cut at a shallow angle all round then buried on the huh so to allow frogs and other creepy crawlies in and out. The only problem with this was that it meant me wielding a knife. A very sharp knife.
I marked out the cut with insulation tape, then got the knife out and began to cut. All was going well, too well, and I began to think and work at the same time. Next thing I had nicked my thumb and there was blood everywhere. Jools looked at me and carried on digging. I finished the cutting, and it looked almost OK. Now, well after lunch it was time for me to get digging.
I dug a hole the same size as the bucket, then began to remove soil, only there was a bloody great hedge root right in the way. OK, turn the bucket around, remove some more soil, try the bucket, remove some more soil. And so on for half an hour until, it was in. And looked like a large bucket half buried in the lawn. Great, frogs will love it I thought.
We lined each bucket with stones then filled them up with water; the job done.
Phew. That called for a cuppa.
I tried to listen to the football, heck, even watch it on TV, but as most teams fielded half reserve squads, my attitude was if they could not take it seriously, neither would I. I cooked dinner instead; roast beef and all the trimmings, including Yorkshire puddings and stringless beans, which were very nice indeed. In fact, it were all great, just what we wanted, lots of lovely fresh veg and roast beef.
And that was your weekend. Or ours anyway. We listened to more radio, did stuff on computer, and the evening just trailed away until we gave up and went to bed at half nine. Phew, rock and roll.
One thing that was running through my mind all day was the Young Ones joke "do you dig graves?"
Now, let me be as honest and upfront I can be about this, but we are not two of the most practical people when it comes to practical things, like DIY and the suchlike. So when we had decided to embark on some garden re-designing, there was going to be trouble. And blisters.
What with the very late bedtime on Saturday, very nearly 11!, we slept in until half seven on Sunday, even Mulder had given up on trying to rouse us and had gone back to sleep. But the boiler firing up, pumping lovely hot water round the house did. OK, up and attem.
We feed the cats, make coffee and feed ourselves. We are very domesticated after all. I begin to write the 1500th blog, and Jools does beading upstairs, whilst I play the Manic Street Preachers CD we bought during the week. At 11 she thought we do some digging.
The idea of wildlife pools goes back to the dim and misty start of last year, possibly even further than that. We had talked about it, agreed and disagreed on details and it kinda got put off. The I saw some shots from fields on Flickr of frogspawn, and we really had to get down and do something. Jools had bought two very large rubber buckets, bucket is the wrong word really, but they are large, shallow and if half buried in the ground could be an easy small pool.
We had agreed that we would put one in the garden, but it became clear what we had agreed differed greatly, so Jools came up with a compromise; we would do one each, to how we thought they should be. She went to bury hers in the bed behind the raspberries, and I went to put mine beside the apple trees and gooseberries. Only I have to do some work on mine, because yours truly decided that it should be cut at a shallow angle all round then buried on the huh so to allow frogs and other creepy crawlies in and out. The only problem with this was that it meant me wielding a knife. A very sharp knife.
I marked out the cut with insulation tape, then got the knife out and began to cut. All was going well, too well, and I began to think and work at the same time. Next thing I had nicked my thumb and there was blood everywhere. Jools looked at me and carried on digging. I finished the cutting, and it looked almost OK. Now, well after lunch it was time for me to get digging.
I dug a hole the same size as the bucket, then began to remove soil, only there was a bloody great hedge root right in the way. OK, turn the bucket around, remove some more soil, try the bucket, remove some more soil. And so on for half an hour until, it was in. And looked like a large bucket half buried in the lawn. Great, frogs will love it I thought.
We lined each bucket with stones then filled them up with water; the job done.
Phew. That called for a cuppa.
I tried to listen to the football, heck, even watch it on TV, but as most teams fielded half reserve squads, my attitude was if they could not take it seriously, neither would I. I cooked dinner instead; roast beef and all the trimmings, including Yorkshire puddings and stringless beans, which were very nice indeed. In fact, it were all great, just what we wanted, lots of lovely fresh veg and roast beef.
And that was your weekend. Or ours anyway. We listened to more radio, did stuff on computer, and the evening just trailed away until we gave up and went to bed at half nine. Phew, rock and roll.
Sunday, 21 February 2016
Blog # 1500
Hello boys and girls, and welcome to my 1,500th blog post. And you are indeed welcome.
For the first part of this blog, I thought I would post my ten favourite films. A difficult task, and even harder as we have barely gone to the cinema in the past two years. But hey. So, what criteria have I used? well, films that stand up to repeated viewing, are as fresh on the 10th viewing as they were on the first. Maybe some surprises in here, but these are in no order to be honest, as how can you compare a comedy with a science fiction with an action/adventure? Annyway, so in no particular order.
1. Bull Durham.
A baseball film that is not really about baseball, its about relationships. And subject of an article in the very first edition of Empire Magazine, explaining the terms used, which made the first viewing easier to follow. But after a few times, you know it. And you get to know the dialogue, the music used. But most of all its the performances of all three leads: Kevin Costner, Susan Sarandon, who has neevr been better, and Tim Robbins. The scipt sparkles, as does the direction and cinematography. An utterly believeable storyline, and what would you do to preserve a winning streak?
Hey, I'm going to the Show!
2. Grosse Pointe Blank
I first saw this on a dodgy VHS player in a common room at RAF Mount Pleasant in the Flaklands. I was the room head of entertainment, so I was charged with collecting evey night's entertainment for the room to watch. GPB was given either four or five stars in Empire, and so I was waiting for this to become available. The plot: an assasin goes to his hometown on another kill, where he could also attend his high school reunion. What could go wrong? Everything. Another wonderful script, plot and performances from all; John Cussack, Minnie Driver and Dan Ackroyd. And all to the best soundtrack of any film. Ever.
Another cold cup of coffee from The Clash!
3. Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
Three epic films, great script, direction and performances all round, not least from the New Zealand backdrops. But what the second had over its predecessor and following siblings was pace, and none of the pomposity of the first, or the multiple poor endings of the last. So, if I had to choose one, it would be this. Nothing quite matches seeing your favourite book of all time made into a film, heck, three films, made large, and not quite perfect, when dealing with nearly 1500 pages of literature, doing a damned fine job.
No one tosses a dwarf!
4. Groundhog Day
Really, a one joke film, played over and over again. Shouldn't work, but does, brilliantly. Phil Connors doomed to repeat the same day, February 2nd, over and over again until he sees the errors of his ways and gets the girl. Each day he gets it wrong, he wakes up at the beginning of the same day with a Sonny and Cher soundtrack. Bill Murray, Andie McDowell and a fine support cast. First time I watched it, I rewound the tape and watched it again. So perfect, so funny.
Don't drive angry!
5. Blade Runner
Very few films can claim to start a genre, but for the Sci-Fi noir, this certainly does. Or in ,y mond. And one that sets out a Dystopian future with the rich living at the top of massive tower blocks in penthouses, getting all the daylight, moving around in hover cars so not having to mix with the poor and rest of society that live close to the ground in semi-darkness. all scenes shot outside show a city drenched in continuous rain, whilst illuminated by neon oriental advertising. And characters on the street speak in a hybrid English/Japanese patois. Deckard is enticed back into the police force to hunt down bio-engineered lifeforms (replicants) to retire (kill) them.
I was lucky enough to see this at the cinema when it came out, and then on VHS once we had a player and I could rent it every week. A DVD re-issue of a director's cut, cleaned the print, removed the voiceover and just let the film breathe.
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe!
6. Midnight Run
Jack Walsh (played by Robert d Niro) is a bountyr hunter, and is given the simple task of bringing in an informant on The Mob in after he skipped bail. Should be an easy job, a midnight run. But then nothing ever is. The film follows Jack, once he had captured his prey, The Duke, back from New York to Los Angeles. Crossing ,aths with the FBI, the Mafia and others as well as a rival bounty hunter. A pin sharp script and comedic best performance from De Niro.
Now here come two words for you: Shut the fuck up!
7. The Rocky Horror Picture Show I first saw Rocky Horror whilst on an exchange trip in Hannover. There were some strange people on the train heading into the city centre, wonder where all those exotic people were going. Turns out they were going to see Rocky Horror too. Two hours later, transsexuals, transvestites, basques, dance routines, horror and I was confused. Did I like it? Not sure, but it fixed in my mind. 6 years later, and a midnight showing at the Sparrows Nest theatre in Lowestoft, and it all made sense, kinda. I must have been to the cinema 30 times over the years, to the West End to see the stage revival in 1990, bought the soundtracks, knew the words by heart.
It's just a jump to the left!
8. Alien
The original. And best. A grimy working spaceship is diverted to investigate a message. They land on the surface of a planet, find a ship and find something. Then take it back to their ship, and the game is then to survive. The first sci-fi folm that failed to portray the future as new and shiny where everything worked. A blue collar sci-fi horror film.
In space no one can hear you scream!
9. Airplane
Joke per minute, the funniest film of all time. A rip-off of Airport, turning a disaster movie into a laugh-a-thon. Nothing more to say really.
Ever seen a grown man naked?
10. Almost Famous
The final position could have been one of may films, I mean to choose a top ten is hard enough, but when the first nine kinda pick themselves, what remaining film should I add: Spinal Tap? When Harry Met Sally? The Usual Suspects? LA Confidential? Silence of the Lambs? They Live? Pulp Fiction? Austin Powers? I changed this last choice sine beginning writing this last entry, it was going to be Pulp, but then checking my list I saw Almost Famous. Cameron Crowe directed this film based loosely on his life as a young journalist on Rolling Stone. Perfectly cast, great music and wonderful scenes. Even better is the directors cut, which is titles Untitled, with over an hour of extra, wonderful material.
Rock stars have kidnapped my son!
For the first part of this blog, I thought I would post my ten favourite films. A difficult task, and even harder as we have barely gone to the cinema in the past two years. But hey. So, what criteria have I used? well, films that stand up to repeated viewing, are as fresh on the 10th viewing as they were on the first. Maybe some surprises in here, but these are in no order to be honest, as how can you compare a comedy with a science fiction with an action/adventure? Annyway, so in no particular order.
1. Bull Durham.
A baseball film that is not really about baseball, its about relationships. And subject of an article in the very first edition of Empire Magazine, explaining the terms used, which made the first viewing easier to follow. But after a few times, you know it. And you get to know the dialogue, the music used. But most of all its the performances of all three leads: Kevin Costner, Susan Sarandon, who has neevr been better, and Tim Robbins. The scipt sparkles, as does the direction and cinematography. An utterly believeable storyline, and what would you do to preserve a winning streak?
Hey, I'm going to the Show!
2. Grosse Pointe Blank
I first saw this on a dodgy VHS player in a common room at RAF Mount Pleasant in the Flaklands. I was the room head of entertainment, so I was charged with collecting evey night's entertainment for the room to watch. GPB was given either four or five stars in Empire, and so I was waiting for this to become available. The plot: an assasin goes to his hometown on another kill, where he could also attend his high school reunion. What could go wrong? Everything. Another wonderful script, plot and performances from all; John Cussack, Minnie Driver and Dan Ackroyd. And all to the best soundtrack of any film. Ever.
Another cold cup of coffee from The Clash!
3. Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
Three epic films, great script, direction and performances all round, not least from the New Zealand backdrops. But what the second had over its predecessor and following siblings was pace, and none of the pomposity of the first, or the multiple poor endings of the last. So, if I had to choose one, it would be this. Nothing quite matches seeing your favourite book of all time made into a film, heck, three films, made large, and not quite perfect, when dealing with nearly 1500 pages of literature, doing a damned fine job.
No one tosses a dwarf!
4. Groundhog Day
Really, a one joke film, played over and over again. Shouldn't work, but does, brilliantly. Phil Connors doomed to repeat the same day, February 2nd, over and over again until he sees the errors of his ways and gets the girl. Each day he gets it wrong, he wakes up at the beginning of the same day with a Sonny and Cher soundtrack. Bill Murray, Andie McDowell and a fine support cast. First time I watched it, I rewound the tape and watched it again. So perfect, so funny.
Don't drive angry!
5. Blade Runner
Very few films can claim to start a genre, but for the Sci-Fi noir, this certainly does. Or in ,y mond. And one that sets out a Dystopian future with the rich living at the top of massive tower blocks in penthouses, getting all the daylight, moving around in hover cars so not having to mix with the poor and rest of society that live close to the ground in semi-darkness. all scenes shot outside show a city drenched in continuous rain, whilst illuminated by neon oriental advertising. And characters on the street speak in a hybrid English/Japanese patois. Deckard is enticed back into the police force to hunt down bio-engineered lifeforms (replicants) to retire (kill) them.
I was lucky enough to see this at the cinema when it came out, and then on VHS once we had a player and I could rent it every week. A DVD re-issue of a director's cut, cleaned the print, removed the voiceover and just let the film breathe.
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe!
6. Midnight Run
Jack Walsh (played by Robert d Niro) is a bountyr hunter, and is given the simple task of bringing in an informant on The Mob in after he skipped bail. Should be an easy job, a midnight run. But then nothing ever is. The film follows Jack, once he had captured his prey, The Duke, back from New York to Los Angeles. Crossing ,aths with the FBI, the Mafia and others as well as a rival bounty hunter. A pin sharp script and comedic best performance from De Niro.
Now here come two words for you: Shut the fuck up!
7. The Rocky Horror Picture Show I first saw Rocky Horror whilst on an exchange trip in Hannover. There were some strange people on the train heading into the city centre, wonder where all those exotic people were going. Turns out they were going to see Rocky Horror too. Two hours later, transsexuals, transvestites, basques, dance routines, horror and I was confused. Did I like it? Not sure, but it fixed in my mind. 6 years later, and a midnight showing at the Sparrows Nest theatre in Lowestoft, and it all made sense, kinda. I must have been to the cinema 30 times over the years, to the West End to see the stage revival in 1990, bought the soundtracks, knew the words by heart.
It's just a jump to the left!
8. Alien
The original. And best. A grimy working spaceship is diverted to investigate a message. They land on the surface of a planet, find a ship and find something. Then take it back to their ship, and the game is then to survive. The first sci-fi folm that failed to portray the future as new and shiny where everything worked. A blue collar sci-fi horror film.
In space no one can hear you scream!
9. Airplane
Joke per minute, the funniest film of all time. A rip-off of Airport, turning a disaster movie into a laugh-a-thon. Nothing more to say really.
Ever seen a grown man naked?
10. Almost Famous
The final position could have been one of may films, I mean to choose a top ten is hard enough, but when the first nine kinda pick themselves, what remaining film should I add: Spinal Tap? When Harry Met Sally? The Usual Suspects? LA Confidential? Silence of the Lambs? They Live? Pulp Fiction? Austin Powers? I changed this last choice sine beginning writing this last entry, it was going to be Pulp, but then checking my list I saw Almost Famous. Cameron Crowe directed this film based loosely on his life as a young journalist on Rolling Stone. Perfectly cast, great music and wonderful scenes. Even better is the directors cut, which is titles Untitled, with over an hour of extra, wonderful material.
Rock stars have kidnapped my son!
Sunday 21st February 2016
Saturday
Another weekend rolls round and the weather forecast is somewhat less than perfect. But only a little rain is expected, but dark clouds and strong winds, it was not a day for spending much time outside snapping picturesque churches or orchid rosettes. But the two ongoing project could be updated, then listen to some football, a little cooking, listen to some music. And pass the day before some Nordic Noir to round the evening off.
As ever, first off was the trip to the supermarket. And Tesco won out as it is easy with the hand scanner, to whizz round, get stuff and just pay. No queuing at tills, no repacking. And even better for former Olympic cyclists living on the far side of the globe, no Norwich game this week as we lost in the cup weeks and weeks ago.
Tesco was very empty, and I got most of the stuff on the list, including some beer and cider, and was back outside loading the car in half an hour, heading home to beat the traffic, unpack and have croissants and more coffee for breakfast before deciding on what to do next.
What was next was going into town to buy the aubergines I forgot from Tesco and to take shots of the site where Burlington House used to stand. I go round taking my shots, now even harder as roads have now been blocked up, crossed now by tall green wooden fences, and those roads will soon be replaced by more car parking spaces. The old Lord Nelson pub can only be reached now down a narrow alley from Market Square, doing nothing to help their business. But it might improve when all the work is done I suppose.
Having completed all chores, we drive up to Aycliffe to look at the work on the sea wall. The latest news is that it must be replaced, and work continues before the demolition then rebuilding can start. In fact it still looks like it will be just a short time before tracks will be relaid, but I am hearing maybe the end of the year before it reopens. We shall see.
Up the narrow path leading up Shakespeare Cliff, leaning on the ancient metal fence to get my shots. Its a long way down there, if it were to give way. But it holds.
We drive back home, back along Townwall Street and up Jubilee Way; traffic for the port is so light its almost not there, so we get back home just in time for the start of the Huey show, time for coffee, some rolls for lunch, then settle down for the football.
Only its a dull day, just a handful of games, the midday game is goalless, the main kick0offs only produces a couple of goals, and I lose interest, switching the radio off at quarter to five once the results are known.
Chorizo hash for dinner, the rest of a bottle of red wine, Sarah Millican on the radio, the day passes into evening outside.
The Nordic Noir is very Noir indeed, more death, mystery and layers of confusion. Just as it should be. I think they all did it? Or has that been done before?
Another weekend rolls round and the weather forecast is somewhat less than perfect. But only a little rain is expected, but dark clouds and strong winds, it was not a day for spending much time outside snapping picturesque churches or orchid rosettes. But the two ongoing project could be updated, then listen to some football, a little cooking, listen to some music. And pass the day before some Nordic Noir to round the evening off.
As ever, first off was the trip to the supermarket. And Tesco won out as it is easy with the hand scanner, to whizz round, get stuff and just pay. No queuing at tills, no repacking. And even better for former Olympic cyclists living on the far side of the globe, no Norwich game this week as we lost in the cup weeks and weeks ago.
Tesco was very empty, and I got most of the stuff on the list, including some beer and cider, and was back outside loading the car in half an hour, heading home to beat the traffic, unpack and have croissants and more coffee for breakfast before deciding on what to do next.
What was next was going into town to buy the aubergines I forgot from Tesco and to take shots of the site where Burlington House used to stand. I go round taking my shots, now even harder as roads have now been blocked up, crossed now by tall green wooden fences, and those roads will soon be replaced by more car parking spaces. The old Lord Nelson pub can only be reached now down a narrow alley from Market Square, doing nothing to help their business. But it might improve when all the work is done I suppose.
Having completed all chores, we drive up to Aycliffe to look at the work on the sea wall. The latest news is that it must be replaced, and work continues before the demolition then rebuilding can start. In fact it still looks like it will be just a short time before tracks will be relaid, but I am hearing maybe the end of the year before it reopens. We shall see.
Up the narrow path leading up Shakespeare Cliff, leaning on the ancient metal fence to get my shots. Its a long way down there, if it were to give way. But it holds. We drive back home, back along Townwall Street and up Jubilee Way; traffic for the port is so light its almost not there, so we get back home just in time for the start of the Huey show, time for coffee, some rolls for lunch, then settle down for the football.
Only its a dull day, just a handful of games, the midday game is goalless, the main kick0offs only produces a couple of goals, and I lose interest, switching the radio off at quarter to five once the results are known.Chorizo hash for dinner, the rest of a bottle of red wine, Sarah Millican on the radio, the day passes into evening outside.
The Nordic Noir is very Noir indeed, more death, mystery and layers of confusion. Just as it should be. I think they all did it? Or has that been done before?
Saturday, 20 February 2016
Saturday 20th February 2016
Friday
And, my friends, we have made it to the end of another working week. Well done well and all. And for me, there is the usual end of week tying up the odds and ends of the working week; booking in working hours, making sure that the open points list is up to date. And by nine, I was up to date. Phew.
Outside there is the most glorious of mornings; wonderful sunrise, followed by the rays of the rising sun pouring into our kitchen, illuminating everything in a most wonderful golden light. I had some fruit for breakfast, followed quite quickly by a warm buttered roll. This is a fine way to end the working week for sure. Jools had left for work, taking the car. So, I had breakfast, washed up, played and brushed the cats. This was as well as the usual work stuff, or course.
The morning progressed, the sun continued to shine, and I had the desire to go for a wander. Just as well that that afternoon there was a beer festival in Walmer. This means that I can have a long three hour walk upto the cliffs then along to Kingsdown and Walmer to The Berry, at which point I could quench my thirst with a few of the 14 beers and ales on offer.
Friday arrives, and it is nearly time to relax. But it is the weekend of the Winter Ales Festival at The Berry in Walmer. So I decide to take an early stack; I have worked hard this week after all, and set off north towards Walmer.
Over the fields and down the lane down the dip and up the other side.....
Along the road at the top, then taking the path over the downs, where I was rewarded with views of huge banks of rainclouds massing over France, giving the landscape such drama.
Instead of making for the monument, I take the lesser-traveled path towards Kingsdown and the be-Pringled on the golf course.
The ground underfoot was testing to say the least, both earth and chalk had the consistency of porridge, porridge that had too little milk (or water) so stuck to my boots, filling the treads, in most complete way, so that I was walking with two mud footballs on the end of my legs, slithering instead of walking.
I did not fall over this time, came close a couple of times, but kept going.
But after half an hour or so, I arrived at the cliffs at the edge of Kingsdown.
I walk along the cliff edge, except where they had been some recent cliff falls. In fact in once place it would seem that the public land between St Margaret's and Kingsdown will soon be at the bottom of the cliffs, and there will be no way along the cliffs. But we shall see.
I come to the end of the cliffs and have the fine view of the beach at Kingsdown with the coast running to Deal behind.
From there to Walmer, the footpath was clogged with people. People with families, people with dogs, walking, dawdling, clogging up the path in my way. But, I push on, getting to where the path opens out onto a large green. I reduce the distance to the pub by crossing over the green, before cutting through some Georgian houses, crossing the main road then walking, nay, staggering u Canada Road to the warming doorway of The Berry.
I sample a few beers from down in the basement. I stand at the bar drinking, then sit at a table drinking. Thankfully, Jools rescues me from this beery hell just before five, sipping on the half pint of ginger cider I had bought for her
. Jools goes out for a Chinese later. I think I eat it. With another beer. As you do. But it is a very, very good day indeed. I am full of the glow of a wonderful week spent at home, and having achieved lots at work. I can certainly drink to that. We watch another old TOTP, an ancient edition of The Good Old Days, of which I now have an understanding of how important the music hall was culturally. But by nine, we are both pooped. So, we give up on TV with Soft Cell banging out Tainted Love, and in doing so I really listened to the words really for the first time.
And, my friends, we have made it to the end of another working week. Well done well and all. And for me, there is the usual end of week tying up the odds and ends of the working week; booking in working hours, making sure that the open points list is up to date. And by nine, I was up to date. Phew.
Outside there is the most glorious of mornings; wonderful sunrise, followed by the rays of the rising sun pouring into our kitchen, illuminating everything in a most wonderful golden light. I had some fruit for breakfast, followed quite quickly by a warm buttered roll. This is a fine way to end the working week for sure. Jools had left for work, taking the car. So, I had breakfast, washed up, played and brushed the cats. This was as well as the usual work stuff, or course.
The morning progressed, the sun continued to shine, and I had the desire to go for a wander. Just as well that that afternoon there was a beer festival in Walmer. This means that I can have a long three hour walk upto the cliffs then along to Kingsdown and Walmer to The Berry, at which point I could quench my thirst with a few of the 14 beers and ales on offer.
Friday arrives, and it is nearly time to relax. But it is the weekend of the Winter Ales Festival at The Berry in Walmer. So I decide to take an early stack; I have worked hard this week after all, and set off north towards Walmer.Over the fields and down the lane down the dip and up the other side.....
Along the road at the top, then taking the path over the downs, where I was rewarded with views of huge banks of rainclouds massing over France, giving the landscape such drama.Instead of making for the monument, I take the lesser-traveled path towards Kingsdown and the be-Pringled on the golf course.
The ground underfoot was testing to say the least, both earth and chalk had the consistency of porridge, porridge that had too little milk (or water) so stuck to my boots, filling the treads, in most complete way, so that I was walking with two mud footballs on the end of my legs, slithering instead of walking.
I did not fall over this time, came close a couple of times, but kept going.But after half an hour or so, I arrived at the cliffs at the edge of Kingsdown.
I walk along the cliff edge, except where they had been some recent cliff falls. In fact in once place it would seem that the public land between St Margaret's and Kingsdown will soon be at the bottom of the cliffs, and there will be no way along the cliffs. But we shall see.
I come to the end of the cliffs and have the fine view of the beach at Kingsdown with the coast running to Deal behind. From there to Walmer, the footpath was clogged with people. People with families, people with dogs, walking, dawdling, clogging up the path in my way. But, I push on, getting to where the path opens out onto a large green. I reduce the distance to the pub by crossing over the green, before cutting through some Georgian houses, crossing the main road then walking, nay, staggering u Canada Road to the warming doorway of The Berry.
I sample a few beers from down in the basement. I stand at the bar drinking, then sit at a table drinking. Thankfully, Jools rescues me from this beery hell just before five, sipping on the half pint of ginger cider I had bought for her. Jools goes out for a Chinese later. I think I eat it. With another beer. As you do. But it is a very, very good day indeed. I am full of the glow of a wonderful week spent at home, and having achieved lots at work. I can certainly drink to that. We watch another old TOTP, an ancient edition of The Good Old Days, of which I now have an understanding of how important the music hall was culturally. But by nine, we are both pooped. So, we give up on TV with Soft Cell banging out Tainted Love, and in doing so I really listened to the words really for the first time.
Friday, 19 February 2016
Ask the blogger!
By my calculations, which might not be accurate, on Monday we will reach the 1500th post.
Therefore, I was wondering if any of my readers, sorry, either of my readers. Ho ho, might have questions they might like to ask. Or not.
Maybe there are more stuff you would like to see, less stuff. Less football says Tony from New Zealand. Yes, I suppose so.
Anyway, over to you. You have until midday here on Sunday (GMT) with any questions, requests. Maybe even a plea to stop!
Please ask questions via the comments in the link below!
Therefore, I was wondering if any of my readers, sorry, either of my readers. Ho ho, might have questions they might like to ask. Or not.
Maybe there are more stuff you would like to see, less stuff. Less football says Tony from New Zealand. Yes, I suppose so.
Anyway, over to you. You have until midday here on Sunday (GMT) with any questions, requests. Maybe even a plea to stop!
Please ask questions via the comments in the link below!
Friday 19th February 2016
Thursday
Day four of the week at home. And I am now a little bored.After so much traveling, the commute from one chair at the dining room table to another is not strenuous at all, even if I now have to move double that distance now either Molly or Mulder are sitting on my usual work chair. But that is not really of a problem. Elsewhere on earth, others are dealing with bigger problems.
Outside the rain had been falling since before dawn, and when dawn arrived, it slunk in, quite embarrassed at the drab landscape she revealed. I turned the thermostat up another notch and made another pot of coffee. Cranking the heating up also helped the batch of dough I had rustled up before breakfast so I had some fresh rolls for lunch.
I have the radio on, catching up on what I missed the day before, so two shows and some other stuff burbled away in the background.
At eleven I took the first batch of rolls out of the oven, not even waiting for them to cool down, I split one open, cover each half in butter and have with a fresh cup of tea. Really, that is mighty fine way to spend mid-morning. Fresh bread with nowt taken out and just poppy seeds added. Lovely.
At some point in the late morning, I began to get a stabbing pain in the base of my back. I tried to ignore it, but no dice. I sit on the sofa for a while and the pain does not stop. So I take yet more drugs and take to bed where I am joined by Scully who falls asleep curled against the back of my legs. I snooze the afternoon away, and when I get up the pain has gone. Which is a good thing.
Jools was bringing home fish and chips, so I just had to make sure that the kettle was freshly boiled and there was a couple of slices of buttered bread for chip butties.
Once we ate, we sat and chatted. But with Jools' early start; she left for work at half five, and my back meant that we gave up on the evening at half eight and went to bed. Just late enough to have a chuckle as Man Utd stumbled to another defeat, this time in Europe against FC Midtjylland. And by now I'm part Danish, so I should celebrate it, right?
Day four of the week at home. And I am now a little bored.After so much traveling, the commute from one chair at the dining room table to another is not strenuous at all, even if I now have to move double that distance now either Molly or Mulder are sitting on my usual work chair. But that is not really of a problem. Elsewhere on earth, others are dealing with bigger problems.
Outside the rain had been falling since before dawn, and when dawn arrived, it slunk in, quite embarrassed at the drab landscape she revealed. I turned the thermostat up another notch and made another pot of coffee. Cranking the heating up also helped the batch of dough I had rustled up before breakfast so I had some fresh rolls for lunch.
I have the radio on, catching up on what I missed the day before, so two shows and some other stuff burbled away in the background.
At eleven I took the first batch of rolls out of the oven, not even waiting for them to cool down, I split one open, cover each half in butter and have with a fresh cup of tea. Really, that is mighty fine way to spend mid-morning. Fresh bread with nowt taken out and just poppy seeds added. Lovely.
At some point in the late morning, I began to get a stabbing pain in the base of my back. I tried to ignore it, but no dice. I sit on the sofa for a while and the pain does not stop. So I take yet more drugs and take to bed where I am joined by Scully who falls asleep curled against the back of my legs. I snooze the afternoon away, and when I get up the pain has gone. Which is a good thing.
Jools was bringing home fish and chips, so I just had to make sure that the kettle was freshly boiled and there was a couple of slices of buttered bread for chip butties.
Once we ate, we sat and chatted. But with Jools' early start; she left for work at half five, and my back meant that we gave up on the evening at half eight and went to bed. Just late enough to have a chuckle as Man Utd stumbled to another defeat, this time in Europe against FC Midtjylland. And by now I'm part Danish, so I should celebrate it, right?
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