We have been back now for some ten days or so, the jet lag is a thing of the pass, I am processing images day by day, and so, what is it we will remember most about the trip the the land of the rising sun?
There were so many highlights, it is hard to pick any one thing out. I suppose that for the most part, for me, there seemed to be the worry of arranging the next stage of the trop; reserving seats, forwarding luggage to the next hotel, or the hotel after next in some cases. Then, we on our full day in Takayama, we had sent our cases to the final hotel, and we had reservations on the trains the next day. And then the realisation was that the holiday was coming to an end. Coming to a sudden end in fact.
It seemed a lifetime ago that we were the newbies trying to find a place to eat in Tokyo near the Thunder Gate, rather than the ten or so days it had actually been. We were experienced travelers in Japan now, we could find our way round metro systems, order at restaurants and eat with chopsticks. Back in those first few days in Tokyo, it all seemed so strange and new, even going on the metro was an adventure. Let alone getting aboard the bullet train to take us to Kyoto and beyond.
I suppose finding our way back to the first hotel after our guide had left us at Shibuya, coming out of the right exit, walking down the street to find the doors to the hotel just where we left them. From that moment on, we had no fear, if in doubt, we could always ask, as we knew that people just wanted to help, either employees of the train or metro company, or just ordinary people. We could find our way, one way or another. From that moment the fear of the unknown fell away, and we could enjoy ourselves properly.
The hotels were fine, if mostly compact, and had smaller rooms than we are used to in the west, but for the most part we just needed somewhere to sleep, so no real problem. The ryokans were a different matter. Arriving with cases full of clothes, and having no place to store them, and seeing how we just made the whole place untidy really has us questioning how e live back home, in fact we have begun to pack away books and stuff we have not looked at for years, and might go beyond that to take stuff to the charity shop or the tip. Putting boxes in the loft is just one step from having self-storage, which is another way of admitting you have too much stuff.
Travel in Japan was so easy and painless, it was hard at time to believe this was the same country that we read about. Even in downtown Tokyo, traffic seemed to flow, and for the most part the six lane roads that pass beside the monster skyscrapers were almost empty. Only on one occasion did we come to a metro train so full we could not get on because it was so full; we waited until the next one came along, and got on that.
Toilets were fun, to say the least. We quickly found the flush button at the first hotel, but at Kyoto there was a sensor in the seat so that flushed as soon as you stood up. At the first ryokan, the toilet knew when you opened the door to the toilet, and the lid rose automatically. Flushed automatically as well. All had a heated seat facility, with settings from sort to hard boiled.
It was never that cold!
Then there was the food, which I covered before in another blog. We still laugh about the Conga Eel which we ate on at least three occasions, but for the most part, we enjoyed the food, the way it was presented and cooked. What we did notice that in the two weeks we were way, none of us suffered from indigestion, I did not suffer from night cramps in my legs, and Jools' skin complaint on her back gave her no problems. Might be a coincidence, but I don't think so. We ate hardly any bread or potatoes, and little dairy, which might explain it, could be any one to be honest.
We came back fitter and thinner, what with the walking and only eating things we could recognise. We will try to carry that one, but work keeps getting in the way, of course.
I suppose what we will remember is the people: I mean, we had heard stories about racism from people who had worked there, and a dislike of foreigners. What we found was a wonderful, friendly people, all too ready to help out if we looked like we needed help. Nothing was too much trouble, and at no point did we experience anything other than kindness and friendship.
That about a week into the trip, Jools was asking me when we could come back tells you all you really need to know how much we loved Japan and the whole holiday. I can't recommend it highly enough, and would encourage any of you to go. And the thing that people ask was how much did it cost? Well, not as much as you might think. Much less in fact. And we stayed in nothing less than four star hotels, ate well and drank French or Italain bottles of wine. In other words, we were determined to have a great time, and we did.
So, when can we go back?
Monday, 30 May 2016
Monday 30th May 2016
It is midway through the afternoon on a dull, grey, windy bank holiday Monday. It should come as no surprise to learn that the weather is so poor once again. I suppose we have been lucky enough over the weekend, plenty of sunshine, plenty enough for orchid snaps for sure.
This morning we had bacon butties for breakfast before doing two tip runs, then the British ritual, going to a garden centre to buy plants for the garden.
I had a crap night's sleep, I feel like shit, and so am stumbling through the day in a haze. Later, I will have to pack ready for another week in Denmark. Such is life, could be worse, could be off to Hammerfest or somewhere equally grim, rather than Esbjerg to meet with friends, with some added work.
The cats are demanding food all the while. Its their job. We ignore them. That's our job.
I suppose I will feel better in the morning. Maybe not. Who knows.
Anyway, you take care until the weekend, y'hear.
This morning we had bacon butties for breakfast before doing two tip runs, then the British ritual, going to a garden centre to buy plants for the garden.
I had a crap night's sleep, I feel like shit, and so am stumbling through the day in a haze. Later, I will have to pack ready for another week in Denmark. Such is life, could be worse, could be off to Hammerfest or somewhere equally grim, rather than Esbjerg to meet with friends, with some added work.
The cats are demanding food all the while. Its their job. We ignore them. That's our job.
I suppose I will feel better in the morning. Maybe not. Who knows.
Anyway, you take care until the weekend, y'hear.
Sunday 29th May 2016
Since 5th May I have spent about 6 days at home, at least two of those days were spent orchid chasing. No, make that 3 or 4. Or 5. So that when the bank holiday weekend comes round, I would like to spend at least one of those three days, doing nothing at home. But every Whitsun Bank Holiday, we have to travel to Suffolk and back to visit Mother as it is her birthday on the 27th, and this year was to be no different. What was different was that this was our first trip up since Boxing Day, so 5 months since we last met and spoke, so should have been OK. No?
Well, as I explained to my frined Rob, when we talk there seems to be interest in what we do, or have done, but after the initial question, there isn't a follow up, so there is no ebb and flow of conversation, so it all becomes stilted, which explains why after no more than 2 hours, we have run out of things to say and so take our leave. Her house is in such a state that I dare not even have a glass of water, let along have something to eat. Piled up in her kitchen beside the sink is a stack of at least six Fray Bentos tinned pies. This is something of a British thing, I had no idea whe ate stuff like this, but with all her cupboards filled with yet more food, there are few places to store the new food she buys each week. Beside the cooker, there are two stacks of cup-a-soups, each one eight packs high, and each pack containing at least 5 packs. 40 cup-a-soups is prbably enough I would have thought.
But then, this is the life she has chosen, and as her circle of friends has now shrunken to just one, Janet who lives opposite, she can do what she wants, when she wants. Which is quite right; it took me several years to get that into my head, and if she wants to spend thousands of pounds a year on catalogue shopping, stuff that remains unopened on her bed, then that is her choice. I spend my time chasing orchids, photographing churches or listening to music. It is our choice, and after a lifetime of work and bringing me up, then she can get to choose what she does with her time and money. Just seems a shame to me.
Mum seems to have no interest, other than what could be considered polite, in anything that I or Jools does, even with a holiday to Japan to talk about, the question was of food, when we mentioned Conga Eel, she replied that she had had seafood linguine last week from M&S and it was OK. Nothing about Japan.
She did ask about photographs, and I had to say, that I am not being nasty when I say this, but when we have brought photos up in the past, after 5 minutes her eyes glaze over. She feigns hurt, but I think she knows this is true. I am not nasty, just honest.
In order to sweeten these 12 hour road trips, we either visit friends, orchid sites or churches, because after about 90 minutes, we are on the road and looking for somewhere for lunch and what to do before heading back home. As was the case this time, we visited an ancient meadow filled with orchids, and on the way back called into see an old friend, Rob who lives just off the A140.
However, we are getting ahead of ourselves a bit here. If you want to know my past history with Mother, then previous postings regarding such visits at this time of year or at Christmas might shed some light.
We wake up just before six, and despite the weather warnings, it seemed to be a fine day, if a little cloudy. We do the usual things; feed the cats, make breakfast and get dressed, before loading the car up and getting on the road just before seven. With about 200 miles to go, and an almost empty road ahead, the radio played and all seemed right, even if we were off to see Mother. It wasa good run up the M20, then to the tunnel with traffic now hardly pausing at we go through the numberplate reader and dive down under the river.
We turn off at the A12 junction, which is quiet so the usual grand prix start wasn't needed. Into Essex now, and the sun came out and it looked fine. Even iff the occasional boy racer tore past at over 100mph, it was pleasant enough and we crossed over the Suffolk border and so travelled back to the 1950s. I joke about this, and in fact the roads are fine until we get north of Ipswich, past Woodbridge and Whickham Market, where suddenly, the road narrows and the speed drops to a maximum of 40mph.
Despite the countryside being attractive, especially in the spring, when you want to just get where you are going, do your stuff and head back south, that people in front of the train of cars snaking through the countryside slow down to 30mph as soon as there is a bend or they can't see further than 20 yards. There are a couple of stretches of dualcarriageway, and we try to get past the slowest cars, but we all can't before the road narrows again.
We reach the outskirts of Lowestoft, so I take the familiar roads to Oulton Broad, joining the queue of traffic over the bridge, past the Wherry Hotel, over the level crossing and on to Mothers.
The rest of the visit, you can guess from above, it was all civil and pleasant, but there is an air of disconnect that I could not ignore, and I suppose after the 3rd or 4th long pause which signified that we had reached the end of her interest, or that Jools and I were fed up bouncing the conversation off each other, I said that it was time to hit the road. We hugged and kissed, but in a kind of formal way that you normally reserve for a person you know only distantly. And we go.
Out through Oulton Village, to Somerleyton and then to Beccles and Bungay via Haddiscoe over the marshes. The sun was out and it was a fine warm afternoon, and an hour past opening time. Back in last August, I had called in at The Bell in Wortwell for a pint, so I thought it might be enough off the main road to be quiet enough to get a seat and maybe something to eat. In the end we settle for a coffee, For Jools, and a pint of Norfolk Nog for me, with packets of crisps. We sat in the beer garden, laughing about things, attracting dirty looks from the only other person in the garden. Should be not be enjoying ourselves?
We drink up and leave, driving to an ancient meadow, which if we were lucky would be filled with orchids. We called in at Wink's Meadow last year, and I wanted to sample the array of colour variations this site has to offer. I remembered where it was, so we park outside and climb over the metal gate to get in. The meadow is full of buttercups and orchids, an incredible sight, and three other people looking round and taking shots. I fill my boots, snapping the whites, salmon pinks, bi-coloured and purples, all marked out by the green ribs in the orchid hoods. It was glorious, but time was getting on, so we retire to the car, program the sat nav from Ron and Sarah's place, and drive back out through the narrow lanes to the main road, then to Diss before turning down the Ipswich road.
They were recovering from a bout of Delhi Belly, so we don't stay long. Long enough to be far more engaged in conversation that with Mother. Ron makes a fine pot of tea, and that gives me strength for the journey back home. They have cleared a tree from their small garden, and there is so much more light there now, and we could have sat there all day watching the blackbirds and robins coming back and forth, while their cat, Maggie, slept on.
At half three, we said goodbye and left, driving back to the main road driving south in thick traffic to the A14, then turning east before taking the A12 south.
It wasn't a bad trip, Chris Packham was on the radio, playing some good tunes, but I could hear much of what he was saying between records. In an hour we were at Dartford, crossed into Kent and were powering down the M20 towards home. We didn't hit a jam at all on either leg of the trip, so arrived home just before six, in time not too be so bad to the cats.
I feed them, amke a coffee and we finish some of the dark chocolate Jools had bought that week. Insalata caprese for dinner, with the last of the three cheese bread. And the day was done.
Just before bedtime, we are both sitting in the garden surrounded by candles and cats, looking at the stars coming out and the planes and bats flying over. At least we won't have to make the trip again until Boxing Day again.
Well, as I explained to my frined Rob, when we talk there seems to be interest in what we do, or have done, but after the initial question, there isn't a follow up, so there is no ebb and flow of conversation, so it all becomes stilted, which explains why after no more than 2 hours, we have run out of things to say and so take our leave. Her house is in such a state that I dare not even have a glass of water, let along have something to eat. Piled up in her kitchen beside the sink is a stack of at least six Fray Bentos tinned pies. This is something of a British thing, I had no idea whe ate stuff like this, but with all her cupboards filled with yet more food, there are few places to store the new food she buys each week. Beside the cooker, there are two stacks of cup-a-soups, each one eight packs high, and each pack containing at least 5 packs. 40 cup-a-soups is prbably enough I would have thought.
But then, this is the life she has chosen, and as her circle of friends has now shrunken to just one, Janet who lives opposite, she can do what she wants, when she wants. Which is quite right; it took me several years to get that into my head, and if she wants to spend thousands of pounds a year on catalogue shopping, stuff that remains unopened on her bed, then that is her choice. I spend my time chasing orchids, photographing churches or listening to music. It is our choice, and after a lifetime of work and bringing me up, then she can get to choose what she does with her time and money. Just seems a shame to me.
Mum seems to have no interest, other than what could be considered polite, in anything that I or Jools does, even with a holiday to Japan to talk about, the question was of food, when we mentioned Conga Eel, she replied that she had had seafood linguine last week from M&S and it was OK. Nothing about Japan.She did ask about photographs, and I had to say, that I am not being nasty when I say this, but when we have brought photos up in the past, after 5 minutes her eyes glaze over. She feigns hurt, but I think she knows this is true. I am not nasty, just honest.
In order to sweeten these 12 hour road trips, we either visit friends, orchid sites or churches, because after about 90 minutes, we are on the road and looking for somewhere for lunch and what to do before heading back home. As was the case this time, we visited an ancient meadow filled with orchids, and on the way back called into see an old friend, Rob who lives just off the A140.
However, we are getting ahead of ourselves a bit here. If you want to know my past history with Mother, then previous postings regarding such visits at this time of year or at Christmas might shed some light.We wake up just before six, and despite the weather warnings, it seemed to be a fine day, if a little cloudy. We do the usual things; feed the cats, make breakfast and get dressed, before loading the car up and getting on the road just before seven. With about 200 miles to go, and an almost empty road ahead, the radio played and all seemed right, even if we were off to see Mother. It wasa good run up the M20, then to the tunnel with traffic now hardly pausing at we go through the numberplate reader and dive down under the river.
We turn off at the A12 junction, which is quiet so the usual grand prix start wasn't needed. Into Essex now, and the sun came out and it looked fine. Even iff the occasional boy racer tore past at over 100mph, it was pleasant enough and we crossed over the Suffolk border and so travelled back to the 1950s. I joke about this, and in fact the roads are fine until we get north of Ipswich, past Woodbridge and Whickham Market, where suddenly, the road narrows and the speed drops to a maximum of 40mph.Despite the countryside being attractive, especially in the spring, when you want to just get where you are going, do your stuff and head back south, that people in front of the train of cars snaking through the countryside slow down to 30mph as soon as there is a bend or they can't see further than 20 yards. There are a couple of stretches of dualcarriageway, and we try to get past the slowest cars, but we all can't before the road narrows again.
We reach the outskirts of Lowestoft, so I take the familiar roads to Oulton Broad, joining the queue of traffic over the bridge, past the Wherry Hotel, over the level crossing and on to Mothers.The rest of the visit, you can guess from above, it was all civil and pleasant, but there is an air of disconnect that I could not ignore, and I suppose after the 3rd or 4th long pause which signified that we had reached the end of her interest, or that Jools and I were fed up bouncing the conversation off each other, I said that it was time to hit the road. We hugged and kissed, but in a kind of formal way that you normally reserve for a person you know only distantly. And we go.
Out through Oulton Village, to Somerleyton and then to Beccles and Bungay via Haddiscoe over the marshes. The sun was out and it was a fine warm afternoon, and an hour past opening time. Back in last August, I had called in at The Bell in Wortwell for a pint, so I thought it might be enough off the main road to be quiet enough to get a seat and maybe something to eat. In the end we settle for a coffee, For Jools, and a pint of Norfolk Nog for me, with packets of crisps. We sat in the beer garden, laughing about things, attracting dirty looks from the only other person in the garden. Should be not be enjoying ourselves?
We drink up and leave, driving to an ancient meadow, which if we were lucky would be filled with orchids. We called in at Wink's Meadow last year, and I wanted to sample the array of colour variations this site has to offer. I remembered where it was, so we park outside and climb over the metal gate to get in. The meadow is full of buttercups and orchids, an incredible sight, and three other people looking round and taking shots. I fill my boots, snapping the whites, salmon pinks, bi-coloured and purples, all marked out by the green ribs in the orchid hoods. It was glorious, but time was getting on, so we retire to the car, program the sat nav from Ron and Sarah's place, and drive back out through the narrow lanes to the main road, then to Diss before turning down the Ipswich road.
They were recovering from a bout of Delhi Belly, so we don't stay long. Long enough to be far more engaged in conversation that with Mother. Ron makes a fine pot of tea, and that gives me strength for the journey back home. They have cleared a tree from their small garden, and there is so much more light there now, and we could have sat there all day watching the blackbirds and robins coming back and forth, while their cat, Maggie, slept on.At half three, we said goodbye and left, driving back to the main road driving south in thick traffic to the A14, then turning east before taking the A12 south.
It wasn't a bad trip, Chris Packham was on the radio, playing some good tunes, but I could hear much of what he was saying between records. In an hour we were at Dartford, crossed into Kent and were powering down the M20 towards home. We didn't hit a jam at all on either leg of the trip, so arrived home just before six, in time not too be so bad to the cats.
I feed them, amke a coffee and we finish some of the dark chocolate Jools had bought that week. Insalata caprese for dinner, with the last of the three cheese bread. And the day was done.
Just before bedtime, we are both sitting in the garden surrounded by candles and cats, looking at the stars coming out and the planes and bats flying over. At least we won't have to make the trip again until Boxing Day again.
Sunday, 29 May 2016
Saturday 28th May 2016
When, I hear you ask, is the orchid season ever going to an end.
Or that is the questions I imagines readers of this blog who may not be orchid-centric as me. Well, the last orchid of the season usually appears at the end of July and can last to the end of September. Before then, there are many more species to be seen and snapped.
So, if you are getting fed up, then I am sorry. But then I am getting out, walking through ancient woodlands, up and down, er, downs, and along cliffs all in search of orchids. If not, I maybee watching football, so are orchids the lesser of the football evil? Heck, I don't know.
Anyway, with there being a family summit planned in the morning at our gaff, I was told that Jools was doing that and then "bimbling", I should go out. Or something like it anyway. I didn't need to be told twice.
I do go to Sainsbury's at seven for beer and bacon; the best of both worlds, and two of the major food groups of course. And after cooking bacon butties, I pack my camera stuff and leave just as Cath and Mike arrive. Where in the world, or Kent, should I go?
Well, first of all, I think it is time I checked back on the Monkeys at PGD, so, with a tank full of gas, and hope in my heart, I drive down Alkham Valley thus avoiding the tattooed fuckwits of the EDL who have now decided that each and every bank holiday they should all down to Dover to protest. So, the town centre is to be avoided. Anyway, a quick blast along the M20 to the next junction, then up the valley to Elham before turning off, and to my surprise, I am the only one there.
PGD is still a little disappointing at first, seems overgrown with no orchids showing, at first glance at least; however, after a while I began to see the purples and pinks showing where there were orchids. And further in the wonderful Monkey was more numerous, but less than in previous years perhaps.
I go round checking each spike and snapping the best. Then go around a while later once the sun breaks through.
Further on still, I look for Musk, Fly, Lady and GBO. I find them all other than GBO, whose spikes I cannot find, yet having seen several earlier in the week. That I can see a Fly spike from 10m shows I am not totally losing my eye.
It is with this result, that I decide to go the Denge to check on the Butterfly orchids there, and there is always the chance of seeing a Duke as well. And a few Kentish Lady too, or course.
At the car park, I meet with Jim and Dawn, first time we have met since last year's season. We hug and swap stories and news on orchid sites. Then they are off to a new site, and I begin the long walk to the Bank.
In the sunshine, the Ladys are even more sensational than before, but there only so many shots you can take of them. I am looking for Butterfly, and soon find three open spikes near to each other, so snap them. And at the end of the site, a Duke lands right in front of me, so I cannot refuse this chance, and get within 6 inches of the wee fella, and get fine shots, despite this being one of Britain's rarest butterflies.
I walk round the bottom of the site, find another var. alba Lady, which is always good, before walking back to the car before driving to the next site, via a pub.
I have always wanted to visit the Black Robin, and with it being near the orchid site, and being off the beaten track, I take a pint of Hopdeamon and a packet of crisps into the beer garden to enjoy and take in what was a fine day. So far.
I drive to the parking spot, then climb the hill once more, but this time the LBO, or Lesser Butterfly on my mind.
Now, I was pretty sure where they were from last year. I look for half an hour, before realising I was 100m from the right place, then with some looking I find one, then a second partially open spike. Great news.
Over the road the Lady are not much further on, so it seems it will be a poor year for them in this woodland setting, but the Fly are now getting towards their peak. And as usual the Common Twayblade are in astounding numbers.
One final call is for some White Helleborines and Birds Nest. It is a quiet little known site, and just inside the wood I see the Birds Nest spikes showing well, and one with open flowers.
I could have gone onto the look for Bee and Lizard, but I have had enough, and at nearly three, I need some lunch, so go home via the quiet lanes through Barfrestone, Shepherdswell, Coldred and Whitfield, thus missing any traffic holdups caused by the demonstrations in DOver, and probably taking three times the time it would have otherwise have taken.
I make lunch for us both, review my shots, write a blog post, edit some shots, and it is seven already, and there is some big football to watch; the CL final, Athletico v Real, which, as it turned out wasn't a good game, but absorbing. But it goes to extra time and then pentalties before Real snatch it.
It is half past ten, and time for bed.
Or that is the questions I imagines readers of this blog who may not be orchid-centric as me. Well, the last orchid of the season usually appears at the end of July and can last to the end of September. Before then, there are many more species to be seen and snapped.
So, if you are getting fed up, then I am sorry. But then I am getting out, walking through ancient woodlands, up and down, er, downs, and along cliffs all in search of orchids. If not, I maybee watching football, so are orchids the lesser of the football evil? Heck, I don't know.
Anyway, with there being a family summit planned in the morning at our gaff, I was told that Jools was doing that and then "bimbling", I should go out. Or something like it anyway. I didn't need to be told twice.
I do go to Sainsbury's at seven for beer and bacon; the best of both worlds, and two of the major food groups of course. And after cooking bacon butties, I pack my camera stuff and leave just as Cath and Mike arrive. Where in the world, or Kent, should I go?
Well, first of all, I think it is time I checked back on the Monkeys at PGD, so, with a tank full of gas, and hope in my heart, I drive down Alkham Valley thus avoiding the tattooed fuckwits of the EDL who have now decided that each and every bank holiday they should all down to Dover to protest. So, the town centre is to be avoided. Anyway, a quick blast along the M20 to the next junction, then up the valley to Elham before turning off, and to my surprise, I am the only one there.
PGD is still a little disappointing at first, seems overgrown with no orchids showing, at first glance at least; however, after a while I began to see the purples and pinks showing where there were orchids. And further in the wonderful Monkey was more numerous, but less than in previous years perhaps. I go round checking each spike and snapping the best. Then go around a while later once the sun breaks through.
Further on still, I look for Musk, Fly, Lady and GBO. I find them all other than GBO, whose spikes I cannot find, yet having seen several earlier in the week. That I can see a Fly spike from 10m shows I am not totally losing my eye.
It is with this result, that I decide to go the Denge to check on the Butterfly orchids there, and there is always the chance of seeing a Duke as well. And a few Kentish Lady too, or course.
At the car park, I meet with Jim and Dawn, first time we have met since last year's season. We hug and swap stories and news on orchid sites. Then they are off to a new site, and I begin the long walk to the Bank.In the sunshine, the Ladys are even more sensational than before, but there only so many shots you can take of them. I am looking for Butterfly, and soon find three open spikes near to each other, so snap them. And at the end of the site, a Duke lands right in front of me, so I cannot refuse this chance, and get within 6 inches of the wee fella, and get fine shots, despite this being one of Britain's rarest butterflies.
I walk round the bottom of the site, find another var. alba Lady, which is always good, before walking back to the car before driving to the next site, via a pub.
I have always wanted to visit the Black Robin, and with it being near the orchid site, and being off the beaten track, I take a pint of Hopdeamon and a packet of crisps into the beer garden to enjoy and take in what was a fine day. So far.I drive to the parking spot, then climb the hill once more, but this time the LBO, or Lesser Butterfly on my mind.
Now, I was pretty sure where they were from last year. I look for half an hour, before realising I was 100m from the right place, then with some looking I find one, then a second partially open spike. Great news.Over the road the Lady are not much further on, so it seems it will be a poor year for them in this woodland setting, but the Fly are now getting towards their peak. And as usual the Common Twayblade are in astounding numbers.
One final call is for some White Helleborines and Birds Nest. It is a quiet little known site, and just inside the wood I see the Birds Nest spikes showing well, and one with open flowers.
I could have gone onto the look for Bee and Lizard, but I have had enough, and at nearly three, I need some lunch, so go home via the quiet lanes through Barfrestone, Shepherdswell, Coldred and Whitfield, thus missing any traffic holdups caused by the demonstrations in DOver, and probably taking three times the time it would have otherwise have taken.
I make lunch for us both, review my shots, write a blog post, edit some shots, and it is seven already, and there is some big football to watch; the CL final, Athletico v Real, which, as it turned out wasn't a good game, but absorbing. But it goes to extra time and then pentalties before Real snatch it.
It is half past ten, and time for bed.
Saturday, 28 May 2016
Friday 27th May 2016
Mum's 72nd birthday.
And what should have been a fine day of simple travelling back home turned into, well, and adventure.
I have had enough of the Zleep at the airport; crap rooms, crap food and crap sleep quality. So, I chose to stay in Esbjerg and get up at 5 to drive to the airport. The sunshine, already risen by half four woke me up, so I lay in bed until the alarm went off, then lept, well, slouched into action.
I showered, packed and dressed before going down to check out and load up the car. It was a glorious morning, and a shame to leaving Denmark.
Denmark wears her spring colours well; light and airy, and very attractive when the sun shines. Spring flowers that usually line the roads have just about gone for the year, but the fields are full of buttercups and daisies. All is a vibrant green and yellow, but no time to stop, I have to hurry up to get to the airport. I don't know why I am so worried, I have two and a half hours before flight time, and it should be quiet at the airport. But then I had forgotten it is spring, when all of Denmark flies south for some warm sunshine, so the airport is full of families and older couples, already half dressed for the beach, trying to check in. At the the BA desk is quiet, but then we all have to go through security, but this frequent traveller knows that if he waits, say, have a coffee and a pastry, then by the time he is done, there will be no queues.
Not only are there no queues, but in the departure hall, there is seats aplenty, and there are abandoned beer and spirit glasses too, as some began their holiday even earlier.I catch up on some mails, drop some grenades, then wander to gate 2 for boarding, where I find just six other passengers waiting for the flight, including my old friend who works for Lego, Mr Lego. No, really no idea what his name is, we just chat when we meet for the flights back and forth; he commutes most week to their head office, as for me, just most weeks it seems.
We have the safety brief, the engines start and we taxi off. All is going well, I relax in my seat and read the magazine i have brought. Just after take off, breakfast is brought round, and there is even an offer of an extra roll if anyone's hungry. No one is though, just too polite.
The pilot says the wind is in the east, which means a final approach over central London, and I have no camera except for my phone, so I set it to aircraft mode, and am ready to snap London as we skim over the rooftops.
We are kept in a stack somewhere off the coast of Essex, before being allowed to skirt south London, passing over the Medway towns then round to Crystal Palace before turning north, then turning east at Battersea and flying low along the river. I take snaps all along, hoping they would come out. The City Looks so crowded, like there are no streets between the buildings.
We bounce down, taxi to our slot then have to wait to be pushed back and then climb on the bus to take us to the terminal. All seven of us walk to immigration, show our passport and as usual, already our bags are waiting, going round and round the carousel.
I grab the case, walk to the DLR station, only to find I have just missed a train which would have gotten me to Stratford in time for the quarter to ten train This would have severe implications, but this I did not know. Yet.
I go to the cafe, have a coffee and a filled baguette and read Private Eye, just to pass the time.
I go down onto the platform, and at that point I realise there is something wrong, as there are trains on both platforms, and on the one on the country-bound service, the driver is sitting on the step of his cab looking very fed up. His train is already 20 minutes delayed. Turns out there is a train broken down in the tunnels beyond the station between here and Ebbsfleet, and it ain't moving.
I wait to see what happens, on the up line a new Eurostar coasts by at about walking pace, giving me time to get out my phone and take a shot.
Just about when the train to Folkestone should have left, the one waiting was given the road, so I jump on thinking once I get to Ashford I should be able to get a Charing Cross service, at least that was the plan. We cross over onto the up line and accelerate to full speed; in the wrong direction for the line! I hope the signaler knew what he was doing.
Once out of the tunnel we cross back over, and the journey is then normal. Until we reach Ashford, as it is chaos there, with the board apparently saying there would be a 50 minute wait for a train, that couldn't be right, could it? Sadly, it was.
Train after train was cancelled, and the platform filled up with frustrated passengers, whilst staff tried their best to calm the situation. Our train pulls into platofrm 2, so we all rush over, climb on, then told we would have to wait for the train I should have caught from Stratford, the 10:44. It arrives at 12:15, some 60 minutes later than it should. The train is now full, but we were heading int he right direction and all happy. Until we get to Folkestone where we then have to get onto the Rail replacement bus for the run to Dover; how I will be glad when the line is finally repaired.
I get to Dover, and the last taxi is taken, and in the queue there are four people already waiting. I shrug and walk to the Rack of Ale, order a pint of raspberry porter and call for a cab from there; it arrives before I finish the pint, so down it in one, and climb in the car outside.
And then I am home. At last. I make a huge cuppa then go to sit in the garden to drink and wait for the cats to realise I'm home. Turns out I am shattered, and once Jools is home, I cook breaded pork and lentil dahl, a uncork a bottle of red, so I am well relaxed by the time the England game starts at seven forty five. I miss most of the second half as I am sleeping deeply, I wake up to find England 2-1 up. I go to bed. No caring about the football.
And what should have been a fine day of simple travelling back home turned into, well, and adventure.
I have had enough of the Zleep at the airport; crap rooms, crap food and crap sleep quality. So, I chose to stay in Esbjerg and get up at 5 to drive to the airport. The sunshine, already risen by half four woke me up, so I lay in bed until the alarm went off, then lept, well, slouched into action.
I showered, packed and dressed before going down to check out and load up the car. It was a glorious morning, and a shame to leaving Denmark.
Denmark wears her spring colours well; light and airy, and very attractive when the sun shines. Spring flowers that usually line the roads have just about gone for the year, but the fields are full of buttercups and daisies. All is a vibrant green and yellow, but no time to stop, I have to hurry up to get to the airport. I don't know why I am so worried, I have two and a half hours before flight time, and it should be quiet at the airport. But then I had forgotten it is spring, when all of Denmark flies south for some warm sunshine, so the airport is full of families and older couples, already half dressed for the beach, trying to check in. At the the BA desk is quiet, but then we all have to go through security, but this frequent traveller knows that if he waits, say, have a coffee and a pastry, then by the time he is done, there will be no queues.
Not only are there no queues, but in the departure hall, there is seats aplenty, and there are abandoned beer and spirit glasses too, as some began their holiday even earlier.I catch up on some mails, drop some grenades, then wander to gate 2 for boarding, where I find just six other passengers waiting for the flight, including my old friend who works for Lego, Mr Lego. No, really no idea what his name is, we just chat when we meet for the flights back and forth; he commutes most week to their head office, as for me, just most weeks it seems.
We have the safety brief, the engines start and we taxi off. All is going well, I relax in my seat and read the magazine i have brought. Just after take off, breakfast is brought round, and there is even an offer of an extra roll if anyone's hungry. No one is though, just too polite.
The pilot says the wind is in the east, which means a final approach over central London, and I have no camera except for my phone, so I set it to aircraft mode, and am ready to snap London as we skim over the rooftops.
We are kept in a stack somewhere off the coast of Essex, before being allowed to skirt south London, passing over the Medway towns then round to Crystal Palace before turning north, then turning east at Battersea and flying low along the river. I take snaps all along, hoping they would come out. The City Looks so crowded, like there are no streets between the buildings.
We bounce down, taxi to our slot then have to wait to be pushed back and then climb on the bus to take us to the terminal. All seven of us walk to immigration, show our passport and as usual, already our bags are waiting, going round and round the carousel.I grab the case, walk to the DLR station, only to find I have just missed a train which would have gotten me to Stratford in time for the quarter to ten train This would have severe implications, but this I did not know. Yet.
I go to the cafe, have a coffee and a filled baguette and read Private Eye, just to pass the time.
I go down onto the platform, and at that point I realise there is something wrong, as there are trains on both platforms, and on the one on the country-bound service, the driver is sitting on the step of his cab looking very fed up. His train is already 20 minutes delayed. Turns out there is a train broken down in the tunnels beyond the station between here and Ebbsfleet, and it ain't moving.
I wait to see what happens, on the up line a new Eurostar coasts by at about walking pace, giving me time to get out my phone and take a shot.
Just about when the train to Folkestone should have left, the one waiting was given the road, so I jump on thinking once I get to Ashford I should be able to get a Charing Cross service, at least that was the plan. We cross over onto the up line and accelerate to full speed; in the wrong direction for the line! I hope the signaler knew what he was doing.
Once out of the tunnel we cross back over, and the journey is then normal. Until we reach Ashford, as it is chaos there, with the board apparently saying there would be a 50 minute wait for a train, that couldn't be right, could it? Sadly, it was.
Train after train was cancelled, and the platform filled up with frustrated passengers, whilst staff tried their best to calm the situation. Our train pulls into platofrm 2, so we all rush over, climb on, then told we would have to wait for the train I should have caught from Stratford, the 10:44. It arrives at 12:15, some 60 minutes later than it should. The train is now full, but we were heading int he right direction and all happy. Until we get to Folkestone where we then have to get onto the Rail replacement bus for the run to Dover; how I will be glad when the line is finally repaired.I get to Dover, and the last taxi is taken, and in the queue there are four people already waiting. I shrug and walk to the Rack of Ale, order a pint of raspberry porter and call for a cab from there; it arrives before I finish the pint, so down it in one, and climb in the car outside.
And then I am home. At last. I make a huge cuppa then go to sit in the garden to drink and wait for the cats to realise I'm home. Turns out I am shattered, and once Jools is home, I cook breaded pork and lentil dahl, a uncork a bottle of red, so I am well relaxed by the time the England game starts at seven forty five. I miss most of the second half as I am sleeping deeply, I wake up to find England 2-1 up. I go to bed. No caring about the football.
Thursday 26th May 2016
And still the sun fails to melt these Scandinavian clouds, so we must look at an overcast sky. Well, until the evening.
But today is a day for work, and I am busy right from seven all the way through.
Rune is persuaded that I should drive him to work in BMW, so I switch it to sports and skid of the car park. Its only a five minute drive to the office, but it is fun.
I have arranged a quality workshop. Not sure whether it was a "quality" workshop, but a couple had come down from Arhus to attend, so I had better make it a good one. If not, the fact I arranged food at lunchtime, yummy Danish open sandwiches, all freshly made, made up for the dull day of Powerpoint Presentations. By one, I am done. There is little to be done now, other than to make the file structure, ready for it to be populated with evidence of work.
Of course, I have the job of writing the report from the previous day's audit, so the day fades out. But the last remnants of jetlag, two night's poor sleep had left me tired. At half three I said to Rune, I had to go back to the hotel for a snooze. And once back in the hotel, I put the radio on, laid on the bed and zedded for two hours, waking up just before six, thus being in time for the team dinner I had arranged.
I met Rune in reception, to wait for Brian to collect us in the car so he could take us to Butcher, although it is just a ten minute walk, but hey, a lift, right? It is by the football ground, where as we ate fine steak, the final game of the season was being played, FC Copenahgen winning 4-1 and thus securing the Danish title.
Inside the restaurant, we all ordered 350g steaks and several sides. It was done to perfection, but once again I have eyes bigger than my belly, but again, I don't eat it all.
Phew, I am stuffed, but not so tired. So, Brian drops us off back at the hotel, but too full t have a nightcap, so I bid the guys farewell and retire to my room to call Jools and then to go to bed.
From my window, I watch the sun set and the lights come on in the port. The radio plays, and my eyes get tired.
Home tomorrow.
But today is a day for work, and I am busy right from seven all the way through.
Rune is persuaded that I should drive him to work in BMW, so I switch it to sports and skid of the car park. Its only a five minute drive to the office, but it is fun.I have arranged a quality workshop. Not sure whether it was a "quality" workshop, but a couple had come down from Arhus to attend, so I had better make it a good one. If not, the fact I arranged food at lunchtime, yummy Danish open sandwiches, all freshly made, made up for the dull day of Powerpoint Presentations. By one, I am done. There is little to be done now, other than to make the file structure, ready for it to be populated with evidence of work.
Of course, I have the job of writing the report from the previous day's audit, so the day fades out. But the last remnants of jetlag, two night's poor sleep had left me tired. At half three I said to Rune, I had to go back to the hotel for a snooze. And once back in the hotel, I put the radio on, laid on the bed and zedded for two hours, waking up just before six, thus being in time for the team dinner I had arranged.
I met Rune in reception, to wait for Brian to collect us in the car so he could take us to Butcher, although it is just a ten minute walk, but hey, a lift, right? It is by the football ground, where as we ate fine steak, the final game of the season was being played, FC Copenahgen winning 4-1 and thus securing the Danish title.
Inside the restaurant, we all ordered 350g steaks and several sides. It was done to perfection, but once again I have eyes bigger than my belly, but again, I don't eat it all.
Phew, I am stuffed, but not so tired. So, Brian drops us off back at the hotel, but too full t have a nightcap, so I bid the guys farewell and retire to my room to call Jools and then to go to bed.
From my window, I watch the sun set and the lights come on in the port. The radio plays, and my eyes get tired.Home tomorrow.
Friday, 27 May 2016
Wednesday 25th May 2016
I audit therefore I am.
First day back actually working, and I have arranged an audit of our base in Esbjerg. It means having to think and ask the right questions and stuff.
But first, a shower. And breakfast. Then I can drive, in sports mode, in the BMW to the port. Then park it up for the day, walk to the office where there is a shriek from inside. This means Shelly is back from Vegas, even more jetlagged than I am, but her liver says she had a good time in Sin City.
Pleasantries out of the way, I get my notebook, clipboard and audit guide and begin asking difficult questions. Well, not difficult, but the morning passes, and I plough on.
At lunchtime, Brian and I go to Aunt Betty's, a place that does filled bagels, and I have a garlic bagel with chili chicken, garlic mayo and lots of pickles. It is wonderful.
I finish the audit, then begin to write the report. Outside the sun still refuses to shine, and there is a breeze blowing, but not actually cold. Not warm either.
That night, another colleague is coming to stay in the hotel, so Rune, Brian and myself go to Flammen over the road for meat. Meat. And more meat. And beer. Thing is, you can go back for as much as you want, and although I went back for seconds, they must have been closing because the guy carving filled my plate with pulled pork. Oh, it hurt.
We eat no more, but it is a good end to the day, and only a short walk back to the hotel. OK< a short waddle. Then I could lay on the bed, listening to the radio, and snooze.
First day back actually working, and I have arranged an audit of our base in Esbjerg. It means having to think and ask the right questions and stuff.
But first, a shower. And breakfast. Then I can drive, in sports mode, in the BMW to the port. Then park it up for the day, walk to the office where there is a shriek from inside. This means Shelly is back from Vegas, even more jetlagged than I am, but her liver says she had a good time in Sin City.
Pleasantries out of the way, I get my notebook, clipboard and audit guide and begin asking difficult questions. Well, not difficult, but the morning passes, and I plough on.
At lunchtime, Brian and I go to Aunt Betty's, a place that does filled bagels, and I have a garlic bagel with chili chicken, garlic mayo and lots of pickles. It is wonderful.
I finish the audit, then begin to write the report. Outside the sun still refuses to shine, and there is a breeze blowing, but not actually cold. Not warm either.
That night, another colleague is coming to stay in the hotel, so Rune, Brian and myself go to Flammen over the road for meat. Meat. And more meat. And beer. Thing is, you can go back for as much as you want, and although I went back for seconds, they must have been closing because the guy carving filled my plate with pulled pork. Oh, it hurt.
We eat no more, but it is a good end to the day, and only a short walk back to the hotel. OK< a short waddle. Then I could lay on the bed, listening to the radio, and snooze.
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