I thought I would write a few lines to let you know how things are progressing since I wrote the last post announcing her passing.
The bureaucratic wheels turn slowly here, after four days, the doctor announced he was confident that she died from natural causes, so no post mortem would be needed, thus releasing the body. She had a savings plan with one of the local funeral directing firms, which tied her into them, and with that restriction and one of the two crematoriums in East Kent closed, we were given a date of June 9th for her service, which is this Thursday.
So, her death has now been registered, a certificate issued, and the final stages in her life can now begin. Jools placed a notice in the local paper, £77! Anyway, the very last details, probate have yet to be arranged, but that will begin after her funeral.
Jools has been working with her brother and sister on the details for the service and such; there are so many pitfalls to avoind, especially with a larger family than mine ever was. And I am sure, even if Jools isn't, that there will be issues come the day. But we shall see.
Come Sunday afternoons when in the past Jools has gone to visit Nan, she doesn't have to now of course, but we both feel that part of the routine has now gone.
Sunday, 5 June 2016
Saturday 4th June 2016
Good morning. And it is because it is the weekend.
And the weekend means no work, at least for a day or two. And lazing around. And orchids. And shopping.
So it will come as no surprise that I did some of each all day long, as I know how to roll.
It would be tempting to laze around the house all day, I mean I could do that with my eyes shut. Well, not shut, but you know what I mean. Photos, blogs, music and cooking, I could make all those hours vanish. But, there has to be a plan. And we need food, so it seems I will be going to Tesco for a few things, which escalates into a sixty quid shop, but we have all for the week, and I am home by eight in the morning.
On a sour note, it was foggy early on Saturday morning, which in itself is not a problem, but the number of idiots out there who drove with no lights on is mind-boggling, but I did home safe, which is the important thing, really.
We have breakfast then comes the waiting. Waiting for the weather to clear so the sun can come out and I can snap me some orchids. In the end I waiting until ten, and decide that maybe inland, the skies and mist would clear quicker. I hoped so.
My plan was to seek for the smallest of UK orchids, the Musk, and the only place I know where I can find them is PGD.
With being away through two weeks of the season, I haven't been to many of the main sites as often as I usually would, but if nothing else, seeing the Monkeys is worth the trip alone, if there were no other orchids on the site. But, of course, there is so much more there.
I have the site to myself, which is always nice. So I walk to the second paddock, and at first it seems there is little orchid action going on, other than the last of the Early Purples hanging on further up the chalk bank. But in time there are plenty of Monkey to be seen, probably just about at their peak now, so peppered over the paddock are many small Monkey smaller than I remember from my first couple of visits, but good to see that they seem to be doing so well here, as opposed to to the original site in Faversham where the single digit figures I saw this year don't seem to suggest a viable population. But we shall see.
I push on to the next paddock to begin the careful examination of the ground where the Musk grow; it is a huge site, but the Musk grown in an area of about 5 metre squared, and are tiny at first. I look and look, but see no sign. I feel better that my friend Mark also went here to look and he came up blank too. So not just my eyes then.
Further up I look for the Greater Butterfly, eventually finding one, but not yet quite open. The Flys are fading fast in the open conditions, and the single Lady has lost her glower and the spike is fading. The Chalk Fragrants won't be long, and the CSO are beginning to open. It is a wonderful site, and changes week by week. Will go back soon. I meet a couple who are orchid novices, so show the the Fly and GBO, they seem happy, but I do warn them of the obsession with orchids.
I drive to Wye travelling across country down country lanes, barely wide enough for one car to pass along, so when I meet another car it is an adventure for us to find a passing place. But I do get to Wye safe and sound, take the low road at the bottom of the down until I come to the place by the five bar gate, wherre there is another car already there, and as I climb the style, a woman holding a baby is checking who it is, as her husband (I guess) is hunched over a camera on a trip snapping the Late Spiders.
The Late Spider is, of course, one of the rarest UK plants, and is found just around here in East Kent, so people come from all over the country just to see them. This family had come down from Cardiff, and in time quiz me for locations where to go next, but there are so many places in Kent that they are spoiled for choice, so I leave them with more macro snapping going on.
The sunshine that had been forecasted had not come, so was still cloudy, but bright enough to get decent photographs, but I thought I would leave it until Sunday, as that was going to be a better day. Apparently.
I drive home on the M20 and up the Alkham Valley, where now it is summer there is no sign that the Dellingore ever flowed, there are fields full if fast growing crops, but no poppies, more's the pity. Anyway, it was half one, and I was hungry and it was well past lunch time.
A few weeks ago, Mum quized me about how to bake Camembert, which got me thinking, so that is what we had for lunch, runny stinky cheese spread on fresh crusty bread and a bottle of summer ale to wash it down with. Perfect.
THat done, Jools went into town for a barnet mangle, and I stayed home to do whatever I filled the afternoon with, mainly writing, editing and listening to the radio.
I cook steak for dinner, and try my hand at making onion rings, which whilst not perfect, were OK, and went well with the steak and shop bought chips. We had a bottle of Prosecco too, which meant that when we wanted to travel to the Rack of Ale for their 60s night, we had to call a taxi.
It might not have escaped your attention that we don't go to discos or clubs now, it seems our days for disco dancing are behind us. But, a night out, drinking real ale and listening to some 60s tunes seemed like a great idea. So, we spent a couple of hours in the bar, making beer and cider disappear, whilst in the back room, the band threw up some Cream and Kinks tunes, not a bad night.
But, at ten when the taxi came to collect us, we were well past our bed time, and we were both sleepy heads. We did sit in the garden for a while, looking at the stars twinkling high above us, and the flashing lights of passing jetliners.
So it will come as no surprise that I did some of each all day long, as I know how to roll.
It would be tempting to laze around the house all day, I mean I could do that with my eyes shut. Well, not shut, but you know what I mean. Photos, blogs, music and cooking, I could make all those hours vanish. But, there has to be a plan. And we need food, so it seems I will be going to Tesco for a few things, which escalates into a sixty quid shop, but we have all for the week, and I am home by eight in the morning.
On a sour note, it was foggy early on Saturday morning, which in itself is not a problem, but the number of idiots out there who drove with no lights on is mind-boggling, but I did home safe, which is the important thing, really.
We have breakfast then comes the waiting. Waiting for the weather to clear so the sun can come out and I can snap me some orchids. In the end I waiting until ten, and decide that maybe inland, the skies and mist would clear quicker. I hoped so.
My plan was to seek for the smallest of UK orchids, the Musk, and the only place I know where I can find them is PGD.
With being away through two weeks of the season, I haven't been to many of the main sites as often as I usually would, but if nothing else, seeing the Monkeys is worth the trip alone, if there were no other orchids on the site. But, of course, there is so much more there.
I have the site to myself, which is always nice. So I walk to the second paddock, and at first it seems there is little orchid action going on, other than the last of the Early Purples hanging on further up the chalk bank. But in time there are plenty of Monkey to be seen, probably just about at their peak now, so peppered over the paddock are many small Monkey smaller than I remember from my first couple of visits, but good to see that they seem to be doing so well here, as opposed to to the original site in Faversham where the single digit figures I saw this year don't seem to suggest a viable population. But we shall see.
I push on to the next paddock to begin the careful examination of the ground where the Musk grow; it is a huge site, but the Musk grown in an area of about 5 metre squared, and are tiny at first. I look and look, but see no sign. I feel better that my friend Mark also went here to look and he came up blank too. So not just my eyes then.
Further up I look for the Greater Butterfly, eventually finding one, but not yet quite open. The Flys are fading fast in the open conditions, and the single Lady has lost her glower and the spike is fading. The Chalk Fragrants won't be long, and the CSO are beginning to open. It is a wonderful site, and changes week by week. Will go back soon. I meet a couple who are orchid novices, so show the the Fly and GBO, they seem happy, but I do warn them of the obsession with orchids.
I drive to Wye travelling across country down country lanes, barely wide enough for one car to pass along, so when I meet another car it is an adventure for us to find a passing place. But I do get to Wye safe and sound, take the low road at the bottom of the down until I come to the place by the five bar gate, wherre there is another car already there, and as I climb the style, a woman holding a baby is checking who it is, as her husband (I guess) is hunched over a camera on a trip snapping the Late Spiders.
The Late Spider is, of course, one of the rarest UK plants, and is found just around here in East Kent, so people come from all over the country just to see them. This family had come down from Cardiff, and in time quiz me for locations where to go next, but there are so many places in Kent that they are spoiled for choice, so I leave them with more macro snapping going on.
The sunshine that had been forecasted had not come, so was still cloudy, but bright enough to get decent photographs, but I thought I would leave it until Sunday, as that was going to be a better day. Apparently.I drive home on the M20 and up the Alkham Valley, where now it is summer there is no sign that the Dellingore ever flowed, there are fields full if fast growing crops, but no poppies, more's the pity. Anyway, it was half one, and I was hungry and it was well past lunch time.
A few weeks ago, Mum quized me about how to bake Camembert, which got me thinking, so that is what we had for lunch, runny stinky cheese spread on fresh crusty bread and a bottle of summer ale to wash it down with. Perfect.
THat done, Jools went into town for a barnet mangle, and I stayed home to do whatever I filled the afternoon with, mainly writing, editing and listening to the radio.
I cook steak for dinner, and try my hand at making onion rings, which whilst not perfect, were OK, and went well with the steak and shop bought chips. We had a bottle of Prosecco too, which meant that when we wanted to travel to the Rack of Ale for their 60s night, we had to call a taxi.It might not have escaped your attention that we don't go to discos or clubs now, it seems our days for disco dancing are behind us. But, a night out, drinking real ale and listening to some 60s tunes seemed like a great idea. So, we spent a couple of hours in the bar, making beer and cider disappear, whilst in the back room, the band threw up some Cream and Kinks tunes, not a bad night.
But, at ten when the taxi came to collect us, we were well past our bed time, and we were both sleepy heads. We did sit in the garden for a while, looking at the stars twinkling high above us, and the flashing lights of passing jetliners.
Saturday, 4 June 2016
Friday 3rd June 2016
I decided to no longer stay in the Zleep Hotel at the airport, this is because it is, quite frankly, crap. Even with the new wing they have built, so it seems when staying in Esbjerg at least, I will drive to the aiport the morning of the flight. This means getting up an hour earlier of course, and the risk of oversleeping too I suppose. But I set the phone alarm, make sure its charged and so there should be no mistake.
The alarm goes off at five, with the rays of the just risen sun pouring in through the gap in the curtains, it was still blood red. I have a shower, get ready and check that I have packed everything. Downstairs I check out and load the car, winding the windows down in the car so the warm air will dry my hair as I drive along.
It is good going, and the C Max cruises along at 95, just about on the speed limit on the main road up to Billund. I roar past a couple of trucks in second or third gear, but for the most part it is just open roads all the way. That and the glorious Danish countryside in full summer dress, it is wondrous. Especially as it is so grim a little further south.
I arrive at the airport, and with no one in the office yet, I just drop the key off and go to check in. As usual, there is an almighty rush to get through security, as there are a couple of budget flights heading to Spain yet to leave. I go to the cafe and have breakfast, check my mails whilst they all go through before following them once there is no queue. Upstairs in the departure hall, there are people and families everywhere, abandoned beer and spirit glasses little all flat surfaces. I find a table at which to work, and get down to some mails before my flight is called. Those heading to the sun, or warmer sun as it is so great in Denmark, begin to board their planes, and soon where once was an almighty buzz of conversation is all deserted, with just ten of us waiting for our flight to London left behind.
We board and are up, up and away on time, and soon Denmark is left far behind, and down below the clouds roll in and all sight of the ground is lost. I eat breakfast, drink coffee and finish my magazine.
I can feel the plane begin to descend from its cruising altitude, still down below there was no sight of Blighty. From the way the plane is moving, I try to guess where we are. I feel us bank steeply to the right, and I guess we are heading dwon the river with the City should have been in view. But isn't.
As we skim the rooftops of Canning Town, the ground becomes visible, with the DLR trains whizzing along, carrying people in rush hour; we would soon be joining them.
We land and taxi to a gate, a short walk to immigration. We are through so quick we have to wait for our bags, but then are free to leave. I check the time and I realise we are so early that I will make the earlier train home, and I would be indoors by about 11, or very close.
At Stratford I just have enough time to grab a coffee and sausage roll before going down onto the platform to wait for the train. It seems half term is over in London, and there are many free seats, so I take a place on my preferred side of the train, sipping coffee as we zip through the long tunnel to Dagenham. Once over ground my phone goes crazy as another urgent matter arises. Any thought of an early stack once home is gone as I will have to deal with that.
Sigh.
We arrive at Folkestone, then have to climb onto the rail replacement coach which, at the same time has the heating on full and the cool air blowers on. Its not a long trip so let it be. On the way I call for a taxi to collect me at the station, and so settle down for the tour of Folkestone and Dover as we make our way to Priory station.
I have a short wait for the cab, needless to say there is a line of half dazen other waiting for busness. Which was unlike last week where there was a queue for cars. Oh well.
The cab arrives and takes me home going up past the castle then along the Deal road to St Maggies. The garden has exploded into life, with the warmth and rain this week, and looks like a jungle in the flower beds. I open the door and there are zero cats coming down to greet me. So, I make a brew and a sandwich and settle down for an afternoon of work at the computer.
I am done by four, by which time Jools is home. We have coffee before she goes back out to fetch fish and chips from Whitfield. And it is Friday AND national fish and chip day too, apparently. Who knew?
We are both shattered, but manage to stay awake to watch Top of the Pops from November 1981 then our dose of The Don, something we have not seen for five weeks,. And his garden has also exploded into life too.
At nine, with thick fog outside, we go to bed, followed closely by all three cats, with whom we would play budge with during the night
The alarm goes off at five, with the rays of the just risen sun pouring in through the gap in the curtains, it was still blood red. I have a shower, get ready and check that I have packed everything. Downstairs I check out and load the car, winding the windows down in the car so the warm air will dry my hair as I drive along.
It is good going, and the C Max cruises along at 95, just about on the speed limit on the main road up to Billund. I roar past a couple of trucks in second or third gear, but for the most part it is just open roads all the way. That and the glorious Danish countryside in full summer dress, it is wondrous. Especially as it is so grim a little further south.
I arrive at the airport, and with no one in the office yet, I just drop the key off and go to check in. As usual, there is an almighty rush to get through security, as there are a couple of budget flights heading to Spain yet to leave. I go to the cafe and have breakfast, check my mails whilst they all go through before following them once there is no queue. Upstairs in the departure hall, there are people and families everywhere, abandoned beer and spirit glasses little all flat surfaces. I find a table at which to work, and get down to some mails before my flight is called. Those heading to the sun, or warmer sun as it is so great in Denmark, begin to board their planes, and soon where once was an almighty buzz of conversation is all deserted, with just ten of us waiting for our flight to London left behind.
We board and are up, up and away on time, and soon Denmark is left far behind, and down below the clouds roll in and all sight of the ground is lost. I eat breakfast, drink coffee and finish my magazine.
I can feel the plane begin to descend from its cruising altitude, still down below there was no sight of Blighty. From the way the plane is moving, I try to guess where we are. I feel us bank steeply to the right, and I guess we are heading dwon the river with the City should have been in view. But isn't.
As we skim the rooftops of Canning Town, the ground becomes visible, with the DLR trains whizzing along, carrying people in rush hour; we would soon be joining them.
We land and taxi to a gate, a short walk to immigration. We are through so quick we have to wait for our bags, but then are free to leave. I check the time and I realise we are so early that I will make the earlier train home, and I would be indoors by about 11, or very close.
At Stratford I just have enough time to grab a coffee and sausage roll before going down onto the platform to wait for the train. It seems half term is over in London, and there are many free seats, so I take a place on my preferred side of the train, sipping coffee as we zip through the long tunnel to Dagenham. Once over ground my phone goes crazy as another urgent matter arises. Any thought of an early stack once home is gone as I will have to deal with that.
Sigh.
We arrive at Folkestone, then have to climb onto the rail replacement coach which, at the same time has the heating on full and the cool air blowers on. Its not a long trip so let it be. On the way I call for a taxi to collect me at the station, and so settle down for the tour of Folkestone and Dover as we make our way to Priory station.
I have a short wait for the cab, needless to say there is a line of half dazen other waiting for busness. Which was unlike last week where there was a queue for cars. Oh well.
The cab arrives and takes me home going up past the castle then along the Deal road to St Maggies. The garden has exploded into life, with the warmth and rain this week, and looks like a jungle in the flower beds. I open the door and there are zero cats coming down to greet me. So, I make a brew and a sandwich and settle down for an afternoon of work at the computer.
I am done by four, by which time Jools is home. We have coffee before she goes back out to fetch fish and chips from Whitfield. And it is Friday AND national fish and chip day too, apparently. Who knew?
We are both shattered, but manage to stay awake to watch Top of the Pops from November 1981 then our dose of The Don, something we have not seen for five weeks,. And his garden has also exploded into life too.
At nine, with thick fog outside, we go to bed, followed closely by all three cats, with whom we would play budge with during the night
Friday, 3 June 2016
Thursday 2nd June 2016
And another day in which the weather of Western Europe is upside down as Denmark bathes in endless sunshine and temperatures of near thirty degrees, whilst France and Belgium suffer floods after days of heavy rain. I hear its even chilly back home. But not in Denmark, oh no.
I am woken sometime before five with the sun already rising and it being light, and the duper truck emptying the bin 6 floors beneath my half open window. OK, I'm awake now.
I say before falling back to sleep, only to wake with a start at five past seven.
So, I haul myself up and take to the shower to freshen up and try to wake the wool out of my brain. Something that is only partially successful. Down in the restaurant, there are no Germans, so do't have to force myself not to do a Basil Fawlty, have some cereal and walk to car to drive into work.
And with the best will, there was always going to be something to thrown a spanner in the works, and I find I will have to drive to Ringkobing in the afternoon instead of finishing the document review I had planned to do. Anyway, there's always the evening, isn't there?
After yet more hasty meetings, I take myself and Brian in my hire car out of Esbjerg and into the sweltering Danish Savannah, where we look for wilderbeast and other animals hunting for watering holes. Well, not quite, but with the windows rolled down, and the air con on, its not a bad way to spend 90 minutes.
We do our work, then turn the car round and drive south back to Esbjerg, stopping off at a supermarket for ice cold cokes and water. Denmark is just arable countryside, woodland and bogs, scattered with farms, villages and the occasional town. Its not unpleasant, and in some ways it was a shame to reach Esbjerg, drop Brian off and go to the hotel to work some more.
But at least I have a window facing east, so that by late afternoon its in deep shade and cool enough, so I can concentrate on work and get the job done, sending off the final version just before seven, so I was then free to go to look for some dinner. I fancy beer and nachos.
So, walk up to Dronning Louise again, where everyone is sitting outside in the sunshine, thus getting hot and sweaty, so I take one of the many empty tables and make pints of Danish IPA vanish, at least I'm good at something. I eat all the nachos and peppers too, and feeling stuffed, I waddle back to the hotel in the hope of doing something other than looking at a computer screen. On TV, I find the England game on, and soon I am back at the computer as England stink Wembley out with a poor performance against 10 man Portugal, who have a player sent off, IN A FRIENDLY, and still England struggle.
I do watch until the bitter end, and it is bitter, but sweetened as Smalling scores with three minutes to go, and the player celebrate like they won the World Cup.
Time for bed.....
I am woken sometime before five with the sun already rising and it being light, and the duper truck emptying the bin 6 floors beneath my half open window. OK, I'm awake now.
I say before falling back to sleep, only to wake with a start at five past seven.
So, I haul myself up and take to the shower to freshen up and try to wake the wool out of my brain. Something that is only partially successful. Down in the restaurant, there are no Germans, so do't have to force myself not to do a Basil Fawlty, have some cereal and walk to car to drive into work.
And with the best will, there was always going to be something to thrown a spanner in the works, and I find I will have to drive to Ringkobing in the afternoon instead of finishing the document review I had planned to do. Anyway, there's always the evening, isn't there?
After yet more hasty meetings, I take myself and Brian in my hire car out of Esbjerg and into the sweltering Danish Savannah, where we look for wilderbeast and other animals hunting for watering holes. Well, not quite, but with the windows rolled down, and the air con on, its not a bad way to spend 90 minutes.
We do our work, then turn the car round and drive south back to Esbjerg, stopping off at a supermarket for ice cold cokes and water. Denmark is just arable countryside, woodland and bogs, scattered with farms, villages and the occasional town. Its not unpleasant, and in some ways it was a shame to reach Esbjerg, drop Brian off and go to the hotel to work some more.
But at least I have a window facing east, so that by late afternoon its in deep shade and cool enough, so I can concentrate on work and get the job done, sending off the final version just before seven, so I was then free to go to look for some dinner. I fancy beer and nachos.So, walk up to Dronning Louise again, where everyone is sitting outside in the sunshine, thus getting hot and sweaty, so I take one of the many empty tables and make pints of Danish IPA vanish, at least I'm good at something. I eat all the nachos and peppers too, and feeling stuffed, I waddle back to the hotel in the hope of doing something other than looking at a computer screen. On TV, I find the England game on, and soon I am back at the computer as England stink Wembley out with a poor performance against 10 man Portugal, who have a player sent off, IN A FRIENDLY, and still England struggle.
I do watch until the bitter end, and it is bitter, but sweetened as Smalling scores with three minutes to go, and the player celebrate like they won the World Cup.
Time for bed.....
Wednesday 1st June 2016
Somehow, summer has arrived in Denmark. I wake up at sometime before four, with dawn well under way. I try to go to sleep and find that it is now a tad after seven. Make haste, there is work to do. I say to no one, so I get out of bed and get ready for another day at the coalface.
After showering and dressing, I make my way to the lift, where I find a nice German couple, who make small talk about wind turbines. I manage to exchange fractured German about turbines, and apparently avoided in saying anything rude. Or if i did they pretended to ignore it. Or they did ignore it.
I was glad to get out the lift before the got out the interrogation lamp to quiz me about technical specifications. I had breakfast, some all bran and yoghurt and coffee. Lots of coffee, then make my way out of the restaurant to the car park, via the main door rather than a window, and then the drive to the office.
And so let the work begin!
And it does. There are a million and one things to do, meetings to have, people to meet and soon the morning slips by and lunch comes around; some kind of ultra-special open fish sandwich thing, which is not unpleasant if I'm honest, but it too fishy for me. The rest of the guys waffle theirs down, then it is time for more work.
Mails sent, calls made, well apart on my mobile which I have left in the hotel room.
The day ends with me giving up at four, or just after I go back to the hotel for some laying down in the dark, gently sobbing, before girding my loins for the walk to Dronning Louise. I order chili burger and a beer. And another beer. And another beer. And a pint of mild. I am full now, if not by food but by beer.
I walk back to the hotel, once again marveling at the dreadful fashion displays in most of the shop windows, Denmark really is a different country.
Back at the hotel, I listen to the radio, do some more writing, and the night slips by. No football in the TV, so at ten with dusk falling, I draw the curtains on another splendid Danish summer day. And it cold, wet and windy in England.
So it goes, so it goes.
After showering and dressing, I make my way to the lift, where I find a nice German couple, who make small talk about wind turbines. I manage to exchange fractured German about turbines, and apparently avoided in saying anything rude. Or if i did they pretended to ignore it. Or they did ignore it.
I was glad to get out the lift before the got out the interrogation lamp to quiz me about technical specifications. I had breakfast, some all bran and yoghurt and coffee. Lots of coffee, then make my way out of the restaurant to the car park, via the main door rather than a window, and then the drive to the office.
And so let the work begin!
And it does. There are a million and one things to do, meetings to have, people to meet and soon the morning slips by and lunch comes around; some kind of ultra-special open fish sandwich thing, which is not unpleasant if I'm honest, but it too fishy for me. The rest of the guys waffle theirs down, then it is time for more work.
Mails sent, calls made, well apart on my mobile which I have left in the hotel room. The day ends with me giving up at four, or just after I go back to the hotel for some laying down in the dark, gently sobbing, before girding my loins for the walk to Dronning Louise. I order chili burger and a beer. And another beer. And another beer. And a pint of mild. I am full now, if not by food but by beer.
I walk back to the hotel, once again marveling at the dreadful fashion displays in most of the shop windows, Denmark really is a different country.Back at the hotel, I listen to the radio, do some more writing, and the night slips by. No football in the TV, so at ten with dusk falling, I draw the curtains on another splendid Danish summer day. And it cold, wet and windy in England.
So it goes, so it goes.
Tuesday 31st May 2016
It seems that on Monday night, Mulder's attention of Jools as she prepared for bed meant that the alarm went unset. I mention this as as dawn's pale light sneaked round the curtains, and Scully nibbled my toe, I looked at the alarm clock to see it said half five.
We had to be out of the house at quarter to six.
PANIC
So, I wake Jools, go to the bathroom, then dress, get my stuff togather, and Jools does the same, and we are ready to roll at 05:44. Outside it was lashing down, like stair rods, as someone might say who knew what a stair rod was.
We load the car up, and get in, the rain fell harder. Apparently.
Jools drives carefully, so we make it to Folkestone without trouble, I get out, buy my ticket, and find that with it being half term, still, that there was room in the buffet to get a coffee. Just as well, really.
It is still banging it down when the train pulls in, I settle into my preferred seat and wait for departure. At Folkestone and Ashford, people get on who are doing very good impressions of drowning rats. I am dry, however.
We arrive at Stratford, and with 40 minutes before I can check in my bag, I call in at the station cafe for more coffee, sausage roll and large white chocolate cookie. I know how to roll.
I take the DLR to the airport and find it in chaos. I join the queue with my tagged bag which clearly states it is for the self tagged bag drop. Not hard is it? But it is for the family of four all draped in expensive designer gear, and the two Italian ladies with four cases each who hog the desk for quarter of an hour. I fume.
When asked how I was by a member of staff I replay I am fed up being with idiots all around. Mrs Designer gear looks round at this, and I give her my best "yes, that comment was aimed at you and your family" look.
They have the last laugh when I am told my flight was not leaving from there today, but from Southend. Report to the ticket desk in 90 minutes for taxis.
I bump into Peter from Thanet, so we catch up, have a coffee and do some synchronised tutting; it;s the British way of showing extreme displeasure. At ten, we pile into a taxi, then sit for ten minutes whilst he tries to get approval for his cab to leave the car park, then me pull out into the heavy traffic, but thankfully, thanks to the heavy rain, we can;t see out of the windows. The driver probably can;t either I guess.
We arrive at the airport, and there is no one waiting, which is just the opposite of what we were told would happen. However, after some short words, someone opens a check in desk, so we can check in. Again, hang our bags over. And we are told to go through security and told to wait for boarding instructions.
We wait. We drink Cokes and eat jalapeno crisps. And then wait some more.
Suddenly, the departure board tells us we can go to gate 6, and we are shown through and allowed to climb on. The ten of us spread ourselves about the plane, but are corralled together so to fix the pane's centre of balance, so happy with us squished together, we can leave.
It is still raining.
In Denmark, however, the sun is shining, and it is 20 degrees. This is a world turned upside down, I swear.
I get my bag and the keys to a Ford C Max, ready for the drive to the coast. Its so warm I have both front windows wound down. I just needed a Beach Boys eight track cartridge. And an 8 tracks cartridge player, obviously, and it would be perfect.
As long as it was the edited version of Pet Sounds without Sloop John B on, as I hate that track with a passion.
It is four by the time I arrive in Esbjerg, too late to go to the office, so I go to the hotel, and check in, check my mails once I am in my room and begin to ponder my main work for the week; the great update.
I am hungry, so go down to dinner at half five, have my fill of burger, fries and beer, then should go back upstairs to work. But my mind wanders, and I put it off until tomorrow, as usual.
We had to be out of the house at quarter to six.
PANIC
So, I wake Jools, go to the bathroom, then dress, get my stuff togather, and Jools does the same, and we are ready to roll at 05:44. Outside it was lashing down, like stair rods, as someone might say who knew what a stair rod was.
We load the car up, and get in, the rain fell harder. Apparently.
Jools drives carefully, so we make it to Folkestone without trouble, I get out, buy my ticket, and find that with it being half term, still, that there was room in the buffet to get a coffee. Just as well, really.
It is still banging it down when the train pulls in, I settle into my preferred seat and wait for departure. At Folkestone and Ashford, people get on who are doing very good impressions of drowning rats. I am dry, however.
We arrive at Stratford, and with 40 minutes before I can check in my bag, I call in at the station cafe for more coffee, sausage roll and large white chocolate cookie. I know how to roll.
I take the DLR to the airport and find it in chaos. I join the queue with my tagged bag which clearly states it is for the self tagged bag drop. Not hard is it? But it is for the family of four all draped in expensive designer gear, and the two Italian ladies with four cases each who hog the desk for quarter of an hour. I fume.
When asked how I was by a member of staff I replay I am fed up being with idiots all around. Mrs Designer gear looks round at this, and I give her my best "yes, that comment was aimed at you and your family" look.
They have the last laugh when I am told my flight was not leaving from there today, but from Southend. Report to the ticket desk in 90 minutes for taxis.
I bump into Peter from Thanet, so we catch up, have a coffee and do some synchronised tutting; it;s the British way of showing extreme displeasure. At ten, we pile into a taxi, then sit for ten minutes whilst he tries to get approval for his cab to leave the car park, then me pull out into the heavy traffic, but thankfully, thanks to the heavy rain, we can;t see out of the windows. The driver probably can;t either I guess.
We arrive at the airport, and there is no one waiting, which is just the opposite of what we were told would happen. However, after some short words, someone opens a check in desk, so we can check in. Again, hang our bags over. And we are told to go through security and told to wait for boarding instructions.
We wait. We drink Cokes and eat jalapeno crisps. And then wait some more.
Suddenly, the departure board tells us we can go to gate 6, and we are shown through and allowed to climb on. The ten of us spread ourselves about the plane, but are corralled together so to fix the pane's centre of balance, so happy with us squished together, we can leave.
It is still raining.
In Denmark, however, the sun is shining, and it is 20 degrees. This is a world turned upside down, I swear.
I get my bag and the keys to a Ford C Max, ready for the drive to the coast. Its so warm I have both front windows wound down. I just needed a Beach Boys eight track cartridge. And an 8 tracks cartridge player, obviously, and it would be perfect.
As long as it was the edited version of Pet Sounds without Sloop John B on, as I hate that track with a passion.
It is four by the time I arrive in Esbjerg, too late to go to the office, so I go to the hotel, and check in, check my mails once I am in my room and begin to ponder my main work for the week; the great update.
I am hungry, so go down to dinner at half five, have my fill of burger, fries and beer, then should go back upstairs to work. But my mind wanders, and I put it off until tomorrow, as usual.
Monday, 30 May 2016
Football: an update
Norwich were relegated whilst we were in Japan. We beat Watford at home, but Sunderland won, so sent us down. Our last game ended in a 3-0 defeat, meaning we finished 19th and next to last. And I have no complaints, we were dreadful in the second half of the season, losing every 'must win' game, and meaning all of the Yellow Army suffered pain most weeks.
I will no longer pass judgement on every game now, as I am getting bored with it, so God knows how you readers feel about it.
So, a summer full of European Football, but I will be working away most of it, not much time to watch and do you really think it will be any different for England this time?
I will no longer pass judgement on every game now, as I am getting bored with it, so God knows how you readers feel about it.
So, a summer full of European Football, but I will be working away most of it, not much time to watch and do you really think it will be any different for England this time?
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