Monday 5th December 2016

I wake up with a full blown allergy attack, so take to drugs to sort it out. This will teach me, or at least I hope so anyway.

Jools makes coffee, gets ready for work, and I try to sort out the attack which has me sneezing so much, I can't in all honesty drive anywhere until it is under something close to control.

I take another dose of drugs, and wait for them to take effect. It's just horrible, but in time it susides enough to enable me to pack the car ready for the escape.

I have a Citroen C4 automatic; not bad, but the gearbox is lazy and slow to change, but it will do me fine to get to Oostende.

I leave as the sun rises away to the south east, shrouded in mist. I should have taken shots of the castle and from St Martin's Battery as I drive to Aycliffe so to avoid the port traffic. But I am single minded now to get to the tunnel and onto a train so I can get across to France.

I check in, stop at the lounge to pick up a free lunch, and then onto the train, parking behind the ugliest BMW 4X4 thing that only just makes it onto the train. I have to look at the bloody thing whilst we trundle under the sea to France. I read the FT and learn about the markets and comment on Brexit and Trump; the dual follies of the year.

We arrive and drive off the train, onto the motorway and then north, across Flanders into Belgium to Oostende. It is still a glorious day, not a cloud in the sky, and little traffic about, it was a real pleasure to relax and put my foot down and hammer up the motorway to the Oostende tunroff. By which point my bladder was telling me it really regretted not being emptied on the train.

I sped up, roaring into Oostende, round the ring road to the office, bursting in and rushing to the restrooms, ignoring all greetings.

Phew.

So the working week can now begin, with the truckful of mails to sift through, answer calls and the rest.

Outside, darkness falls, and it is time to go to the hotel to check in. THe sky is bright red overhead, and I was hoping for a sea facing room from which to watch the show. But I had another room facing into the courtyard, just above the kitchen. Darn.

So I take my camera and go for a walk, heading into the centre of town to snap the festive decorations. There are shops still open, and people about, and above attractive lights brightening the place. I get the shots I wanted, then walk back to the hotel.

At seven I meet my minions outside Den Artiest as we had a booking, so once inside we order a Chouffe and mixed grills each. Perfect.

The food is great, and we whinge and bitch a bit, but its a good evening, especially with a second beer too.

I walk back to the hotel along the quiet streets, not tempted by the flashing neon signs of the empty bars in the way.

Sunday 4th December 2016

A day which I try my hardest to make putting up a washing line, if not take all day, then most of the morning.

But first there is coffee. The football. And then bacon.

As is usual, even on a fine and sunny Sunday morning, nothing stops for football, and after the first coffee, I take to the sofa to watch the highlights of Saturday's games, pausing halfway through to make breakfast bacon butties, then sitting on the sofa, munching and getting coated in melted butter.

We clear up breakfast things, get dressed, then take out the new retractable washing line, which is to replace the rotary one we have used since moving in. All we have to do is drill two screw into the post, fit the mechanism, and two hooks on the post at the other end of the garden. Job done. Or would have, if I had not wound the screw all the way into the post, then almost rounded off the head in trying to get it out. I tried most of our screwdrivers, and then the heads on the new power driver we have.

It wasn't until I get the steps out, climbed up and put all my weight in forcing the best screwdriver (one for Sunday best) into the head, and turning it fraction by fraction until is was out far enough to get the mounting behind the head. That done, I put in the 2nd screw and whizz away. It is done. At last.

A 5 minute task which I managed to make last over an hour. But I have done it, the washing can be hing out to dry, and time for a brew.

After lunch there is FA cup football on TV, which becomes fascinating, so I take to the sofa to watch, drink coffee and eat chocolate. Seems to be the perfect afternoon for me.

There is more Prem football later, but by tat time I am preparing dinner; lamb chops, fried potatoes and steamed vegetables with a cream sauce instead of gravy. And a delight it is too. But by this time it is dark, time for the weekly short call to Mother, then get ready for a week away.

Sadly, during the day I had had a shave, and being allergy free risked some aftershave. By late evening, I had an allergy attack, and found breathing difficult, but sleep did come during the night, but it wasn't good. Still, there's always Monday to look forward to.

Saturday 3rd December 2016

On the 21st July 2009, I visited a church at Postling, and little did I know that one simple visit and photos taken would lead me to the Kent Church Odyssey, and over 260 churches later, 5300 shots taken, I would, after some trials and tribulations, finally complete the listed churches in the Dover Deanery. I had been to Hougham on at least two occasions; the first before I started at the Box Factory in 2010, and the second during the Heritage Weekend last year when instead of just having the church open, it was open for Houghfest, and the inside of the church was covered in blankets and carpets that locals had made.

Before I tried another time, I had to get up, go shopping, got o Preston, pick up the hire car. In short, get the chores out of the way first.

I drop Jools off at esco to do the "big monthly shop", and I go to Preston to see some mean about some meat. Long story, but they would like some beer from Belgium, and need me to go over this week to collect the cash. And again next week to drop the booze off. Anyway, it is a fine morning, once the sun is up, and despite it being December, still feels autumnal. Thanks to the heavy rais Friday night, the roads are covered in mud, and so the recently cleaned car is soon splattered with mud and so mostly brown.

December has arrived so the book on Christmas orders has closed, and they are enjoying the calm before the storm, then week before Christmas when they will be working 15 or 16 hours days. But even now, with the hundred new homes in the village, business seems to be good, good enough to employ four butchers, hacking and cutting. I pick up some lamb chops for Sunday dinner whilst i was there, collected the cash in a brown envelope, then drove back to Dover to collect Jools with the shopping from Tesco, then go home to unpack and have breakfast of freshly baked croissants and another coffee.

Jools then takes me to the docks to collect the hire car, meeting back at home so I can then take our car and go to Hougham. This is the final listed church in the Dover Deanery I have to snap. There are other less interesting church, but churches nonetheless I will visit.

St Laurence is situated on a down between Dover and Capel, and the village is dominated by the TV mast which beams us all TV and radio in the area. You approach the village up steep and narrow lanes from the Old Folkestone Road, or from River in Dover, and the church itself is in the middle of Church Hougham, down a dead end lane.

Unlike on previous visits, the door was unlocked so I dd not have to find a keyholder. The lightswitch beside the door lit just a single bulb above the doorway to the porch, but on a bright winter day, the church was full enough with light.

It was clear that the south wall of the chancel is leaning out at an alarming angle, but in fairly recent times, a buttress has been built to save it from falling. I am joined by a man and his wife with a walking frame; she is to sit inside whilst he takes their dog for a walk. I am nearly done with my shots, but she watches me and smiles.

Outside I take the final shots, and a gentleman living next to the church points out some interesting gravestones, the details of which he gets wrong, but shows I should look around more from time to time.

I go back home, as it is nearly dinner time, and then there is radio to listen to, football to keep track of, and then look at the shots I have taken. And there is the fountain too.

Fountain?

Yes, fountain.

A few years ago, we bought a steel fountain which we planned to put in the garden, if only we could agree where to put it. And that was the situation until we had the landscaping down, and now it is finished, we can play with the fountain. I suppose there was the chance it might not work now.

But after getting out the base, the lights, the main part, connecting it all up, filling up the tank with water. And then switch on.

And we had action. Just a shame it was too cold to sit in the garden to admire it, but we leave it going with the intention of going back after dark to look at it.

Back in the house, the football had begun, and City were 2-0 up already. We went on to win 5-0, and are world-beaters again. Well, not quite, but you know how fickle we supports are.

I roasted some jacket spuds to go with the chili we could not find room for in the freezer, and the two go together in a wonderful way. A meal fit for a king. Or Jelltex anyway.

Late in the evening, as I watched the highlights of City's win on Channel 5, I try the rumtopf which has been maturing in the earthenware jug for months. Good news is that it is wonderful, tastes very much of raspberries, but in a good way. Will enjoy drinking more over the festive period.

Friday 2nd December 2016

The clouds rolled in the evening before, and were still with us on Friday morning, meaning day took a long time to arrive. I looked out of the back of the house, and saw the lights from Calais reflected in the low cloud, even from here! It felt like winter, and with the stiff breeze outside cold enough to be it too.

It is a typical working day: Jools has to get ready for work, she also feeds the cats and makes coffee. I have to say, being home for a week, even with work, feels like a holiday, and having the cats fawn over me, even if it is cupboard love, has been rather wonderful. But with time running out, I needed to chase up details for the trip next week to Oostende. I'll send more mails during the day!

Time for more coffee and breakfast, then it is work. On the radio, 6 Music are "pretending" its 1989, so it is wall to wall nostalgia, and hard not to stay tuned to, even if there is work to do.

There is music all the time, at various points I find myself dancing to some long-forgotten tune or another: Baby Ford or Betty Boo and lots and lots of Acid and Chicago House. This is the stuff. But shouldn't you be working, Ian? Oh yeah.

There is lunch to have; pate and crisp sandwiches, I forgot the promise to myself to have jam. THere'll be other times I suppose.

One last try of the new system for travel costs, AX, which should be easier than SAP, but seems not. Been eight weeks now and still not working right, which means I will have to put a 9th week of travel on the old credit card.

Means I can finish at three for the day, turn the radio up and dance to The Shamen and S Express. Just like those Friday nights at Tuttles. Here is the evidence:

Radcliffe and Maconie gives way to Steve Lamaq, the chunes keep on coming.

During the day I made chili. I found a lump of ground beef, defrosted it, then browned it off, added some sweated onions, then added some beer, beans, tomatoes and spices. All I need to do now is bring to the boil and then simmer for several hours. Thing is, the chili goes on forever. Two generous platefuls for us, filled all our tubs for freezing, then we start filling freezer bags. And still there is a pint of chili left. We'll just have to have jacket spuds on Saturday. With chili. Lots of chili.

There is cup football on TV later. So I watch it with the sound down, just as well with the inane chat that comes with any televised sport these days.

As I am going up the stairs for the final time, I look outside and see a handsome fix, munching away on peanuts and sunflower seeds. I was then about to toss three fat balls out for the nocturnal feeders, but could not do this until he had finished. He carried on eating for five, ten, fifteen minutes, and would have probably still be there had i not moved to the window. He moved off, I threw the fat balls out, and was able to go to bed.

Thursday 1st December 2016

First day of the month.

Last month of the year.

Another day at home. Life is good.

December dawned cold and bright, no clouds to hide the dawn. And the clouds the BBC said would soon roll over to warm the day up failed to appear, and so I stood at the window in the kitchen watching the sun rise, and when it did, the dirt on the windows diffused to create a wall of yellow and orange light. I stand there sipping my second coffee of the day, reflecting on my luck in having a job that either requires me to travel, staying in good hotels and eating in restaurants, or working from home.

Meow.

Behind me, one of the cats wants either food, attention or "something else". I am here to serve our feline overlords after all.

Thursday is bin collection day, so first job is to wheel the bins to the top of the drive, lest we be left out. Anyway, along the street, neat lines of bins are placed, ours now joining them. Above me there is chirping as assorted sparrows and blackbirds and starlings remind me not to forget them either. I don't, and as I am putting the seeds out, a sparrow flies by me to land on the wall to wait, flying so close to me, I could feel the air disturbance caused by its wings.

But this isn't getting work done, I have a meeting at the crack of eight, so armed with nothing more than a fresh coffee, I power up the laptop, update my overview sheet for the meeting. And wait.

And so the day begins, with meeting. And another meeting. And updating documents. And writing mails and all the other things that drives the modern project. The day passes, the sun passes over the yardarm, and I think about having the first G&T and to make sure I don't get the vapours or come over all un-necessary. I have a home made smoothie instead and so make sure I get all of my five a day.

The sun sets away in the west, hidden behind houses on our side of the street, and the down on the other side of Station Road and out of the back window, the sun turns pink, then red and finally to black.

No Scotch Eggs for us tonight, no I make breaded pork with cous cous, which is much better than it sounds. Especially with the half bottle of red I supped as we ate. Lovely.

There is TOTP from 1982, Boy George's first appearance on TV in Culture Club as they substituted for Shakin' Stevens was ill. How the history of popular music could have been so different? He looked happy when he finished. The less said about Survivor and Fat Larry's Band the better. Ahem, chiz.

Wednesday 30th November 2016

The final day of November, the final pause before the party hectic blur that is December and the holiday season.

I am home again today, like I am and will be for the rest of the week, working away at the dining room table as the plasterers and painters finish the work in next door's house, nothing better than watching other people work, he said. Another stunning late autumn day dawned, the sun rose into a clear blue sky and rose only about 30 degrees or so above the horizon, shining in for most of the morning through the kitchen window, or refelcting off the late glass windows of Bob's house opposite. A day for looking out onto the day, as it was the coldest of the season thus far. The coldest since yesterday, for sure anyway.

When we threw open the curtains, there was heavy frost everywhere, so hoar it looked like snow. Best stay indoors then I think. I brew another coffee once Jools had left, and I stand in the kitchen waiting for the sun to rise above the row of houses on the other side of the valley. Birds were on the wing before full light, looking for food. So I put two cups of food out, and right away the starlings and sparrows are on the scene eating away. Molly sits on the stairs, looking out of the window, chirruping away as the birds feed. She is interested, but not interested enough to go outside to chase them mind.

In the end, what promised was going to be a tough day, soon turned into something calm and peaceful, and quiet enough to pop the radio on in the background, and as the hour hand went round the clock, morning moved onto lunch and then into afternoon. I make a sandwich with added crisps for lunch, and a huge cup of tea because I can, and the world seems OK after 24 hours before seeing do desperate. Just goes to show, I suppose, things are not nearly so black as they seem, and the sleepless tossing and turning was for nothing. Or maybe it was for something, as I traced a way out of the troubled waters.

I get out what I hope is ground beef with which to make a chili; I think it looks like sausage meat, which is what it turns out to be once it starts to defrost. I type into Google(other search engines are available), what I should make. And the computer says Scotch Eggs.

Hmmm, sounds good, but just plain Scotch Eggs, or should I flavour them? If so, what flavours? I realise that I could mix some of the pistachio and onion breadcrumbs, and see what they come out like! Sounds great.

So I boil the eggs, let them cool down and then mix in the coating to the sausage meat, divide into four, then coast the eggs, roll in plain breadcrumbs and bake in the oven for 50 minutes. And did they smell good! They did, and it took all my willpower not to sample a little. With them I opened a bag of roulette Doritos to have with the eggs, but in the spirit of quality testing, try a few just to make sure. They'd go well with some Danish Christmas beer I thought. And was right, but drained the bottle before jOlls came home, and with the eggs cooling on plates, I open another beer.

Jools comes home, and we tuck into the eggs, and they are even better than anticipated. We munch all four, and most of the chips too. And I made another beer disappear too.

We watch some TV, it kinda flows over me, but a nature documentary about the wildlife on the Isle of Skye: otters, golden eagles, red deer, basking sharks, dolphins. All looks super, and where are we going for our holibobs next year, Tony?

My word, this Brexit is looking a little soft

As I have said previously regarding what is called Brexit, the walls of reality is what will protect Britain and its less well off citizens, rather than our elected and unelected officials actually doing their job to look after us.

They see Brexit as a matter of faith, and anyone who doubts this, or even suggests there should be some oversight as unpatriotic, talking Britain down or just ignored. Ignorance is fine for a while, but there is always reality to bring them to their senses. But before I relate this morning's events, I would like to borrow from David Allen Green's post in yesterday's FT as to who exactly Britian is trying to fool by "playing its cards close to its chest" or not giving a running commentary on Brexit progress.

The truth that it is trying to keep reality from the rabid red tops and some of the so called quality papers in Fleet Street who want Brext, hard and today. No matter what the costs, and to give the impression of delivering anything less than that will mean the press turn on them, and will turn their readers too. Thing is, the EU27 know what are cards are. And the UK Gorvernment know that the EU27 know this too, to pretend otherwise is denying reality. And denying reality is what got us in this mess anyway.

So, today is when reality reached the Brexiteers.

First of all, Boris Johnson, erstwhile Foreign Secretary (minus the EU and leaving the U and trade) is reported to have told several other EU ministers that freedom of movement is a good thing, as skilled movement prevents labour shortages. Of course, picking strawberries for minimum wage could also be classed as skilled I suppose. Anyway, first chink of light there.

And secondly, David Davis, Secretary of State for Exiting the EU, has said also this morning that Britain would be prepared to continue some EU contributions for access to the Single Market. I suppose what he means by access in reality is membership. Another chink of light.

Prepare for The Mail, Express, Torygraph and Times to be none too pleased by tomorrow morning. Unless Number 10 refutes it all of course.