Friday June 9th 2017

After the crushing disappointments of the last election, the referendum and then Trump, it will be no surprise for you to learn that I did not want to know the first General Election result of 2017 (there may be more than one more, we shall see). Have you seen the result asks Jools, perky and awake since half five. I daren't, I replied. Hung Parliament she said.

That put a different shine on things, so I put on the computer to see the reality myself. From what looked like winning a 200 plus seat majority eight weeks ago, the Tories failed to win an overall majority. Who'd have think it? Not me for sure, I thought Corbyn was a dead duck, seems like it is May who is quacking her last. Or will be.

As the results came in, things got worse, as places like Canterbury and after three recounts, Kensington (yes, that one in that London) went Labour for the first time ever. These may be the end of times, or will be for May anyway come the day of reckoning. For a while it was not clear who might form the Government, but in the end, May did a deal with the Devil, of the DUP, and so she went to see the Queen to form a Government. She is so weakened, she could not do a reshuffle, and put the whole of the Good Friday Agreement in serious doubt in doing a deal with the DUP hardliners. It may yet come to pass such a deal is against the Good Friday Agreement, if not, it is against the spirit of it, where the Government is supposed to be impartial.

For now, all that we thought was set in stone and a clear path ahead to hard brexit is now in doubt, as all bets are off, and I will write more about this shit another time.

Put me in a good mood for sure, even if I did not vote for Corbyn, he would not compromise on Brexit, although that might now change. Anyway, coffee and some lovely grapefruit segments, then a second breakfast of toast and Dundee Marmalade, with the toast almost cold to preserve the crunch.

Crunch.

Munch.

Oh wow. I had Twitter on my home computer and the news ticked over during the day, getting more amazing by the minute. But I did have work to do. Meetings of course, and solid meetings until lunchtime, by which point I had a way forward to close out the remaining tasks on my old project, and so by the end of the day, able to send out final versions of documents, and finish work at half two, just in time for Jools to come back home, laden with shopping. And fresh cupcakes.

I make coffee, and we go outside to sit in the garden and eat cupcakes and drink coffee, and do so surrounded by cats. Oh, and it was the start of the weekend.

I put on Steve Lamaq to hear the final of the Northern Soul World Cup, and Jools goes to the chippy, as fish and chips sounds pretty perfect for a Friday night tea. When I grew up, dinner was lunchtime, and tea was the evening meal. It was for me and my friends. So I stay home, butter some bread and make brews. And throw shapes as the soul tunes kept spinning.

And then there was TOTP from January 1984: Frankie, Icicle Works, Shaky and Bonnie, Roland bloody Rat, Lionel Ritchie and Macca. Those were the days. I was 19 when that first aired.

And then there was The Don. For an hour, while outside the full moon rose over the roofs of the houses on the other side of the valley. I took a shot.

Results and beyond

We woke up this morning to find a second Conservative Prime Minister had seriously gone to the polls in two years. After the serious miscalculation that brought the EU referendum result and the end to David Cameron's leadership of the country. One would have thought a second PM would not have made the same mistake twice, but seven weeks ago the Tory's lead seemed to be so large and getting bigger.

That no thought was given as to what would happen if an overall majority was lost, or worse the election lost, and coming a few days after the triggering of the Article 50, tying up the country in a needless election for weeks when it should have been preparing for the EU talks, instead it tore the country apart. And despite the huge lead, May tried everything to avoid engaging; going to factories and other places outside work times with an invited audience only to hear her words on strong leadership, avoiding debating with anyone; Corbyn, reporters, TV pundits, almost as though she was scared, and she was supposed to be the opposite, what with the negotiations beginning 11 days after the election result.

And then there was negativity, from her and the press, and this only got worse as against expectations, Labour under Corbyn closed the gap in the polls. Doubts were cast on these polls, they'd been wrong before, and would be again, no? Jon Snow tweeted that this was the first election for 30 years that the Prime Minister would not have been interviewed for Channel 4 News. So it was a surprise that on the eve of the election, the Wednesday evening that he was contacted by Number 10 offering an interview. Too little, too late.

The polls were right, Labour ate into the clear majority, and so now the Tories are in a coalition with those nice folks, the DUP; creationists, homophobic, anti-abortion and friends with the Loyalist terrorists. Nice people. The Conservatives have always been divided over Europe, that it has exploded all over again thanks to two miscalculating leaders means the party will probably split in two, might be a good thing of course. She is a dead duck, dead woman walking, who will fall once there is any hint of compromise over Europe from the hardliners in her party. She might lead for a week, a month, maybe two. But not beyond that.

Who then will take the leadership, who will want it, and what to do about Europe? Negotiations with the EU27 start in 11 days, and all must be completed in 15 months to allow for any ratification process. That three months have been wasted in a pointless election, and has seriously weakened the PM's hand on a "hard" or suicidal Brexit, a deal would have to go through both Houses for approval, she has no clear majority, and there are hints of more by-elections in the near future as some recently returned MPs think again. The Lords now will be able to challenge anything that they see as damaging in a deal, as the electorate rejected the Conservative Manifesto, and would look after the country's interest.

Support for UKIP plummeted. Mainly due to the dreadful leadership of Nuttall, but this means that "man of the people" Farrage is likely to come back; the BBC will be happy. Brexit was and always will be an monumental act of folly. An act of economic self-harm that would take decades to repair, mainly by rejoining the EU on worse terms a decade or so in the future. If they'd have us back. Brexit might yet happen, there is no clear way it can be halted, unless the EU27 says so, and we would have to ask. They could refuse. Their team is in place, they have their red lines to defend, Britain does not have a lead negotiator yet, a plan, nor even a draft of the so called "Great Repeal Bill".

It will be interesting to see what happens now, as it was going to be anyway, but anything could happen now, even the hardest of Brexits; a no deal Brexit would be very expensive and cause chaos for years. The failure of the press to persuade the electorate and their readership that Corbyn was a terrorist sympathiser means they might take a back seat, or scream louder for that hard Brext out of the control of the EU and ECJ. They might begin to do their job, to hold Government to account and tell some truths, but then, anything's possible.

Thursday 8th June 2017

Election Day (UK)

Didn't we do this two years ago? Yes we did, but for reasons I might have already covered in one of my dreadful Brexit blogs, she called one anyway even with the fixed term parliament act still in force. Anyway, the result I will go over in another post, but for the time being, the best we can say about Thursday is that the hustings were closed, and all the guff had been spent, now we all hold our breath until after then in the evening when the ballots close and the exit poll results would be announced.

Thursday is meeting day. Oh sorry, every day is meeting day. And I am stuck in front of the computer for all morning.

Meeting after meeting after meeting. And then me arranging meetings for tomorrow whilst still in today's meetings. If anything, tomorrow looks even worse. I try to avoid the news all day, and when listening to music on the i player, avoid music from previous days too. Last minute polls indicate that the result might be closer than previously thought, I find that hard to believe, but you never know I suppose.

Once meetings had finished, I had eaten lunch, written mails, arranged more mails, and at about two, I was free to go to vote. I could have gone in the evening, but with the sun shining, and the breeze blowing, it should be a pleasant day for it. And anyway, apart from participating in the democratic process, we were out of milk, so I put on me walking shoes and go out, walking down Station Road and up the other side into the village through the churchyard and to the village hall where the polling station was.

I show my card, am given a voting slip, go to the wooden screen, pick up a pencil and look at who to choose from. Or in the case of the 2017 General Election, who was least worse. It was a tough choice, but I put a cross beside a name, and go to put my vote into the box.

Jaws 19 says the returning officer. To me.

Indeed, I am wearing a Last Exit t shirt bearing a mock ad for a mock film featured in the middle film of a trilogy made at the end of the 1980s It does bear the legend "Jaws 19; directed by Max Spielberg. This time it's really, really personal." It is a homage to the scene in Back to the Future 2, so I have to explain that, no, there have not been 19 Jaws films, but explain about the ad in BTTF", and the holo ad which Marty thinks is attacking him.

The returning officer doesn't seem to believe me, but then go o to explain that the shirt was released to mark the real date when the film says Jaws 19 would be released. I then fried his brain by saying Roy Batty's inception date was 18 months ago and shirts were made for that too. Are you a film buff he asked. Not any more I said, I just though me and all my friends knew this shit. I think he wanted to talk to me some more, as he followed me across the hall as I tried to leave. Not that he had anything else important to do is there?

I call in at the village sop for supplies: milk, crisps and a Magnum. All are essential. I eat the Magnum as I walk down to where the Red Lion stands on the corner, then turn down Kingsdown Road. Ice cream is good, and I look like what I am, a fat bloke eating an ice cream as I saunter down the street towards the open countryside. Ice cream gone, I am passed by a couple who live down the street from us. He is a former teacher, who former neighbours tell us likes to do the gardening in the nude, and last year managed to piss of the builders we use by changing his mind on work they were doing from us. We hardly ever speak, except for the four week period when he would come round several times a week asking if we thought the boys were any good. One of them walked off the job, lest he punch Malcolm's face in after another change in plan. Anyway, I stop to let them pass, and they can barely speak; situation normal.

Along the lane, passed by a car of one of the owners of the houses nesting in folds of the down, stopping to snap some wild flowers, and generally dawdle some more until I come to the top of the Dip.

Down I go, slipping and sliding in my loosely tied trainers. I will never learn, apparently. Halfway down there is a butterfly basking, so I use the compact to snap it, and it comes out OK, just not macro OK really, but good enough. At the bottom, there is mud and standing water, thanks in main to the storm we had a few days ago. I thrash my way on the path around the mud, it is overgorwn and has not been used for weeks, but like Stanley searching for Livingstone, I will not give up.

I arrive back home, aching in back, but that's nothing a cuppa won't fix. That and a sit on the sofa with cuppa, Molly and watching Time Team. As usual.

And dinner is easy peasy lemon squeezy as its leftover pasta salad and aubergines. And beer. Sweet beer.

through the evening the realisation that tomorrow will bring the Tories back in with a greatly increased majority, harder Brexit and a ruined economy bringing reduced horizons for future generations of young Britons. Only Spring Watch and Pine Martin kits can soothe the pain.

Wednesday 7th June 2017

Quite where the year is going to, I don't know, I mean its the beginning of the 2nd week in June already.

At least the rain had stopped, but outside everything was dripping wet, and in a few days the rain would mean everything would be putting on a growth spurt. Jools went into work early again, said she was nearly caught up and so would be the last time she did it. I heard her downstairs at half five, so go down to have a few minutes with her before she leaves.

I put the radio on, make coffee and have breakfast, in the quiet, well, quiet with the radio playing in the background, and all three cats went upstairs back to bed. Situation normal.

I have now tracked down my mobile phone, and had to pay, or the company pay, £90 to have it shipped back. But I rationalise that it's cheaper than asking for a new phone from IT.

It is a quiet day, work, and cats, coffee, lunch, work, radio. And in the afternoon it was warm enough to take the new edition of When Saturday Comes along with my reading glasses, and a coffee out to the shelter to sit in the sunshine. Only Mulder wants attention, jumps on my lap, then walks forward flattening the magazine. He looks me in the eye and says "meow"? I push him off, but then he jumps back up landing on my chest between my eyes and the magazine.

Really?

Meow.

The garden dries out quick, and already the pots look dry, but don't need watering that day. I tend the wisteria, training their tendrils around the support post of the shelter, hoping that they will grow further like this. It might even mean my plan has worked. Wouldn't that be a thing.

The old fallback of pasta salad and breaded aubergine for dinner, so I spent a couple of hours preparing the pasta then slicing and then egg and breadcrumbing the aubergine. And finally pan frying it until golden brown. Frying them of course, and enough to have cold the next day too.

And that was Wednesday, sitting on the sofa with Jools and Molly watching Springwatch. Not bad end to the day.

Tuesday 6th June 2017

73rd anniversary of D Day.

I mention this as people of all political colours are using this to justify what lies they are spreading. COme Friday morning, whoever has won, probably May, will have to pick up the pieces. Doing something seems to be the idea, even if what you propose is stupid and would create worse problems, they must be seen to be doing something. How did we ever get to this position, when we are lead by prats? I guess we get the leaders we deserve, but Jeez what a dreadful choice we have, and as if the underline this, May has been doing so badly, the polls have actually closed to less than 5%. Corbyn is not that good, but May is that bad.

Jools is so far behind at work, she is leaving for the office at half five in order just to catch up. I sleep through her phone alarm, her making coffee, making breakfast, getting dressed and leaving the house. I wake up at five past six to find me and the bed filled with sleeping cats, who had been fed and now wanted a warm body to lie next to.

I have work to do, but I lie for five minutes with them.

But up and attem, stumbling down the stairs putting on my dressing gown and sweeping into the kitchen to make coffee. Outside the skies are already grey and rain has begun to fall.

There is a stack of things to do, but I am lethargic about getting started. I do switch the laptop on in time, and as the project has ended there is no longer an avalanche of mails now when I log on, jus the usual ones asing me to do expenses, time sheets, the usual stuff.

Lunch comes round and I treat myself to warmed up chorizo hash, just a small plate of it, but after warming in the frying pan it feels like a real treak, eating something cooked at lunchtime. And it warms me up, despite it being JUne, it feels like the middle of winter, even if a glance at the thermometer reveals it to be not really that cold at all. But I resist putting the heating on, instead get a thick warm work top out of the wardrobe, so sit and work wearing that.

The afternoon passes, so Molly and I take to the sofa to watch some Time Team, digging up what might be s middle age building or something. 24 hours later, and I can't remember. But it held my attention until it was time to prepare dinner.

Outside the weather alternated between dazzlingly bright sunshine and heavy downpours. It was during one of the downpours when I was breadcrumbing the chicken, clouds rolled over and day almost was turned into night. But by the time Jools arrived back, it was sunshine again.

With it not getting any warmer, we sit inside during the evening, looking at the wonders that Springwatch shows. Its the first episode of the year, only so much Michalla I can stand at once, but is good, even if a kestrel did poo into the camera. Really.

Anyway, another day down.....

Monday 5th June 2017

Whitsun Monday (Denmark)

I say this because I was expecting a busy day, but a quick glance at my contacts list on Skype revealed just one of them actually in work I had a few things to do. But Monday, yeah?

A week at home, something I needed more than I can tell you. Travel to Oostende, then when Tony arrived, there was getting out and about doing stuff (not that I had a problem with that), and then up to London for two days before catching the train to Scotland, coming back home for two days then off to Denmark. And inbetween out orchid chasing, if just for half a day. I mean, it sounds like I am complaining, and maybe I am, but what I need is a week at home, doing work, laying around with the cats, listening to the radio and the so such.

What this means is, as usual, is that we get up, chat whilst drinking coffee and then Jools leaves, and I am on my own, or alone with the cats who clearly see me as a soft touch when it comes to getting anything. Molly knows that if nothing else, laying on my computer keyboard will result in some action being taken. And for a quiet life, some food being provided will usually follow.

Most of my morning is spent trying to find out if my phone had actually been found. Because it was a holiday in Denmark, I don't even get to speak to the office at the airport, but am assured by the office in Esbjerg that a message will be sent and I would get a call later that day. I don't of course, and resolve to call again the next morning, if not I would have to call IT and order a new phone. I have to send mails out to everyone telling them not to bother calling, and explaining my accident prone Friday morning.

I have breakfast, but by ten I am hungry again, so decide on early lunch, and by the time I am doine with faffing around it is half past, but I sit down to toasted cheesy bread with smoked salmon and scrambled free range eggs And tea. I know fizz would have been better, but before 11?

The day continues in much the same way, me trying to tie the loose ends up on the project, no one to scream at as to why work had not been done, so sending an increasingly angry stream of mails at my minions, in the end arranging a meeting on Friday to fond out why the jobs had not been done.

Come late afternoon, it is time to go for a walk. It is sunny but breezy, but if I was lucky might see something, and anyway, as I always say "a walk is never wasted"!

It had been a while, what with holiday, travel with work and hosting a visitor from foreign lands, it must have been 5 weeks since I last strode across the fields, past the pig's copse to the dip.

It was a sunny afternoon, but breezy, so not many butterflies to snap. But nature has been busy, crops have sprung up and are waiting to ripen, hedges are full of blossom that will turn to fruit come autumn. I walk over the fields with the wind behind me, but even then it was cool. The way the light played over the fields of ripening barley and beans all lined up in neat rows was great.

At the pig's copse, there was no sign, I guess sleeping of breakfast somewhere in the shadows. I have no food to give them anyway, so I walk by. I walk to the top of the dip, look down at the mud still collected down there, and decide that this was far enough.

I walk back, chase a Common Blue around the copse for a while, but he is spooked and won't settle for me. I do get a Small Tortoiseshell on the path over the fields, too windy for the poor thing to fly away, so I snap him and walk back home.

The afternoon fades easily, I write, listen to music. There's not even much to prepare for dinner as we're having fish cake baps. Oh yes, we know how to live. They only require 20 minutes cooking so I can do them when Jools comes home.

Sunday 4th June 2017

There are some 28 confirmed species of orchids in Kent. Or at least this what my current score lies at. 28. Some species, including the Frog, Burnt (Tip) and Sword Leaved Helleborine have become extinct from the county in my lifetime. Some of the species thrive here, but others are apparently just clinging on and a few of them are represented by a handful of plants. Habitats have been lost, and volunteers try to keep what is left to preserve other species.

Both the Butterfly Orchids seem to have fewer and fewer spikes to show the world, although that could be down to the dry conditions Kent has experienced this year.

Something of all of the above has affected the Early Marsh Orchid, lover of freshwater meadows, most of which have been drained. A single site now remains for them in Kent, and that has been drying out for some time, now being infiltrated with Common Spotted, with which it hybridises, thus reducing numbers and being certain of "pure" Early Marsh difficult. And the site is about a 45 minute drive away, a long way to go to see a handful of plants you might think, but then I am the man who planned two holiday on seeing the Lindisfarne Helleborine, and when we did finally see a flowering spike, it was a scrawny spike with two flowers, but did it. So, 45 minutes? Nowt to worry about.

And as it was another glorious day in the Garden of Eden, what better way than to be up and about soon after getting up, going to see the Early Marsh and then onto see the Heath Spotted Orchids? None whatsoever.

We were awake at six, drinking coffee by quarter past, and out of the house before seven, driving up to Sandwich first off, as yet another orchid species was showing. Those of you who know me and my politics will understand how divided I feel that a large privately owned estate is protector for a rare species, and charges seven quid just to dive onto their estate. They would argue you can walk free of charge along the beach. That there are patrols, the orchids that grow here are as well protected as any in Kent, even though last year a spike was stolen.

We could have traveled along the old coast road, past the golf courses, but mixing it with the Sunday morning cyclists. We possibly wouldn't have seen any at such an early time, but in the end I took the roundabout way, along the main road to Deal, over the marshes to Sandwich before turning for the estate. As planned, there was no guard on duty, so we were able to drive straight onto the estate. But if asked either by said guard, or had someone came round to ask for money, I would have paid. But seven quid better in my pocketses.

Some houses near to the beach actually have spikes on their front lawns, and possibly back ones too, some were sheltering against a south facing wall, reaping reflected heat from it, they were looking in very good shape. And then all along the dunes between the road and beach, hundreds of spikes could be seen. We go right down to the bottom of the site, near yet another gold course, but here there are plenty of Lizard Orchid spikes, broomrapes, and hiding in the long grass beside the road, a single Bee, seemingly doing well yet almost invisible to the outside world. But not to my orchid eyes.

I have been here for the last four years, snapping the Lizards, so after a few spikes, it would just be repeating shots, so with many miles to go, we get back in the car and make our way back to Sandwich then up to Thanet Way for a blast along the A2 and motorway to the Medway towns for our next call.

At the back of an industrial estate, on a street lined with signs warning you not to park here. Or here. Or here, through a subway under the railway, then climb over a 5 bar gate; there is the reserve.

And in fact, despite it being such a dry year, it was still damp underfoot. With the reserve being several hundred metres long, finding the spikes would be tricky. I had been here just once before, and from the depth of my memories, I tried to remember where I had seen the Early March. I walked on, damselflies scattering in all directions as I worked my way through following tracks that were barely there. I see a few CSO spikes, and what might be Marsh Orchids too, but not what I was seeking.

Early Marsh are quite distinctive, said the orchidist, but really, the lips of the flowers are pressed backwards, and mostly of a pale pink colour. Once seen never forgotten. But I could now see the far fence of the site, and had not seen one Early Marsh, I was worried. One last clearing and I see many more spikes than I had seen thus far. And standing side by side were two, partially faded, Early Marsh. I get down to photograph them, and in doing so see one more hidden in the undergrowth behind. One more was found on the other side of the clearing, but that was it; four spikes.

I had parked where some of the drivers from the haulage firm on the other side of the road parked, but I worried about getting a ticket or clamped, so we walked back to the car, from a wonderful site, marked with no signs or boards until you actually get to it, hidden in an ugly industrial estate. Beauty and ugliness, side by side.

We make for the M20, taking this road for the first time since we traveled to Japan, we both remembered that trip, both thinking we would not get there in time. Onto the motorway, where traffic was heavier now that others had woken up, and there was sunshine to enjoy the day in.

I take the A20 from Maidstone, take the less-traveled road, and just enjoying the day once again as we drove eastwards towards Hothfield. Kent is a fairly large county, but even so has a wide range of habitats from chalk downland, ancient woods, Britain's only officially declared desert, drained marshland and an acid bog. And it was to the acid bog we were going to, as it is the acidic shoil that the Heath Spotted Orchid craves.

What separates the CSO from the HSO, Ian? Glad you asked, he lied. Well, lip shape. And that is about it really. The CSO will not grow in such soil, not sure how close they are related, but the curving edge to the lower lip is the giveaway. Anyway all species have been DNA tested to show they are different, so, anyway another species, and which was the most recent new Kent species for me which I first saw a year ago thanks to my friend Mark, who took us here.

We park in the woods, then walk through what seems to be ancient woodland, then across heathland, looking very much like parts of Scotland, more so when we clock the herd of Highland Cattle in a fenced off area.

Surrounding a bog is where the orchid grow, in soil that is damp, and acid. Soon I see the first of the spikes, and as I walk round the western side of the bog I see over a hundred spikes, some in very good state and some quite large too. I take some shots, not a huge amount, and also hunt for a pure var. alba, but don't find one, some near too being, but not close enough, as it turns out. We walk the boardwalk out over the nearly dry pool, see the sundew still thriving although there was very little water, and the Bog Cotton had already gone to seed, and the breeze was blowing seeds across the water.

We were done, so walk back to the car, walking with dog walkers, exercising their hounds, including one with three legs who got about very well.

We were driving to the coast, heading home as most people were just heading out, which is great, considering what we had done already that day. We get home in time for lunch, and it was to be a very late breakfast of bacon butties made with sweetcure streaky bacon, a real favourite for us, soo the house was filled with sweet bacon smells, as soon would our bellies!

There is much to do in the afternoon; blogs to write, photos to review and edit, shots to post, and the garden to de-poppy. We had lots of seeds left over, and Jools scattered them in the Imperialis beds so to create colour in late spring. What it did create was a tangle of stems, flowers popping and fading, and the jumble becoming a haven for snails. It also looked a mess. So, bed by bed we removed the poppies, and in doing so made the garden look 80% tidier. THe lawn still cannot be mowed, at least until the end of July when the Yellow Rattle have dried, then we can collect the seed, broadcast that, then harvest the grass and maybe make hay.

I cook chorizo hash for dinner, a pop open some fizz to go with it. Its the end of a fine weekend, one which we have seen and done lots, but now Monday calls, a return to work. But there is time to sit in the garden, sip home made sloe port and watch dusk fade and the stars and bats come out to play.