A short post on the latest Brexit shenanigans:
Britain will not be forced by the use of the timetable by the EU into being railroaded.
Of course, the fact that Britain triggered Article 50 before it was ready before it really knew what it wanted from the negotiations, and then despite saying she would not call for an early election, May called an early election and three months out of the 24 available for negotiations was wasted. I say 24 months, it's really 18 as the final 6 months is given to ratification. And then there was the capitulation by David Davis on the very first morning of the first round of talks in agreeing to the EU's timetable for talks in that there had to be "significant progress" in the three key issues of: THe Irish/NI Border, the Divorce Bill and citizen's rights.
The Government is terrified of putting a figure on the divorce bill as even if it was say, ten billion, the Mail and Express would savage it for agreeing. However, on something that should be so straightforward to take so long, and an agreement would foster goodwill in the EU, in not agreeing, it does just the opposite.
The forth estate's criticism of the EU negotiating team, and the desire that May should bypass them and talk to Frau Merkel and BMW, Mercedes and VW instead, ignores the fact that the EU negotiating team to represent the EU's interests and has the full backing of the EU27.
In other words, despite warnings from those who knew better, the Government charged on regardless demanding cake and eating it, sunlit uplands and all the upsides that was promised. The "remoaners" who said what about this problem, that problem, and so on, were not talking Britain down, but just pointing out things that had to be discussed and agreed. The clock is ticking, less than 13 months remain of a process begun at a time of the Government's choosing, a process that is not know how or even if it can be stopped, and depending on the EU deciding if parallel trade talks can begin.
All this was foreseen of course, except by those charged with the task of the negotiations and positions of power. And this week the 2nd reading of what was once called the Great repeal Bill, and instead of being able to debate what is good for the country, party politics will be at play with three line whips and the threats of deselection of MPs go against the party line. And at the end of the month it is conference season. A week might be a long time in politics, but by the end of the month the path ahead might be clearer; trade talks starting. Or not. An empowered PM. Or not. Having cake and eating it. Or not.
Sunday, 3 September 2017
Saturday 2nd September 2017
Only the second day of the month and yet already the 10th blog of the month. This was due to the backlog of stuff from the holiday, of course, but still. I'm sure some of you will be caught up soon.
And with some luck, it might be that we have finally broke the back of the jetlag monster, even if did Jools had to shake me awake when the alarm went off at half six on Saturday morning. An alarm as we had a big day out in that London, as I had a date with some trains.
We had an hour to get out of the house, but maybe we were out of practice with deadlines, but we had ten minutes to have a shower, get dressed and out to the station. We make it, but it did mean trying shoelaces on the platform as the train glides in. We get on and there is a mild panic on my part as my usual preferred seats were all taken. But Jools forces me into a quick choice of that was left before I went into a neighbouring carriage. We are settled down and the train traveling down the hill to Guston Tunnel, then out the other side with Dover laid out on the left side of the train, although it is on my right as I am facing backwards. Grrrr.
I realise its been some time since I went up to London on the train, maybe two month. So I enjoy the views out of the window, and am happy enough doing that, as always marking off the familiar landmarks of the trip as we get nearer to London. Under the Thames, into Essex, through Thurrock to Dagenham and into the long tunnel to Stratford and London.
We had eaten some fruit before leaving home, but it it now being 90 minutes later, we decide to forage for a 2nd breakfast, and find a place in Kings Cross station (in fact we find several places) so plump for bacon butties and croissants. Which is like both of our weekend breakfasts in one sitting. We sit at the balcony, looking at the travelers waiting on the concourse below for their train to be called.
We could have gotten the tube and/or gone by rail, but instead the easiest option was to get a taxi, give him the postcode and take us to Old Oak Common.
He did make us laugh by searing before he had left the station forecourt, and whilst driving along Euston Road suggested to Jools a day out in Oxford would be more fulfilling than a day at a rail depot. He even offered a cheap deal, but JOols said the depot would be fine.
We go along Euston Road, past Baker Street and Paddington Station then up the Westway with Clash songs playing in my head. As you do.
We turn off, go through some housing, and then cross under one railway line, and another, then we see the queue. And it goes on.
And on.
And on.
The driver drops us off at the end of it, so after paying we jump out and join it, there is some ten minutes or so before opening, we hoped to be at the front by lunchtime. But as it happens, once the line began to move, it moved quickly, and withing 20 minutes we were at the front, having our tickets scanned and bags searched then into the site.
And laid out on the sidings were steam and diesel locomotives dating back to the early 20th century. SOme of the steam ones were in steam, or at least fires had been lit. As many people were not yet in the site, I rush round getting the shots I wanted before there would be too crowded to get them. 5 of the six remaining class 50 locomotives had been lined up side by side, so try to get them head on, but was unable to without people, but I was able to look along the noses of the locos, and manage to get a few shots without people.
Elsewhere, people we lining up to get on the footplates or in the cabs. I am happy wandering around, snapping away.
I snap most of the locos, including the class 14 and the bubble car, and for some reason 70013 was there. As I have said before, Oliver was such a part of my childlife at Bressingham, seeing it at any time is like meeting an old friend, and from being restricted to walking pace on a quarter mile stretch of track in Norfolk, now it is main line certified again. She hisses quietly and there is a sign not to touch her hot pipes. Fnar.
We had also booked a tour round the new Crossrail maintenance sheds. Crossrail is a new heavy rail line stretching from Shenfield in Essex to REading in the west, passing under central LOndon, and one of the main depots and a new station will be here at Old Oak Common. So, a tour round the nearly finished sheds will be interesting, no?
IN fact was, and the logistics of maintaining a fleet of 12 car trains, cleaning them, turning their wheels when needed and so on calls for some wonderful engineering solutions; like a jack that can lift the entire train, a place for dropping the bogies off the carriages, and a deep cleaning facility to remove graffiti.
They even take us up on the roof, with views over the lines leading to the facility and the lies to the side where the open day was taking place. They ply us with free tea, coffee and biscuits before we leave, so that by the time we do walk back out the facility and hand in our day glo tabards it is getting near to one. I could snap more locos and crowds, but I am done as the sun shines from a clear blue sky and it really is hot enough just to find a pub beside a canal and spend the rest of the day sipping IPA.
But in the end we decide to return home. By means of public transport. But that is not to mean that on the way to Willesden Junction I wasn't looking for a passing taxi to flag down to whisk us to St Pancras. At the station we have a three minute wait for a train to take us to Euston, and from there an amble down Euston Road to St Pancras.
We did pause for pasty and a drink at Euston, sitting outside the station as we did with Tony that May evening before we caught the sleeper to Scotland in May. It was just as busy, with many confused looking people trying to work out which way to go, or how to find their family and/or friends.
At St Pancras I decide it was time to roadtest the Champagne Bar under the trainshed. I place an order at the bar for a glass of Brut and a glass of Rose, and am told that they will be brought over. 20 minutes and we still do not have our drinks.
They do arrive, in time for us to bolt them so we could catch our train. And the price? You would not believe. And they added a 10% service charge to the bill anyway! Never again, and really shouldn't have done in the first place.
We walk to the train and get seats on the right hand side, facing forwards.
At Stratford a young family gets on and refuses an airline style seat, saying loudly she would prefer seats at a table. Two American tourists from California give up their seats for her and her young child, she then spends ten minutes on Facebook, and inbetween looking at updates tells her young son to shut up or stay still. I try to understand, maybe it was the end of a long day.
They get off at Dover, when silence
descends on the carriage once again. We are treated to the views across the rooftops as the train meanders towards Guston Tunnel, where darkness would envelop s until we would be on the downward run into Martin Mill. We go to the car and drive up the hill home, where there was three hungry cats waiting for us, despite it being only four. We feed them, then break out the magnums, so we can sit in the back garden, soaking in the rays now that we were home.
We have insalata for dinner, with much buttered fresh bread to soak up the olive oil and balsamic vinegar. We can listen to Huey as we eat, and all seems well with the world, as darkness falls outside and we have reached the end of another day. And survived to tell the tale.
And with some luck, it might be that we have finally broke the back of the jetlag monster, even if did Jools had to shake me awake when the alarm went off at half six on Saturday morning. An alarm as we had a big day out in that London, as I had a date with some trains.
We had an hour to get out of the house, but maybe we were out of practice with deadlines, but we had ten minutes to have a shower, get dressed and out to the station. We make it, but it did mean trying shoelaces on the platform as the train glides in. We get on and there is a mild panic on my part as my usual preferred seats were all taken. But Jools forces me into a quick choice of that was left before I went into a neighbouring carriage. We are settled down and the train traveling down the hill to Guston Tunnel, then out the other side with Dover laid out on the left side of the train, although it is on my right as I am facing backwards. Grrrr.
I realise its been some time since I went up to London on the train, maybe two month. So I enjoy the views out of the window, and am happy enough doing that, as always marking off the familiar landmarks of the trip as we get nearer to London. Under the Thames, into Essex, through Thurrock to Dagenham and into the long tunnel to Stratford and London.
We had eaten some fruit before leaving home, but it it now being 90 minutes later, we decide to forage for a 2nd breakfast, and find a place in Kings Cross station (in fact we find several places) so plump for bacon butties and croissants. Which is like both of our weekend breakfasts in one sitting. We sit at the balcony, looking at the travelers waiting on the concourse below for their train to be called.
We could have gotten the tube and/or gone by rail, but instead the easiest option was to get a taxi, give him the postcode and take us to Old Oak Common.
He did make us laugh by searing before he had left the station forecourt, and whilst driving along Euston Road suggested to Jools a day out in Oxford would be more fulfilling than a day at a rail depot. He even offered a cheap deal, but JOols said the depot would be fine.
We go along Euston Road, past Baker Street and Paddington Station then up the Westway with Clash songs playing in my head. As you do.
We turn off, go through some housing, and then cross under one railway line, and another, then we see the queue. And it goes on.
And on.
And on.
The driver drops us off at the end of it, so after paying we jump out and join it, there is some ten minutes or so before opening, we hoped to be at the front by lunchtime. But as it happens, once the line began to move, it moved quickly, and withing 20 minutes we were at the front, having our tickets scanned and bags searched then into the site.
And laid out on the sidings were steam and diesel locomotives dating back to the early 20th century. SOme of the steam ones were in steam, or at least fires had been lit. As many people were not yet in the site, I rush round getting the shots I wanted before there would be too crowded to get them. 5 of the six remaining class 50 locomotives had been lined up side by side, so try to get them head on, but was unable to without people, but I was able to look along the noses of the locos, and manage to get a few shots without people.Elsewhere, people we lining up to get on the footplates or in the cabs. I am happy wandering around, snapping away.
I snap most of the locos, including the class 14 and the bubble car, and for some reason 70013 was there. As I have said before, Oliver was such a part of my childlife at Bressingham, seeing it at any time is like meeting an old friend, and from being restricted to walking pace on a quarter mile stretch of track in Norfolk, now it is main line certified again. She hisses quietly and there is a sign not to touch her hot pipes. Fnar.
We had also booked a tour round the new Crossrail maintenance sheds. Crossrail is a new heavy rail line stretching from Shenfield in Essex to REading in the west, passing under central LOndon, and one of the main depots and a new station will be here at Old Oak Common. So, a tour round the nearly finished sheds will be interesting, no?
IN fact was, and the logistics of maintaining a fleet of 12 car trains, cleaning them, turning their wheels when needed and so on calls for some wonderful engineering solutions; like a jack that can lift the entire train, a place for dropping the bogies off the carriages, and a deep cleaning facility to remove graffiti.
They even take us up on the roof, with views over the lines leading to the facility and the lies to the side where the open day was taking place. They ply us with free tea, coffee and biscuits before we leave, so that by the time we do walk back out the facility and hand in our day glo tabards it is getting near to one. I could snap more locos and crowds, but I am done as the sun shines from a clear blue sky and it really is hot enough just to find a pub beside a canal and spend the rest of the day sipping IPA.
But in the end we decide to return home. By means of public transport. But that is not to mean that on the way to Willesden Junction I wasn't looking for a passing taxi to flag down to whisk us to St Pancras. At the station we have a three minute wait for a train to take us to Euston, and from there an amble down Euston Road to St Pancras.
We did pause for pasty and a drink at Euston, sitting outside the station as we did with Tony that May evening before we caught the sleeper to Scotland in May. It was just as busy, with many confused looking people trying to work out which way to go, or how to find their family and/or friends.At St Pancras I decide it was time to roadtest the Champagne Bar under the trainshed. I place an order at the bar for a glass of Brut and a glass of Rose, and am told that they will be brought over. 20 minutes and we still do not have our drinks.
They do arrive, in time for us to bolt them so we could catch our train. And the price? You would not believe. And they added a 10% service charge to the bill anyway! Never again, and really shouldn't have done in the first place.We walk to the train and get seats on the right hand side, facing forwards.
At Stratford a young family gets on and refuses an airline style seat, saying loudly she would prefer seats at a table. Two American tourists from California give up their seats for her and her young child, she then spends ten minutes on Facebook, and inbetween looking at updates tells her young son to shut up or stay still. I try to understand, maybe it was the end of a long day.
They get off at Dover, when silence
descends on the carriage once again. We are treated to the views across the rooftops as the train meanders towards Guston Tunnel, where darkness would envelop s until we would be on the downward run into Martin Mill. We go to the car and drive up the hill home, where there was three hungry cats waiting for us, despite it being only four. We feed them, then break out the magnums, so we can sit in the back garden, soaking in the rays now that we were home.
We have insalata for dinner, with much buttered fresh bread to soak up the olive oil and balsamic vinegar. We can listen to Huey as we eat, and all seems well with the world, as darkness falls outside and we have reached the end of another day. And survived to tell the tale.
Saturday, 2 September 2017
Friday 1st September 2017
And just like that the week drew to an end, although I think its fair to say, the days of wine and roses are coming to an end, as the fervor rises with each day on the new project. I think with each week now, there will be more and more demands on my and my time, but for now there is the task of trying to sort of time sheets.
That has been the message this week. Book time.
So once it was time to start work, I check time sheets to find I am pretty much up to date.
But before then, I must tell you, it seems I caught up on my sleep. I did not hear Jools get up before six, get dressed, make breakfast, have a shower (not in this order, clearly), and take the car to work. IN fact, there is the possibility I would still be sleeping now, only Scully jumped up on the bed, and on me to tell me that I was sleeping in her spot. It was quarter to eight!
I had already missed a meeting that morning. And nearly missed a second. And my head felt like it was full of wool again.
Anyway, I was off and running, and the day went by quite well, until I reached three o'clock, and after some emergency food in the shape of two slices of fried bread, I had lasted the day. And outside the clouds had parted, the rain had stopped, and the sun came out. A fine end to the three day working week.
Jools called from Tesco; should she bring home fish and chips? Yes, I think you should.
So, dinner was sorted, as was shopping as she had been to Tesco too, so no need to go in the morning, as we would be otherwise engaged. But more of that tomorrow.
THere was football on TV later, England playing Malta, and a dreadful game it was too, but somehow they scored three goals in the last 5 minutes to win 4-0. And even more surprisingly, I stayed awake through the whole game. Mostly.
That has been the message this week. Book time.
So once it was time to start work, I check time sheets to find I am pretty much up to date.
But before then, I must tell you, it seems I caught up on my sleep. I did not hear Jools get up before six, get dressed, make breakfast, have a shower (not in this order, clearly), and take the car to work. IN fact, there is the possibility I would still be sleeping now, only Scully jumped up on the bed, and on me to tell me that I was sleeping in her spot. It was quarter to eight!
I had already missed a meeting that morning. And nearly missed a second. And my head felt like it was full of wool again.
Anyway, I was off and running, and the day went by quite well, until I reached three o'clock, and after some emergency food in the shape of two slices of fried bread, I had lasted the day. And outside the clouds had parted, the rain had stopped, and the sun came out. A fine end to the three day working week.
Jools called from Tesco; should she bring home fish and chips? Yes, I think you should.So, dinner was sorted, as was shopping as she had been to Tesco too, so no need to go in the morning, as we would be otherwise engaged. But more of that tomorrow.
THere was football on TV later, England playing Malta, and a dreadful game it was too, but somehow they scored three goals in the last 5 minutes to win 4-0. And even more surprisingly, I stayed awake through the whole game. Mostly.
Friday, 1 September 2017
Autumnal Brexit update
In truth there is not that much to say other that repeat more of the stuff I have been saying for 15 months now.
When we were away, UK Government published a number of policy papers, only forgetting to publish the one on the "divorce bill". I say forget, its not been forgotten, but this is a game May and co are playing with the editors of the Mail and Express, in that no one wants to mention a figure less it raises ir ire of Mr Dacre, as any amount would lead to them roasting the Government. The EU want to come up with a formula on what is owed, so the actual amount will not be known for some time. Then again D Davis has said UK expects to pay nothing beyond the end of March 2019, which is clearly rubbish, in that he does not speak for the whole country, and any treaty entered into, the financial implications will have to be honoured.
Davis has mentioned that lawyers are going through the bill "line by line", but then wasn't this supposed to be simple? If it was straightforward and Britain held all the cards, then why need lawyers?
The policy documents are light on detail, which comes as no surprise, but also do not take into account the EU's repeated stated positions, so instead of the second stage in a dialogue process, it is a standoff, with the Disgraced Former Defence Secretary Liam Fox threatening to walk away from talks if blackmail by the SU continues? From what he has said, it is clear who has the stronger hand in these talks.
The divorce bill is one of three topics that must be addressed, or significant progress be made on before the EU Commission will sanction parallel trade talks. This position was conceded by Davis in the forst round of talks back in June, in less than an hour after the talks started, after he said that the timetable would be the "row of the summer". In agreeing this timetable, it meant that any failure to make progress would stall all other talks until there was movement. All this was foreseen, and yet the Brexiteers stumbled on.
Of course, the Mail and Express, and to the lesser extent, the Torygraph and Times all back the Government line, how unbending the EU are, how these unelected bureaucrats are damaging the beautiful Brexit baby. Of course, it is the Mr Barnier's task to protect the interest of the EU and its citizens first, UK citizens come second. Not to say they do not care what happens to UK citizen's rights, in a simple world, rights of citizens living in the EU or UK would be mutually agreed to stay as they are, and talks move on. This is the simple of the three issues to fix, and yet goes to the heart of the Brexiteer's lies, in that immigration in itself is a bad thing, and must be stopped. That 200,00 UK citizens live in Spain in retirement, using their health service, and yet less than 100 Spanish retirees live in the UK. We don't hear Spain complaining.
The Government has had to sanction the recruitment of 5,000 GPS due to a shortfall from overseas. That is if they want to come here in the first place. As it seems EU nationals have been relocating to other parts of the EU rather than stay in a country where they are not wanted, or worse, criticized or attacked for living here.
It is a shambles for sure, but with each day, the walls of reality press against the Brexit bubble that they have created. Its not fair they shout, and all the while the EU says, you wanted this, deal with the concequences of your choice.
This is what Michel Barnier says on March 22nd regarding a "no deal Brexit":
"But the consequences of a no deal situation would be even more significant – for everyone:
More than four million citizens – UK citizens in the EU and EU citizens in the UK – confronted with extreme uncertainty concerning their rights and their future;
Supply problems in the United Kingdom, disrupting value chains;
The reintroduction of burdensome customs checks, inevitably slowing down trade and lengthening lorry queues in Dover;
Serious disruption in air traffic to and from the United Kingdom;
Suspension of the distribution of nuclear material to the United Kingdom, as it finds itself outside EURATOM overnight. I can multiply the examples.
The United Kingdom would be seriously affected by such a situation: two thirds of its trade is currently enabled – and protected – by the Single Market and the free-trade agreements of the European Union with more than 60 partner countries."
When we were away, UK Government published a number of policy papers, only forgetting to publish the one on the "divorce bill". I say forget, its not been forgotten, but this is a game May and co are playing with the editors of the Mail and Express, in that no one wants to mention a figure less it raises ir ire of Mr Dacre, as any amount would lead to them roasting the Government. The EU want to come up with a formula on what is owed, so the actual amount will not be known for some time. Then again D Davis has said UK expects to pay nothing beyond the end of March 2019, which is clearly rubbish, in that he does not speak for the whole country, and any treaty entered into, the financial implications will have to be honoured.
Davis has mentioned that lawyers are going through the bill "line by line", but then wasn't this supposed to be simple? If it was straightforward and Britain held all the cards, then why need lawyers?
The policy documents are light on detail, which comes as no surprise, but also do not take into account the EU's repeated stated positions, so instead of the second stage in a dialogue process, it is a standoff, with the Disgraced Former Defence Secretary Liam Fox threatening to walk away from talks if blackmail by the SU continues? From what he has said, it is clear who has the stronger hand in these talks.
The divorce bill is one of three topics that must be addressed, or significant progress be made on before the EU Commission will sanction parallel trade talks. This position was conceded by Davis in the forst round of talks back in June, in less than an hour after the talks started, after he said that the timetable would be the "row of the summer". In agreeing this timetable, it meant that any failure to make progress would stall all other talks until there was movement. All this was foreseen, and yet the Brexiteers stumbled on.
Of course, the Mail and Express, and to the lesser extent, the Torygraph and Times all back the Government line, how unbending the EU are, how these unelected bureaucrats are damaging the beautiful Brexit baby. Of course, it is the Mr Barnier's task to protect the interest of the EU and its citizens first, UK citizens come second. Not to say they do not care what happens to UK citizen's rights, in a simple world, rights of citizens living in the EU or UK would be mutually agreed to stay as they are, and talks move on. This is the simple of the three issues to fix, and yet goes to the heart of the Brexiteer's lies, in that immigration in itself is a bad thing, and must be stopped. That 200,00 UK citizens live in Spain in retirement, using their health service, and yet less than 100 Spanish retirees live in the UK. We don't hear Spain complaining.
The Government has had to sanction the recruitment of 5,000 GPS due to a shortfall from overseas. That is if they want to come here in the first place. As it seems EU nationals have been relocating to other parts of the EU rather than stay in a country where they are not wanted, or worse, criticized or attacked for living here.
It is a shambles for sure, but with each day, the walls of reality press against the Brexit bubble that they have created. Its not fair they shout, and all the while the EU says, you wanted this, deal with the concequences of your choice.
This is what Michel Barnier says on March 22nd regarding a "no deal Brexit":
"But the consequences of a no deal situation would be even more significant – for everyone:
More than four million citizens – UK citizens in the EU and EU citizens in the UK – confronted with extreme uncertainty concerning their rights and their future;
Supply problems in the United Kingdom, disrupting value chains;
The reintroduction of burdensome customs checks, inevitably slowing down trade and lengthening lorry queues in Dover;
Serious disruption in air traffic to and from the United Kingdom;
Suspension of the distribution of nuclear material to the United Kingdom, as it finds itself outside EURATOM overnight. I can multiply the examples.
The United Kingdom would be seriously affected by such a situation: two thirds of its trade is currently enabled – and protected – by the Single Market and the free-trade agreements of the European Union with more than 60 partner countries."
Thursday 31st August 2017
Last day of the month, and I am laying in bed staring at the ceiling watching dawn creep round the curtain just before half five. I had been waiting for it for a good 90 minutes already. Dawn, I hate jetlag, all I want is a good night's sleep.
So at half five, I get up, feed the cats, make breakfast and begin making coffee, so when Jools comes down 15 minutes later, it's all about done.
Being Thursday, it is bin day, so once Jools has left for work I out of the festering bins fill of rubbish from two weeks ago. All will be gone by mid-morning. Once hopes.
I feel I have a head full of wool thanks to the lack of sleep, but am bright enough to take part in the first meeting of the day at eight. I have to relay the progress on the project, and with it being my second day back, there's not a lot to say, other than the project has secured funding and it's all systems go.
Yay.
Second day back, and I settle into the old routine, working, drinking coffee or tea, listening to the radio and pandering to the cats. Meow you say? food, attention, something else?
There is the treat of corned beef sandwiches for lunch, I think that crisps would be good with that, and as I have to walk to the post office to pick up a passport application form, then I could go to the shop too. So, after the morning rush at work was over, I put on my trainers for an amble down Station Road into the village, with the climb the other side of the dip. And as I hoped, our altitude training in Wyoming would mean I would huff and puff less on these much lower slopes. And indeed, the walk did seem easier, and no stops were needed to stop and admire views as was usually normal.
I get the form, and then go to the village shop to buy crisps. And an ice cream. So can amble down the hill munching on the magnum.
Back to normal.
And back home, back to work, and at twelve, I make lunch; salad cream instead of butter, two slices of corned beef, and lots of salt and vinegar crisps. And a full pint pot of tea.
Come three in the afternoon, I could feel a headache brewing, with all tasks achieved for the day, I stop work, stop looking at the home computer too, and have a lay down, and as soon as I do lay down, Mulder is on my chest enquiring about dinner. I mean, three is the new 5, year boy?
Dinner is a simple one: chicken kiev, cous cous and steamed corn. light and flavoursome, and easy to do. We are all eaten, washed up and sitting down staring at the clock wondering if it was bed time yet, at half six. We do soldier on to nine, watching yet another Gardener's World, and seeing most of it through half-closed eyes. At the end, transfer deadline or not, we were going to bed.
So at half five, I get up, feed the cats, make breakfast and begin making coffee, so when Jools comes down 15 minutes later, it's all about done.
Being Thursday, it is bin day, so once Jools has left for work I out of the festering bins fill of rubbish from two weeks ago. All will be gone by mid-morning. Once hopes.
I feel I have a head full of wool thanks to the lack of sleep, but am bright enough to take part in the first meeting of the day at eight. I have to relay the progress on the project, and with it being my second day back, there's not a lot to say, other than the project has secured funding and it's all systems go.
Yay.
Second day back, and I settle into the old routine, working, drinking coffee or tea, listening to the radio and pandering to the cats. Meow you say? food, attention, something else?
There is the treat of corned beef sandwiches for lunch, I think that crisps would be good with that, and as I have to walk to the post office to pick up a passport application form, then I could go to the shop too. So, after the morning rush at work was over, I put on my trainers for an amble down Station Road into the village, with the climb the other side of the dip. And as I hoped, our altitude training in Wyoming would mean I would huff and puff less on these much lower slopes. And indeed, the walk did seem easier, and no stops were needed to stop and admire views as was usually normal.
I get the form, and then go to the village shop to buy crisps. And an ice cream. So can amble down the hill munching on the magnum.Back to normal.
And back home, back to work, and at twelve, I make lunch; salad cream instead of butter, two slices of corned beef, and lots of salt and vinegar crisps. And a full pint pot of tea.
Come three in the afternoon, I could feel a headache brewing, with all tasks achieved for the day, I stop work, stop looking at the home computer too, and have a lay down, and as soon as I do lay down, Mulder is on my chest enquiring about dinner. I mean, three is the new 5, year boy?
Dinner is a simple one: chicken kiev, cous cous and steamed corn. light and flavoursome, and easy to do. We are all eaten, washed up and sitting down staring at the clock wondering if it was bed time yet, at half six. We do soldier on to nine, watching yet another Gardener's World, and seeing most of it through half-closed eyes. At the end, transfer deadline or not, we were going to bed.
Wednesday 30th August 2017
All good things come to an end, even for me. And it being Wednesday meant I had to go back to work, or get the work laptop out and see if I could remember the password. Seems like I had left myself a cryptic clue in my notebook, but what could it mean?
Even before then, though, there was problems. Both Jools and I were awake at half one in the morning. I mean wide awake. We talked then decided to get up and have a coffee. Or tea in my case We do some work on our computers, one hour passed. Two hour passes. Even though we were not tired, we thought we should try to get back to bed and see if we could get sleep.
I guess we do get back, the alarm goes off and Jools gets up. I go back to sleep, apparently, as she wakes me at seven telling me she was going to work. So, I had better get up. Bless her, she had even left me a coffee on the table downstairs.
Come eight I am just about ready for work, so switch the laptop on and wait for software downloads to instal, and then, brace yourself, check Outlook. Not too bad, less than a hundred mails waiting. So, I dive back in.
A problem is the passport, so I call the passport office and it seems to be a real issue, meaning that I will have to get a new one, and meaning I have to go up to London to get a new one. Getting this information takes me three hours on the phone, waiting in line for an operator to be free. Three times.
So that was the morning, then update meetings with my manager and boss, and sorting through the main took me to three, and the headache began, a warning that if I did not stop a migraine would come. So I stop, switch of the computer and lay on the sofa.
I could not go out as it had been hammering down since the night before, barely letting up, at least it would do the garden good, I suppose. But it feels cold, and is dark enough to have the table lamp on. Is this really still August?
It is apparently.
But then there is little to do for dinner, just egg and breadcrumb more aubergine. As you do, then I am frying them up as Jools returns home. She is shattered as I am, but has also had to drive to and from work.
We watch a recorded Gardner's World, but Jools sleeps through most of it, and I struggle to keep my eyes open too, meaning at nine we are off to bed, hoping to sleep through till six.
Even before then, though, there was problems. Both Jools and I were awake at half one in the morning. I mean wide awake. We talked then decided to get up and have a coffee. Or tea in my case We do some work on our computers, one hour passed. Two hour passes. Even though we were not tired, we thought we should try to get back to bed and see if we could get sleep.
I guess we do get back, the alarm goes off and Jools gets up. I go back to sleep, apparently, as she wakes me at seven telling me she was going to work. So, I had better get up. Bless her, she had even left me a coffee on the table downstairs.
Come eight I am just about ready for work, so switch the laptop on and wait for software downloads to instal, and then, brace yourself, check Outlook. Not too bad, less than a hundred mails waiting. So, I dive back in.
A problem is the passport, so I call the passport office and it seems to be a real issue, meaning that I will have to get a new one, and meaning I have to go up to London to get a new one. Getting this information takes me three hours on the phone, waiting in line for an operator to be free. Three times.
So that was the morning, then update meetings with my manager and boss, and sorting through the main took me to three, and the headache began, a warning that if I did not stop a migraine would come. So I stop, switch of the computer and lay on the sofa.
I could not go out as it had been hammering down since the night before, barely letting up, at least it would do the garden good, I suppose. But it feels cold, and is dark enough to have the table lamp on. Is this really still August?
It is apparently.
But then there is little to do for dinner, just egg and breadcrumb more aubergine. As you do, then I am frying them up as Jools returns home. She is shattered as I am, but has also had to drive to and from work.
We watch a recorded Gardner's World, but Jools sleeps through most of it, and I struggle to keep my eyes open too, meaning at nine we are off to bed, hoping to sleep through till six.
Tuesday 29th August 2017
And so we come to the end of the holidays, where both bad and good things happen. The bad is that we have to return to work, but the good is that we get to have our feline menagerie back. And for me, one last day of vacation, time to collect the cats, compete the chores from the day before, and try and get my head straight.
Jools was up at six, and let me lay in to quarter to seven, just time for me to have a coffee before I take her to work, as I needed the car to collect the cats.
So, get into a car with the steering wheel on the right hand side, and with actual gears you have to change yourself. But with years of practice coming and going from the continent, it was no trouble for me, so into the car, fire it up and away we go.
Not much to tell, other than it always amazes me that people feel the need to race to work. I mean I like work, but not enough to drive at 90mph to get there. They could be late I suppose,
Anyway, a late summer morning, the sun was already shining and the dawn coolness was being replaced by warm sunshine. The luxury flats near to where Jools works is nearly completed, some have sea views, some look out onto the factory, not sure I would pay a million quid for one of the latter, but hey. Also traffic down there by Fisherman's Beach can be mad with all the double parked cars too, wouldn't want to live there myself, but its a big old strange world.
I drop her off and go back home, and now that the stupid speed limit has been lifted between Folkestone and Dover, I go back that way and thrill at the feeling of cruising down Shakespeare Cliff at 70 into the town, past lorries that have to stay in the nearside lane.
Along Townwall Street and up Jubilee Way, dodging ferry traffic ignoring rules of the road, tooting one Brit driver who thought he might get away without not stopping at the roundabout from the port. A long toot on the horn put him right, and then we sticks the two fingers up at me!
Back in St Maggies, I go to the cliffs to see how the ALTs are getting on. I find there were hundreds of spikes, but many still now only coming into flower, and needing two more weeks before they would start to seed. Another mail will need to be sent.
I go home for breakfast, and at half nine drive to Denton to pick up the cats, already stressing about Mulder's bowels.
For a change they are mostly pleased to see me, and none of them put up a fight being put in their boxes. They do sing to me on the way home, and I try to distract Mulder into stressing and having "an accident".
In the end we make it home without incident, so I let the cats out on the path outside. And one by one they get out and realise they are back home. So, just one thing:
Meow?
Yes breakfast. Lunch. Attention. Open the door. Attention.
For a few hours it was fun, but then just meows for no reason began to pale, so I tell them to find their own lunch, I stroke them but no longer jump up to see what they want as mostly they just stand on the work surface. Meowing.
Stuff gets done, I go to Tesco again, then go to see Jen to see how things are with the old folks, and all is pretty well.
With the eight hours sleep the night before, I felt OK and even suggested we had killed the old foe, jetlag. We would only find out that night. I pick up Jools from Martin Mill just before six, and we are back home in 5 minutes and I can fry the breaded aubergine. And in twenty minutes, all was done, so we sit down to eat, toasting our good fortune whilst the radio plays in the background.
In the evening, there is backing up of photographic files, writing blog posts, and the stuff that takes time, before sheer exhaustion, we go to bed at half nine
Jools was up at six, and let me lay in to quarter to seven, just time for me to have a coffee before I take her to work, as I needed the car to collect the cats.
So, get into a car with the steering wheel on the right hand side, and with actual gears you have to change yourself. But with years of practice coming and going from the continent, it was no trouble for me, so into the car, fire it up and away we go.
Not much to tell, other than it always amazes me that people feel the need to race to work. I mean I like work, but not enough to drive at 90mph to get there. They could be late I suppose,
Anyway, a late summer morning, the sun was already shining and the dawn coolness was being replaced by warm sunshine. The luxury flats near to where Jools works is nearly completed, some have sea views, some look out onto the factory, not sure I would pay a million quid for one of the latter, but hey. Also traffic down there by Fisherman's Beach can be mad with all the double parked cars too, wouldn't want to live there myself, but its a big old strange world.
I drop her off and go back home, and now that the stupid speed limit has been lifted between Folkestone and Dover, I go back that way and thrill at the feeling of cruising down Shakespeare Cliff at 70 into the town, past lorries that have to stay in the nearside lane.Along Townwall Street and up Jubilee Way, dodging ferry traffic ignoring rules of the road, tooting one Brit driver who thought he might get away without not stopping at the roundabout from the port. A long toot on the horn put him right, and then we sticks the two fingers up at me!
Back in St Maggies, I go to the cliffs to see how the ALTs are getting on. I find there were hundreds of spikes, but many still now only coming into flower, and needing two more weeks before they would start to seed. Another mail will need to be sent.
I go home for breakfast, and at half nine drive to Denton to pick up the cats, already stressing about Mulder's bowels. For a change they are mostly pleased to see me, and none of them put up a fight being put in their boxes. They do sing to me on the way home, and I try to distract Mulder into stressing and having "an accident".
In the end we make it home without incident, so I let the cats out on the path outside. And one by one they get out and realise they are back home. So, just one thing:
Meow?
Yes breakfast. Lunch. Attention. Open the door. Attention.
For a few hours it was fun, but then just meows for no reason began to pale, so I tell them to find their own lunch, I stroke them but no longer jump up to see what they want as mostly they just stand on the work surface. Meowing.Stuff gets done, I go to Tesco again, then go to see Jen to see how things are with the old folks, and all is pretty well.
With the eight hours sleep the night before, I felt OK and even suggested we had killed the old foe, jetlag. We would only find out that night. I pick up Jools from Martin Mill just before six, and we are back home in 5 minutes and I can fry the breaded aubergine. And in twenty minutes, all was done, so we sit down to eat, toasting our good fortune whilst the radio plays in the background.
In the evening, there is backing up of photographic files, writing blog posts, and the stuff that takes time, before sheer exhaustion, we go to bed at half nine
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