You out your NI in, you pull your NO out. In out, shake it all about.
Today has been a rollercoaster ride in the world of Brexit. Seems like the headline from the Times on Thursday last, was correct that a deal was close.
May went over to Brussels today to me with JC Junker, and just about two a deal was announced, where there would be "regulatory alignment" between Northern Ireland and the EU, and further a deal regarding rights and the financial settlement would soon follow.
So, alls well that ends well?
Not quite, this in effect puts NO in the SM and/or the CU, depending on the exact text, and meaning there would be a difference between NO and the rest of Britain; in other words the hard border would be in the Irish Sea, in effect cutting NI from the rest of the country. It was the most sensible and obvious answer, other than stopping Brexit, and all seemed well.
Until the DUP got wind of it; they are currently propping up May's minority government and had already said they would not accept that outcome. A call between May and Foster meant the deal was delayed in being announced, or maybe even scrapped altogether.
Of course, the fact that an area that voted to remain in the UK getting a bespoke deal going against the referendum question that the UK should leave the UK meant that soon afterwards Scotland's First Minister said that Scotland would also be pushing for the same deal. The mayor of London added that London if exempt could save 10,000 jobs. Wales also liked the idea of a deal which kept them in the SM too.
If it is true that the DUP killed the deal, then May is no longer in power, the DUP's ten MPs are, and what a mess the country is in. Things might change this evening and indeed through the week.
As previously stated wanting two different things isn't a bad thing, but when one things precludes the other because of international trade laws, then you have to give something up. The Brexit headbangers might yet win out and UK crash out without a deal. For sure this is the last chance Britain has to get Europe to listen seriously, screw this us then the EU will just let us get on with the mess that May, Cameron, Johnson, Gove, Fox, Murdoch et all have created. Without a deal this week, companies that were erring, will have to make a hard choice, one which will not be reversed.
This shit got very serious, as it always was, but only the EU were treating it as such. May and co treating a something very complex as something very simple was always going to end in tears, just as it would when the walls of reality closed right in.
Monday, 4 December 2017
Sunday, 3 December 2017
Saturday 2nd December 2017
We woke up at seven on Saturday, wishing we both had had more than the seven hours sleep. Traveling on Friday was never going to be easy, but the second half of the journey, from the M25 down to the Blackwall Tunnel, through Docklands, past the old Olympic Park, under the Thames and out the other side, and then having to go via Ramsgate as the A20 was blocked at Folkestone and the A2 blocked before Canterbury. That we got home by midnight is amazing to be honest.
Being a Saturday, there was shopping to be done, not much we thought. A list is written as we drink coffee. And still it came to over ninety quid! Still, it was done, and we could go home, unpack and Jools decided that it was a bacon kinda morning. And who am I to argue?
Bacon cooking as the sun broke through the clouds over the back garden. Bacon cooked, brew made, and we could sit and enjoy breakfast.
By the time we had eaten, washed and cleared up it was ten and time for Huey on the radio. Time then to relax, Jools began reading The Book of Dust and I had shots to process and blog to write. And so the morning passes: I warm some soup up for lunch, served with some fresh buttered bread.
THe afternoon was spent, at least by me, in the Rack of Ale, which, sadly, was to close that day. Long story, but Trish had enough of fighting and called it a day as someone wanted to take over the lease of her shop, for more money, and the landlord did not help. So, most of her regular and long-time customers came in during the day to celebrate and say goodbye, and drink the stock. I won't lie, it won't be the same, somewhere to go, have a chat, meet new and old friends and drink great beer/cider.
There are other bars and micropubs, but only one Rack.
Jools drops me off as she goes off to get a hair cut, and I walk over to the Rack, go in and chat to Trish while I sup my first ale.
It was quiet, but would be rammed later, obviously. It is a day for laughter and tears. More people come in, some talk others just drink. I sit and read, sometimes talking to other customers.
Jools comes to collect me at quarter past four, by which time I had supped two pints of ale and three halves of cider. That was enough.
As we left, Trish was out back crying; there would be more tears by the end of the night, but for us it was enough. I hug here and we leave for the last time.
I wasn't worried about the footy results, as City had already played, and lost, on Friday night. So back home I listen to the last 15 minutes of the main batch of games, then settle down on the sofa to listen to the Utd v Arse game, which ends in a 3-1 to Utd, and was a cracker of a game. I even managed to stay mostly awake, which was nice.
More party food for dinner, and a wine.
But some nine in the evening, and with City having lost, I could not bring myself to watch all of the C5 highlights, so we go to bed early. Shattered.
Being a Saturday, there was shopping to be done, not much we thought. A list is written as we drink coffee. And still it came to over ninety quid! Still, it was done, and we could go home, unpack and Jools decided that it was a bacon kinda morning. And who am I to argue?
Bacon cooking as the sun broke through the clouds over the back garden. Bacon cooked, brew made, and we could sit and enjoy breakfast.
By the time we had eaten, washed and cleared up it was ten and time for Huey on the radio. Time then to relax, Jools began reading The Book of Dust and I had shots to process and blog to write. And so the morning passes: I warm some soup up for lunch, served with some fresh buttered bread.
THe afternoon was spent, at least by me, in the Rack of Ale, which, sadly, was to close that day. Long story, but Trish had enough of fighting and called it a day as someone wanted to take over the lease of her shop, for more money, and the landlord did not help. So, most of her regular and long-time customers came in during the day to celebrate and say goodbye, and drink the stock. I won't lie, it won't be the same, somewhere to go, have a chat, meet new and old friends and drink great beer/cider.
There are other bars and micropubs, but only one Rack.
Jools drops me off as she goes off to get a hair cut, and I walk over to the Rack, go in and chat to Trish while I sup my first ale.
It was quiet, but would be rammed later, obviously. It is a day for laughter and tears. More people come in, some talk others just drink. I sit and read, sometimes talking to other customers. Jools comes to collect me at quarter past four, by which time I had supped two pints of ale and three halves of cider. That was enough.
As we left, Trish was out back crying; there would be more tears by the end of the night, but for us it was enough. I hug here and we leave for the last time.I wasn't worried about the footy results, as City had already played, and lost, on Friday night. So back home I listen to the last 15 minutes of the main batch of games, then settle down on the sofa to listen to the Utd v Arse game, which ends in a 3-1 to Utd, and was a cracker of a game. I even managed to stay mostly awake, which was nice.
More party food for dinner, and a wine.
But some nine in the evening, and with City having lost, I could not bring myself to watch all of the C5 highlights, so we go to bed early. Shattered.
Brexit addendum
A separate post, as I think this is an important point.
Every speech that May makes, DD makes, there are demands from former ministers or current ones or right wing think tanks, these are not for the EU to read or take notice, this is for internal consuption, either warnings to the PM to do something or else, or for Fleet Street to pump out to keep the masses in the dark.
The EU has been negotiating our trade deals for 44 years; it knows more about the British economy than Britain does. It knows what Brexit would mean in any of its forms, how it would affect many sectors of the British economy. Heck, it has even publish impact assessments, and are available if you want to read them.
You can tell how well or badly Brexit is going as to who is under attack: more immigration scare stories, Corbyn is a communist, the EU is communist, romoaners are to blame. And immigration again.
Britain has been lied to again and again by the Brexiteers, about how easy Brexit would be, how much better we would all be off. All untrue, untrue now, and will be worse in 16 months. Don't take my word for it, just wait for reality to reveal all. By then it will be too late, but, still, Sunlit uplands.
Every speech that May makes, DD makes, there are demands from former ministers or current ones or right wing think tanks, these are not for the EU to read or take notice, this is for internal consuption, either warnings to the PM to do something or else, or for Fleet Street to pump out to keep the masses in the dark.
The EU has been negotiating our trade deals for 44 years; it knows more about the British economy than Britain does. It knows what Brexit would mean in any of its forms, how it would affect many sectors of the British economy. Heck, it has even publish impact assessments, and are available if you want to read them.
You can tell how well or badly Brexit is going as to who is under attack: more immigration scare stories, Corbyn is a communist, the EU is communist, romoaners are to blame. And immigration again.
Britain has been lied to again and again by the Brexiteers, about how easy Brexit would be, how much better we would all be off. All untrue, untrue now, and will be worse in 16 months. Don't take my word for it, just wait for reality to reveal all. By then it will be too late, but, still, Sunlit uplands.
Your Sunday Brexit update
Sunday is the day when "exclusive" interviews are given in the broadsheets and on Sunday morning politics TV shows.
Today, a group of former Tory ministers and JRM signed a letter demanding:
There should be an "in principle" agreement for a free trade deal to be in place The current free movement of EU citizens into the UK should end No new EU regulations should apply in the UK The European Court of Justice should "cease to have any jurisdiction whatsoever" in the UK
Any extension of transition has to be, by EU law, under the same terms as being as a member, so these demands would further restrict what choices the PM, or any PM in getting a deal. Britain is on no position to demand anything
Once upon a time, the Conservative and Unionist Party prided itself on being the party of business and wealth creation, instead of one that has been hijacked by Brexit headbangers insisting upon their own interpreation as to what the referendum result meant. And bugger anyone, or the EU or even the WTO say otherwise.
There is still the Irish border issue, which is never going to go away, and will be a massive risk, for them, if they allow trade talks to continue.
Bear in mind that the headbangers said that this would be the easiest negotiations in history, that Britain holds all the cards and the EU needs us more than we ne need them. In eight months the EU has not given an inch, all movement has been on the British side. Latest movement is that May has indicated that Britain might accept the European Air Traffic Control system, which is overseen by the ECJ..
If one dominio should begin to fall........
Today, a group of former Tory ministers and JRM signed a letter demanding:
There should be an "in principle" agreement for a free trade deal to be in place The current free movement of EU citizens into the UK should end No new EU regulations should apply in the UK The European Court of Justice should "cease to have any jurisdiction whatsoever" in the UK
Any extension of transition has to be, by EU law, under the same terms as being as a member, so these demands would further restrict what choices the PM, or any PM in getting a deal. Britain is on no position to demand anything
Once upon a time, the Conservative and Unionist Party prided itself on being the party of business and wealth creation, instead of one that has been hijacked by Brexit headbangers insisting upon their own interpreation as to what the referendum result meant. And bugger anyone, or the EU or even the WTO say otherwise.
There is still the Irish border issue, which is never going to go away, and will be a massive risk, for them, if they allow trade talks to continue.
Bear in mind that the headbangers said that this would be the easiest negotiations in history, that Britain holds all the cards and the EU needs us more than we ne need them. In eight months the EU has not given an inch, all movement has been on the British side. Latest movement is that May has indicated that Britain might accept the European Air Traffic Control system, which is overseen by the ECJ..
If one dominio should begin to fall........
Saturday, 2 December 2017
Friday 1st December 2017
Another long day ahead.
We were due to awake at five, as that was when the alarm was set for. But my mind decided I should be awake at four, staring at where the ceiling would be if it were light enough to see. Scully laid asleep beside my right foot, clearly very happy to be dead to the world at four in the morning.
We do rise at five, and go about our business, feeding the cats and making breakfast then clearing up, so to be ready to leave the house at quarter to six, thus hoping just to avoid the rush hour at the tunnel.
It was a grim day, rain fell steadily as we drove down into Dover and along Townwall Street, then up Shakespeare the other side. Not much other traffic about, which was nice, but would change. We talked about what we would find, and if Mum would really be released, and maybe she would be at her house when we arrived.
Darkness persisted until nearly eight, by which time we had traveled up through Kent, being joined by thousands of other cars, onto the M25 and inching towards the tunnel, getting there about 75 minutes after leaving home. Not bad. But already matric signs were warning of delays the other side of the A12 junction, maybe it would not be bad when we got there, I thought. The queue began just after the off ramp, and so despite dreading the A12 junction, as two lanes go into one on the exit onto the road to East Anglia, it is always fraught, and sometimes dangerous.
But we get on safely, then I can relax as we drive north and daybreak begins to spread from the east. We stop off at Colchester for 2nd breakfast. Though it mitigation I had just had some fruit earlier. A coffee and a Cornish Pasty for me, eaten in the shop as we had so much time.
Onwards and northwards, and all going well until we got to Ipswich, with tailbacks at the roundabout to join the A14. That passed it was really just head north now. The rain had cleared, but we did get frequent showers, meaning that the idea of any walking seemed to be out, and it was then I had the idea. The idea to take the coast road, at least some of the way from Aldeburgh north instead of taking the main road, thus seeing many new churches.
At Saxmundham we turn off and head for Aldeburgh, famous for being home to Benjamin Britten and also the festival he helped to create. The town sits beside a wide shingle beach. I have been to Aldeburgh several time before. Nover to park the car and wander round the shops and eateries in the centre, just to pass through on the war from or to Thorpness, the drive along the top end of the beach very enjoyable.
Aldeburgh is arty, and has been for many years. My thought was to look at the parish church, and thankful with the low rise town and large tower, it was easy to find. Although at the new roundabout I was tempted by the road leading to Church Farm, but though the centre of the town better.
I was right, as the main road passed right beside Ss. Peter and Paul, and had a very large and paved car park, although they did want I think £4.50 to use it.
I wasn't sure if it would be open, but there was a welcoming sign on the door beneath the tower at the western end of the church.
THere is a small "porch" in the base of the tower with a locked door for the bellringers. Ahead I walked to the double door and pushed.
Upon entering, the church. the nave spread out well on either side, and beyond broad columns were two wide aisles, looking contemporary with the church.. Altogether very impressive.
I heard hushed voices in the southern chapel, and looking over I saw someone reading with the aid of an angle poise light, and one other person listening. It seemed to be a list of names, maybe prayers requested by parishioners.
I tried to be quiet, but the quadruple click of my camera as I go my shots seemed to echo around the church, so I limited my shots near to the chancel.
I heard the final lines of The Lord's Prayer, and knew the service was at an end. I went over to apologise for disturbing them, and they said I had done no such thing. In fact, they insisted I had been there a week before, with a friend, taking shots. Not me I said, I have no twin and no friends.
The vicar, because it was he, was very kind, asked about what U was doing, mentioned Mr Knott, as he was familiar with his Suffolk Church website, but unaware that it also stretched to Norfolk, Essex, Cambridgeshire, The City of London and possibly soon, Rutland.
Ss Peter and Paul, at least to me, seems unusual as being a whole church, despite being Victorianised, the nave and aisles look of the same age, and so seem to complete a whole. Of course there is nothing wrong in unmatching buildings, indeed, making them more interesting. But all in all, pleasing to the eye.
Back outside, I much admired the porch to the south, with arches in the east and west side, probably for processions I thought, being correct at least for one.
It seems to be open all day, most of the day. And free, except the car park.
I walk back to the car where Jools was wating and we drive to the town a few hundred yards away, but there are no parking spaces and an Adnams delivery dray had blocked to road ahead into the centre of the town. So we turn left and take the lane at the back of the hotels to join with the coast road to go north to Thorpeness. Only I see a car park, and the shell sculpture on the beach. And with the sunlight highlighting the white horses on the North Sea a few hundred metres away, I decided to risk and park a few minutes without paying, hoping that a warden would not come in the ten minutes we were on the beach.
the light was sensational, looking south to the village, and into the sun, a birdwatcher with a scope could be seen, and a woman with an Afghan hound walked as the dog lolloped beside her. And the village lost in the mist of spray from the waves, lit all yellow by the low sun. It was still not yet ten. To the north the beach curved up to the village of Thorpeness, with the House in the Clouds easily visible, and the menace of Sizewell C behind.
We go north, through Thorpeness, and seeing no parking spaces even in December, we don't stop. It looks interesting, but also at the same time, false. Houses built to look old, water towers made to look like castles. I hear its all holiday homes now, too expensive for locals, which should about right for coastal East Anglia, except in Lowestoft and Yarmouth of course.
We get to the house at eleven, and begin yet more clearing out of stuff. We find a drawer beside her bed that once held chocolates, but a mouse had eaten the pack of six Kit Kats and filled the drawer with droppings. We find more old chocolate bars and empty wrappers. It is more evidence of a poorly lived life. After two hours of sorting, we are done, like we have barely made a difference at all.
And from there it is a short drive to the hospital, where we have lunch while we wait for visiting time to begin.
Mum is in bed, and looks pale again, bags under her eyes and not as healthy as two weeks ago. She is excited about the thought of going home, but there is money worries as the local council want to charge her for more than the basic six weeks of care she is to get. And what she will get is minimal, 3 30 minutes visits per day. We try to make it clear that she has to be sure she can get along, and that going back to her old ways is not acceptable. That if she cannot take her own rubbish out, wash her own hair and do the other stuff needed, then she should seriously think about moving into a home. She says if she does it will be in Suffolk, meaning that we will not be able to visit much.
We all live in denial to some extent, but Mum seems to do so more than most. She wants to know if there are Pringles in the house. And where this and that is. I have no idea, we cleaned so much all she had is now in different places. She will have to look for stuff. She will also have a catheter fitted, a surprise and a source of potential infection. This is because whe cannot make it to the toilet every time, but it won't be in forever, either.
We are done in an hour, and with at least a four hour drive south, we want to get a few miles under our belt before darkness falls completely. We talk about Mum, of course, and that she cannot and will not change. She might not smoke again, but she will sit in her chair, not sleep in her bed, and live off shortbread and Pringles. Not good for a diabetic.
Darkness falls, and we press on down the 143, past towns and villages that I now know so well until we get to Bury and can put our foot down. Even on the A14 we make good time, and it all seemed to be going well as we joined the M11 at Cambridge and turned south, when the matrix signs said major delays between Thurrock and Dartford. We had half an hour to decide what to do.
There was no change by the time we got to the M25, so we carried on south hoping to get to the Blackwall Tunnel and into Kent that way. The M11 joins the North Circular, which then divides, with one half going to Docklands and the other half joining the A12 and going to the tunnel Traffic was awful. It took an hour to crawl to within a wile of the tunnel, inching past traffic lights, lanes merging and dividing with no real reason for it. In the background Canary Wharf towered all lit up, we have plenty of time sitting in queues to admire it.
We finally make it through the tunnel, and of course there was the possibility that traffic would be as bad on that side. But it wasn't. The road became the A2, and after passing through an industrial area and dense housing, we came to Dartford, passed under the motorway and into Kent.
And there the story would have ended with an hour blast to Faversham and Canterbury then home. If it wasn't for the matrix signs. Delays at the end of the motorway it said. We thought maybe some resurfacing work. But upon leaving the motorway, we found the entrance to the A2 blocked. After waiting for ten minutes for a lorry to inch out of our way, we go back up the motorway one junction, turn round and then carry onto the Thanet way to Ramsgate, then taking my old commute home. Man, we were both tired, we had been away from home for 15 hours, ached with all the sitting and were so tired.
We arrived at quarter past nine, we put on the kettle, had a brew and I reviewed the shots before we had a good supper of cheese and crackers.
I really hope we don't have to make these trips much more, it is killing us. I just wanted to sleep for a week.
We were due to awake at five, as that was when the alarm was set for. But my mind decided I should be awake at four, staring at where the ceiling would be if it were light enough to see. Scully laid asleep beside my right foot, clearly very happy to be dead to the world at four in the morning.
We do rise at five, and go about our business, feeding the cats and making breakfast then clearing up, so to be ready to leave the house at quarter to six, thus hoping just to avoid the rush hour at the tunnel.
It was a grim day, rain fell steadily as we drove down into Dover and along Townwall Street, then up Shakespeare the other side. Not much other traffic about, which was nice, but would change. We talked about what we would find, and if Mum would really be released, and maybe she would be at her house when we arrived.
Darkness persisted until nearly eight, by which time we had traveled up through Kent, being joined by thousands of other cars, onto the M25 and inching towards the tunnel, getting there about 75 minutes after leaving home. Not bad. But already matric signs were warning of delays the other side of the A12 junction, maybe it would not be bad when we got there, I thought. The queue began just after the off ramp, and so despite dreading the A12 junction, as two lanes go into one on the exit onto the road to East Anglia, it is always fraught, and sometimes dangerous.
But we get on safely, then I can relax as we drive north and daybreak begins to spread from the east. We stop off at Colchester for 2nd breakfast. Though it mitigation I had just had some fruit earlier. A coffee and a Cornish Pasty for me, eaten in the shop as we had so much time.
Onwards and northwards, and all going well until we got to Ipswich, with tailbacks at the roundabout to join the A14. That passed it was really just head north now. The rain had cleared, but we did get frequent showers, meaning that the idea of any walking seemed to be out, and it was then I had the idea. The idea to take the coast road, at least some of the way from Aldeburgh north instead of taking the main road, thus seeing many new churches.
At Saxmundham we turn off and head for Aldeburgh, famous for being home to Benjamin Britten and also the festival he helped to create. The town sits beside a wide shingle beach. I have been to Aldeburgh several time before. Nover to park the car and wander round the shops and eateries in the centre, just to pass through on the war from or to Thorpness, the drive along the top end of the beach very enjoyable.
Aldeburgh is arty, and has been for many years. My thought was to look at the parish church, and thankful with the low rise town and large tower, it was easy to find. Although at the new roundabout I was tempted by the road leading to Church Farm, but though the centre of the town better.I was right, as the main road passed right beside Ss. Peter and Paul, and had a very large and paved car park, although they did want I think £4.50 to use it.
I wasn't sure if it would be open, but there was a welcoming sign on the door beneath the tower at the western end of the church.
THere is a small "porch" in the base of the tower with a locked door for the bellringers. Ahead I walked to the double door and pushed.
Upon entering, the church. the nave spread out well on either side, and beyond broad columns were two wide aisles, looking contemporary with the church.. Altogether very impressive.
I heard hushed voices in the southern chapel, and looking over I saw someone reading with the aid of an angle poise light, and one other person listening. It seemed to be a list of names, maybe prayers requested by parishioners.
I tried to be quiet, but the quadruple click of my camera as I go my shots seemed to echo around the church, so I limited my shots near to the chancel.
I heard the final lines of The Lord's Prayer, and knew the service was at an end. I went over to apologise for disturbing them, and they said I had done no such thing. In fact, they insisted I had been there a week before, with a friend, taking shots. Not me I said, I have no twin and no friends.
The vicar, because it was he, was very kind, asked about what U was doing, mentioned Mr Knott, as he was familiar with his Suffolk Church website, but unaware that it also stretched to Norfolk, Essex, Cambridgeshire, The City of London and possibly soon, Rutland.
Ss Peter and Paul, at least to me, seems unusual as being a whole church, despite being Victorianised, the nave and aisles look of the same age, and so seem to complete a whole. Of course there is nothing wrong in unmatching buildings, indeed, making them more interesting. But all in all, pleasing to the eye.
Back outside, I much admired the porch to the south, with arches in the east and west side, probably for processions I thought, being correct at least for one.
It seems to be open all day, most of the day. And free, except the car park.
I walk back to the car where Jools was wating and we drive to the town a few hundred yards away, but there are no parking spaces and an Adnams delivery dray had blocked to road ahead into the centre of the town. So we turn left and take the lane at the back of the hotels to join with the coast road to go north to Thorpeness. Only I see a car park, and the shell sculpture on the beach. And with the sunlight highlighting the white horses on the North Sea a few hundred metres away, I decided to risk and park a few minutes without paying, hoping that a warden would not come in the ten minutes we were on the beach.
the light was sensational, looking south to the village, and into the sun, a birdwatcher with a scope could be seen, and a woman with an Afghan hound walked as the dog lolloped beside her. And the village lost in the mist of spray from the waves, lit all yellow by the low sun. It was still not yet ten. To the north the beach curved up to the village of Thorpeness, with the House in the Clouds easily visible, and the menace of Sizewell C behind.
We go north, through Thorpeness, and seeing no parking spaces even in December, we don't stop. It looks interesting, but also at the same time, false. Houses built to look old, water towers made to look like castles. I hear its all holiday homes now, too expensive for locals, which should about right for coastal East Anglia, except in Lowestoft and Yarmouth of course.
We get to the house at eleven, and begin yet more clearing out of stuff. We find a drawer beside her bed that once held chocolates, but a mouse had eaten the pack of six Kit Kats and filled the drawer with droppings. We find more old chocolate bars and empty wrappers. It is more evidence of a poorly lived life. After two hours of sorting, we are done, like we have barely made a difference at all.
And from there it is a short drive to the hospital, where we have lunch while we wait for visiting time to begin.Mum is in bed, and looks pale again, bags under her eyes and not as healthy as two weeks ago. She is excited about the thought of going home, but there is money worries as the local council want to charge her for more than the basic six weeks of care she is to get. And what she will get is minimal, 3 30 minutes visits per day. We try to make it clear that she has to be sure she can get along, and that going back to her old ways is not acceptable. That if she cannot take her own rubbish out, wash her own hair and do the other stuff needed, then she should seriously think about moving into a home. She says if she does it will be in Suffolk, meaning that we will not be able to visit much.
We all live in denial to some extent, but Mum seems to do so more than most. She wants to know if there are Pringles in the house. And where this and that is. I have no idea, we cleaned so much all she had is now in different places. She will have to look for stuff. She will also have a catheter fitted, a surprise and a source of potential infection. This is because whe cannot make it to the toilet every time, but it won't be in forever, either.
We are done in an hour, and with at least a four hour drive south, we want to get a few miles under our belt before darkness falls completely. We talk about Mum, of course, and that she cannot and will not change. She might not smoke again, but she will sit in her chair, not sleep in her bed, and live off shortbread and Pringles. Not good for a diabetic.
Darkness falls, and we press on down the 143, past towns and villages that I now know so well until we get to Bury and can put our foot down. Even on the A14 we make good time, and it all seemed to be going well as we joined the M11 at Cambridge and turned south, when the matrix signs said major delays between Thurrock and Dartford. We had half an hour to decide what to do.
There was no change by the time we got to the M25, so we carried on south hoping to get to the Blackwall Tunnel and into Kent that way. The M11 joins the North Circular, which then divides, with one half going to Docklands and the other half joining the A12 and going to the tunnel Traffic was awful. It took an hour to crawl to within a wile of the tunnel, inching past traffic lights, lanes merging and dividing with no real reason for it. In the background Canary Wharf towered all lit up, we have plenty of time sitting in queues to admire it.
We finally make it through the tunnel, and of course there was the possibility that traffic would be as bad on that side. But it wasn't. The road became the A2, and after passing through an industrial area and dense housing, we came to Dartford, passed under the motorway and into Kent.
And there the story would have ended with an hour blast to Faversham and Canterbury then home. If it wasn't for the matrix signs. Delays at the end of the motorway it said. We thought maybe some resurfacing work. But upon leaving the motorway, we found the entrance to the A2 blocked. After waiting for ten minutes for a lorry to inch out of our way, we go back up the motorway one junction, turn round and then carry onto the Thanet way to Ramsgate, then taking my old commute home. Man, we were both tired, we had been away from home for 15 hours, ached with all the sitting and were so tired.
We arrived at quarter past nine, we put on the kettle, had a brew and I reviewed the shots before we had a good supper of cheese and crackers.
I really hope we don't have to make these trips much more, it is killing us. I just wanted to sleep for a week.
Bordering on the insane
Earlier this week, it seem the UK had satisfied the SU in relation to the financal settlement thus allowing talks to move onto talking about trade.
But of course, if money was the only issue. It would be only right to point out that in general the Brexiteers and May's Government have, at almost every step, misread or misunderstood what the EU wants or does.
Regular readers will know that money was just one of three basic points; there is also rights and the Irish border. Like money, rights should have been easy to sort out, but then again here we are eight months into bilateral talks and no deal in place, no real sign of agreement, just hopes on the British side that they have offered enough cash. But they even misunderstand that the money they are paying isn't for a deal, but just what was owed already. Anything on top of that will cost. Lots.
But as predicted, yesterday, the EU stated that the Irish border needed a solution, and the a solution that the Irish government is satisfied with, as on this the Irish take lead and the EU26 will follow. Only trouble now is that eight months have been wasted, and the deadline for progress assessment is approaching, failure to meet the minimum threshold for approval by the EU27 would mean losing upto another two months before they would revisit. And failure to agree on trade talks starting is almost guaranteeing a no deal scenario.
But then we have some UK politicians who have been pushing for Brexit for, in some case, decades, with no real idea about the practicalities, or even having assessed what the issues might be, but that it would all be so easy.
As ever, reality was always going to win out, and as predicted, the Brexiteers will try to blame anyone except themselves and their precious Brexit for where the country, economy and people are now. But even now, they fail to admit the scale of their folly, and bemoan that Ireland could block their slam dunk deal. This was always going to happen, that the EU27 would act as one, the 26 being unified to protect the interest of the other member. Its what the EU was created for, and is its strength.
The EU, the EU27 and European businesses were never going to compromise on the four basic freedoms, and Britain wasted eight months believing it could create division in Europe.
This will be a long while in British politics as May and her Government try to get a workround, a fudge. But in needing their to be on border and a hard border, is not going to be easy. Some see it as impossible, but it would mean NI or UK staying in the CU or SM or joining a free trade agreement (FTA) with the EU. A unique deal for NI, CU, SM or FTA would be a division in the union, a hard border down the Irish Sea meaning mobility of people, goods, services and capital being treated as though across an international border. This is something that the DUP, currently propping up May's government with a supply and whatever it is agreement, say that that solution is unacceptable.
Only other solution is for the whole of the UK staying in the CU, SM or having a FTA, but time is tight remember. Or stopping Brexit.
But of course, if money was the only issue. It would be only right to point out that in general the Brexiteers and May's Government have, at almost every step, misread or misunderstood what the EU wants or does.
Regular readers will know that money was just one of three basic points; there is also rights and the Irish border. Like money, rights should have been easy to sort out, but then again here we are eight months into bilateral talks and no deal in place, no real sign of agreement, just hopes on the British side that they have offered enough cash. But they even misunderstand that the money they are paying isn't for a deal, but just what was owed already. Anything on top of that will cost. Lots.
But as predicted, yesterday, the EU stated that the Irish border needed a solution, and the a solution that the Irish government is satisfied with, as on this the Irish take lead and the EU26 will follow. Only trouble now is that eight months have been wasted, and the deadline for progress assessment is approaching, failure to meet the minimum threshold for approval by the EU27 would mean losing upto another two months before they would revisit. And failure to agree on trade talks starting is almost guaranteeing a no deal scenario.
But then we have some UK politicians who have been pushing for Brexit for, in some case, decades, with no real idea about the practicalities, or even having assessed what the issues might be, but that it would all be so easy.
As ever, reality was always going to win out, and as predicted, the Brexiteers will try to blame anyone except themselves and their precious Brexit for where the country, economy and people are now. But even now, they fail to admit the scale of their folly, and bemoan that Ireland could block their slam dunk deal. This was always going to happen, that the EU27 would act as one, the 26 being unified to protect the interest of the other member. Its what the EU was created for, and is its strength.
The EU, the EU27 and European businesses were never going to compromise on the four basic freedoms, and Britain wasted eight months believing it could create division in Europe.
This will be a long while in British politics as May and her Government try to get a workround, a fudge. But in needing their to be on border and a hard border, is not going to be easy. Some see it as impossible, but it would mean NI or UK staying in the CU or SM or joining a free trade agreement (FTA) with the EU. A unique deal for NI, CU, SM or FTA would be a division in the union, a hard border down the Irish Sea meaning mobility of people, goods, services and capital being treated as though across an international border. This is something that the DUP, currently propping up May's government with a supply and whatever it is agreement, say that that solution is unacceptable.
Only other solution is for the whole of the UK staying in the CU, SM or having a FTA, but time is tight remember. Or stopping Brexit.
Thursday 30th November 2017
Thursday was a quiet day with no news whatever from James Paget. Makes sense really, but with the three hours of calls the day before, I thought this day would be as crazy.
After getting up and doing the usual chores, we looked on the BBC weather to see what the day had in store; and it seemed that from somewhere there was snow. Snow!
I mean, and this is also true in Belgium, Holland, Germany and Denmark, that as soon as the first flake falls, people forget how this white stuff was last time out and let their inner child drive like crazy things. It is the same all over Europe, and probably the rest of the world where semi-permanent snow isn't an annual thing. We all like snow, thrilled at the mention of it as soon as the weatherman mentions it, and are still thrilled until we hit the lap post 50 yards after leaving home in the morning. And most are all like this too.
It is an odd quirk of geography, that Kent, and East Kent in particular, are susceptible to snow, when the wind blows from the east, snow clouds pick up moisture from the English Channel of North Sea and dumps on us. Now, we have only had one major snowfall since moving here, blocked off from the rest of Kent for over 24 hours, and losing power at one point too. But most years we get enough snow so that venturing out in the car is dangerous, so we wait for the gritters and the grit to do its work.
Saying that, it was a bright morning with a fine sunrise and snow looked unlikely. But by quarter past eight, clouds spread from the north, and what started a few flakes, flurrying along, soon became a snowfall, and for a time, a blizzard. I say blizzard, it fell thick enough to give the impression of being fog in the distance. The ground did turn white, and so looked quite festive, not bad for the last day in November. The snow fell at first, fell in bright, low sunlight, making a wonderful scene, but once the clouds spread south, the sun was covered and it became as dark like dusk.
The cats looked on. Unimpressed.
I took some shots when I should have been in a meeting.
And then it was back to work, reviewing stuff, for the rest of the day. It was dull stuff, but needed to be done.
Outside the snow stopped, and the sun came out, the snow that had settled began to melt. Late in the afternoon it fell again, but marked the end of the wintery day, as temperatures roose too, and the fresh snow and old stuff melted.
All gone.
Oh well.
The day ends, I watch the football from the mid-week games. One 90 long football and analysis glut with Scully beside me on the sofa. She wasn't impressed.
I was though, ten games in 90 minutes with lots of talk means four minutes or so of action for each game. And move on. Still, football.
Jools comes home and we have dinner; soup with home made potato bread, always a favourite, and very filling. And then the evening to ourselves as there was, for a change, no football to listen to, so we have the radio on and fill our time with stuff.
And so came to an end the eleventh month of the year. Can you believe it?
After getting up and doing the usual chores, we looked on the BBC weather to see what the day had in store; and it seemed that from somewhere there was snow. Snow!
I mean, and this is also true in Belgium, Holland, Germany and Denmark, that as soon as the first flake falls, people forget how this white stuff was last time out and let their inner child drive like crazy things. It is the same all over Europe, and probably the rest of the world where semi-permanent snow isn't an annual thing. We all like snow, thrilled at the mention of it as soon as the weatherman mentions it, and are still thrilled until we hit the lap post 50 yards after leaving home in the morning. And most are all like this too.
It is an odd quirk of geography, that Kent, and East Kent in particular, are susceptible to snow, when the wind blows from the east, snow clouds pick up moisture from the English Channel of North Sea and dumps on us. Now, we have only had one major snowfall since moving here, blocked off from the rest of Kent for over 24 hours, and losing power at one point too. But most years we get enough snow so that venturing out in the car is dangerous, so we wait for the gritters and the grit to do its work.
Saying that, it was a bright morning with a fine sunrise and snow looked unlikely. But by quarter past eight, clouds spread from the north, and what started a few flakes, flurrying along, soon became a snowfall, and for a time, a blizzard. I say blizzard, it fell thick enough to give the impression of being fog in the distance. The ground did turn white, and so looked quite festive, not bad for the last day in November. The snow fell at first, fell in bright, low sunlight, making a wonderful scene, but once the clouds spread south, the sun was covered and it became as dark like dusk.
The cats looked on. Unimpressed.I took some shots when I should have been in a meeting.
And then it was back to work, reviewing stuff, for the rest of the day. It was dull stuff, but needed to be done.
Outside the snow stopped, and the sun came out, the snow that had settled began to melt. Late in the afternoon it fell again, but marked the end of the wintery day, as temperatures roose too, and the fresh snow and old stuff melted.
All gone.Oh well.
The day ends, I watch the football from the mid-week games. One 90 long football and analysis glut with Scully beside me on the sofa. She wasn't impressed.
I was though, ten games in 90 minutes with lots of talk means four minutes or so of action for each game. And move on. Still, football.
Jools comes home and we have dinner; soup with home made potato bread, always a favourite, and very filling. And then the evening to ourselves as there was, for a change, no football to listen to, so we have the radio on and fill our time with stuff.
And so came to an end the eleventh month of the year. Can you believe it?
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