The BBC has come under fire for an apparent bias in favour of Leave, not only in the run up to the referendum, but after it too.
An obvious example is seven time failed MP, no longer leader of UKIP, Naughty Nigel, having been on Question Time 32 times. He is still an MEP, but very few MEPs for other parties are invited on, the Greens who have similar levels of support have, in total, had 9 guests on in the same time. This makes what UKIP stands for seem more mainstream than it did. Nigel is asked his thoughts on most Brexit matters, yet his views are no more valid than anyone who voted Leave. Maybe if he offered solutions, not just soundbites it would be worth it.
As for bias, the BBC likes to show balance, so if one speaker says one thing, it likes to have another saying the opposite view. This is all very well in Party Politics, but in Brexit, where 90% of economists say that Brexit will be bad to catastrophic for UK, and 10% disagree, the BBC would have one speaker of the former, and one of the latter, making it sound a balanced argument, when the reality is everything but. Like the referendum itself, it appears to be a binary thing, and not mostly black.
Take JRM, who is now chairman of the ERG, but even before then, when the Government declined to put up a guest, and the BBC wanted a backbencher, they chose him, the hardest of Brexiteers, and an embodiment of class privilege. Only about 60 Conservative MPs want Brexit, so why not interview one of the 300 or so who want to remain, or who would put the opposite view?
In failing to properly analyse the impact of Brexit and inform the public, they have failed the country. Instead, the organisation wants to turn current affairs into talking head shows, where it is all about opinions rather than asking people who really know facts and the issues, can explain them.
Even when a reporter asks questions of a Brexiteer or the PM, the failure of the reporter to understand the nuances of terminology means the Brexiteers get off the hook. Any and every country can have access to the SM, even North Korea, what they mean is membership, which is different, very different. Frictionless trade means something, so the questions should have been on the detail as to what with the PM’s red lines, how could that be achieved.
Brexit fails on the detail, but thrives on general terms. But Brexit is now pretty much unstoppable, with no appetite in Parliament to withdraw or try to extend A50, UK will leave the EU on March 29th next year. But the referendum, and to so-called mandate, extends to just that. UK could leave the EU, but with no alternative be closely aligned with the EU it makes little difference. And that could last indefinably, as the question of the NI/Irish border goes on and on.
That brings us back to BINO, Brexit In Name Only, still a thing, and still possible. Britain could re-join the EU, it would mean using A49, but already be so closely linked it would make little difference.
There is a lot of time and shouting to be done.
Thursday, 5 April 2018
Tuesday 3rd April 2018
Since the beginning of February, I have been on a never-ending series of training courses and meetings, that, if taken on their own were onerous enough, but couple with half a day’s travel either side and most weeks have a day maybe a day and a half of actual work time. I stay in nice hotels, eat meals in restaurants, meet and socialise with friends, so its not all bad, but, I am glad to say that this week is the end.
It does mean being up at half four in the morning, still dark and all but the hungriest of mogs is still sleeping. We have coffee, and get ready for our days; Jools her lunch and making sure she has her pass to get into the office, and me, my passport, oyster card, itinerary and spare underwear.
I wash up, put seeds out for the birds who are also just waking up and singing a greeting to the coming dawn, but dawn is dull and grey, as a steady drizzle falls.
Jools takes me to the station where I get my ticket, and wait under the small station canopy for the train to arrive. It is quiet as most people seemed to be taking the rest of the week off, or so I thought, but after Folkestone it is pretty full, and out of Ashford it is pretty much standing room only.
I can see the approaching rain by its headlights reflected off the rails before it comes round the corner, it cruises noiselessly into the station, pulling 30 seconds before it was due to pull out. Almost Japanese-like timing. I get in a forward facing seat on the left hand side, perfect, and with dawn now rapidly approaching after the clocks went forward since my last trip, I would be able to look at the passing countryside on the way up.
Snowdrops in Sandling wood have all gone over now, and left behind lush clumps of leaves, daffodils are everywhere, and on the approach into Ashford the banks are yellow with hundreds of primroses. Spring is here, even if the weather isn’t.
But the clouds have lifted and parted, the near full waxing moon shines down, and the day seems much more positive.
I have breakfast as usual, read some of my magazine, then take the DLR to the airport where everywhere is busier than usual, with families off on their holibobs. I drop my case off, and get through security, find a place to sit and check my mails on the phone. It shows just one mail. In total. No idea how that works. But that will be my excuse. No phone messages either, so I relax and go back to my magazine.
My seat reservation wasn’t good, and I am left with an aisle seat, no views, no photos.
Bah.
And so I settle in, get the magazine out and read some more. We take off, the plane moves around as we bank and climb. I try to ignore the dips and changes in engine tone, I was sure all was fine.
We arrive safe and sound, and in Denmark, it had just stopped snowing.
I get a VW peoplewagon thing, big enough for eight people. There is just me. I find a classic radio station playing Abba, happy with that I drive off.
Snow is thicker near the office, but melting, but there is a heavy mist hanging in the air, meaning I took my time driving up the motorway.
There is no sign of spring here at all. No flowers, and all that is still green, is the faded and subdued hues of last year’s growth. Such a change from home, where even if it is cold, there is spring everywhere.
I arrive at the office to find no one from my project about, and the expected avalanche of e mails just being a dozen or so. I clear those and can then stare out the window and arrange my evening social event. Going to meet Anni and Bo at their new house on the outskirts of the city.
Instead of going to the hotel, dropping my bags off and driving out again, I decide to stay in the office and chase some travel expense receipts, leaving at half five for the drive to their house, using the inbuilt sat nav.
The builders had tried to confuse the visitor by having houses with even numbers on one side of the road, spread out along a narrow close, I go down to where Anni’s place should have been but there was no number 139 between 138 and 140.
Odd numbered houses were on the other side and down the street a bit, arranged round a close like Brookside. There was 139. Anni was looking out for me, she waves. I wave
It is three months since we last met, so it was good, and they have a very swish house, tastefully decorated as you would expect from two photographers with an eye for detail. Anni cooked tacos whilst we talked.
All very pleasant indeed, meeting old friends.
But time passed too quickly, and at half eight I had to leave to drive into the city to the hotel, check in and do any work that might have come in. And watch the football.
I watched Madrid play at Juventus, and Ronaldo scored one of the all time great goals. He might be arrogant and unlikeable, but by heck he can kick a ball. When it is behind him and he has to flick himself over and kicking the ball into the far corner.
Wowzers.
Only sour note was that I am in a smokers room, didn’t know they had such things, but it was late and I could not be bothered, but I will ask for a new room for my second night.
Time for bed, said Jimmy Spring.
It does mean being up at half four in the morning, still dark and all but the hungriest of mogs is still sleeping. We have coffee, and get ready for our days; Jools her lunch and making sure she has her pass to get into the office, and me, my passport, oyster card, itinerary and spare underwear.
I wash up, put seeds out for the birds who are also just waking up and singing a greeting to the coming dawn, but dawn is dull and grey, as a steady drizzle falls.
Jools takes me to the station where I get my ticket, and wait under the small station canopy for the train to arrive. It is quiet as most people seemed to be taking the rest of the week off, or so I thought, but after Folkestone it is pretty full, and out of Ashford it is pretty much standing room only.
I can see the approaching rain by its headlights reflected off the rails before it comes round the corner, it cruises noiselessly into the station, pulling 30 seconds before it was due to pull out. Almost Japanese-like timing. I get in a forward facing seat on the left hand side, perfect, and with dawn now rapidly approaching after the clocks went forward since my last trip, I would be able to look at the passing countryside on the way up.
Snowdrops in Sandling wood have all gone over now, and left behind lush clumps of leaves, daffodils are everywhere, and on the approach into Ashford the banks are yellow with hundreds of primroses. Spring is here, even if the weather isn’t.
But the clouds have lifted and parted, the near full waxing moon shines down, and the day seems much more positive.
I have breakfast as usual, read some of my magazine, then take the DLR to the airport where everywhere is busier than usual, with families off on their holibobs. I drop my case off, and get through security, find a place to sit and check my mails on the phone. It shows just one mail. In total. No idea how that works. But that will be my excuse. No phone messages either, so I relax and go back to my magazine.
My seat reservation wasn’t good, and I am left with an aisle seat, no views, no photos.Bah.
And so I settle in, get the magazine out and read some more. We take off, the plane moves around as we bank and climb. I try to ignore the dips and changes in engine tone, I was sure all was fine.
We arrive safe and sound, and in Denmark, it had just stopped snowing.
I get a VW peoplewagon thing, big enough for eight people. There is just me. I find a classic radio station playing Abba, happy with that I drive off. Snow is thicker near the office, but melting, but there is a heavy mist hanging in the air, meaning I took my time driving up the motorway.
There is no sign of spring here at all. No flowers, and all that is still green, is the faded and subdued hues of last year’s growth. Such a change from home, where even if it is cold, there is spring everywhere.
I arrive at the office to find no one from my project about, and the expected avalanche of e mails just being a dozen or so. I clear those and can then stare out the window and arrange my evening social event. Going to meet Anni and Bo at their new house on the outskirts of the city.
Instead of going to the hotel, dropping my bags off and driving out again, I decide to stay in the office and chase some travel expense receipts, leaving at half five for the drive to their house, using the inbuilt sat nav.
The builders had tried to confuse the visitor by having houses with even numbers on one side of the road, spread out along a narrow close, I go down to where Anni’s place should have been but there was no number 139 between 138 and 140.
Odd numbered houses were on the other side and down the street a bit, arranged round a close like Brookside. There was 139. Anni was looking out for me, she waves. I wave
It is three months since we last met, so it was good, and they have a very swish house, tastefully decorated as you would expect from two photographers with an eye for detail. Anni cooked tacos whilst we talked. All very pleasant indeed, meeting old friends.
But time passed too quickly, and at half eight I had to leave to drive into the city to the hotel, check in and do any work that might have come in. And watch the football.
I watched Madrid play at Juventus, and Ronaldo scored one of the all time great goals. He might be arrogant and unlikeable, but by heck he can kick a ball. When it is behind him and he has to flick himself over and kicking the ball into the far corner.
Wowzers.
Only sour note was that I am in a smokers room, didn’t know they had such things, but it was late and I could not be bothered, but I will ask for a new room for my second night.
Time for bed, said Jimmy Spring.
Monday, 2 April 2018
Monday 2nd April 2018
Bank Holiday Monday.
Weather forecast: heavy rain and gales in Kent, snow in Yorkshire. Normal Bank Holiday, then.
Yes, Bank Holiday and being April you might like to think you could spend it in the country looking for flowers, orchids, butterflies, the Gods have other ideas and send lots of weather. Football matches were postponedbecause of snow. Motorways were closed because of snow.
Sometimes it snows in April. A lot.
Down here we were expecting 24 hours of torrential rain, but through yesterday the forecast got a little better, was improved this morning, and today we actually saw some sun.
As ever, there was football to watch first thing, but not being a Sunday there was no bacon; just cereal.
Somehow we managed to fritter half the morning away, but then outside there was no rain, it looked bright. And I needed a haircut.
So a tip to Folkestone was called for.
And it turned out that on Bank Holiday the Jelltexes joined the hordes and headed for the seaside. What could possibly go wrong? We are not one for crowds if the truth is known, so us joining the great unwashed in the annual pilgrimage to the seaside for candy floss and kiss-me-quick hats. Lovely.
It really wasn't that bad. We parked in the town and I went to find a place that was open to get a hair cut, the usual place was closed to I went to the what I thought was the Turkish place, but turns out they were Kurds. No real difference to me, but huge to them. I talked a little about the politics of the region, which is more than most people I guess. He creates a work of art, or takes so much care an attenton on what I fail to comb or brush for weeks on end.
But the deed is done, I give him a tip, and we walk down the old High Street to the harbour, take the steps up to the new walk along the trackbed of the old Harbour Branch. I wanted to see the old station now the work was complete, and the path goes through the station, while the station has been renovated, new canopy put up, and looked a picture. Just a shame that no trains will ever run down it again. But it is now a community asset I suppose. And it will be preserved.
Once we got to the harbour arm, we turned round and went on the hunt for lunch. Jools said she wanted a burger, and I pointed out these was a burger place up the High Street, so it was decided, we would go there. And arrived just at midday as they opened the door. I ordered a burger with the cheese inside the patty, which was different. But then how can you really do something new with a burger?
The food is good, but the two girls serving are having a bad day with a group of eight who keep changing their order, meaning the rest have to wait to order. But we were first. Our meals come, all piping hot and not at all healthy. And they burgers were good, a tasty mix of sauces, mustard and pickles. I enjoyed it, even better as we did not have to wash up.
We were done with crowds, so walked to the car just behind the burger joint, and we are on our way home before one, and home at half past.
We make a brew and settle into our routines, me on the computer swearing at Twitter as I follow Norwich as they crashed to a 4-1 defeat at QPR. Will this season never end? Funnily enough, that's what Jools says.
I do a session on the cross trainer, then prepare the tomatoes and cheese whilst Jools goes on the cross trainer. Rain had returned and it was getting dark early. And another four day weekend had slipped through our fingers again.
I have to pack, and get ready for two and a half days away.
Will be back on Thursday.
Weather forecast: heavy rain and gales in Kent, snow in Yorkshire. Normal Bank Holiday, then.
Yes, Bank Holiday and being April you might like to think you could spend it in the country looking for flowers, orchids, butterflies, the Gods have other ideas and send lots of weather. Football matches were postponedbecause of snow. Motorways were closed because of snow.
Sometimes it snows in April. A lot.
Down here we were expecting 24 hours of torrential rain, but through yesterday the forecast got a little better, was improved this morning, and today we actually saw some sun.
As ever, there was football to watch first thing, but not being a Sunday there was no bacon; just cereal. Somehow we managed to fritter half the morning away, but then outside there was no rain, it looked bright. And I needed a haircut.
So a tip to Folkestone was called for.
And it turned out that on Bank Holiday the Jelltexes joined the hordes and headed for the seaside. What could possibly go wrong? We are not one for crowds if the truth is known, so us joining the great unwashed in the annual pilgrimage to the seaside for candy floss and kiss-me-quick hats. Lovely.
It really wasn't that bad. We parked in the town and I went to find a place that was open to get a hair cut, the usual place was closed to I went to the what I thought was the Turkish place, but turns out they were Kurds. No real difference to me, but huge to them. I talked a little about the politics of the region, which is more than most people I guess. He creates a work of art, or takes so much care an attenton on what I fail to comb or brush for weeks on end.
But the deed is done, I give him a tip, and we walk down the old High Street to the harbour, take the steps up to the new walk along the trackbed of the old Harbour Branch. I wanted to see the old station now the work was complete, and the path goes through the station, while the station has been renovated, new canopy put up, and looked a picture. Just a shame that no trains will ever run down it again. But it is now a community asset I suppose. And it will be preserved.
Once we got to the harbour arm, we turned round and went on the hunt for lunch. Jools said she wanted a burger, and I pointed out these was a burger place up the High Street, so it was decided, we would go there. And arrived just at midday as they opened the door. I ordered a burger with the cheese inside the patty, which was different. But then how can you really do something new with a burger?
The food is good, but the two girls serving are having a bad day with a group of eight who keep changing their order, meaning the rest have to wait to order. But we were first. Our meals come, all piping hot and not at all healthy. And they burgers were good, a tasty mix of sauces, mustard and pickles. I enjoyed it, even better as we did not have to wash up.
We were done with crowds, so walked to the car just behind the burger joint, and we are on our way home before one, and home at half past. We make a brew and settle into our routines, me on the computer swearing at Twitter as I follow Norwich as they crashed to a 4-1 defeat at QPR. Will this season never end? Funnily enough, that's what Jools says.
I do a session on the cross trainer, then prepare the tomatoes and cheese whilst Jools goes on the cross trainer. Rain had returned and it was getting dark early. And another four day weekend had slipped through our fingers again.
I have to pack, and get ready for two and a half days away.
Will be back on Thursday.
Mum update
Its been a while.
I have the sad duty to report that Mum has sunk back into most of her old ways, apparently smoking excepted, although I wouldn't rule that out.
There was a period maybe at the end of February where she was being encouraged to go to a club twice a week, and was enthused about going out and doing stuff. So enthused she called us every day. Only I really couldn't care less. I mean I am glad she was doing it, but she had to do it because she wanted to do it, and do it for herself, not look for valediction from Jools and myself. And I told her this.
So, it might be my fault, but since her only friend did not like the club, Mum no longer goes. And apart from that has not been out of the house, so she is now back where she started, sitting in her armchair for 23 and a half hours a day.
And I really don't care. I am not going to go drive four hours up there and four hours back if she's not going to make an effort.
I refuse to be defined by my relationship with my Mother, not how her relationship with her own Mother was so fractured, and her Mother's to hers. And so on. I will break the cycle, be cruel to be kind and tell the truth how I sees it. Phone calls have gone from 20 minutes back to 3 minutes, and there are herds of elephants in the room once again.
It was always going to be thus, and if you ask me, two heart attacks, four stints, and open heart surgery aint gonna change her spots, no way.
Its the way it is, maybe being over four hours distant makes it easy. I don't know.
I have the sad duty to report that Mum has sunk back into most of her old ways, apparently smoking excepted, although I wouldn't rule that out.
There was a period maybe at the end of February where she was being encouraged to go to a club twice a week, and was enthused about going out and doing stuff. So enthused she called us every day. Only I really couldn't care less. I mean I am glad she was doing it, but she had to do it because she wanted to do it, and do it for herself, not look for valediction from Jools and myself. And I told her this.
So, it might be my fault, but since her only friend did not like the club, Mum no longer goes. And apart from that has not been out of the house, so she is now back where she started, sitting in her armchair for 23 and a half hours a day.
And I really don't care. I am not going to go drive four hours up there and four hours back if she's not going to make an effort.
I refuse to be defined by my relationship with my Mother, not how her relationship with her own Mother was so fractured, and her Mother's to hers. And so on. I will break the cycle, be cruel to be kind and tell the truth how I sees it. Phone calls have gone from 20 minutes back to 3 minutes, and there are herds of elephants in the room once again.
It was always going to be thus, and if you ask me, two heart attacks, four stints, and open heart surgery aint gonna change her spots, no way.
Its the way it is, maybe being over four hours distant makes it easy. I don't know.
Sunday 1st April 2018
Easter Sunday
The forecast was for cloud, cloud and with added cloud. But no rain. For now.
We had nothing really planned, so we began the day slowly, as is the case after an evening carding. Not that we drink lots, but by the time we get to bed it is two hours past our bed time, meaning we are a little bit groggy. So after coffee at half seven, on with the TV to watch the football on the i player. Jools sits beside me on the sofa, beading, and I watch the footy.
After that it is time for bacon. Thick cut smoked streaky from the butcher, and lots of them in each butty.
That brought us to half ten, and time to think what to do. Well, for the past few days I had been looking for Coltsfoot open, but I know there were some on Samphire Hoe, and if we went there I could check on the Early Spiders. So what's not to like?
Only we didn't get down there until half eleven, meaning there were dozens of other people out and about and few parking spaces. But if you use the overflow spaces then you'll be fine. And as it was there were the largest ESOs were two years ago, best start there.
Last year they almost all failed here, so with the much damper winter, I had high hopes, but as it turned out, I struggled to fine rosettes. There was a large one in the middle of the car park, but no others, even if there were patches of lush grass growing. DOwn the side of the path, I could see none at all. All the way up until nearly the end just before it plunges to the beach, we find four or five more rosettes, looking good with spikes forming, but there should be many by now.
Even on a calm day, the temperature was just seven degrees, and this is as warm as it has felt for weeks. Maybe that is why there are s few showing, the cold, dry west wind might have dried many rosettes out over the past month or so. But in a few weeks we will know.
We had arranged to meet Trish from the Rack in town at half one, so had an hour to kill before then. So, we drove into town, and I took the final shots of the St James development, now that all is left is the units to be fitted out, those that have been sold of course. ANd there seems to be twenty or so empty with none of them having potential tenants. Three years work to bring a cinema, a Nandos and a Poundland to the town. Seems like it is turning into another white elephant.
The car park, which is free for now, was mostly empty, might make for interesting photos, but is worrying if more retailers have not been tempted. Nandos seemed to be doing good business, with a steady stream of people going in.
We walk to the Mash Tun, get drinks and take a table at the back to wait for Trish and Mo to turn up. As you may remember, the Rack closed in November, and now they are making their final preparations for their move to France, though they can't make up their mind where in that large country they might like to move to. Nice choice to have, of course. The pub had supplied us with cheese and crackers, quiche and roast potatoes. Almost a full meal there. All good too.
We stay for three. Or I do, as Jools has to drive back. But I have dinner to cook, and sharp knives to wield. So, we say goodbye and walk over the road to the car park, and Jools takes us home.
I cook leg of lamb, and after the triumph last week, I do stir fry vegetables again along with the roast potatoes and Yorkshire Puddings, that rose so much they looked like little souffles
And it was all wonderful. Washed down by white fizz, all good stuff. And at least being a Sunday night, tomorrow is also a holiday, so we can laze around and relax. That is until Mulder brings in baby rabbit. I was on the phone at the time, heard a scuffle going on, only to see a grey streak flash past me. Mulder is in hot pursuit, and he catches the rabbit and it goes limp. Mulder drops it ready for me to eat.
Meow. And that was your Easter Sunday and first day of April.
The forecast was for cloud, cloud and with added cloud. But no rain. For now.
We had nothing really planned, so we began the day slowly, as is the case after an evening carding. Not that we drink lots, but by the time we get to bed it is two hours past our bed time, meaning we are a little bit groggy. So after coffee at half seven, on with the TV to watch the football on the i player. Jools sits beside me on the sofa, beading, and I watch the footy.
After that it is time for bacon. Thick cut smoked streaky from the butcher, and lots of them in each butty.
That brought us to half ten, and time to think what to do. Well, for the past few days I had been looking for Coltsfoot open, but I know there were some on Samphire Hoe, and if we went there I could check on the Early Spiders. So what's not to like?
Only we didn't get down there until half eleven, meaning there were dozens of other people out and about and few parking spaces. But if you use the overflow spaces then you'll be fine. And as it was there were the largest ESOs were two years ago, best start there.
Last year they almost all failed here, so with the much damper winter, I had high hopes, but as it turned out, I struggled to fine rosettes. There was a large one in the middle of the car park, but no others, even if there were patches of lush grass growing. DOwn the side of the path, I could see none at all. All the way up until nearly the end just before it plunges to the beach, we find four or five more rosettes, looking good with spikes forming, but there should be many by now.
Even on a calm day, the temperature was just seven degrees, and this is as warm as it has felt for weeks. Maybe that is why there are s few showing, the cold, dry west wind might have dried many rosettes out over the past month or so. But in a few weeks we will know.
We had arranged to meet Trish from the Rack in town at half one, so had an hour to kill before then. So, we drove into town, and I took the final shots of the St James development, now that all is left is the units to be fitted out, those that have been sold of course. ANd there seems to be twenty or so empty with none of them having potential tenants. Three years work to bring a cinema, a Nandos and a Poundland to the town. Seems like it is turning into another white elephant.
The car park, which is free for now, was mostly empty, might make for interesting photos, but is worrying if more retailers have not been tempted. Nandos seemed to be doing good business, with a steady stream of people going in.
We walk to the Mash Tun, get drinks and take a table at the back to wait for Trish and Mo to turn up. As you may remember, the Rack closed in November, and now they are making their final preparations for their move to France, though they can't make up their mind where in that large country they might like to move to. Nice choice to have, of course. The pub had supplied us with cheese and crackers, quiche and roast potatoes. Almost a full meal there. All good too.
We stay for three. Or I do, as Jools has to drive back. But I have dinner to cook, and sharp knives to wield. So, we say goodbye and walk over the road to the car park, and Jools takes us home.I cook leg of lamb, and after the triumph last week, I do stir fry vegetables again along with the roast potatoes and Yorkshire Puddings, that rose so much they looked like little souffles
And it was all wonderful. Washed down by white fizz, all good stuff. And at least being a Sunday night, tomorrow is also a holiday, so we can laze around and relax. That is until Mulder brings in baby rabbit. I was on the phone at the time, heard a scuffle going on, only to see a grey streak flash past me. Mulder is in hot pursuit, and he catches the rabbit and it goes limp. Mulder drops it ready for me to eat.Meow. And that was your Easter Sunday and first day of April.
Your Easter Brexit
It has been quiet for the past few days, in the world of Brexit. May is on holiday, and DD is standing in front of shop windows looking at his reflections. Gove is doing exactly what the billionaire Brexit backers tell him to.
The Telegraph turned their Barclay Brother endorsed guns on the Electoral Commission, after it emerged that a crowd funded bid to investigate spending of the two main Leave Parties as there is such clear evidence that one part-funded the other. This might not change the result of the referendum, not annul it, but it casts the result and the campaign in ever more shady light, and the evidence goes straight to Gove's feet. That Johnson was all too keen to dismiss any possible collusion as being nonsense, without actually looking at the evidence.
Also it has emerged to Legatum Institute, a hard Brexit-pushing organisation, has enjoyed direct contact with Ministers when industry leaders don't stand a chance. It becomes ever clearer that the Brexiteers and Legatum are pushing for an ever harder Brexit, irrespective of what the cost to the country is, and being cheered on by the right leaning press.
On the other side of the political spectrum, Corbyn is pushing for Brexit no matter what, even though the official party policy as voted for at conference is to remain in the SM at least. He was elected on a platform that the members would create the policies the party would follow, not even he as leader would go against that. And yet he has and still is. He has enormous backing from Momentum, who see an attack on Corbyn as being ideologically driven, when it is clear to most people, he's just rubbish. There will be no last minute conversion to the EU or SM cause, as Corbyn blames the EU for blocking his dream policies of nationalising many industries, even when it has been proved, over and over again, that this is not the case. He also has said on may occasions that a country can't leave the EU and be in the SM. Norway???
I have partly given in on Brexit; I think Britain deserves it, we were dumb enough to vote for Cameron, the referendum and May. We need to learn the consequences of our actions, and suffer for it. Sadly it will be future generations that will pay, whilst those of my age will see pensions retreat ever further into the future, never obtainable, the NHS will be a memory as it can't be afforded and has to be sold off as part of a trade deal with the US. Farming will be decimated, which serves Old McDonald and co right as they pressed so hard for it. Sadly it will be the landscape and environment that will suffer as downland and fells will not be grazed, thus making dozens of species extinct. I will never, ever get bored of telling every fool, bigot, racist and dreamer who voted for Brexit "I told you so".
The Telegraph turned their Barclay Brother endorsed guns on the Electoral Commission, after it emerged that a crowd funded bid to investigate spending of the two main Leave Parties as there is such clear evidence that one part-funded the other. This might not change the result of the referendum, not annul it, but it casts the result and the campaign in ever more shady light, and the evidence goes straight to Gove's feet. That Johnson was all too keen to dismiss any possible collusion as being nonsense, without actually looking at the evidence.
Also it has emerged to Legatum Institute, a hard Brexit-pushing organisation, has enjoyed direct contact with Ministers when industry leaders don't stand a chance. It becomes ever clearer that the Brexiteers and Legatum are pushing for an ever harder Brexit, irrespective of what the cost to the country is, and being cheered on by the right leaning press.
On the other side of the political spectrum, Corbyn is pushing for Brexit no matter what, even though the official party policy as voted for at conference is to remain in the SM at least. He was elected on a platform that the members would create the policies the party would follow, not even he as leader would go against that. And yet he has and still is. He has enormous backing from Momentum, who see an attack on Corbyn as being ideologically driven, when it is clear to most people, he's just rubbish. There will be no last minute conversion to the EU or SM cause, as Corbyn blames the EU for blocking his dream policies of nationalising many industries, even when it has been proved, over and over again, that this is not the case. He also has said on may occasions that a country can't leave the EU and be in the SM. Norway???
I have partly given in on Brexit; I think Britain deserves it, we were dumb enough to vote for Cameron, the referendum and May. We need to learn the consequences of our actions, and suffer for it. Sadly it will be future generations that will pay, whilst those of my age will see pensions retreat ever further into the future, never obtainable, the NHS will be a memory as it can't be afforded and has to be sold off as part of a trade deal with the US. Farming will be decimated, which serves Old McDonald and co right as they pressed so hard for it. Sadly it will be the landscape and environment that will suffer as downland and fells will not be grazed, thus making dozens of species extinct. I will never, ever get bored of telling every fool, bigot, racist and dreamer who voted for Brexit "I told you so".
Sunday, 1 April 2018
Saturday 31st March 2018
The last day of winter.
Although, as Prince tells us, sometimes it snows in April, not much. And even if the weather is still chilly, the plants are waking up and growing like crazy. As so are weeds, but then the Don says if the ground is warm enough for weeds, then its warm enough for the plants we love.
For this, the last day of March, the lull before the orchid madness begins, I am spending at least the morning how I have spent most Saturdays this year; visiting churches and taking lots of photographs.
We get up and do the usual chores of the early morning. Jools feeds the cats and I make coffee. Of course, we need groceries, so having made the list during the week, we load the car with bags and ourselves just before eight to make the short drive to Whitfield, and getting our zapper.
So begins the weekly ritual of hunter-gathering where Tesco try to find what we need in a new place. I'm sure its a game to get us to see stuff we didn't realise we wanted to buy.
We are out by quarter to nine, but already time is short as I have to be at a church at half nine. So, we rush home, put the shopping away, warm croissants up and make coffee. And I am ready to go at quarter past nine, ready for the short drive back to Coldred.
We went last week to Coldred, a little church set in an ancient defensive earthwork, the area had been occupied by Romans, hence the dedication of the church to the unusual St Pancras. As I parked I could see the warden looking out for me, as I had taken the unusual step of sending mails and arranging a time to be here, so to be sure of getting inside. I had taken exterior shots last week, so was able to go straight inside and after the introductions and chat, I was able to get the shots.
I had visited St Pancras before, one summer Sunday afternoon in 2009. I remembered little of it, just the wooden roof really. So this time I drank in the details, making sure I shot everything. And trying not to get in the way as they did the flower arrangements for the Easter Service on Sunday.
Truth is, St Pancras is a small church, looking good having been recently painted, but in about 15 minutes I ran out of things to snap, so I big my farewells and took my leave of the wardens.
Jools had said I should go back to Great Mongeham as it is likely that most churches will be being prepared. I had already visited three times in the last month and found it locked and the keyholder not answering her door. I found out later she had been on her holidays and was mortified that I could not get inside the church. I tried to say it was no issue, but still.
There was no parking at the church, and there were cars in the churchyard, meaning it was almost certainly open. I had to park out on the main road, hoping that the two cars that passed me as I walked back to the church did not have the keys.
I need not have worried, there were at least 6 people working in the church, maybe more. Tidying, dusting and doing flower arrangements. It looked wonderful.
I again tried not to get in the way, so went round getting my shots and soaking up the details. I was also accompanied by the warden who knew the history, and pointed out more items of interest.
But for a large church, I don't seem to have taken many shots, but I was happy I had it all. So again I said goodbye to my new friends.
Saturday, I sorted through shots and folders of shots of the churches in my Flickr photostream, and in doing so I realised some churches had been better covered than others. One with very few shots was Fordwich.
Fordwich likes to call itself England's smallest town, although this a disputed fact by several other small towns. Fordwich is stretched out along a winding and narrow street from the bridge over the Stour up the valley, and was once the main port for Canterbury, especially in the days before the Wantsum Channel silted up, the seas was just a few hundred yards away.
It has the church, two good pubs, though I fear one has closed, a town hall on stilts, and the church.
To get there without braving the Canterbury ring road involved going along country lanes, but the chance to call in at the butcher at Preston, before ending up going down the narrow lane that leads down the Stour valley, heck, I even found a parking space near the church, and there was the very welcoming sight of a "church open" sign at the gate.
The church is open, and empty in that I have it to myself, meaning I go round getting my shots, seeing what I missed in September 2009 I think it was, and I missed lots.
And that was that, back home the same way I came: Littlebourne, Wingham, Sandwich and to Dover, arriving home at half twelve, just in time to make lunch and brew up.
And then listen to the end of Huey before getting bored with Liz so switching over to the football, retiring to the sofa to rest my eyes. After all, we have a long evening of international level cards to prepare for.
Jools drops me off at Jen's and goes to pick up John. So we set up the table and chairs, get the drinks ready whilst Midsummer Murders booms out from the living room as her mUm watches, though doesn't really understand what is going on.
And we're off, playing, chatting and drinking. And laughing, telling stories, it is all rather pleasant I have to say. We end up even I guess, and leave just before midnight so we don't turn into pumpkins. There is a large nearly full moon above us, guiding us the way home.
Although, as Prince tells us, sometimes it snows in April, not much. And even if the weather is still chilly, the plants are waking up and growing like crazy. As so are weeds, but then the Don says if the ground is warm enough for weeds, then its warm enough for the plants we love.
For this, the last day of March, the lull before the orchid madness begins, I am spending at least the morning how I have spent most Saturdays this year; visiting churches and taking lots of photographs.
We get up and do the usual chores of the early morning. Jools feeds the cats and I make coffee. Of course, we need groceries, so having made the list during the week, we load the car with bags and ourselves just before eight to make the short drive to Whitfield, and getting our zapper.
So begins the weekly ritual of hunter-gathering where Tesco try to find what we need in a new place. I'm sure its a game to get us to see stuff we didn't realise we wanted to buy.
We are out by quarter to nine, but already time is short as I have to be at a church at half nine. So, we rush home, put the shopping away, warm croissants up and make coffee. And I am ready to go at quarter past nine, ready for the short drive back to Coldred.
We went last week to Coldred, a little church set in an ancient defensive earthwork, the area had been occupied by Romans, hence the dedication of the church to the unusual St Pancras. As I parked I could see the warden looking out for me, as I had taken the unusual step of sending mails and arranging a time to be here, so to be sure of getting inside. I had taken exterior shots last week, so was able to go straight inside and after the introductions and chat, I was able to get the shots.
I had visited St Pancras before, one summer Sunday afternoon in 2009. I remembered little of it, just the wooden roof really. So this time I drank in the details, making sure I shot everything. And trying not to get in the way as they did the flower arrangements for the Easter Service on Sunday. Truth is, St Pancras is a small church, looking good having been recently painted, but in about 15 minutes I ran out of things to snap, so I big my farewells and took my leave of the wardens.
Jools had said I should go back to Great Mongeham as it is likely that most churches will be being prepared. I had already visited three times in the last month and found it locked and the keyholder not answering her door. I found out later she had been on her holidays and was mortified that I could not get inside the church. I tried to say it was no issue, but still.
There was no parking at the church, and there were cars in the churchyard, meaning it was almost certainly open. I had to park out on the main road, hoping that the two cars that passed me as I walked back to the church did not have the keys.I need not have worried, there were at least 6 people working in the church, maybe more. Tidying, dusting and doing flower arrangements. It looked wonderful.
I again tried not to get in the way, so went round getting my shots and soaking up the details. I was also accompanied by the warden who knew the history, and pointed out more items of interest.
But for a large church, I don't seem to have taken many shots, but I was happy I had it all. So again I said goodbye to my new friends.
Saturday, I sorted through shots and folders of shots of the churches in my Flickr photostream, and in doing so I realised some churches had been better covered than others. One with very few shots was Fordwich.
Fordwich likes to call itself England's smallest town, although this a disputed fact by several other small towns. Fordwich is stretched out along a winding and narrow street from the bridge over the Stour up the valley, and was once the main port for Canterbury, especially in the days before the Wantsum Channel silted up, the seas was just a few hundred yards away.
It has the church, two good pubs, though I fear one has closed, a town hall on stilts, and the church.
To get there without braving the Canterbury ring road involved going along country lanes, but the chance to call in at the butcher at Preston, before ending up going down the narrow lane that leads down the Stour valley, heck, I even found a parking space near the church, and there was the very welcoming sight of a "church open" sign at the gate.
The church is open, and empty in that I have it to myself, meaning I go round getting my shots, seeing what I missed in September 2009 I think it was, and I missed lots.
And that was that, back home the same way I came: Littlebourne, Wingham, Sandwich and to Dover, arriving home at half twelve, just in time to make lunch and brew up.
And then listen to the end of Huey before getting bored with Liz so switching over to the football, retiring to the sofa to rest my eyes. After all, we have a long evening of international level cards to prepare for.
Jools drops me off at Jen's and goes to pick up John. So we set up the table and chairs, get the drinks ready whilst Midsummer Murders booms out from the living room as her mUm watches, though doesn't really understand what is going on.
And we're off, playing, chatting and drinking. And laughing, telling stories, it is all rather pleasant I have to say. We end up even I guess, and leave just before midnight so we don't turn into pumpkins. There is a large nearly full moon above us, guiding us the way home.
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