It has been funny, no, hilarious, to hear various Brexiteers trying to say that Airbus' decision to possibly pull out of UK in the event of a bad deal or no deal Brexit.
The Brexiteers have blamed everyone, mostly the EU in bribing Airbus to manufacture in the UK. One particularly stupid Brexiteer suggested nationalising the Airbus factory, thus missing the point that it doesn't matter who owns the factory, its the supply chains that will break with Brexit.
May was asked in a poorly performed interview that when all the negative news and predictions regarding Brexit, why doesn't she want to change course? Because the people voted for it, was her reply. After the lies, deception, overspending, and rubbishing anything anti-Brexit news as #projectfear, when the truth is, Brexit is panning out pretty much as was predicted by those who knew what they were talking about.
The chief Brexiteer and coward, Nigel Farage, claimed that a poorly undertaken Brexit would be worse than no Brexit: I don't remember seeing that written on the side of a bus.
One last thing, manufacturing is over 10% of the UK economy, Airbus generates £1.3 billion in tax revenues, or 20% of the annual bill for being in the EU. As for the area of North Wales, where the main wing factory is, that facility accounts for 40% of the local economy; how will that effect the area, which suffered badly when pits and factories were closed during the Thatcher years.
All this coming just two days after the HoC vote, something industry was hoping would inject some reality into Parliament. As that didn't happen, plan Bs were and are further being put into action.
Expect lots more bad news in the coming months.
Friday, 22 June 2018
Thursday 21st June 2018
Midsummer.
And another day in which very little happened, other than the days got as long as they can get, and from now on its downhill until the end of December.
Work continues apace, with the tasks each day, the same.
I wish I could sound more positive about it, but sometimes the repetitiveness of it grinds you down.
As ever, there is a feast of football in the afternoon and evening, and plans are made which games to watch and to make sure the wall chart is filled in.
Jools leaves for work, I put the bins out and then make myself breakfast, ready for the first meeting of the day at eight.
Outside the sun shines, and looks tempting, I wish I could go out and enjoy it, but work is a hard taskmaster. Lunchtime comes at half ten, when it is in Denmark. It seems fair that I take my break when my colleagues do.
Denmark played at one in the afternoon, and oddly work went quiet I guess as people either went home early, or just stopped to watch. I watch the second half from the sofa with the laptop on my, er, lap, getting work done when the game fails to distract. Denmark were most disappointing to be honest.
I take the car back to the Eastern docks at half five, so Jools can collect me on her way home. In truth it hadn't moved since I came back on Tuesday night, so could have taken it back before, but we didn't, kidding myself I might go out in the late afternoon. But there was football.
I wait all of two minutes outside the terminal before Jools swings by, whisking us home at the end of a fine and sunny afternoon.
I cook more aubergine for dinner, served with yet more from the endless supply of pasta salad, all washed up and put away so I can watch Argentina play Croatia, in what should have been a straightforward game for Messi and co. Only it wasn't, Argentina played badly, sloppy at the back in the first half, giving a joke of a goal away early in the second. After which they really went to pieces, losing 3-0 and now needing a win in their last game and hoping the other result goes their way.
Still, got to laugh, especially when the camera pans the crowd to reveal and angry as hell Maradona.
And another day in which very little happened, other than the days got as long as they can get, and from now on its downhill until the end of December.
Work continues apace, with the tasks each day, the same.
I wish I could sound more positive about it, but sometimes the repetitiveness of it grinds you down.
As ever, there is a feast of football in the afternoon and evening, and plans are made which games to watch and to make sure the wall chart is filled in.
Jools leaves for work, I put the bins out and then make myself breakfast, ready for the first meeting of the day at eight.
Outside the sun shines, and looks tempting, I wish I could go out and enjoy it, but work is a hard taskmaster. Lunchtime comes at half ten, when it is in Denmark. It seems fair that I take my break when my colleagues do.
Denmark played at one in the afternoon, and oddly work went quiet I guess as people either went home early, or just stopped to watch. I watch the second half from the sofa with the laptop on my, er, lap, getting work done when the game fails to distract. Denmark were most disappointing to be honest.
I take the car back to the Eastern docks at half five, so Jools can collect me on her way home. In truth it hadn't moved since I came back on Tuesday night, so could have taken it back before, but we didn't, kidding myself I might go out in the late afternoon. But there was football.I wait all of two minutes outside the terminal before Jools swings by, whisking us home at the end of a fine and sunny afternoon.
I cook more aubergine for dinner, served with yet more from the endless supply of pasta salad, all washed up and put away so I can watch Argentina play Croatia, in what should have been a straightforward game for Messi and co. Only it wasn't, Argentina played badly, sloppy at the back in the first half, giving a joke of a goal away early in the second. After which they really went to pieces, losing 3-0 and now needing a win in their last game and hoping the other result goes their way.
Still, got to laugh, especially when the camera pans the crowd to reveal and angry as hell Maradona.
Thursday, 21 June 2018
Brexit reality
Through the referendum campaign and since the result, any suggestions by economists or journalists that companies might leave the UK as a result of Brexit or its various flavours of eventual end games, were met with calls of "project fear", indeed any negative story was project fear, with the Brexiteers talking of cake and eating it, sunlit uplands, the easiest deal in history and nothing but win/wins.
The reality has been somewhat different.
Of course there wasn't a sudden cliff face, ut a trickle of jobs leaving for the EU27, so slow you could almost pretend it isn't happening. But Jaguar Land Rover enacting their back up plan to make the new Crosslander in the EU rather than in the UK was a worrying event. Doubly so if you work for them or for a company in their supply chain.
Today Airbus stated it would have to look at UK investments and leave the UK in the event of a no deal. Te thousand highly paid manufacturing jobs at risk there.
Meanwhile job centres have been telling those looking for work, picking fruit is more fun that you would think.
Interest rates are going to rise in the next month, putting more pressure on those of us with mortgages, meaning keeping our jobs will be all the more important.
The reality has been somewhat different.
Of course there wasn't a sudden cliff face, ut a trickle of jobs leaving for the EU27, so slow you could almost pretend it isn't happening. But Jaguar Land Rover enacting their back up plan to make the new Crosslander in the EU rather than in the UK was a worrying event. Doubly so if you work for them or for a company in their supply chain.
Today Airbus stated it would have to look at UK investments and leave the UK in the event of a no deal. Te thousand highly paid manufacturing jobs at risk there.
Meanwhile job centres have been telling those looking for work, picking fruit is more fun that you would think.
Interest rates are going to rise in the next month, putting more pressure on those of us with mortgages, meaning keeping our jobs will be all the more important.
Wednesday 20th June 2018
Somehow we have reached the third week of June, the year is racing ahead of us, and tomorrow is midsummer. Where does the time go?
Indeed.
It is a usual working day here at Chez Jelltex. We get up at half five, feed the cats and make breakfast, and after a night of poor sleep thanks to my dozens of various insect bites, it is soon time to start work.
There are fires to put out, urgent mails to reply to, calls to receive.
The morning passes. Outside the sun shines down, and the garden is further brightened by more flowers that have emerged, including dozens of tiny Selfheal in the lawn, or what was once our lawn. Many more than last year. I take their picture because. Because? Its there
The cats mostly stay outside in the summer, coming in only to check on their food bowl occasionally and to bring me dead gifts. Better than live ones in most cases, as chasing a mouse of bird around the house is funny, I rarely get it before they find refuge under some furniture or the waiting jaws of another watching cat.
And there is football.
Always football. I take the laptop to the sofa to watch the second half of the Portugal v Morocco game early in the afternoon, taking calls and assembling spreadsheets.
The afternoon fades with that game ending, so I water some of the garden, then prepare dinner; pasta salad and aubergine. A fine summer feast, and another one I can thank the first Mrs Jelltex for. Precious little else to thank her for, mind.
Before the football in the evening, I put the Solarcan up in the back garden. A friend of mine has created a camera that takes a 6 month exposure of the changes in the movement of the sun across the sky. So come midwinter I will take it down and see the results. ANd that will be another shot of the day sorted!
And then there was Spain v Iran in the evening, I am pooped and barely stay awake for the game, and as soon as the final whistle goes, I switch the TV off and we go to bed. I pray for a long night's sleep.
Indeed.
It is a usual working day here at Chez Jelltex. We get up at half five, feed the cats and make breakfast, and after a night of poor sleep thanks to my dozens of various insect bites, it is soon time to start work.There are fires to put out, urgent mails to reply to, calls to receive.
The morning passes. Outside the sun shines down, and the garden is further brightened by more flowers that have emerged, including dozens of tiny Selfheal in the lawn, or what was once our lawn. Many more than last year. I take their picture because. Because? Its thereThe cats mostly stay outside in the summer, coming in only to check on their food bowl occasionally and to bring me dead gifts. Better than live ones in most cases, as chasing a mouse of bird around the house is funny, I rarely get it before they find refuge under some furniture or the waiting jaws of another watching cat.
And there is football.Always football. I take the laptop to the sofa to watch the second half of the Portugal v Morocco game early in the afternoon, taking calls and assembling spreadsheets.
The afternoon fades with that game ending, so I water some of the garden, then prepare dinner; pasta salad and aubergine. A fine summer feast, and another one I can thank the first Mrs Jelltex for. Precious little else to thank her for, mind.
Before the football in the evening, I put the Solarcan up in the back garden. A friend of mine has created a camera that takes a 6 month exposure of the changes in the movement of the sun across the sky. So come midwinter I will take it down and see the results. ANd that will be another shot of the day sorted!And then there was Spain v Iran in the evening, I am pooped and barely stay awake for the game, and as soon as the final whistle goes, I switch the TV off and we go to bed. I pray for a long night's sleep.
Tuesday 19th June 2018
It was said by my dead old Dad many years ago, that flies only feed on rotten meat. This was as Mum and myself were always bitten to buggery by various insects during our holidays in Wales and Scotland. Mosquitoes, gnats, flies, bees, wasps and other such flying, buzzing wee beasties would come and feast, mainly on our sweet East Anglian blood.
Last year in Scotland, the infamous Scottish midges covered me in bits as I stood on a hill in Glenfinnan, and earlier this year, Danish midges, mozzies and flies ate lots of me whilst I stood on a wooded hillside.
All this went through my mind as I packed on Monday, and I searched the house for Jungle Formula. I found none, but thought to myself, maybe it wouldn't be as bad as that.
I was wrong. It was Denmark all over again.
But before we get to that point, I had to get to the site. Oh yes, the site. I can't mention it by name, but a simple online search of the locations were the little orchids grow will quickly turn it, and other up. But anyway, I promised not to mention it, so, I won't. But so as you know.
The site was north of Great yarmouth, and getting from Mum's to there meant going through Great Yarmouth and dealing with its dreadful traffic jams. Like Lowestoft it has just two bridges over the river, and traffic quickly builds up as rush hour proceeds, so after getting up at half six, I say I'm going to leave straight away, with no breakfast in order to get through the town with no delays.
In fact I was relieved to go, I repeated how I felt, and Mum was still shocked. But, there is no time now for messing around, life is what it is, and I am what I am. And need no excuses.
No traffic in Yarmouth, and most of the traffic on the Acle straight was heading into town, but even driving away there was a solid line of cars, even if we were driving at 50 mph. Once at Acle I only had 15 minutes to go, so I stop at a garage, get breakfast, a snack and a litre of iced coffee, then go on until I find a place to park on the side of the road.
It was seven, and I had two and a half hours to kill.
I eat, drink, and listen to the radio and watch the traffic go by.
I sit there watching the rain clouds roll in, then drop ever-increasing amounts of rain on the car. Not what was forecast at all.
At quarter to nine I drive the last few miles to the meeting point, which was down a long dead end lane and then park in a farmyard. Rain continued to fall, and the light was awful. Oh dear, and was I in the right place?
When a second car arrived, I knew I was. The driver asked, are you here for the orchids? Yes I was.
As a third car arrived, a bloke came out from one of the barns and shook our hands, welcome, he said. Would you like a brew? We would.
So we go into the warehouse, all full of dangerous looking knives and machetes, and all the other stuff needed to keep the reserve open and accessible for the people who work there. We have a brew, chat and once the final guy turned up on his bike, we put wellies on and set off out into the rain and the countryside.
We walked over farmland, past casually interested highland cattle, through a gate and onto the fen.
I know now, that fen is alkali and a bog, acidic. Who knew?
The fen is a mat of plants and centuries of compressed dead vegetation floating on fresh water, the mat is several feet thick, and so when you walk over it, it bounces. No firm ground here, just bouncing, and when you stood still, water seeped up. Water was still falling from the clouds too. But there was brightness, and hope.
And there was insects. We stopped to put on repellant, but little did I know that the buggers were already biting through my t short on my back, and only later would I discover the dozens of bites when they started to itch.
As we walked, our guide pointed out so many different rare wild plants and flowers, but soon we came to the object of us being there; the Fen Orchid. It is a small, green plant that you can very easily miss, as it grows among taller vegetation, and is green. The background vegetation is also green. Get the picture?
We search for more, and indeed find many more spikes, some bigger than others, and easier to find and photograph.
The rain had stopped, so we began to enjoy the yomp across the fen; fus us orchidists, there were Early Marsh and Southern Marsh orchids everywhere, and hybrids of the two, of course, as well as ever more exotic and rare plants, flowers and grasses. I took many pictures and our guide sent us a list of what we saw, but I have to marry the two!
With three metres to go before we left the fen, I discovered one of the "holes", gaps between the tussocks and sank knee deep in mud. I was stuck, but the guide came, told me to pull my foot out and he yanked on the boot to free it, allowing me to put it back on and get to dry land!
We see two Marsh Harriers, flying low over the fen looking for food. A cuckoo flies past, calling all the while, even perching in a nearby tree, but conditions not good enough to get a shot. One of te other snappers is a twitcher, so keeps us all updated with the calls of birds we hear, one of which he assured us was a Grasshopper Warbler.
All interesting stuff.
We walked over the short stretch of farmland, disturbing a barn owl from its nest in an outbuilding, we stood and watched as it lazily flew away over the fields to the woods in the distance. It had not made a sound.
We go over a floating walkway to see some really rare stuff, tiny plants that eek out a living in the clear, clean water below the fen. Fur us as we walked off the walkway was the danger that the tussocks were the only safe places, so we have to walk from one to the other.
Finally, we walk back onto dry land again, walking gown a lane between two ditches, and in the hedgerow, we could see the unmistakable shape of a swallowtail butterfly. As we walk towards it and angle to get shots, it flies away. We saw just one others, flying high over the trees well out of reach of the camera.
It was quarter to one, and we were back at the barn, so we change out of the boots, bid the guide goodbye, and go back to our cars, so I plan the drive to the next location; Strumpshaw Fen, a public nature reserve, which should mean I see a Swallowtail.
It was half an hour's drive through Brundall to the reserve, and find a place to park on the side of the road, go to the reception, pay my entrance fee, and ask; been any Swallowtails? Not for a couple of hours, I was told. No surprise really as the weather was still dull and grey, a keen breeze was blowing again, and children were being herded to cross back over the railway to a waiting bus. Twitchers and butterfly chases said silent thanks as peace descended onto the reserve again.
I got talking to a bloke, and he took me to the meadow, and said stay here to see the Swallowtails. So I did, and saw none in two hours.
I did see hundreds more march orchids, along with Norfolk Hawkers and Four Spotted Chasers, which I tried to snap as they flew.
I did manage a half decent shot of the Hawker in flight, then one landed near me, allowing me to use the big boy lens to snap it.
I had been up on my feet for nearly eight hours, there was no sign of the Swallowtail, and the light wasn't improving. I decide to leave.
I hear the sound of an approaching train, line up the camera and was rewarded with the DRS short set hammering past towards Great yarmouth or Lowestoft. A bonus.
I had arranged to visit a friend nearby, so I program the sat nav, then follow the instructions along narrow lanes to the A47.
Peter lives in an old cottage beside a mill, beside a mill race. Its a lovely spot.
I am early so sit on the bank and watch a dozen or so Banded Demoiselleflies perching in branches, or fluttering just above the water surface. Are you OK? What are you looking at, I was asked by a dogwalker. I explained and she seemed to be happy with my answer.
I go to Peter's house and they ply me with good strong tea and shortbread, and we talk about things We have many shared interests to be honest, and it was a shame I had to leave 90 minutes later, as I had to drive home.
I know the way home now. I put the radio on and drive back to the bypass, then down to the top of the Ipswich road, taking that south, but even after the end of the rush hour, it was slow going, it seemed to take an age to get to Diss, where there is a small section of dual carriageway, but then a short blast down to the A14 to Ipswich, and then south down our old friend, the A12.
It was a golden evening, of course. As soon as I left Norfolk the clouds cleared and would be perfect for butterflies, but no time now. I just wanted to get home.
At least leaving later was that the traffic at Dartford was light, which is why I did it, to be honest, over the bridge and into Kent. From there just down to the top of the M20 and south home. Seven and eight o'clcok passed, and at nearly half eight, I get home. Time enough for a brew, a chat with Jools and a review of my shots and it was time for bed.
Again, I was shattered, but had done so much, upset MUm for sure, but ten life isn't perfect.
Last year in Scotland, the infamous Scottish midges covered me in bits as I stood on a hill in Glenfinnan, and earlier this year, Danish midges, mozzies and flies ate lots of me whilst I stood on a wooded hillside.
All this went through my mind as I packed on Monday, and I searched the house for Jungle Formula. I found none, but thought to myself, maybe it wouldn't be as bad as that.
I was wrong. It was Denmark all over again.
But before we get to that point, I had to get to the site. Oh yes, the site. I can't mention it by name, but a simple online search of the locations were the little orchids grow will quickly turn it, and other up. But anyway, I promised not to mention it, so, I won't. But so as you know.
The site was north of Great yarmouth, and getting from Mum's to there meant going through Great Yarmouth and dealing with its dreadful traffic jams. Like Lowestoft it has just two bridges over the river, and traffic quickly builds up as rush hour proceeds, so after getting up at half six, I say I'm going to leave straight away, with no breakfast in order to get through the town with no delays.
In fact I was relieved to go, I repeated how I felt, and Mum was still shocked. But, there is no time now for messing around, life is what it is, and I am what I am. And need no excuses.
No traffic in Yarmouth, and most of the traffic on the Acle straight was heading into town, but even driving away there was a solid line of cars, even if we were driving at 50 mph. Once at Acle I only had 15 minutes to go, so I stop at a garage, get breakfast, a snack and a litre of iced coffee, then go on until I find a place to park on the side of the road.
It was seven, and I had two and a half hours to kill.
I eat, drink, and listen to the radio and watch the traffic go by.
I sit there watching the rain clouds roll in, then drop ever-increasing amounts of rain on the car. Not what was forecast at all.At quarter to nine I drive the last few miles to the meeting point, which was down a long dead end lane and then park in a farmyard. Rain continued to fall, and the light was awful. Oh dear, and was I in the right place?
When a second car arrived, I knew I was. The driver asked, are you here for the orchids? Yes I was.
As a third car arrived, a bloke came out from one of the barns and shook our hands, welcome, he said. Would you like a brew? We would.
So we go into the warehouse, all full of dangerous looking knives and machetes, and all the other stuff needed to keep the reserve open and accessible for the people who work there. We have a brew, chat and once the final guy turned up on his bike, we put wellies on and set off out into the rain and the countryside.
We walked over farmland, past casually interested highland cattle, through a gate and onto the fen.I know now, that fen is alkali and a bog, acidic. Who knew?
The fen is a mat of plants and centuries of compressed dead vegetation floating on fresh water, the mat is several feet thick, and so when you walk over it, it bounces. No firm ground here, just bouncing, and when you stood still, water seeped up. Water was still falling from the clouds too. But there was brightness, and hope.
And there was insects. We stopped to put on repellant, but little did I know that the buggers were already biting through my t short on my back, and only later would I discover the dozens of bites when they started to itch. As we walked, our guide pointed out so many different rare wild plants and flowers, but soon we came to the object of us being there; the Fen Orchid. It is a small, green plant that you can very easily miss, as it grows among taller vegetation, and is green. The background vegetation is also green. Get the picture?
We search for more, and indeed find many more spikes, some bigger than others, and easier to find and photograph.
The rain had stopped, so we began to enjoy the yomp across the fen; fus us orchidists, there were Early Marsh and Southern Marsh orchids everywhere, and hybrids of the two, of course, as well as ever more exotic and rare plants, flowers and grasses. I took many pictures and our guide sent us a list of what we saw, but I have to marry the two!
With three metres to go before we left the fen, I discovered one of the "holes", gaps between the tussocks and sank knee deep in mud. I was stuck, but the guide came, told me to pull my foot out and he yanked on the boot to free it, allowing me to put it back on and get to dry land!We see two Marsh Harriers, flying low over the fen looking for food. A cuckoo flies past, calling all the while, even perching in a nearby tree, but conditions not good enough to get a shot. One of te other snappers is a twitcher, so keeps us all updated with the calls of birds we hear, one of which he assured us was a Grasshopper Warbler.
All interesting stuff.
We walked over the short stretch of farmland, disturbing a barn owl from its nest in an outbuilding, we stood and watched as it lazily flew away over the fields to the woods in the distance. It had not made a sound.
We go over a floating walkway to see some really rare stuff, tiny plants that eek out a living in the clear, clean water below the fen. Fur us as we walked off the walkway was the danger that the tussocks were the only safe places, so we have to walk from one to the other.
Finally, we walk back onto dry land again, walking gown a lane between two ditches, and in the hedgerow, we could see the unmistakable shape of a swallowtail butterfly. As we walk towards it and angle to get shots, it flies away. We saw just one others, flying high over the trees well out of reach of the camera.
It was quarter to one, and we were back at the barn, so we change out of the boots, bid the guide goodbye, and go back to our cars, so I plan the drive to the next location; Strumpshaw Fen, a public nature reserve, which should mean I see a Swallowtail.
It was half an hour's drive through Brundall to the reserve, and find a place to park on the side of the road, go to the reception, pay my entrance fee, and ask; been any Swallowtails? Not for a couple of hours, I was told. No surprise really as the weather was still dull and grey, a keen breeze was blowing again, and children were being herded to cross back over the railway to a waiting bus. Twitchers and butterfly chases said silent thanks as peace descended onto the reserve again.
I got talking to a bloke, and he took me to the meadow, and said stay here to see the Swallowtails. So I did, and saw none in two hours.
I did see hundreds more march orchids, along with Norfolk Hawkers and Four Spotted Chasers, which I tried to snap as they flew.
I did manage a half decent shot of the Hawker in flight, then one landed near me, allowing me to use the big boy lens to snap it.
I had been up on my feet for nearly eight hours, there was no sign of the Swallowtail, and the light wasn't improving. I decide to leave.I hear the sound of an approaching train, line up the camera and was rewarded with the DRS short set hammering past towards Great yarmouth or Lowestoft. A bonus.
I had arranged to visit a friend nearby, so I program the sat nav, then follow the instructions along narrow lanes to the A47.Peter lives in an old cottage beside a mill, beside a mill race. Its a lovely spot.
I am early so sit on the bank and watch a dozen or so Banded Demoiselleflies perching in branches, or fluttering just above the water surface. Are you OK? What are you looking at, I was asked by a dogwalker. I explained and she seemed to be happy with my answer.
I go to Peter's house and they ply me with good strong tea and shortbread, and we talk about things We have many shared interests to be honest, and it was a shame I had to leave 90 minutes later, as I had to drive home.
I know the way home now. I put the radio on and drive back to the bypass, then down to the top of the Ipswich road, taking that south, but even after the end of the rush hour, it was slow going, it seemed to take an age to get to Diss, where there is a small section of dual carriageway, but then a short blast down to the A14 to Ipswich, and then south down our old friend, the A12.
It was a golden evening, of course. As soon as I left Norfolk the clouds cleared and would be perfect for butterflies, but no time now. I just wanted to get home.
At least leaving later was that the traffic at Dartford was light, which is why I did it, to be honest, over the bridge and into Kent. From there just down to the top of the M20 and south home. Seven and eight o'clcok passed, and at nearly half eight, I get home. Time enough for a brew, a chat with Jools and a review of my shots and it was time for bed.
Again, I was shattered, but had done so much, upset MUm for sure, but ten life isn't perfect.
The story of the rebel leader.
Yesterday was the day of the repeat of the meaningful vote, vote. What seemed like it was going to be a defining moment for May and Brexit, turned out to be something of a triumph for her, as 12 of the rebels, including Dominic Grieve failed to rebel, after there was another last minute fudge on the wording of a Ministerial Statement.
I have no idea what this means, who has won, who lost, or when push comes to shove, whether Brexit will be stopped or not.
But the HoC had the chance to assert it's authority over the executive, and bottled it. Again.
It is possible that it will come down to a matter of Constitutional Law when come next February whether Parliament can or will instruct the Government to change course, policy. Or not.
The one thing I take from this, almost all the Government's energy has been spent for the last three weeks or so, on internal strife, negotiating with it's own back benchers, understanding their position and trying to move heaven and earth to accommodate those concerns to allow legislation to be passed. Had May and co spent as much effort and resources in understanding and accommodating the EU's concerns, then Brexit would be a lot less traumatic, and maybe things would look less bleak.
The Europhiles have capitulated at every turn, and the Brexiteers have not. So, extrapolating this forward, the Brexiteers will puch for a chaotic Brexit, leaving the EU with no formal agreement on trade, borders, rights, tax, fissile material, aviation, transport, cross-border crime coordination, and so on, relying on good will, or just muddling through.
The other alternative, is that in February, if there is no deal forthcoming, Parliament could pass a no confidence vote in May and bring down the Government, six weeks before Brexit.
If this thought isn't daft enough, it fails to take into account that when it came down to standing up for democracy, the Europhiles and rebels just folded. So they probably wouldn't vote against the Government either.
And all the while, Government has not been thinking about the NI-Irish border, trade, customs, tax and the rest of stuff that needs to be sorted, and if that were not bad enough, Parliament is about to go into recess, then into Conference season, meaning very little will be able to be discussed until october.
I have no idea what this means, who has won, who lost, or when push comes to shove, whether Brexit will be stopped or not.
But the HoC had the chance to assert it's authority over the executive, and bottled it. Again.
It is possible that it will come down to a matter of Constitutional Law when come next February whether Parliament can or will instruct the Government to change course, policy. Or not.
The one thing I take from this, almost all the Government's energy has been spent for the last three weeks or so, on internal strife, negotiating with it's own back benchers, understanding their position and trying to move heaven and earth to accommodate those concerns to allow legislation to be passed. Had May and co spent as much effort and resources in understanding and accommodating the EU's concerns, then Brexit would be a lot less traumatic, and maybe things would look less bleak.
The Europhiles have capitulated at every turn, and the Brexiteers have not. So, extrapolating this forward, the Brexiteers will puch for a chaotic Brexit, leaving the EU with no formal agreement on trade, borders, rights, tax, fissile material, aviation, transport, cross-border crime coordination, and so on, relying on good will, or just muddling through.
The other alternative, is that in February, if there is no deal forthcoming, Parliament could pass a no confidence vote in May and bring down the Government, six weeks before Brexit.
If this thought isn't daft enough, it fails to take into account that when it came down to standing up for democracy, the Europhiles and rebels just folded. So they probably wouldn't vote against the Government either.
And all the while, Government has not been thinking about the NI-Irish border, trade, customs, tax and the rest of stuff that needs to be sorted, and if that were not bad enough, Parliament is about to go into recess, then into Conference season, meaning very little will be able to be discussed until october.
Wednesday, 20 June 2018
Monday 18th June 2018
Back in the cold dark days of winter, I booked an expensive trip to see some very rare orchids (they always are) in Norfolk. Not thinking of the day of the week or anything, just a new species to see.
So, as the months crawled by, the date got nearer until last week I realised I had not really done any planning at all. Which was OK, I could stay at Mum's, but then I think you'll realise this would be the first time I had been back to hers since December, before Christmas, and a chance to see how life is panning out for her. Then came the opportunity to have a meeting with her occupational therapist, which meant leaving at lunchtime on Monday to be at hers at 18:00 to be there on time.
Before the there was time for 6 hours work, sorting through e mails, answering calls and making yet another spreadsheet. And then there was a problem with the car hire in that I could not pick up the car before two in the afternoon.
Anyway, Jools gets ready for work, and as we sip our coffee, we try to work out where the weened went.
She leaves me with the cats, preparing breakfast, then starting work before half seven, peeking into my mails for the grenades that had arrived over the weekend.
I plough on, have meetings and am at the bottom of my "to do" list when I realised it was time to arrange the taxo to take me to the port, back my bags and set for north, as you could not be sure of the traffic.
The taxi driver arrives at half twelve, I was hoping the car hire folks would let me take the car early, meaning I could get on the road. It was a fine sunny afternoon, driving along the deal road and me pointing out to the driver the wild flowers he should be noticing. In fact, he said he loves the town and area, like me, and that with history (he was one of those urban explorer types) so much to see under our noses.
He drops me off at the terminal, and after some worrying oohs and ahhs, i was told the car was ready, and after the paperwork was printed out, I could take my bags to the car , load up, and after finding 6 Music on the radio, drive up the A20 to the motorway.
I have a Vauxhall crossover thing; 5 gears, but powerful enough, but it has a radio that I can pick up DAB on, so I am happy enough, and more than quiet enough to enjoy the music in the fairly light traffic as I cruise north through Kent to Dartford.
And through the tunnel, into Essex, along the motorway to the bottom of the M11, thence north through the gentle rolling hills that mark south Essex, to Saffron Walden and north to Newmarket.
I felt I was against the clock, but it became clear that as I reached Bury St Edmunds at three, that traffic had been on my side, and I had time to use as I saw fit.
It won't be hard to believe then that I had orchids on my mind.
I drive up to Diss, then to Harleston, taking the road back into Suffolk, to Metfield, cruising along sunlit winding lanes, through the village and out the other side until I come to the dead end lane.
Parking up I grab the camera, walk through the memorial wood, enter the meadow through the new stile, very welcome not to have to climb over the gate, and into the meadow.
I was here to look for Frog Orchids, and having seen them three years in a row, I went to where I hoped to find them, and began looking. And looked.
I walked up and down the path, until I was at the point I was going to give up when I saw the spike next to my foot, growing in the path.
I take shots of that, then see another in long grass on one side. Then another on the other side.
And on the main path, I find the largest spike I have seen of a Frog.
I take shots of that too.
I walk round the outside of the meadow, but fail to find a single Southern Marsh at all, and there was a reduction in numbers of Pyramidal, although I did find a pure var. alba hidden in the long grass.
As I neared Mum's, a short diversion took me to a traffic island just off the main road, where I had been told of a rare Bee Orchid, a pales, more unusual one than the colony seen in Sussex last week.
I find a place to park off the road, then walk to the island, passing lines of cars waiting to turn. I was an item of interest with me having a long lens attached to my camera. I dodge between the cars, onto the island and look for a flattened area, and sure enough on the south side, there it was. Or I saw the flattened grass at first, but at the middle was a small green and white spike, glistening in the sunshine.
I take several, OK, many shots then walk back to the car for the last part of the drive, over the marshes to Oulton Broad and the shitstorm that I knew was coming.
In fact, Mum has kept her house tidy. Or rather Sheila has. There is no crap building up, and the house no longer smells of stale tobacco. All good stuff, but Mum still sits in her dressing gown; she only dresses once a week when she goes into town with Janet opposite.
Her therapist and I talk with her and try to get Mum to do more. But she is adamant she is doing enough. And there really isn't anyone can do to force her to change. That I was so angry with her it really surprised me.
Mum is happy watching TV from her chair 16 hours a day, getting up only to go to the bathroom, all else is done by other people; even having a shower is done by a carer.
So, despite her having the heart surgery and the opportunities it could give her to do more, she has decided to do less. And with Dad and Jools' Dad's death from the same thing, and not having a second chance, let alone a third, Mum is going to slowly waste away some more until the end.
And that is her decision to be honest, but it doesn't mean I have to agree, so told Mum that I would not be going up any more, as there was no point, and said she may as well have died last September as she had not taken the chances life had given her.
But I walk to the bins, she said. And to the end of the road! How many times? Several she says.
So, there you have it, I vent at her, but don't vary my response, even when Mum tires time after time to change the subject, or has that "little girl lost" look on her face and you know she is thinking how many seconds can go by before I can change the subject......
We watch England play, or I do, and mum tries to make small talk. We do have some discussions, but there really can be cordial talk if we ignore the elephants in the room Mum even said I should just drop the subject at one point.
England win 2-1, and play OK, but ran out of puff in the second half, and only score the winner in injury time. Still, three points, and Kane scored both goals.
As soon as the game finishes, I go to bed, and lay in bed as Mum watches a recording of Celebrity Dog Rescue. Or something.
So, as the months crawled by, the date got nearer until last week I realised I had not really done any planning at all. Which was OK, I could stay at Mum's, but then I think you'll realise this would be the first time I had been back to hers since December, before Christmas, and a chance to see how life is panning out for her. Then came the opportunity to have a meeting with her occupational therapist, which meant leaving at lunchtime on Monday to be at hers at 18:00 to be there on time.
Before the there was time for 6 hours work, sorting through e mails, answering calls and making yet another spreadsheet. And then there was a problem with the car hire in that I could not pick up the car before two in the afternoon.
Anyway, Jools gets ready for work, and as we sip our coffee, we try to work out where the weened went.
She leaves me with the cats, preparing breakfast, then starting work before half seven, peeking into my mails for the grenades that had arrived over the weekend.
I plough on, have meetings and am at the bottom of my "to do" list when I realised it was time to arrange the taxo to take me to the port, back my bags and set for north, as you could not be sure of the traffic.
The taxi driver arrives at half twelve, I was hoping the car hire folks would let me take the car early, meaning I could get on the road. It was a fine sunny afternoon, driving along the deal road and me pointing out to the driver the wild flowers he should be noticing. In fact, he said he loves the town and area, like me, and that with history (he was one of those urban explorer types) so much to see under our noses.
He drops me off at the terminal, and after some worrying oohs and ahhs, i was told the car was ready, and after the paperwork was printed out, I could take my bags to the car , load up, and after finding 6 Music on the radio, drive up the A20 to the motorway.
I have a Vauxhall crossover thing; 5 gears, but powerful enough, but it has a radio that I can pick up DAB on, so I am happy enough, and more than quiet enough to enjoy the music in the fairly light traffic as I cruise north through Kent to Dartford.And through the tunnel, into Essex, along the motorway to the bottom of the M11, thence north through the gentle rolling hills that mark south Essex, to Saffron Walden and north to Newmarket.
I felt I was against the clock, but it became clear that as I reached Bury St Edmunds at three, that traffic had been on my side, and I had time to use as I saw fit.
It won't be hard to believe then that I had orchids on my mind.
I drive up to Diss, then to Harleston, taking the road back into Suffolk, to Metfield, cruising along sunlit winding lanes, through the village and out the other side until I come to the dead end lane. Parking up I grab the camera, walk through the memorial wood, enter the meadow through the new stile, very welcome not to have to climb over the gate, and into the meadow.
I was here to look for Frog Orchids, and having seen them three years in a row, I went to where I hoped to find them, and began looking. And looked.I walked up and down the path, until I was at the point I was going to give up when I saw the spike next to my foot, growing in the path.
I take shots of that, then see another in long grass on one side. Then another on the other side.And on the main path, I find the largest spike I have seen of a Frog.
I take shots of that too.
I walk round the outside of the meadow, but fail to find a single Southern Marsh at all, and there was a reduction in numbers of Pyramidal, although I did find a pure var. alba hidden in the long grass.
As I neared Mum's, a short diversion took me to a traffic island just off the main road, where I had been told of a rare Bee Orchid, a pales, more unusual one than the colony seen in Sussex last week.
I find a place to park off the road, then walk to the island, passing lines of cars waiting to turn. I was an item of interest with me having a long lens attached to my camera. I dodge between the cars, onto the island and look for a flattened area, and sure enough on the south side, there it was. Or I saw the flattened grass at first, but at the middle was a small green and white spike, glistening in the sunshine.
I take several, OK, many shots then walk back to the car for the last part of the drive, over the marshes to Oulton Broad and the shitstorm that I knew was coming.In fact, Mum has kept her house tidy. Or rather Sheila has. There is no crap building up, and the house no longer smells of stale tobacco. All good stuff, but Mum still sits in her dressing gown; she only dresses once a week when she goes into town with Janet opposite.
Her therapist and I talk with her and try to get Mum to do more. But she is adamant she is doing enough. And there really isn't anyone can do to force her to change. That I was so angry with her it really surprised me. Mum is happy watching TV from her chair 16 hours a day, getting up only to go to the bathroom, all else is done by other people; even having a shower is done by a carer.
So, despite her having the heart surgery and the opportunities it could give her to do more, she has decided to do less. And with Dad and Jools' Dad's death from the same thing, and not having a second chance, let alone a third, Mum is going to slowly waste away some more until the end.
And that is her decision to be honest, but it doesn't mean I have to agree, so told Mum that I would not be going up any more, as there was no point, and said she may as well have died last September as she had not taken the chances life had given her.But I walk to the bins, she said. And to the end of the road! How many times? Several she says.
So, there you have it, I vent at her, but don't vary my response, even when Mum tires time after time to change the subject, or has that "little girl lost" look on her face and you know she is thinking how many seconds can go by before I can change the subject......
We watch England play, or I do, and mum tries to make small talk. We do have some discussions, but there really can be cordial talk if we ignore the elephants in the room Mum even said I should just drop the subject at one point.
England win 2-1, and play OK, but ran out of puff in the second half, and only score the winner in injury time. Still, three points, and Kane scored both goals.
As soon as the game finishes, I go to bed, and lay in bed as Mum watches a recording of Celebrity Dog Rescue. Or something.
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