Saturday 21st July 2018

Here comes the weekend.

And another one of the never-ending cloudless hot sunny days we have become accustomed to, Friday excepted, of course.

And for reasons that will become clearer later, had yet more orchids on my mind. This I broached to Jools, and tempered that with a walk in the woods, butterflies, other wildflowers.

So she said yes.

As you may have guessed, the morning began with coffee and then round up the shopping bags for the weekly battle in Tesco.

We both go, and plan our shopping like a black ops operation, both going hither and thither to hunt and gather fine foods for the week. And Doritos and dips for Saturday night.

As you do.

We are back at home just before nine, and as Jools puts the shopping away, I cook bacon for breakfast. Bacon on a Saturday? I know, a radical change!

That all done, washing up completed and all put away, I gather the cameras so we can go to the car and drive out to Denge.

Again.

Two days ago, we were in Denge looking for Broad Leaved Helleborines (an orchid), we found them, but as often happens, during processing I realise that two of the plants were different. Most orchid species can hybridise with relatives species, so it seemed these might be the offspring of the BLH and Violet. Only way to check it out was to return so to snap all parts of the plant, and see if it was wholly one or the other, or bits of both.

This did mean repeating the walk through the woods, being dazzled by the plethora of butterflies and dragonflies on the wing.

A morning walk meant that part of the track was in the shade from the shadow of the woods, meaning where should be maxed out with butterflies, but being in shade, not much about. But further along, as the track bent round to the right, sunlight lit both sides of the track, and there was more than enough butterflies for even me.

Again there were many Brimstones about, I was able to snap another male feeding, and a female resting.

There were plenty of Gatekeepers, Large Whites and Skippers, Commas, and to my delight, a large Fritillary, a Silver Washed was seen resting, so for ten minutes I was a slave to butterfly mania until I had a half decent shot.

We walk on, up the slope beside the bank until we come to the spot where the small group of orchids were, and between a few BLH were the two smaller potential hybrids. Not only with the features of both species, but the location where only a BLH would grow, and yet clearly had Violet flowers. All I could do was take pictures, post to forums later, but having seen the plant myself I am convinced that it is a hybrid, other have voiced their doubts, but then this is par for the course for orchidists.

We walk back to the car, stopping a regular intervals for more butterflies until we were back at the car.

And that was it, we drive back along the narrow lanes to the A2, then back home, along the road to the port which was amazingly quiet for the first day of the summer holidays.

We arrived back home, I make dinner, and with the sun beating down outside, we shelter from the hot sunshine in the cool shade of our living room, listening to the end of the Huey show as the afternoon faded into early evening.

During the afternoon I harvest the gooseberries on the three small bushes we have, having more than enough for a mid-afternoon treat. I cook tem up with a sprinkling of suger and a little water, then serve with some salted caramel ice cream, which works very well indeed.

I make shoarma for dinner, to have just before we leave for the bright lights of Whitfied for an evening of cards and betting for pennies.

Jools and I are on a losing steak, and maybe £3 down over the past couple of months, so were hoping for better luck. But as it turned out, our luck did change as during one of the breaks which allowed John to have a tab, I noticed something moving on the lawn on the twilight. I go over to look, and it is a hedgehog, probably the same one we saw last time we were here, but the only one I have seen in over a decade.

He was moving well, looking for food. I put some water out for it, but it curls up, apparently not thirsty, and after a while escaped back to the safety of the large clump of pampas grass in which it made its home.

Jools and I ended up a little ahead for the evening, which is good enough, but now we have a few weeks off as football and holibobs take the place of cards.

Not my fault, Guv

One thing that has been a recurring theme through all of what we call Brexit, has been when push comes to shove, and actual leadership of a plan is needed, Brexiteers will resign to snipe from the sidelines, blaming any one, everyone, other than themselves for a lack of planning.

In the last week, DD, Boris as well as Mr Thirsty (Farage) have done so. In DD's case, as Minister for Brexit, it shows how little he learned in those two years as chief "negotiator", especially in 2018 when he spent less than 4 hours in total in talking to Barnier. His latest plan is to start negotiations from the beginning. At least I think that was the plan, its in the Sunday Express, and I won't read that, even for Brexit research.

Boris called the Irish/NI border a "red herring", when it is the most basic of issues, the UK's only land border with the EU, and how that works and whether it does work or not, is central to the GFA, doubly so when there has been a spike in violence in NI this past month.

The new DD, Dominic Raab said today, that in case the EU doesn't give UK a trade deal, the UK should refuse to pay the "divorce" settlement of £39 billion, thus ignoring the fact that is is what we owe as a result of our current commitments, and not some invoice for getting what we want.

The bill, along with the NI backstop agreement was reached in December and agreed by the Government then and in March. Not our fault that the PM and the Brexiteers failed to understand what they had agreed to. Breaking this commitment, at a time when we need to have the EU on our side as we need to negotiate dozens of trade deals, show that as a country, our word cannot be counted up, having broken all this undertakings, and will further ensure that anything now agreed will be quickly written into legal texts impossible to interpret any other way.

This Government really has learned nothing in two years, and still hopes that it can pick apart the four freedoms of the EU, despite the EU and EU industrial leader stating this is far more important to trade than a deal with the UK.

It should come as no surprise if the EU now terminates all talks until UK comes to its senses and has a united front and acceptance as to the situation its own stupidity has put itself in. Such a crisis, either economic or political is the only thing that will wreak real change and maybe a coalition of the sensible can emerge in Westminster to explain to the country the shit creek and paddleless situation we find ourselves in.

JRM was pushed to say, as a man of principle, that if Brexit brough chaos next year, he should resign. He failed to say that, but added it could take 50 years for the real Brexit Bonus to become apparent.

A message to Mr JRM, that in 50 years, the UK will have long since rejoined the EU, on worse terms than it is now, but will be back. So meaning this is all pointless and eye-wateringly expensive.

Friday 20th July 2018

It is hard to realise sometimes, that I have been with Vestas, or its various incarnations, for eight and a bit years now. And I have done a few different jobs, and until about four years ago, I used to work out of the office in Ramsgate, so I got friends with many of the folks there.

Since starting being a manager, I travel, I work from home and the Ramsgate office is much different now, but my old mate, Peter, still works there, although he has been promoted too, and is now head of H&S in the UK. for the company. We were supposed to meet up for drinkies in December, but that fell through, so after a chance meeting at LCY a couple of months back, we agreed to hold a "QHSE Meeting" in Ramsgate to coincide when the rest of the company was on its holibobs.

In the end, Broadstairs was considered the better bet, as it has three micropubs, so a plan was hatched.

I just had to get through the morning of work.

Work was fine, a little fraught, full of meetings, so I planned the work I was supposed to do last week, in next week, send off a final mail and was done at midday.

All I had to do was walk to the station.

It has been six weeks since we last had any rain, and guess when it decided to start? Yes, as I closed the back door. Too late to get a taxi, I would have to hope it got no heavier.

So it was I walk up to the top of Station Road, then down the otherside, on the road once the pavement and banks ended, all the while a steady drizzle fell, and the smell of damp earth filled the air.

Crossing the Deal road is always risky, but I was lucky that there was a gap, so got to the other side, walk down to the bottom of another dip, then up the the station, arriving with 20 minutes to spare.

I get my ticket, though needn't have bothered as the guard never left the rear cab of the train, and at Broadstairs, I was able to walk off the platform and down the path to the street.

Peter arrived a couple of minutes later, and we walk to the first pub, a railway themed place that I fitted right into. I mean beer and trains? Really, what's not to like??

We have a couple of beers, then walk down the High Street to a chippy to have some lard, then to the next place, the 39 Steps for another beer. The beer was good, but then at over a fiver a pint it bloody well should have been.

The last place was much better, lined with books, and with cheap as chips good beer, we order pints and settle down in soft chairs and talk some more.

But rescue from the beer was at hand, as Jools had driven over to collect me, so she called, and I go to the station to meet her, and allow her to drive me back through Dumpton to Ramsgate to home.

Where I then cook dinner, bangers and mash, and using a sharp knife too. I was OK, and dinner was fine, I added horseradish to the mash, and a sprinkle of ground chili, and was perfect.

The rain had stopped, but clouds hung heavy overhead, meaning it was cooler, which was nice. Nothing to watch on Netflix or the i player, so we listen to Iggy spin some tunes, then go to bed at half nine.

Saturday Brexit

The thing about being well read in most things Brexity, is that when of the Brexiteers makes something that is very complex sound very simple, then I know.

Some with newspapers, if they publish a story that look bollocks, then I can tell if it is.

But then the Sun yesterday published a story that Ireland could block UK aircraft from crossing its airspace. Thing is, that is true, or half tue, because if the UK does not have an internationally recognised aircraft inspection regime, then no UK planes would be able to file flight plans, which means they wouldn't reach Irish airspace.

JRM weighed in saying of that was Ireland's attitude, good job we're leaving the fascist EU, failing to accept that in being a leading Brexiteer, anticipating thse sorts of things and having a plan would have been good. Even essential.

Because at the end of the day, whatever clusterfuck omnishambles of a situation the UK ends up in, it will be the fault of the Brexiteers who pushed for decades without having a plan. Not even a fucking cunning plan. They have these bright ideas, get snake oil salesman to fool the country, then expect the Civil Service to make their idiotic plan work, when the venn diagram of Brexit and reality is two unconnected circles.

Latest plan is to turn the M26 into a lorry park.

The EU know that their best bet is to keep May as PM, as the alternative is either JRM or some other Brexiteer in charge, or elections.

The probably solution is an extension of A50, if there is to be a new referendum or election, otherwise, the clock is still ticking.

Thursday 19th July 2018

I was speaking to my friend Rob the other week, about how once you are in the system, there is little hope of escape. The NHS means well, but if they don't find anything the first time, they get you to go back, and back.

And so it was with Jools, they found something on her first scan, so they are digging and digging, which is good, but I think this is now the forth or fifth scan, and the biggest. But after this one, that would, or should be it. Just wait to August for the results.

As this was in the big, closed in banging machine, I said I would go along, and thankfully, I only had two meetings, bot first thing, so once the second one was done, we could go.

Thanks to Danish holidays, I am now the effective Head of Quality, in that there is no one between our level and the CEO. So, I have to chair meetings, listen, take notes even if there is nothing I could do. That done, we drive to Ashford, as Jools had some pre-op stuff to take,

I am not a hospital person, and the time lingers as we wait until it was Jools's time to go in, get checked over, then some more waiting before the scan.

I wait outside, flicking through decade old copies of National Geographic, and listen to snatches of conversation from other waiting people, until Jools returns, shaken, and we can leave. It is two, outside the sun is shining, and seems technicolour in comparison to the scenes inside.

We make our escape, along the A20 west until we come to a fine little pub we know just for a bite to eat and a drink.

We tuck into sausage ciabattas and slurp from long drinks of fruit juice, and soon the memory of the hospital fades.

From there we drive onto the motorway and up the A249, back to look for the Yellow Birdsnest again. I spoke to my friend, I had better directions, I hoped.

We park along the lane, and I go into the wood armed with my camera and begin to look, and just as I was on the point of giving up, something catches my eye. I look and there is a single spike, turned round at the top, looking very much like its Old English name, Dutchman's Pipe.

And just behind there was a group of at least half a dozen, if not more. Some had opened what counted for flowers, and they looked otherworldly. And yet these were growing less than two feet from a well used path, and yet un noticed except my my friend, and now me. Why I was really excited was that these are a "marker" species for the legendary Ghost Orchid; in that these, Violet Helleborines and Ghosts all are supposed to like the same conditions.

I was happy now.

And with it being four, too late to go back for work, we drive to Denge Wood, along the M2 to Canterbury, then down country lanes to the familiar parking space ready for the long walk to the bank.

A few short weeks ago this places was busy with people, no parking spaces, but now we were the only ones. And the wide woodland track was now overgrown on both sides, so much so there was barely room for us to walk side by side. And in the vegetations, flowers of all kinds jostled for attention, attention from butterflies. Brimstone, Large Whites, Ringlets, Gatekeepers, Skippers and so on. The Brimstones were even compliant to allow me to get some shots.

Which was nice.

It was hot, especially out in the open spaces between the wooded areas, but we press on, and instead of going into the reserve, we carry on up the track to where i knew there were some orchids.

A poor show compared to last time I was there, just half a dozen spikes in once place, but a good variation in colour, and one with an elongated lip. Now this may not mean much, but it could be a different species. One that is thought to be extinct in Kent is the Narrow Lipped Helleborine. I was right, and wrong as it turned out. It was a different species, just not that, but a Violet Helleborine instead, and one growing amongst Broad Leaved, meaning in a few years there could be some nice hybrids.

That I only saw once I was back home and editing the shots, a post on an orchid group confirmed it. Still nice though.

All that was left was the long walk back to the car, our enthusiasm flagging in the stifling conditions, but I had remembered to pack some water in the boot, so we slurped and soon felt better.

We drove back to East Kent, but instead of going home, we g to one our favourite pubs, The Old Lantern at Martin, now under new ownership, and pretty good.

There was just the four choices, so we both go for burger. They have opened up the back as a beer garden, so we go out back and take a table, and sit in the evening light, sipping our drinks until the food came.

All very nice, homemade burgers, which were really good. and washed down by some nice craft ales.

We pay and drive back up the hill, crossing the Deal road to home where the cats were demanding their dinner too.

Backstop no more

It seems that the PM has realised that the backstop position for the Irish/NI border contained in the December agreement that she, DD, the DUP, Parliament already have agreed to, cannot agree it it.

So, either the PM, DD et al did not understand what they had agreed to, which is not the case, or that there is no other option that does not wreck the economy. She has ruled out a tade border between NI and Britain, but that's what the backstop means and always meant.

She will make a speech in NI today ruling it out, thus threatening the GFA and two decades of peace.

If this is the case, then it is up to UK to come up with an acceptable alternative solution, and we are now fast running out of time for that. Failure to come up with a solution acceptable to all parties means crashing out of the EU with no WA, no transition, and a rock hard border in Ireland.

Failure to replicate the SM, CU and VAT equivalence will result in a hard border. Sorting only two of the three will result in a hard border.

These are the choices. These were always the choices. Kicking them into the long grass does not solve them.

Wednesday 18th July 2018

3rd day without football. I watched the last 10km of Le Tour.

That's about as exciting as it got. I mean you really do know the score when I work from home.

It was another glorious day, of course, and for a change I was up first, as five, so I made coffee, breakfast, fed the cats and gave molly her pill.

Meaning that Jools left the house earlier than usual, leaving me with the empty house as the cats were hunkering down. I did fid Scully later, as her and Molly have learned how to open the wardrobe door and sleep on the pile of blankets, Clever cats.

Other than that, there was six hours of downloading information from Sharepoint. I do at least finish by the end of the day, but I am only halfway through, so have the rest to do on Friday. Something to look forward to!

I have all the windows in the house wide open as we don't have air con, of course, so the only restbite is the flow of air, when there is a breeze.

The morning passes, at least the sun then doesn't shine into the side window of the house, and the living room begins to cool down.

I work the afternoon through, and am surprised when four in the afternoon arrives, and I can stop for the day. I sit on the sofa and channel flick, stopping on ITV 4 and the live feed of the final stretch of Le Tour, and it is exciting stuff. But clearly I have watched enough sport this weekend, and although I enjoyed the finish, I won't be watching tomorrow. Or today.

Once that is done, I begin to prepare dinner; aubergines don't prepare themselves you know. I wait until half five then begin to shallow fry them. I mean, I can't describe what a light and flavoursome meal it makes, and goes so well with the pasta salad, and a glass or two of red plonk de plonk.

Perfect.

And there is Monty on the TV too, so we are all showered, ready for bed and sitting down waiting for the show to start.

And then to bed, not before I slope off to the patio to sip a wee dram under the darkening skies.

A good way to end of the day.