Tuesday 4th December 2018

I wake up at half six, time enough to listen to the traffic on the main road a hundred yards away, and have a shower before getting dressed and be ready for breakfast at half seven.

Breakfast is frugal, but will get us to lunch, and as always there is coffee. Sweet, dark strong coffee.

Tim and I race to the factory, a half hour’s run along the ringroad to the old shipyard with the near redundant gantry crane towers over the huge manufacturing halls, inside one of them is where we make our monster turbines. We are expected, so allowed to walk, but not drive, to the offices a kilometre away.

Again, I can’t talk to you too much about what I do, but what I will say again is just how insanely big the new turbine is, everything about it is on a huge scale, the nacelle bigger than the average family house, and having three stories. I mean, just mind-blowing stuff.

At half three we are done, so we can walk back to our cars in the late afternoon sunshine, program in the sat nav, and drive into the sunset through the rush hour traffic to the motorway, where everywhere is jammed up.

But I force the car onto the motorway, then play stop start for the next hour until I get back onto Jutland, and up the coast to Aarhus, arriving in time to check in and be back down in the bar for drinks with more colleagues.

Out into the cold night air, and a swift walk into town, over the canal to a Thai restaurant for a meal of mystery; a number 6 to start and 21 to follow. I have no idea what I ordered.

But when it came it was OK, and the beer was OK, too. Not good, but OK.

Round the corner was a gin bar, I did not know about, so the 6 of us go in, look at the menu and have our G&Ts made.

We end up staying for three, but the host gave us lots of samples inbetween. It is all rather pleasant, but cocktails do go to my head.

We stumble back up the road as the clock neared eleven, the day had all but gone, and I was tipsy-fart. Situation normal. Again

Monday 3rd December 2018

I am needing less sleep apparently, and laying awake soon after four waiting for the alarm to go off. Needless to say, it is dark, wet and windy.

Jools’ alarm goes off, so we climb out of bed, and get ready for work in the 50 minutes we have, so we are out of the house at ten to six so I am at the station at five to, with enough time to buy a ticket before the train arrives at five past. Only the ticket machine is not working, so I will have to buy it on the train. So I stand on the platform with other sleepy, hardy souls as the crows roosting in the trees the other side of the line squawk at each other in the darkness.

The train comes and we get on, and soon I am in the middle of a mile allergy attack, as is usual. I am not bothered that much as I know once I am off the train it will be OK again. It is too dark to see outside, so I look at my reflections, and the flashes of lights from traffic on the motorway as we zip by. And as we reach Dagenham, it is just light enough to make out buildings and the landscape, only to plunge into the tunnel under east London.

I get off at Stratford and go straight to the DLR as I am to meet a colleague for breakfast at the airport.

Turns out we were on the same DLR train, so the same high speed one too as we see each other in the departure hall as we wait to check in our bags.

We meet at the restaurant and order something small and expensive. I have breakfast brulee, which looks like a sundae, but is fairly healthy. Its OK. But best is two cups of strong coffee which make things better.

We then have an hour to wait for the flight, so sit at an empty gate to wait for the gate to be announced, and as usual the 30 seater is little over half full, so we can sit where we want.

Cloud is breaking as we take off, so I get some shots of busy London way down below, there are jams on the M25 and on the Dartford crossing, but soon Blighty is lost in the clouds, with only a brief break reveals Felixstowe far below as the plane continues to climb higher and higher.

For a while it seemed we might have fine weather in Denmark, as the skies are clear over the North Sea, but soon thick clouds are seen, which we have to fly through to begin preparations for landing. The plane lurches and jumps, just enough for me to wish we were back on the ground.

I am given a big black BMW 325, which has lots of horses, so once I manoeuvre myself in, I set course for Odense, some 90 minutes away, I engage the gears and I am off, into the grey and drizzly afternoon. Down one motorway to Velje, then down to the big junction, turn east towards Copenhagen and drive into the incoming rain.

I have time, lots of time in fact, so much so I need to find something to while away an hour or so. It was then I saw a sight that I pretty sure said “Denmark’s National railway Museum” I turn off and go searching for it, going round and round, but getting nearer the city centre. In the end I resort to searching on the sat nav, I find the addy, set that in, and off we go, just 5 minutes away, and right beside the main railway station. Of course.

I find a place to park opposite, seems to be a place that charges with number plate recognition, so I just park and hope it’ll be OK.

It is 80kr to enter the museum, set in an old round house, stretching round a turntable, with locos and carriages on the roads in the roundhouse.

I take plenty of shots, and apparently walk out of an unlocked door, through an open gate and across some live running lines to look at the roundhouse and turntable, take a shot or two and go back inside.

In 90 minutes, I was done s walk back to the car and reverse it out of the space, narrowly avoiding a couple of other cars, and am back out on the road, driving the half hour to the hotel.

I say hotel, it was a “kro”, or a Danish Inn, which sounded OK, but in fact was like the 1970s sit-com, Crossroads. I check in, all seemed pleasant enough, but the rooms were in joined cabins, that has last been updated at least two decades ago. The heating was on full, and so was like an oven, which on a cold day, was still too hot.

I settle in, and try to contact my colleague who was driving up from Hamburg to say that the kitchen will stop severing at eight, or maybe half seven if they could get away with it.

I do to eat at seven and was told there was no choice; just pork with potatoes and a few vegetables. That or nothing, so I have the pork, which was OK, but I’m not a huge fan for roast pork, but it was better than nothing. Tim arrives so joins me, and is as unimpressed as I was with the food and the rooms. In the dining room were a group of Polish workers, who were also enjoying the fare on offer, and a large family group of Russians, the men in overalls who clearly had also been out working. And the owner of the hotel was able to speak to us all in our own language. Clever lady.

But it is just for one night. So we will cope.

Tim shows me his new car, an Audi Q2 or something, which is quite nice, and has an earsplittingly loud hifi system, which he plays the whole motel Iron maiden, very loudly.

At nine he goes to his cabin next door, and I am alone with just the internet and silverfish for company.

A glamourous life it isn’t.

Contemptible behaviour

Today, the Government lost three votes in the House of Commons, including the one that it is in Contempt of Parliament.

This is unprecedented stuff. The first time in Parliament’s history that such a vote has taken place, and found the Government guilty.

Also, May’s Government’s broken promises to Grieve and Starmer bore the bitter fruit they deserved when Parliament also voted to allow amendments to all Brexit related matters.

Coupled with Jo Maughan’s crowd funded challenge, the EU’s Advocate General, that in his opinion, the UK can unilaterally withdraw the A50 notification, meaning that during the final few months of Brexit, Parliament can instruct the Government on what to do.

In order to stop or extend Brexit, acts of Parliament, laws, will have to be passed, like the one that allowed the A50 notification to be sent.

In a bizarre twist, the day’s events outlined above have been followed by the first of 5 days debate about the WA and framework political agreement, with an opening statement from a Government that literally holds Parliament in contempt.

You really could not make this up, and May deserves every humiliation that is piled up at her door, as she has driven Brexit, she created the red lines that limited choice, she insulted the 48% by calling them citizens of nowhere, she installed incompetent Brexiteers in positions to drive Brexit, and look where we are.

What a shit show this country has become, and maybe now there will be a grown up debate in Parliament and in the country about the risks Brexit brings, and finds a way out of this mess.

May is no longer PM. She is not in power, commands no Government nor respect.

If the meaningful vote in 5 days is defeated; what then?

What then for her, what then for her Government, what then for Brexit and what then for the country?

The clock is still ticking, and we have 4 months 3 weeks to go before we leave the EU.

Ready or not…….

Sunday 2nd December 2108

That I am writing this sitting in a hotel in Odense in Denmark, writing about events of yesterday, when I awake I was still in Norwich. Meaning I have driven home and then caught the flight over this morning.

Its all been rather busy to be honest, and already I am looking forward to get home on Thursday.

But back to Norwich.

I have never slept well after a night on the pop, so it came as no surprise to me to be up at four in the morning, with indigestion and being very hot indeed. I laid in bed for a while, then thought about the drive and with no head spinning I felt OK.

So, I got up, got dressed and packed, one final check of the room and I left.

Outside it was still raining, but not hard. It was twenty to five, and with luck I could be home before eight. I put my bags in the boot, got behind the wheel and fired up all them horses, ahem, and set off, past the station and the football ground then up Bracondale to the A47. Not much about, not even any tractors, at least not yet.

I turned down the A11, the main road south, at least the radio was good, listening to 6 Music, some foot-tappers and plenty of engaging chat to stop my mind wandering.

I make good progress through Norfolk and into enemy territory (Suffolk), with the rain still falling.

And on into Cambridgeshire, onto the motorway. And still it was dark. And raining.

Onto the M25, to Dartford, over the bridge and back into Kent. And it was getting light, although it was an odd light, with red light on the horizon, giving the impression of the arrival of the end of the world. Though, it didn’t come.

The final stretch to Folkestone and then to Dover seemed to take forever as my brain finally realises that it lost so many braincells over the weekend that it needed to shut down and giver itself a good talking to.

I get home at five to eight, and Jools puts the kettle on to make a brew. Normality is restored.

She goes in to work in the garden before the rain comes, so I go online, post some pictures, blogs, watch the highlights of the City game and then switch to the sofa to watch MOTD before the main business of Sunday’s football.

So while Jools goes to visit Jen, I stay home to listen to the North London and then Merseyside Derbies. I also cook lunch; steak and ale pie, which we eat at sometime around two, so we could then slouch on the couch to let it “go down”.

And that was really just about it for Sunday.

In the evening I packed, had a shower and so was generally ready for my travels in the morning.

Saturday 1st December 2018

Start of winter

I wake up at quarter to six in the attic room of the hotel. Outside I could hear birds roosting in nearby trees and the sound of bogies on rails as trains left the nearby station for London and the coast. I get up and have a shower, put on some clean clothes and am set up for what I hope is going to be a great day.

I laze around until half seven when breakfast would start, and as I walk down the three flights of stairs I could already smell bacon and sausages cooking.

Lovely.

I don't have cooked breakfasts very often, but with a day of walking, football and drinking planned, it would be a great start, an so I have the full monty, except grilled tomatoes, as tomatoes have no place on a breakfast plate!

I had no plan for the morning, but getting ready to go out I find that my Red Sox cap is a snug fit, meaning I needed a haircut, so the search for a barbers just opened so I could get a trim.

And then there was Kate Bush.

Not meeting her, as she lives in north Kent, but her albums were being reissued remastered on vinyl, and I thought I might get Hounds of Love.

I walk through the station, just to check if there was any class 37 action going on; there wasn't, they were sitting silent on the sidings beside the station. So I walk over the river and up Prince of Wales Road. Again.

I see a couple of likely places, but I knew they only did appointments on Saturday, then see one on St Vedast Street, which got me thinking of the church that must have stood nearby, and what happened to it. I would research that when I got home. I did, and it was demolished in 1541, no trace of it is left, except in the Castle Museum.

So, I sit for half an hour at the two barbers clip and chat away, and I get the old Italian guy to do my barnet. He has an interesting accept of Italian Norfolk mix. I was rather taken. So, I tel him to cut it, cut it short, which he does, but explain my regular guy doesn't do it like that to make sure I go back within a month. Good point, but I don't want to spend one Sunday a month going to Folkestone for a trim!

He charges me twelve quid, which considering the amount of wool he had cut off, was fair enough. And outside, my cap fitted perfectly.

I walk up Prince of Wales Road, then down London Street right into the commercial heart of the city, still placed on the medieval street plan. I walk up to Pottergate, then down onto St Benedict's Street and along to Soundclash, run by people who used to work in the old Backs Record Shop, home of the Higsons and Farmers Boys.

I sidle up and mention, quietly, Kate Bush box set, and he reaches under the counter, bringing out four boxes. Rather than release them individually, the record company had spit her output into four box sets, a hundred quid each.

I baulked.

But the one I wanted had Hounds of Love, The Red Shoes and This Woman's Work.

Hmmmm

I ask how many were made. The guy looks at some portal and says just 250 were listed, at least of box #1, which had her first four albums. So, I sigh and say I will take the first two sets, seven albums and put them on my credit card.

He gives me a free tote bag in which to carry my swag in. Which was nice.

I will drop the records back off at the hotel, so begin the long walk back, now in a steady drizzle. I end up walking through Royal Arcade to visit Coleman's Mustard Shop, only to find it had closed. Times are really bad.

I go on a different route back, down King Street, through Dragon Hall, over the bridge then through Riverside to the station.

It was still raining, and people were already in The Queen of the Iceni getting their pre-match pints in, some three hours before kick off. Half an hour later, after walking back to the hotel, putting the records in the car and walking back, I join them, I get a pint and find a table to sit at and wait for my friends, Ian and Ali, to arrive.

I have a second pint, a vegetable chili and another pint of plumb pudding porter, and everything is fine.

Ian arrives, so we hug and go outside as they ruin their health, but it is cooler, and despite it being the first day of December, it is almost mild enough just to wear t shirts.

At half two we walk to the ground, and after getting my ticket scanned(!) I go to find my seat, at the very front of the Main Stand, so far forward the roof does not reach over our seats. But I have a great view, and in a few minutes the teams come out, flags are waved, and we sing the club song.

Just like old times.

The drizzle fell all through the game, and as the ball was passed you could see a fine spray of water coming off it. City passed the ball well, but go on at half time 1-0 down thanks to a rebound being put in the net. People did not look happy.

But in the 2nd, the team was rejigged, and City improved. Passing was with more intent, shots rained in on the Rotherham goal, and ten minutes in, City pull level.

Then it was all out attack, and the inevitable happened, we take the lead and lift the roof off the old stadium.

There was time to run in a third on a day when we could have scored twice as many, so we go back to the top of the table and we all stand and cheer at the end. My voice is hoarse.

After cheering the team off the pitch, we file out of the ground, and I make my way to the Nelson Hotel, which is the place for post-match drinks, apparently.

We have one beer, two beers, three beers. Maybe more. We go over the road to the Compleat Angler, have more beers and something to eat.

But I am done, I have to drive home in the morning, so I bid my friends farewell, and walk back to the hotel. Just as well my feet know the way.

I try to watch some football, but give up. Sleep would come quickly.

Weekend Brexit

Friday afternoon, May lost her 10th Minister of the autumn when the Technology Minister resigned over UK giving up on staying in the Galileo project.

The main thrust of is anger is that, apparently, Brexit means Brexit.

This is the age old issue that as a member state, the UK wanted opt-outs, and now as a 3rd country, wanted opt-ins.

In an unrelated (ahem) issue, Ed Balls stepped down as Chairman of Norwich City, this could be the first part of a coup to unseat Corbyn. Stranger things have happened.

There are some 8 days before the "meaningful" Brexit vote, and the PM is standing firm on not releasing legal advice she has received, as promised, so Parliament is considering launching contempt proceedings against here!

Just when you think we have reached the bottom of the barrel, we keep going down....

I watched some BBN news in Norwich, and a business owner spoke of his three concerns:

1. Maintaining current markets
2. Expanding in current markets
3. Expanding into new areas.

Seems reasonable to me, and sensible, but then when has Brexit been sensible?

Friday 30th November 2018

Yes, we have made it again, to the end of the week. And for me the weekend will come a few hours earlier, as I was having a weekend away.

Jools would laso finish early, just so she could bring the car back for me so I didn't have to hire one or go by train. I would have gone by train, but there were rail replacement buses running from Norwich on Sunday, adding an hour to the journey, so I was happy enough driving.

Work is going reasonably well, as we come to the end of one phase of the project, and begin the next, this will mean I travel much more, going to factories on the Isle of Wight and in Denmark. Between now and April, there could be 15 trips. Think of the air miles.

This is going to mean some very short weekends before Christmas, so there will be long fallow periods on the blog, but then brief periods of plenty.

I have lunch at eleven, so at twelve I can shut everything down, pack my case, check the cameras and then wait until Jools came back. And as I needed to get to the other side of the tunnel as soon as possible, which means she arrived back, we swapped news as I loaded the car then kiss her goodbye and I am off.

If it were summer I might have planned a few stops on the way, but with darkness now soon after four, I wanted to get as many miles as I could before it got too dark. Even with autotolls, the Dartford tunnels were fammed, or the M25 on its approach was, we queued to get off the A2, inched our way to where the road began to drop into the tunnel, and then it was free flowing.

Into Essex, past Shenfield, to the start of the M11, then north through Harlow and past Stansted and into deepest Essex. Traffic was pretty heavy, but flowed well, so that I was ahead planned. In fact it was a very pleasant drive, Radcliffe and Maconie on the radio, glorious golden colours of the leaves still on the trees and the shadows always lengthening.

Finally, into Norfolk, pressing on to get to the city before rush hour began, as the roads can be jammed for hours. I pull up outside the hotel at four fifteen, good that there was a parking space.

And relax.

I check in, but find that the people who run it are leaving in the new year, meaning this cheap home from home will be taken over by others. Oh well, at least I got to say goodbye to them, as they are more like friends now, and wish them well for the future.

I unload the car, take my bags up to the room in the roof, have a quick wash, and I'm ready to go out.

The plan was to walk through the city and along Dereham Road to a very fine pub indeed, The Fat Cat.

Darkness had fallen, and the traffic was stacked up at every junction and set of traffic lights, but for the care-free street photographer, nothing could be better. Up Prince of Wales Road, lined now as it is with nightclubs, take aways and taxi offices. At this time of the day it is quiet, but would be different a few hours later.

I turn north towards Tombland and the Cathedral, taking shots as I walk. People are rushing to get home, I say rush, it is mainly sitting in stationary lines of cars and buses

The Cathedral is lit up looking marvelous, as are many of the shops and restaurants along Tombland.

From there I walk up the cobbled lane that is Princes Street, past the top of Elm Hill, but I can't resist walking down to take a shot or two of the timber framed houses, and was rewarded with there being no cars parked, so making it a very picturesque scene indeed.

Along to Charing Cross, then down St Benedict's Street, past shops and churches I know so very well, but I have an appointment to keep. I was meeting an old friend of mine from the survey days, as I found via LinkedIn he was living in Norwich, and so we were to share drinks again in The Fat Cat. It was about a mile down Derheman Road, probably not, but felt it, until I turn down a side street and there were the bright lights of the pub.

I had passed several pubs on the way, all with lots of room and quite homely, but the Fat Cat was rammed, as benefitting what has been voted, twice, as the best CAMRA pub in England. I go in and get a seat at the bar, make my first choice of the night, and begin to sup, listening to snatches of conversation and some general people watching.

I have a second, then have a third to keep the first two company. Dawid arrived with his 6 year old son. Since we last met he has got married, had a child and now divorcing, as is the modern way. And over the course of an hour told me how Brexit is affecting him, his son now not being able to get a passport as the Home Office don't think him British enough.

I say sorry even though it wasn't my fault.

He drops me off in the centre of the city so I could take some more shots before walking back towards Riverside so I could get dinner. I go on Frankie and Benny's, I know its a chain, but all I wanted was a burger, which is what I order, and is OK.

From there it is a short walk through the station, up the slope to Lower Clarence Road and back to the hotel.

15500 steps done, mostly since five in the afternoon; not bad.