Monday 2nd December 2019

Monday morning.

Again.

Why don't we start the working week on a Tuesday? And end it on a Thursday?

Why oh why oh spells yoyo.

And it is cold. Mighty cold. Best put the heating on.

And then there is the weighty issue. Back in September, after a month or so of work on the cross trainer, I was beginning to see and feel the benefits. Then Mum passed away and I was away two weeks. Then we had a holiday. And that American food. Then I had those two courses to go on, eating good food for breakfast and dinner. And beer.

And so, the net effect is my clothes are tight again. And as much as I would like to live life how I want to, we know where that would end up. So, once we had drunk coffee and Jools left for the office, I went to the spare room, pulled on my trainers and did twenty minutes.

It was a start, and the start is the hardest part.

I listened to the radio, not as good as the i pod, but still, best I could do.

And Scully laid on the bed, meowing sweet nothings trying to tempt me back to bed for some more snoozing.

Bad girl.

And then, to work. Breakfast. And more work.

The day began with a two hour meeting. I mean, I like meetings. Not really. But I kinda got used to not having them, having an Outlook Calendar with nothing but holidays in it. But Monday morning meetings.

About audits.

Perfect.

I have a coffee whilst I listen to others talk. About audits.

And then it was mid morning. So an early lunch, and my stomach said "fried eggs on friend bread". My head asked if that was a good idea.

OK, if you're sure.

There is something comforting about the crispiness of fried bread, coupled with the greasy goodness oozing out. I fry two slices perfct. I fry two eggs. Break one yolk, but still more than good enough.

I serve the cooked eggs on the fried bread, take the plate and a brew to the table and scoff them both

Yumyumyum.

And my stomach days, "maybe not such a good idea". Adding that best make a dash for the loo. As it turned out, the egg intollerance had returned, and my stomach got those eggs out double quick.

Yuk.

And I was no longer hungry.

So, back to work after tidying up.

And the day continued as before.

And that was it.

As at ten past two Jools came home, as she had to have her eyes checked at the hospital, and the drops they use mean her pupils would be dilated and she unable to drive. So, we set off for Ashford, through Dover and up to Folkestone on the M20, then around the new roundabout, up to the hospital.

We walk to the waiting area. And wait.

Jools is called into different rooms four times, for each stage of the test.

90 minutes later, we were done, and with darkness having fallen, we walked back to the car and drove home in the early rush hour traffic.

There was nothing to worry about with Jools' results, just needs to have check ups each year.

Once back home, I prepare and cook herb encrusted rack of lamb, beause thats what we were going to have on Sunday, but had stinky cheese instead.

Steamed veg, roast potatoes (not very good) and a Yorkshire pudding. And pink fizz, which was very fizzy.

We know how to live.

We are cleared up and munching our way through the free chocolates we got in Belgium. I mean. Free. Chocolates. We weren't hungry, but they were there, calling us. so the chocolate sirens lured us.

On secure borders

Yesterday, our racist Home Secretary, and yes I know she is a second generation immigrant herself, said that being in the EU was incompatible with being in the EU.

This is a lie.

I have travelled for nine years back and forwards to Denmark, Germany, Holland, Belgium, France, Norway as well as further afield to the US and China, and I can tell you our borders are secure. My passport is checked every time I leave and every time I return.

As are everyone's passports and travel documents.

The EU rules allow for EU citizens the right to travel, live and work in each other's countries, but if a citizen has not found work in the first three months they can be deported. This would require EU citizens coming into the UK to have been recorded and tracked. This would cost money. And the UK Government decided, presumably on a cost/risk basis, that there was no point as the issue was so small.

But then Brexiteers used this domestic policy decision to lay the blame with the EU, not the UK Government. And not for the first time.

EU citizens living and working in the UK are a massive cost benefit to the country and exchequer, and on top of which EU citizens would in either the NHS or services doing the jobs we don't want to. They rent houses, buy food, travel, pay NI and taxes, thus supporting the local and national economies.

What is most troubling is that no one from the Labour Party will stand up for EU citizens and speak the truth, but happy enough to play the racist card when it comes to immigration, pandering to people's ill-foundered fears.

Without EU citizens living and working here, paying NI and taxes, renting houses, spending money in shops, who will take up the shortfall, and if no one will, where will the cuts be made?

What a shit show

One of the people killed in the attack on Friday worked for the rehabilitation of prisoners, and his father has written for the Guardian saying his son would be mortified to think his death being used by the Tories to force through harsher sentences and not letting prisoners ever be released.

That one of the people who rushed to disarm the man with the knife was himself a reformed murderer seems to have been missed.

As has the way in which the Conservatives have attacked the Justice system with ever larger financial cuts, now up to 40% on pre-Grayling levels. Courts are being closed and those that remain open are falling to pieces and so understaffed that those that can be used stand idle for weeks on end. For most cases,the accused are held on remand for over a year, thus denying justice to those who were offended against.

The Tories calling themselves the party of law and order is a sick joke, and yet the truth of the depth of cuts and dire condition of the justice system is all but unreported.

30% of all children now live in poverty. Before 2010, child poverty was all but eradicated. Know your enemy, people.

Police numbers have been slashed, and the recent proposed increase will not sustain present undermanned levels thanks to the amount of experience leaving the force.

Fire stations closing down, wth less fireman to protect more properties and people. Just look at Johnson's record in London.

But it seems turkeys are going to be voting for Christmas, at Christmas, and the country will sold off to the rich vulture capitalists. But some of us saw it coming, and tried to warn you all.

Sunday 1st December 2019

My friend in NZ, Tony, once remarked how wonderful it was that we could be in another country or two within an hour or two after leaving home here in Kent. Whereas for him getting to another country, Australia, involved a flight of several hours.

I think of that each time we nip over to France for some wine and/or stinky cheese.

Not only that, this time as it turned out, Jen had got a free trip because of the amount she spent last time, she got a voucher. And so she cashed it in, meaning it was a free jolly boy's outing.

It was planned like a military operation, working out how long we needed over there, so to book the return sailing.

In the end it didn't matter, as we were done even quicker than usual, and allowed on an earlier sailing.

But that was for later in the day.

For a Sunday morning, we had to be up and about and ready to be out of the house by quarter past seven, at Jen's by half past to get to the port a whole ten minute drive away to check in. And then wait.

We woke up and could hear the wind whistling around the back of the house, meaning the sailing was going to be interesting, but as we were all good sailors, nothing to worry about. We get up, have coffee and are just about ready in time.

It felt cold.

On to Jen's, and wait for John to arrive. Sylv was going to look after Betty, so there was nothing to worry about for the trip. Jen and John had packed sandwiches, flasks of coffee and bourbon biscuits, so we were set for the day.

I had driving duties, with Jen's warning not to hammer her car ringing in my ears, we set off back to Dover and down Jubilee Way.

We check in, show our passports and are told to drive to lane 213, and told we had a 20 minute wait before boarding would start. So we sat and talked. John stood outside, ruining his health. And the boarding started, and we took our turn to drive on.

Jen had brought a pack of cards, two packs, though the second had a mix of packs to make up numbers. We played Meld, but after a few hands, it became clear that some cards there were three of, like King of Clubs, and so others there would be less. We sorted the packs and realised they were beyond help, so I went to the shop to buy a couple of new ones, and the games continued.

We didn't keep scores, so there was some reckless playing.

The ship arrived in Calais, we went down to the car deck and waited for the doors to be opened. And then we could drive off.

France is like the UK now, in that shops are open on Sundays too, the cheese shop next to the wine warehouse would close at lunch, so we had to go there first. And the wine warehouse. And the boulangerie for crusty bread.

Jools and I get three boxes of pink fizz, and a selection of Belgian beers. Those are for me though.

Mext door Jools buys a selection of five stinky cheeses before going the next shop for some traditional crusty bread.

And then the longest part of the trip, a 40 minute blast up the motorway across the dunes into Flanders and Belgium. Its a road I know well from my time working in Ostend a few years back, but even then its hard to concentrate when driving past a huge marshalling yard filed with freight wagons and locomotives. But we don't crash, so that's OK.

The first twon over the border is Aidenkirke, which straddles a canal, and its streets are lined with dirt cheap tobacco shops. I have no idea why, but it is worth a trip here as the port of Calais and the ferries operate some kind of cartel on pricing, so a half hour drive brings to the smoker, half price gaspers and tobacco.

I get another crate of Tripel exchanging it for my empty one, and so only paying for the catual beer: €1.05 a bottle.

Opposite the shop is a place that does Belgian style frites, Belgian chips. All served with mayonaise. Jools gets a huge box for €5, and we eat those along with cheese and onion sandwiches that John had made.

And back into the car for the jorney south, calling in at the Britsh wine warehouse for the low-rent wines that Jen likes. No comment on Jen, just remarking what it is. A huge warehouse lined with pallets stacked with Australian, Spanish and other low alocohol content wines, flavoured with fruit.

Jen spends enough to get a free ticket next time, if there is a next time. So the circle is unbroken.

And there is the wine tasting room. A 3 litre box of Spanish table wine for under £6? Yes please.

So I am sorted for weeks, if not months.

Two junctions further along is the ferry terminal, and as discussed previously, we were early enough to get on the earlier sailing, waiting in line for another 20 minutes before boarding.

We get on, meaning we will be home before dark, and in time for me to follow the Norwich v Arsenal game on Jools' mobile.

The ferry sets off, and Norwich were drawing 1-0. Then a dodgy retaken penalty levels it. And just on the stroke of halftime Norwich regain the lead.

By the time the ferry is docking, Arseal level again, so the game ends 2-2, which we would have taken, only City outplayed Arse.

So it happens.

We drive off and up Jubilee Way to Jen's, where we unload her car, load ours up, wish her farewell, and we drive back home, getting back at five in time to feed the cats.

Dinner is stinky cheese, crusty bread and choclate and wine. All the main food groups.

We have an hour's pause before doing it again.

Cheers.

One of the cheeses is wrapped in brown chestnut leaves, and is very strong. Probably against the law to sell it outside France, but it is wonderful. Has a very nutty flavour, and is great with either coffee or red wine.

We eat all that.

And so with the bottles and boxes of booze put away, we can relax after another weekend had slipped by.

Back to the grindstone in the morning......

Lies and disinformation

All over the weekend, the Prime Minister, Home Secretary and Conservative Party as a whole have been trying to pin the blame on the last Labour Government which left office, checks paper, May 2010.

So, either in coalition of Governing alone, the Conservatives have been in power for nine and a half years. At what point can a Governing Party no longer be able to blame the other party for failings? I would suggest nine and a half years easily meets that criteria.

But on top of that, a multitude of failed law and policy failures, mostly enacted when Chris "Failing" Grayling was Minister fort Justice. A series of ill-advised and thought out cuts were rolled out, by a man, who let us not forget, thought that his singular lack of legal training or background would be some kind of advantage.

Most damning in light of the attack on Friday was the part-privatisation of the Parole Service can be seen in not being able to cope with the settlement of radicalised Jihadists.

The Government was warned about this in 2017, and ignored the warnings.

Most of Grayling's policies have been reversed, but not before damage has been done, and funding not replaced to pre-Grayling levels.

So we saw the sight on Twitter this weekend of the PM's Twitter account being used to justify the PM's position, by selectively stealing from a blog post by @BarristerSecret, taking his/her findings out of context of the havoc wrought on the Justice System by the Conservative Party.

It has been suggested that if a student had put in this as a thesis or paper, it would have been rejected for plagiarism. Which is where we are now, Governed by a shameless, lying thief, who the papers and most broadcasters back, and repeat his lies without comment or calling lies, lies.

The election is in 10 days.

Saturday 30th November 2019

Last day of November.

Saturday.

The shopping has been done.

Just other stuff to do.

There are several Kent churches that are hard to get into. If not impossible. The internet has made arrangements to be made, sometimes, allowing those locked doors to be opened. With the crushing disappointment of a church that has been locked for years, once you see inside it is plane as a slice of white bread. And there are those churches that even from the outside, you know have a tale to tell, with a mixmatch of buildings and pitched roofs.

We know what it will be like inside.

Throwley is such a splendid looking church, sitting on a low hill above the few houses of the village, and never been open the four times I have visited. But during the week, I mailed the wardens, and they replied, and a time this Saturday was arranged.

We just had to be there on time.

I was more excited about this that two weeks in Chicago and New Orleans. How does that work?

Saturday morning dawned clear and cold, with a touch of frost, making the lush green grass have a sugar frosting. I love this time of the year. And at ten to eaight, the sun rose above the houses the other side of the dip, shining bright golden light into the house and onto the garden.

It was going to be a wonderful day.

Aint that the truth?

We were up at seven, I make bacon butties whilst Jools gets ready. And as I tidy up, she goes to Tesco and the tip, so at nine, we were ready to leave. For a Saturday morning, the roads were quiet, oddly so. Even from the port. So we cruised down the A2 to Faversham, along tree lined roads lined in oranges and reds, that contrasted with the dark blue sky above.

It was glorious.

Throwly sits high on the downs, surrounded by orchards and fields. It is deepest Kent. The drive leading to the church is now private property of the house beside, and two very unfriendly "private property, no parking" signs welcomes the visitor. There is no other choice than to park on the grass verge opposite. I wouldn't mind, but the drive leading to the house's garage has been unused for so long it is covered in moss and lichen.

Tiny-minded wanker.

There, I said it. Riles me every time I visit. They live next to the church. I bet they're the same people who complain about the nose of the bells too.

We were early, so wander round the churchyard, and I notice more details of the church I had failed to see previously. Four winged figures on each corner of the tower: an angel, an eagle, a dragon and something else. They are splendid.

But more splendid is when the warden comes with keys for the church.

Yay!

And the church is fabulous. Two fine side chapels, both with great monuments and figures. And in good repair. It seems the puritans missed this in their fervour. Thankfully.

The warden takes me round, pointing out interesting details and stuff I might have missed. Including the carved hedgehogs, a family motif of the Harris's.

It took nearly an hour to get round and record it all. All worth it of course. Though later, I did panic that maybe there was no memory card in one or both of the cameras, but there was, so no need to panic.

We were done, so Jools and I say goodbye, and walk back into the golden light of a fine autumnal morning, the few leaves on the horse chestnut each like bursts of flame.

I have a second target, and urban church that had somehow slipped through my planning. Urban churches are rarely unlocked, was it worth the half hour drive there? Hell, it a nice day, why not?

So, we follow the sat nav at it takes us up and down the roads and lanes less travelled. All around, trees were full of autumn colour, caught in the low light of the sun. It was just a pleasure to see it.

We arrived at the post code, in the middle of a housing estate.

No church.

We reprogram the sat nav, and it takes us to the old part of the town, and on a bed in a small wood was the church. I go over, convinced it would be locked.

It was open.

Not as sensational as Throwley, but nice enough, and good to get another one, the 325th Kent church done.

The next item was cats: Or kittens.

We have been thinking about getting one or two more for a while, so we diced to go to a cats rescue centre to see what they had.

We arrive in the town centre, park opposite, and find the centre in a terraced house with a shed for an office and three long rows of pens for cats. The centre is just recovering from an outbreak of cat flue, so numbers are down on usual, and once we tell them about our resident cats, they think it best to wait for one or two non-nervous male cats, so that they would not faze Scully and cause kitty pissing wars.

Which seemed sensible.

It was half one, and we were hungry, so thoughts turned to lunch. So many places nearby, and yet there is the Romney Marsh nearby. And it is no surprise to find we end up at the Woolpack. The Woolpack is a 15th century inn, all timber-framed and no straight lines or right angles anywhere.

We get a table in the main bar, order steak and ale pie for Jools and steak and mushroom suet pudding for me, all with gravy and seasonal vegetables. I have a bottle of Bishop's Finger to wash it down with.

Which was nice.

When we came out, the sun was setting away in the west, and the light fading fast. So we make tracks back to Hythe along the coast, then onto the M20 and back home, getting back just before four as darkness began to fall.

We feed the cats, have a brew and I listen to the second half of the games on the radio, then at half five watch the 6 pointer between Southampton and Watford. It was as desperate as expected, but the Saints come from behind to win, and move ahead of Norwich in the table.

We have home made nachos for dinner, with more beer, meaning that I would sleep well, but with odd dreams thanks to the jalapenos.

Such is life.

Shameless

A weekend in which all the main parties agreed to suspend campaigning, was marred by the Tories blaming Labour for the early release of the man who went on a stabbing spree on London Bridge on Friday.

I won't go into the details and technicalities of the case, except to say, The Conservatives have been in power for nine and a half years, and they could have changed the law at any point in that time. The suspect was sentenced in laws brought in in 2012.

Says so much about a Prime Minister and Home Secretary that will stoop to something so low as politicising a terrorist incident for political gain. When the majority of blame should be at their feet.

I am no Corbyn fan, but will vote for Labour in the election in 12 days purely to keep the Tories out.

In nine and a half years since Labour was last in power, the Tories have been in sole Government for two and a half. And in that time have unleased Brexit and split the country, never to be reunited.

Giving Johnson 45 years will destroy what's left of the country.

It is literally a matter of life and death not to vote Tory.