Tuesday 3rd March 2020

Tuesday: market day in King's Lynn.

And spring arrived!

At least for 6 hours.

It was getting light at half five as i lay awake waiting for the alarm to go off. One of life's luxuries is that.

As is not having to commute to work, just able to log in from home.

And as ever, once the first coffee had been drunk and Jools left for work, I take me on my tired legs up the spare room for a session on the cross trainer, early enough the sun was yet to rise, though was daylight, and worked my way through half a dozen of my favourite tunes.

Jools was going to be away until nearly half seven, 13 hours, so I try to space meals out so that I don't have to sneak an extra one in sometime mid-afternoon. Or that was the plan.

Once the heating kicked in, coupled with the warm sunshine, it was so warm, that I switched the heating off and opened the back door and worked with an almost warm breeze flowing through the house.

That feels good.

But not as good as making lunch, salt beef sandwiches, and a brew then sitting on the top patio soaking in them warm rays!

I had salt beef as I made a cottage pie, using up the beef from Sunday and deciding that the salt beef should go in it too. Anyway, there was some nice bits that were just too flavoursome to go in the pie, so I put them aside for lunch. And proper nice they were.

I make the cottage pie, topped with creamy mash with added smoked Leicester, to have on Wednesday night. News on that was we eat it.

But even as I ate lunch, clouds were sweeping in, brought on by an increasing breeze, and soon the chill sent me indoors, closed the back door and turned up the heating.

I worked on.

Until four when it was time to do yet another session on the cross trainer, my last one for 36 hours as Wednesday is a rest day.

Yay!

After showering, and dressing, I go out to the garden to do battle with our two climbing roses. We have let them climb wild for two years, and now they are halfway to actually touching the sky, so I get busy with the secateurs. Thing about roses is they have thorns. Thing about me is that I just get on with pruning. I am scratched to buggary. But I do get both under control, chop the cuttings up, and am done.

I did have my feline overlords watching over me, just to be near me while their clear favourite, Jools, is away at work.

I'll take what I can get.

Back indoors as dusk falls, and to warm up. And feed the cats, as they won't leave me alone until I do.

Dinner is stir fry prawns and fried noodles, but there was so much vegetables, and not enough sauce, so I look online and make my own out of olive oil, soy sauce, garlic, chili glaze and chili.

Once it is ten past seven, and I was weak with hunger, so I get cooking.

And it is very good, I pile the three main ingredients on two plates, pour some wine and we sit down to eat.

We are done in time for me to be able to watch the Chelsea v Liverpool cup tie, and is very good indeed, with Chelsea running out 2-0 winners.

That was good.

Monday 2nd March 2020

And, back to work. Just like that.

Not like that.

The weekend just slips through our fingers and is gone in a flash.

If not quicker.

Jools is up and about before me, but soon I smell coffee brewing, and that is my alarm call.

It is now light at quarter past six, and the sun up less than half an hour later, but by then I have done my session on the cross trainer and was thinking about breakfast.

And onto work, with things to sort out and meetings to attend to, trips to plan.

The morning slips by, while outside it is all grey and cold, though not that windy. It feels too cold to be outside though. BUt the garden is waking up, 15 imperialis now showing in the two beds, and their scent beginning to fill the garden with a heady spring-like fragrance.

Cheese toasties for lunch, and then the nes that Jools has left her yoga kit behind so will be home at normal time, and so I now have to prepare something else for dinner. It is to be pasta and ragu, but the sauce needs making, so on with the garlic gently fried, add the tomatoes, and let simmer for an hour.

Midway through the afternoon, add the sausage meat, onions, simmer for an hour, add some wine and herbs, and all done.

We are trying to cut down, so no garlic bread. Just slices of bread, with no butter.

At four I do another session on the cross trainer, then have a shower and get dressed. Always best to do that so the neighbours don't complain. Again.

And so when Jools comes home, cook the pasta, serve, pour wine. I mean, I will give up garlic bread, Parmesan cheese, but I draw the line at wine.

It is fine, and fills us up enough.

We wash up, make coffee while Marc Riley plays some records on the wireless.

And I am knackered. I mean pooped. It was all I could do to say awake until nine, then clean my teeth and crash out.

Getting some in part 17

Dateline:28th April 1991, AWM 218, RAF Cosford.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I hope you are both well. It is Sunday night and time has dragged badly today. I'm afraid to say I got very drunk both Friday and Saturday night, played football yesterday though. I also watched lots of videos, including Gremlins 2, Fabulous Baker Boys to name just two. Most of the course stayed here over the weekend, as money is very tight.

To be honest, there isn't much news. We are on guard again tomorrow. Forecast is for heavy rain.

Oh goody.

We also have more consolidation this week. then final exam Friday. 5 more weekends here, I just counted. I can't wait to get away from here, it really gets you down after a while. Its always the same, getting into the same ruts week after week. I know it will change, and really its not too bad. It should be better once we get onto practical work, all on aircraft. Seems pretty pointless as none of us on the course is posted to a squadron.

Consolidation means working over the airfield, early morning marches over there, no newspapers from the NAAFI and mail a day late, but no more PT!

I am looking forward to coming home next weekend.

I think that's it, see you on Friday,

Ian

Battle of the Patriotic Breakfast

There seems little hope of the two side of the Brexit divide ever coming together. You need only look no further than the Battle of the Patriotic Breakfast.

Yesterday, the Daily Telegraph Twitter feed posted a link to a story, with the comment: "David Frost enjoyed a delicious patriotic breakfast of sausages, baked beans, bacon and eggs before leading a team of 100 UK officials into negotiations."

It was pointed out, possibly rightly, that coming from a former paper of record this was a little below them. Let's be honest here, a lot of people pointed that out.

So the Brexiteers weighed in asking what remainers hated their country so much.

James O'Brian pointed out: "A ‘patriotic breakfast’? Sausages were invented by Sumerians circa 3000BC; all beans used in baked beans are native to South America; pork was first salted in ancient China & hens were first domesticated in ancient Egypt. ‘Patriotic’ What an awful joke Brexit is making of the UK"

This didn'ty stop former UKIP MEP, Roger Helmer firing back: "What an idiot James O’Brien is! Sumerians invented sausages? So what? Hens invented eggs. But it doesn’t stop a traditional English breakfast being a traditional English breakfast (and try googling “British inventions”, while you’re at it)"

Hens invented eggs, Roger?

Roger, you're shouting at fried bread!

But with both sides being so easily triggered by the other, that people could get so worked up about a word, a breakfast. But then, note Roger called it "English", not British. As Wales, Scotland and NI have their own ingredients.

But the world looks on, as UK loses its shit over a Tweet. And its been going on for 24 hours now.....

Sunday 1st March 2020

First day of Spring. Possibly.

And the weather for Sunday was supposed to be crap, got better as the day itself approached, until when it dawned, there would be no rain at all, and just a stiff breeze. Not another storm.

Which was nice.

So, after coffee, we both do session on the cross trainer, then have showers. And in another departure, don't have bacon butties for breakfast, instead I have All Bran, shredded cardboard, with yoghurt instead, the intention was to have dinner at "lunchtime". Or something.

Jools wanted to do the garden, and the young Jelltex wanted to investigate our local winterbournes, the Drellingore and the Nailbourne, as the rain had been falling ever since New Year, and I thought there would be some fine shots to be had, especially as there was sun shining.

A winterbourne is a river that flows only when it is wet, usually in the winter, and is particularly a feature of chalk downland.

The Drellingore is one of the feeders for the River Dour that flows through Dover, and in the past, when it has been very wet, had flooded the whole of the Alkham Valley. And the Nailbourne flows from Lyminge through a number of villages until it becomes the Little Stour at Littlebourne and then flows into the Great Stour at Plucks Gutter.

Yes, Plucks Gutter.

So, I went on on my own, leaving at half nine, driving up to Whitfield, then down through to River and along the Alkham Valley where I expected to see the Drellingore in full flow. But of it there was no sign. After the last lot of very serious flooding 5 years back, there were new pumping stations built, to make sure any excess water was pumped underground.

Seems to have worked.

So, on to the motorway, then up the Elham Valley to Lyminge.

The stream springs from the ground, in the lea of the wall besde the road, meanders across the plating field then goes through the village.

From Lyminge the Nailbourne runs along the valley floor, through Elham and then up to Barham, where the winterbourne used to share the valley floor with the railway and road.

Into Barham, the Nailbourne runs beside a road into the village, even at times when the flow is less than now, the road is partly flooded. Today, it is a torrent, the road closed than people who live along there have sandbags at the end of their drives, their Porches stranded until the river level drops.

A woman tries to take her dog for a walk, along the narrow space between the flood barriers and the wall, but the dog isn't convince, and refuses to go on where the water gets deeper having seeped under the defences.

Just along the valley is Out Elmstead Lane, a place I was once many years ago on a ramble, where the long dried up river bed and warnings of a ford seemed pointless.

Now it is a significant problem for cars, a Mini only just managed to get through, and putted away on three cylinders.

Onto Bishopsbourne, and down the moss-covered road to the village, parking near the church.

Following the path through the churchyard and out through the style, I see the Nailbourne, now in full flow, meandering across the green meadows towards the village of Bridge.

A mile further on is Bridge itself, and the Nailbourne flows under the old A2/High Road, under a bridge.

The bridge at Bridge.

The Nailbourne is now flowing north, and heading towards its eventual end at Pluck Gutter where it flows into the Great Stour, and two miles further on, the Nailbourne becomes the Little Stour at Littlebourne.

I stood beside the Nailbourne on the edge of Bridge. Over the flowing water, kids were playing football, a proper game, and being cheered on by chilly parents. Daffodils grow along the far bank, in the shade of weeping willows.

Rather lovely, really.

Back into the car and under the A2 with the Nailbourne running beside the road, before it meanders over a field before passing under an ornamental bridge, which for the most of the year lust leaps over grass, but now a fast flowing stream passes under it. To Patrixbourne, where the Nailbourne passes under the road. Now, it was hear that I saw that the winterbourne in full flood causes huge issues for those who live beside it. A guy was knee deep in water cleaning our branches and weeds so to ensure the water flow was uninterrupted.

I took a shot of the culvert the Nailbourne passed through under the road, and thought it best I call it a day, lest the trip turn into a kind of disaster porn kinda thing.

I turn the car round and go back to Bridge, then up to the junction with the A2 and back home.

I did get into an argument with a guy going round the Whitfield roundabout who seemed to think getting in the correct lane and indicating a right turn didn't apply to him. A toot on my horn let him know otherwise. Then he tried to run me off the road, which wasn't nice. But he turned off to take the Sandwich road, and I carried on home without any further incident.

Back home we agree that roast beef at lunchtime was a good idea, so I get busy preparing and cooking, and in under two hours we were sitting down to a fine meal. And pink fizz. Of course.

Then there was football, the League Cup Final, which was better than we had any right to expect, but Citeh still won.

We had bacon butties for our tea, then I beat Jools at Uckers again, as we listened to more Huey on the old i player.

And just like that, the weekend was gone.

Not so Priti

Some of this blogs regular readers might recall I have suggested that Brexit might not be about Brexit at all, but it about unfettered power.

We have seen the legal system drained of funds and resources, so ordinary people don't have access to legal aid any more, Freedom of Information Requests (FoI) are being limited, restrictions on Judicial Review (JR) are being planned, along with vocal attacks on the Judiciary, the BBC, Channel 4, Sky News,the diplomatic service and the Civil Service. The latter, the plan is to replace the civil service with political appointees who will follow orders from The Great Mekon without question and not have to worry about dissenting voices, warning or breaking the law or actual breaking the law having any consequences.

Pressure has been put on the civil service, with stories of intimidation and bullying against the Home Secretary against her senior officials. Then on Saturday, Sir Philip Rutnam, the top civil servant in the Home Office resigned, and made a very public speech in which he made strong allegations against the Home Secretary, and indicated he would be seeking legal redress. Being a civil servant, if he made such allegations, then he would have stone cold proof. Number 10, The Great Mekon, began a smear campaign, then it was announced the PM and his girlfriend were to have a child and were to be engaged. This taking Sir Philip Rutnam off the Sunday papers as the lead story.

Convenient.

In other news, a leaked memo from Number 10 indicated that the UK could do without farmers, which will come as a shock to all the Brexit supporting farmers around us in East Kent. Farmers not only "farm", but they are custodians of our landscapes. And so, without farmers, who will care for the downlands, the meadows, the rivers, woods, moors and mountains of this Blessed Albion? The Great Mekon doesn't give a fuck.

Last week the EU and UK published their position papers, and both are serious. I have no read either, on both sides there have been changes from the PD back in December, but that is to be expected. These are opening positions, the question is, how much will either side move to reach an agreement? If we believe what comes out of the PM's mouth, then the UK is not going to accept any movement and is prepared to walk away from talks in June. However, I see to recall there is a Boris-less ditch somewhere waiting on another failed Johnson promise.

The UK is also considering dropping out of European Arrest Warrant scheme, the early warning pandemic warning scheme and the European Convention on Human Rights, which has nothing to do with the EU but could curtail The Great Mekon diktats.

Clearly, people who voted for Brexit also voted for criminals not being able to be extradited and for pandemics to arrive unannounced. But that is where The Great Mekon wants to lead us, where no red lines are broken.

The Great Mekon is Dominic Cummings, if you hadn't guessed.

And the UK has released its impact assessment of a possible UK/US trade deal and it might increase UK GDP by as much as, checks papers, 0.07%. After 15 years. Maybe. And yet will not publish a similar impact assessment on a UK/EU trade deal until "after the spring".

Odd that.

Saturday 29th February 2020

Leap Day.

It is Saturday, of course, and a day of rest. But what to do with our day or relaxation?

Well, window shopping for cars was what won out.

Thing is, we have had our Corsa for five years and in a month we will have paid for it. It will be ours. It has done 85k miles, but is going strong and in far better shape than the two Polos we have owned in the past at that stage.

And then there is the money situation with the estate soon to be finalised and so on.

I think we would have gone back to VW, if only their showroom and garage wasn't in the centre of Canterbury. Traffic in and around the city is horrendous, and a two hour service requires taking the day off as it would take an hour to get in and two hours to get out. Especially in summer. But the Audi garage, isn't in the city, instead is west of it on the Ashford road, we could easily get there, no need to mix with the city traffic, in, out and back home.

We really didn't think we were going to actually buy a car, just look to see what deals were about.

As it was, there was little else to do, as another storm system was due to sweep across the country, though not expected to be quite as bad as initially forecasted. It seemed that some kind of indoor entertainment would be needed.

So, we got up and had breakfast, coffee, another coffee and were ready to go out at nine. Outside the rain hammered down, roads turned into rivers, fish fell from the sky. The rainclouds made it so dark that the car thought it night and dimmed the dash lights.

Instead of turning into the ity, we turn left and westwards, following the Stour which is nearly in flood. A couple of miles along was the showroom.

The new cares salesperson evolved from sharks. They can sense the hint of a sale three miles off. With the rain hammering down, there were no people looking at the used cars outside, and neither were we to be honest. We were spotted as we walked to the door, but they could bide their time, let the smell of new cars overwhelm us, and then, and only then, would they pounce.

We go to look at an A1, a small, but fairly sleek car. No one had come to see us, do you think we could climb inside? I think so.

It was cozy Cozy enough to the think it might be a tad too small for us, even though it was no worse than the Corsa, seems like we wanted space.

Next to it was a Q2, a hind of faux offroad thing, chunkier, larger, and set higher. It has four doors, ticks all our boxes, and had seven grand off it.

We got in, the saleswoman smiled, and swam, I mean, walked over. Nice, isn't it?

Stating the bleeding obvious. It was a fine shade of blue, blue with some kind of glass in the paint.

Now, for me, an Audi was always out of reach. I fell in love with the Avantios in the 80s, slinky with their drag coefficient of 0.30%, though no one knew what that meant. But it looked lovely.

And more recently I fell in love with the TT. But even 18 years ago when I had enough money to buy a fairly decent car, a TT was twenty grand. I ended up with a Passat instead. Still a nice car, but not an Audi.

So, the salwslady came over, banded around figures, bhp, engine sizes and so on and on.

Would we like to go for a test drive?

Jools can drive.

It has a small 1 litre engine, but due to technology has the power of an old 1.6 or something.

It had stated raining, Jools drove us down to Chillham and back. It is excellent. We could find no faults in the car or deal.

We arrived back at the showroom, walked back into the building, and we were asked, do you want it?

She knew the answer.

We did. We shook on it.

She got out a "sold" sign and placed it over the windscreen, then I completed loads of paperwork, signed my life away.

And that was it. Come back on Friday to collect it once it is tax and registered.

We walked out smiling and walking on air.

Next on the trip was Crundale.

Crundale is one of the most remote parts of Kent, it is three miles along narrow twisty lanes, through the village then a mile up a dead end lane to the church. It seems I have only photographed it once, so the plan was to record the details and fixtures and fittings.

We did give the warden a shock, as very few people get here. We do, as there is an orchid-rich wood along from here.

Anyway, he leaves me to it, and I snap the memorials and the tomb tablet I missed previously.

Didn't take long.

Back to the main road, then across and up the down opposite is Kings Wood and the village of Challock.

No church to visit, but near the church there is a wood and in that wood is a rare plant, toothwort.

The lane used to run from Challock to Ashford, but in the 18th century Eastwell Manor wanted parkland, and so they cut the road, made parkland, and the church is now at the end of a little-used lane.

Either someone went crazy with a chainsaw, or the recent storms have taken their toll, the row of trees near the cottages had all been cut down, and once we parked and walked into the churchyard, the wood to the south had also been cut. Not totally, but only a few lone trees remained, many others gone and their trunks taken away.

The plants that were there before, are still there; snowdrops, groundsel, bluebells, but no toothwort. We searched.

Away to the went, huge dark clouds were approaching, we had to rush to get back to the car before the storm broke.

End of trip.

So we go back to Canterbury and turn down the A2 towards Dover, and into, bright sunshine.

Back home for pizza and beer. All done in 15 minutes.

And so good we put the second pizza in the oven and munch through that two. I have a second tripel too, just to keep the first one company.

Being Saturday, there was football, but Norwich had already played and won. So, I could enjoy the afternoon, but enjoyment wouldn't come, as teams around and above us kept bloody winning, negating our win. Things didn't get worse, I suppose.

Then at six we went out, to collect a Chinese from town, as it was Jen's birthday, and we were going round for a meal and drinks and laughs.

A banquet for five would have fed more, as it was Jane didn't stay and went home to look after her sickly dog, but there would have been enough. We have a plateful each: Jools, Jen, John, Mike, me and Bet. Though Bet eats like a sparrow.

So we have a second plateful, and we all regret it, as we were all fit to pop, with the two beers I had.

At half eight, we all drifted back home. Jools drove us back home, back to our home on the downs, welcomed by the cats.

This is our life, and it is getting better.