Thursday 9th February 2023

Every day, every hour, we get nearer the weekend.

Or something.

No yoga or swimming for Jools, so we sleep in until gon six, from that point it was whether there was time to wake up before work.

The morning dawned cloudier than it had been for several day, but the mix of clouds and dramatic lighting made the waiting by the back door worth it.

That being said, the highlight of the day was the news, once I had spent several hours on the phone, was that my blood work was "normal", other than needing to lose weight.

Like that was news.

But I lost nearly an hour iin the morning, and 20 minutes more in the afternoon, waiting to get through to the surgery.

Once I got the news, I went out for a walk, though my back was complaining in quite a remarkable amount. So, I walked up Station Road to the first track, then along and down at the end of the paddick, then through the houses to home.

I did vent gas on the way which made the pain lessen somewhat, though did surprise the dogwalker behind me, as to where the trumpeting sound came from.

Or something.

We had bangers, potatoes, Boston beans and creamed spinach for dinner, the night darker than dark by the time Jools got home due to traffic on the A20.

And that was that, really. Not much to report, just work, pain and work.

Music in the evening, this time with no football.

Weekend at the end of tomorrow, though.

Wednesday 8th February 2023

Spring will soon be here, even if the cold nights and hoar frosts continue.

Each morning and night theres a little more light, doubly so when there are clear skies.

Jools was up and about early as usual, I lay in bed so long Cleo came back to bed after her breakfast and made a fresh next between my knees. But I had had to disappoint and move here, as work waits for no man.

Kinda.

I came down just as Jools was putting on her coat and like that, she was gone, into the frosty dawn, with light on the horizon and the sky a lighter shade of indigo.

Hang on kids, its gonna be a rough one!

In fact, it was the day my employer announces its results for last year, with challenges ongoing. So the boss tells us.

Plus le change.

I missed the first part of the telecast as I had to take a call revealling the latest issue to add to the "to do" list.

Plus le change.

I had been sitting for five hours straight, so once the elececast ended, I put my coat on and went for a walk.

With a few weeks since the last measurable rain, the ground has firmed up enough for a walk back up the hill to Windy Ridge is possible.

A glorious sunny winter's afternoon, with the sun high enough not to be casting long shadows.

The plan was to look for spring flowers in bloom, but very few seen, but a walks a walk, and it was good getting back to near 10,000 steps again, as well as meeting friendly and not so friendly horse and ponies.

I was hopeful to see a butterfly too, it felt wam enough and there was hardly any wind, but none seen.

Tough going in the rutted tracks and lanes, but also great to be out. The air had the smell of endless possibilities.

Which is nice.

Easy walk back home to find no one had missed me from work, so I was able to make a brew and monitor e mails to see the day out to four.

Another day nearer retirement. And on that front, good news as our pension value have recovered beyond the losses of last year to near pre-COVID levels.

Which is more than nice.

Dinner was aubergine. It had been some time, so it was nice to spend time listening to the radio, egg and breadcrumbing the sliced vegetable, then when it was time, shallow frying them in oil, so they became golden medallions.

And yummy.

Football in the evening; Sunderland v Fulham, which ends in an exciting away win, 3-2.

Time for bed, as we begin the long slope towards Friday and the weekend.

Tuesday 7th February 2023

Word (and food) of the day: Faggot.

Faggot.

Wikki defines faggot(s) as:

"Faggots are meatballs made from minced off-cuts and offal, especially pork (traditionally pig's heart, liver, and fatty belly meat or bacon) together with herbs for flavouring and sometimes added bread crumbs. It is a traditional dish in the United Kingdom, especially South and Mid Wales and the English Midlands. Faggots originated as a traditional cheap food consumed by ordinary country people in Western England, particularly west Wiltshire and the West Midlands."

We did not have faggots in Suffolk. Or Norfolk.

So, in November on one of the trips to the butcher, I got given what Mark called "artisan meat balls". Known as faggots.

The faggots were meatballs contained withing a sac of caul fat, which gave them the appearance of large testicles.

When I received them, the four faggots were frozen, so I put them in the freezer and thought little of them. Though they were there each time I opened the freezer. Mark said they were best served with creamy mash and lashings of gravy. And as it turned out we had gravy left over from last week's chicken, and there were two sweet potatoes that I could mash and add horseradish too.

A plan formed, then.

I suppose if you knew what were in sausages, you'd not eat them, so best not know what was in these faggots. I had haggis once. I was in Scotland on Burns' Night, and the hotel had it as a starter, so I tried it, and was quite like faggots as it turned, just contained in a sheep's stomach. Rich, slightly spicy mince.

Anyway, that was in the evening. Before then there was the whole day and over seven hours of work to get through.

We slept through the alarm, getting up at six, meaning I had an hour to get ready and set the office up.

Not much to tell, apart from what could go wrong, did. And then some. As the news came in I just sat there, slack jawed. There's chaos and theres this chaos.

Best not think of it, and have lunch.

Lunch was Moroccan chicken sew, which I cooked up some rice to go with it. Not as good as my tagine, but good enough for lunch.

At half three, I wrapped up work, and went out to put the bager/fox food out. By crickey, it was cold. So cold my legs convinced my head that a walk was a bad idea.

You do realise, my head said, this means no excuses tomorrow?

My legs said, "whatever".

So, I seared the faggots, put them in a pot, topped it with gravy and added a glug of red wine, and popped into the oven on gas mark 3 for just over an hour, then peeled the sweet potatoes set to boil on the hob. Some frozen sliced carrots finished the meal, and that was that.

In the end, dinner was most splendid. The caul fat has melted, leaving just the mince balls. The parts went together very well, and made a very nice winter's meal, lots of comfort food.

And after coffee, we went into the garden armed with the binoculars to look for the green comet, C/2022 E3 (ZTF). It should have been near to Mars, so easy to find.

In fact we think we saw the faint haze of the comet, hard to tell, but the new binoculars made stargazing much easier, and as we live in a designated dark skies area, the views even out of the village were fine.

After 20 minutes we came inside, and I joined Scully on the sofa to watch the footy.

Not a bad day, all in all.

Monday 6th February 2023

Welcome to the working week.

Again.

And apart from work, the main isse this fine day was a blood test at the surgery, which would get me out of the house and get me near my target steps for the day.

Which would be nice.

Although, when we got up at just gone five, thick fog blanketed the village meaning that the sunny start was invisible, and that dawn, although it comes earlier each day, would be subdued.

And Jools' boss, Andy was back at work this day. Some 17 months after feeling ill and being diagnosed with bone cancer, threatment has been a success, so is to return four days a week, four hours a day. I was in Cambridge, just having lunch near the market place when Jools called me to say she had been called back into work as Andy was in too much pain to drive into work, so her week off, to be spent at home, was cancelled and she took up the work of two people.

That seems like a lifetime ago, and must feel like it for Andy.

He was the the only helathy person in the household, so the others had to take up some of the slack as his treatment made him ill then isolate. He is clear, but very weak, but wanting to return to work so to get some normality back, and we think get out of the house.

He has a new job, and things in the office have changed without him, although no one wishes him ill, but hope is that he sticks to his new job, not the old one.

Jools used to send him pictures of places we were visiting, so to engage him, now he has the chance to do stuff again.

Welcome back to the working week, Andy.

I had some stuff to do, before breaking off at ten to walk up Station Road then through the village.

Its a bit of a slog up the hill, but not so much as it was. Or that's what I tell myself, and apart from my sore back, it was fine. I cut through past the pond, and took five minutes rest, which fixed my back, so that for the rest of the wak up the hill to the surgery and back home, there was no pain.

Which was very nice.

Just before that final climb, I spied a kestrel in a tree above the path. I only had the compact, but no worries, I thought. It'll fly away before I get there or as I walk underneath it.

But it stayed put, so once on the other side, used the compact to get a shot, not using too much of the zoom, and it came out OK.

At the surgery I had a 25 minute wait for the nurse. She took my blood pressure, blood and weighed me.

Serious thought must be given to the weight. Smaller plates or something I think.

I walked back down ito the village, past the school with playground full of screaming children. I call in at the shop to buy some onions and cream. Somehow a bag of crisps fell into my basket too.

Back home for lunch of warmed fritters and crisps and pop.

And then back to work, getting on with my new mini-project.

Time flew.

I wrapped up at four, had a brew, then set about preparing dinner which was chorizo hash. And wine.

Not much to report. Hash was a triumph, Jools had made extra choclate desserts on Sunday so we polished them off for supper with a coffee.

At which point I was summond to the sofa by Scully to stroke her and watch the footy.

Sunday 5th February 2023

Still the weekend.

And having spent the previous day doing our hobbies, we thought it best to spend at least part of the day together.

So, after coffee, fruit and croissants and more coffee, we got dressed and were out by half eight, driving out to Sandwich, then via Preston to Grove Ferry as we continued the vain hope to see some Bearded Reedlings. It was mope in hope than anything else, but we must see them one day.

So, across the marshes to the car park, a misty start had given way to clear blue skies and light winds. Perfect for a walk and some half-hearted birding.

Apparently a birder goes to see what he can see, while a twitcher goes to see something specific, to get the tick. I am a birder of birds, but a twitcher of orchids.

Probably.

Reedlings are found in the reedbeds, making their distinctive "pinging" call. We walked through the beds to the far side, saw nothing, I may have heard a single ping, but not sure. In the hide I did snap a Teal, the only bird not a Coot or Mallard or Mute Swan.

The reed beds do remind me of home in Norfolk, and it is great looking to see what was flying: we saw a single Marsh Harrier, a buzzard and a large flock of Lapwings, probably spooked by the Harrier.

We walked back to the car, and Jools drive us back across the marshes, through Preston to Wingham, then over to Barham and on to the orchid wood.

We were here mainly to look for Scarlet Elf Cup fungi, though orchid rosettes were on our radar, but also just to get our daily step count up towards 10,000.

We ambled up to the site for the fungi, but none seen. Up the track and down the other side, where I found several Early Purple rosettes looking in rude health and ready to put up a spike when it is warm enough.

Over the other side to look for Lady Orchid rosettes, and good news was that we found a good half dozen, and of good size too, though no Fly Orchid spikes seen.

And that was that.

On the way back we called in to see Jen who had had no relapse of her dizzy spell, so all good.

Back home Jools warmed up the Moroccan sweet potao and chickpea stew for lunch, which we gobbled up as we were hungry. Then, as a treat, she made some chocolate sundaes, which went down well with a coffee as I watched the football on the tellybox.

Cheese and crackers and wine for supper, which is how we'd all like each day to end, really.

Lights on but no one home

So, Liz Truss made her big comeback yesterday, blaming her downfall not on her batshit crazy unfunded tax cuts, but the "left-wing economic establishment.

Now either she means domestic and international markets, and herself being a self-confessed free-marketeer probably does, or she could mean reality.

Because Brexit is, at its most basic level, dogma and belief against reality.

Truss says she wasn't warned about the effects of the mini-budget, this partly helped, no doubt, by the sacking of the head civil servant to the Treasury, but even there, its clear warnings were given.

And ignored.

She still believes.

Belief.

Wanting something to happen when all reason and reality says it won't.

Brexit in a nutshell.

Truss wants lower taxes, and when asked in an interview if he would listen to Trus, Sunak said he would.

He could and should have laughed.

The Conservative Party now has three leaders, three PMs, and the Party unable or unwilling to stop Johnson and Truss freelancing.

On the European Convention on Human Rights

Like many PMs and Home Secretaries before him, Sunak is proposing the UK withrawing from the ECHR.

The UK would only be the second to do so, after Putin's Russia, so would be in bad company.

The ECHR has NOTHING to do with the EU, and compiance with it protects us all from our own Governments including our own human and working rights.

Ian, I hear you asking, are you worried that the UK will leave the ECHR?

Well, good question, and one I will answer in two parts.

1. If it were easy, then PMs and Home Secretaies including Tony Blair and Chris Greyling have proposed the UK leaving it. Nothing came of any of the previous attempts, including two by Bully Boy Raab.

2. The Good Friday Agreement (GFA) makes expicit requirements that the UK remain in the ECHR. So, the choice for the Government is either to protect the GFA or rip it to pieces. I mean, its not like the UK Government would plunge headlong into a policy without thinking how it affects Northern Ireland, is it?

Oh.....