Wednesday 10th May 2023

I am in Ireland, after all, to work. For work.

And Wednesday was a work day.

We had a twenty minute drive to the hub, so we could lay in bed later than usual, have a long shower and be down for breakfast at quarter to eight, and graze the delights on offer.

As well as the usual fried ingredients, there was black and white puddings, neither of which could tempt me.

We checked out, loaded the car and Patrick drove us along winding and lumpy stone wall-lined lanes to the former garage where operations in the area are run from.

Eyes down for the audit, then. I open my notebook and the grilling starts...

.. We, or rather I, am done by two, so we say our goodbyes and get back in the car for the two hour drive to the hotel in Dublin.

Along more lanes, past part-ruined castles onto the motorway, the foot down to head east to the capital.

Ireland is full of petrol stations. That makes you realise that here in Britain, supermarkets undercutting those once plentiful stations have resulted in most of them closing, and needing to go to a supermarket to fill up. Most stations have well stocked shops and snack bars attached. Here were had filled rolls, imagine Subway but we actual bread and proper fillings.

We sat outside in the just-warm sunshine to eat our rolls and Irish crisps.

Traffic was mad as we got nearer, and once off the motorway, it took 40 minutes to drive the last seven km to the hotel, which is beside the former Lansdowne Road ground, now occupied by a space age stadium, home of Irish rugby.

Our way ran beside an old canal, neat terraced houses, and leafy parks. And most of all, there was little litter, a city and population proud of itself: whatever next?

We check in, go to our rooms along never-ending corridors, where my smallish room overlooks the car park, but is quiet enough.

After an hours rest, we walk along the river nearby, to the edge of the Diplomatic quarter, to a nice Thai place Pat knew an he had booked a table.

It filled up, and we ordered starts and a main course. Steaming pans of stir fry and sticky rice was brought to us, so we could tuck in.

We ate well, then retired to the pub three doors along to have a pint of the black stuff and the watch the Milan Derby on the tellybox.

Guinness and whiskey flowed as we watched the footy, and the bright young things around us light up the evening.

Tuesday 9th May 2023

Up with the larks this morning, as I am off on my travels again, this time to Dublin (and beyond) for work.

Jools left at six as she had much to do, while I had until nine when the taxi was due, so dossed around, packed, had breakfast and so on until it got to ten to nine, so packed away and was ready when the cab stopped outside.

A quick trip into town to the station, where thanks to a rail strike on Friday, I only had to buy a single ticket, but how to get from the airport home is yet to be decided.

The driver told me that the Sunday bus service has been cancelled, and their core weekend business was taking those who came by bus then had a drink or two, back into town, that work has now died, and their busiest day is now their quietest. On top of that, we have lost the direct services into town now, instead mini-buses go via Martin and Guston into town, and on her way back at the weekend, Jools said just about every seat was taken.

Another "improvement"

And then a half hour wait on the platform for the train, now outside rush hour, so lots of seats and able to sit on the side of the train I prefer.

An hour later I get off at Stratford, get the DLR to London City, where there was no queue to check in, or at security, so all sat down in a quiet corner to have lunch and read WSC and watch the world go by.

All as painless as I had hoped really, as easy as it used to be getting to Denmark.

Board at two, and a half full plane meant me having a whole row of four seats to myself, and fine views of east London as we climbed throwing off the bounds of gravity and into the clouds before turning west.

British Airways cut backs mean just a tiny pack of crisps, but instead of water there was a small can of pop instead.

Clouds over much of England, though I did see the three piers of Blackpool as we crossed the coast, and later, the Isle of Man, partly covered in cloud.

And down into Dublin, where at security, the official looked at my passport, shrugged and let me through.

Bag was waiting, as was Patrick outside, who took me to his car for the 90 minute drive round the city then out across the Emerald Isle to Tipperary, where we were to spend the night in a fine hotel called the Horse and Jockey, where we would quality control test their Guinness.

Dublin, like most cities, has traffic from hell, and even on the motorways it was mad. But it thinned out, and soon the countrysdie turned green. Turned many shades of green, really. We passed farms, ruined castles, and twons with names in Englash and Gaelic, the latter seemed more romantic that "Queenstown" or something.

All in all, a fine day. And work to, so get paid.

The hotel was packed. Mostly with families with young men wearing red rosettes. These had been confirmed, apparently, and this was an excuse for a huge family celebration.

Celebrations.

Several generations ate and drank and laughed at each table, and children ran around like children do.

We had to wait half an hour for the burgers we ordered, but there was an endless supply of Guinness to keep us entertained while we waited.

Monday 8th May 2023

Coronation Day (UK) public holiday.

Orchid day (Ian only)

Sunday, I was if not housebound, then bound to within walking distance (there and back) from Chez Jelltex, and when the weather was far nicer than expected all day Sunday, then my desire to get out to the Kentish orchid fields were all the more stronger.

With the best of Monday's weather being for the morning, I would need to be up and out early, doubly so if I wanted to go to Marden. Marden are three freshwater meadows, filled with thousands of Green WIng Orchids, and like all orchids, its best to photograph them in sunshine to get the best of the orchid's colours.

I had set my alarm for six, but my mind and body woke me up at ten to five, so I got up, got dressed and had a coffee, so that at six I was heading out the door. Outside and all the way into town and to Folkestone it was thick fog, it thinned out as I went inland, but not much. Not to worry, I needed sunsine, so I knew the sun would burn it off, so was able to be happy and content cruising at 60.

At Maidstone, the first breaks in the fog were seen, and colours of trees and villages, like Leeds, really began to pop. And as I took the lanes across The Weald, the sun became stronger and stronger, and the mist just melted away, which meant by the time I pulled up at the meadow, conditions were perfect: the meadow , grass, ferns and orchids covered with a thick dew, that listened like jewels in the low sunshine.

I have gone mad here before, taking hundreds of shots, so this time I walked round, snapping the larger and pinker spikes, though I saw no white ones, but they were there, anyway, as my feet got wetter, I racked up the shots, taking time to get the effect of ten thousand orchids, causing the green of the meadow to have a purple smear.

And being early, I had the place to myself, and it was only the passing electrostars that broke the peace on such a fine morning.

I could have stayed there all day, but with the weather expected to turn at eleven, there was no time to lose. Back to the car, and deciding that the quickest way to Stockbury was through Maidstone, I guessed, correctly, that at eight on a bank holiday morning, traffic would be light. It was light, but the one way system is difficult, and I headed out on the A229 rather than the 249, meaning once at the motorway I had to go one junction back, then up Detling Hill to Stockbury.

The reserve is within earshot of the main road, but is an oasis of calm and beauty, one with the hum of traffic, but is still wonderful. And because of the cool weather experienced in England whilst we were baking in Spain, the peak of the bluebells was last weekend instead of the week before, and there was enough still in flower to make the visit more than worth it.

There are orchids here too, anyway.

I parked near the resrve, limboed under the gate, then tok shots of the bluebell path while the sun shone. Not perfect, but close to it.

Along the path, Early Purples were mixed in with the bluebells making a very nice colour contrast. Then there was the climb down to the meadow, which was tricky in the damp mud and without a walking pole. But I made it, and along the path first were the Lesser Butterfly spikes, which were still not out, but very, very close, then several Lady Orchids in part flower and most worth snapping.

I am still at the point of the season where I want to photograph EVERY Lady Orchid.

Anyway, back to the car, and a quick blast up the A2 to Canterbury, for the first stop of the season at Woolage to check on the Birds Nests. I had seen shots of several, not from Kent but elsewhere, in #wildflowerhour on Sunday, so I had hopes, but much searching of the leaf-strewn wood revealled not one Birds Nest, but dozens of White Helleborines, but again, none in flower.

Back to the car, and the weather was changing, but bright enough for a call at Lydden on the Man Orchid colony. I parked in the central reservation, climbed over the fence, and found that numbers in the colony have more than doubled from previous years. Where they would only grow up the bank, the tiny spikes now extend on the flatter part of the meadow to the storm drain culvert. I really had to watch where I was standing, and some spikes even had one or two open flowers.

The last stop was Folkestone to check on the Late Spiders.

The orchid books say that Late Spiders only emerge at the end of May to peak in June. But thanks to climate change and the fact orchids don't read field guides, some open earlier. One opens much earlier. May 8th is the earlist I have known it open, so it was likely to be a wild goose chase, or end in disappointment. And by the time I arrived, there was almost total cloud cover, no sunshine, and as I stood peering over the electrified fence hoping to spot an Ophrys rosette, nothing leapt out at me.

And then on the third scan walking up and down, I see the top of a single leaf showing where the closest plant to the path is, and the earliest to flower. Not in flower. So happy in having found it, I walk back tot he car to drive back along the Alkham Valley to St Maggies.

Jools had been gardening, so was ready for a coffee and some fruit for a late breakfast. As was I.

And 90 minutes later I prepare chicken Kyiv salad with freshly boiled baby potatoes for lunch.

Yummy.

And then, to the final game of the season for Norwich. Pukki's last game a a real change coming in the summer with other players to leave too. A home game against already relegated Blackpool should have been an easy one for City, but a poor performance and poor defending meant we slipt to another home defeat, 1-0. And that is that.

More footy to watch on the tellybox, mainly the Forest v Southampton game, which was exciting, but neither team could really defend, so the end to end action created a hatful of chances and a Forest win, 4-3, which almost certainly sent Southampton down to the Championship. Earlier, just to show we all know nothing about football, Everton thrashed Fulham at the Cottage 5-1 to greatly strengthen their chances of staying up. Well.

Sunday 7th May 2023

Sunday.

And Jools is going to Valencia.

Again.

But just for a day.

You'll have to read the blog why, but it meant I was home alone for seventeen hours, and at no point did I come very close to burning the house down.

Which is nice.

The alarm went off at five, Jools got up and made coffee for herself, fed the cats, had a shower and so on. I lay in bed and dozed.

I'm off she announced at six, so she was.

I got up and made a coffee. The weather forecast had improved for the day, but I had no car, so other than going for a walk, not much I could do.

The cats were all asleep, so I put the radio on and pottered.

I pottered through Radcliff and Maconie, then to break the day up, I made a fresh batch of Boston Beans to put in the freezer, so the kitchen was full of the smells of sweet and smoky cooking.

That took and hour to get to the point to put the pan in the oven to cook on low for three hours.

I made a brew then decided I really should go out for a walk.

Nice day for it, and all that.

There's always the chance to see a butterfly or something, and a walk is never wasted. I have also started listening to podcasts as I walk too.

I walk the usual route, over the fields to Fleet House, then down past the farm and up the long slope to Windy Ridge, pausing at the bench for a look at the view and the golfers ruining their daily walk by hitting tiny balls.

Then along Green Lane, cutting through the wood as a fallen tree had blocked my way, before turning down the hill to Collingwood and home.

Nothing new seen, no butterflies snapped either, just a couple of Red Admirals fluttering about.

Back home I boil some pasta before warming up some chilli, and that was lunch sorted, only being on my own means its me who has to wash up. What with cooking in the morning and evening, I seemed to spend most of the day washing up.

There was football on at four, Toon v The Arse: a good game and Arsenal played well to win 2-0.

Deserved it.

Jools could have been home any time after eight, it seemed, so while I waited I cooked a pan of jambalaya, slurping from a bottomless glass of red wine as I do.

The wash up again.

And try the jambalaya.

With more wine.

At half eight, Jools texts to say she has landed, so I have at least 90 minutes before she got home, so Scully and I watched the last episode of Stanley Tucci on Italian food, this time in that London.

Jools came back at about half ten, with camera and a selection of cured meats.

Not a wasted trip.

Of cameras

As I write this, at five past three on the afternoon of 7th May 2023, I have been home alone for nine hours, as Jools is in Spain.

Again.

Though will be home tonight.

Probably.

And its all down to cameras. And this time, not mine.

In March, when Jools went on her forraging weekend, her bridge camera got wet and stopped working. We could get the shots off the card, but the camera was dead. So, she bought a new one.

She won't tell me how much it was, but is a hefy Sony (I think) compact, weighs something like a small brick, and once it arrived she bagan to learn how to use it.

Only two problems:

1. It took micro SD cards, which are fiddly.

2. We couldn't find a way to download the images off the camera.

Minor issues, perhaps, but as preparations for our trip to Spain went on, Jools had her new camera and I had my case of camera bodies and lenses.

When I am away, I back up shots from all cameras, and phone, each day to the laptop, and once home back those up on the external hard drive, so if I lose a camera or card, then I still would have the shots.

Jools could not do this, but anyway, the holiday went on, she took shots and they seemed good, just couldn't download them to see on a screen.

And then came the last day and our trip back into the mountains where I got us a puncture, and we spent the rest of the afternoon getting new tyres before driving the 5 hours to Valencia airport. Jools had the camera in the mountains, but had no memory of seeing it after that, which meant the camera had been left wither in the hire car, the tyre shop or the transport cafe where we had lunch.

By the time we got home and emptied all bags, of the camera there was no sign.

So, Jools fired off mails, and got no replies.

We had returned the hire car to the airport, but Budget couldn't find it, so rang me up to ask where it was. THis gave me the chance to ask about the camera, and they said they would look when they found the car.

Late in the evening, they found the car and the camera!

They gave details of how to ship the camera home.

Simples.

But the cost of shipping one camera to Spain back home turned out to be more than a return ticket on Ryanair, doing both trips in one day from Gatwick.

So, at six this morning, Jools drove the airport to catch the flight to Valencia, to walk to the larking garage to get her camera and then fly back, four hours later.

Good news is that she got there on time, and had picked up the camera and is now waiting for her return flight, she should be hme by about nne this evening.

So that is the tale of Jools and her cameras.

Saturday 6th May 2023

The weekend.

Again.

And another three day weekend thanks to comething called "The Coronation".

Neither Jools or I am Monarchists, so we will not be watching the ceremony, historic as it is, or not.

We did, however, have to go shopping. Jools did wonder if the shops would be busier than normal, and in this, wasn't helped by us not getting up to seven and not getting to Tesco until quarter to eight.

In short, the petrol station seemed busier, but the rest, as normal.

We buy lots of salad stuff and things to go with salad, only realising at the checkout that I was away four days next week. Oh well.

Bck home, with little planned due mainly to the weather forecast which was for rain. All weekend. The reality would be that it was drier than expected, and the trips to the Kentish orchid fields would be postponed until next week, when maybe more orchids would be out. Or should be.

Jools went to collect cat food that was ordered before we went away, so at least the cats wouldn't starve.

Sitting here 24 hours later, I am struggling to think of what I did to fill day time between breakfast and the first footy at three in the afternoon. I know I had a shower, but not one lasting several hours, that's for sure.

We had caprese for lunch, and the leftover Spanish meats bought last weekend. And wine.

Meaning we struggled to stay awake all afternoon. Jools gave in to it, as had a good 90 minutes zedding, maybe two hours.

There was football, Citeh v Leeds, and entertaining it was, ended 2-1 and had a more exciting finish than we deserved, really.

THe day ended with Craig on the wireless, and Jools preparing for her trip to Spain on Sunday.

Yes, you read that right.

And there is quite the story behind that sentence, which I tell in my next post.

Not my King

It is hard to remember now, but in the aftermath of the death of Princess Diana, the Monarchy was in chaos and peril.

As the nation mourned, the Monarchy stayed quiet, and refused to have flags at half mast in mourning because of "protocol", the nation raged until The Palace relented.

This was the point at which the nation's attitude towards the Monarchy was at its lowest.

And so began a long campaign to restore it and Prince Charles into a better light.

He married his ex-girlfried, with whom he had broken his marriage vows with Diana with, odd for someone who would become the head of the Church of England.

Over two decades of pro-Monarchy propaganda culminated yesterday in the Coronation of Charles.

He was already King, this happened the day his Mother, Queen Elizabeth II died, this was all for show, to legitimise his place, and that of the Monarchy, going forward.

All of it was un-necessary.

All of it.

And as for someone who had inherited £1.8 billion pounds on the day he became King, the nation and its taxpayers would foot the bill.

My good friend, Sam Cornwell, thought it odd that someone who served in the Military, and took photographs of churches as a hobby, could be so anti-Monarchy, but my thoughts are, what purpose does it serve the Nation in the 21st Century.

It brings in tourists, we're told.

And this must be true as no tourists visits the Palace of Versailles in France as there is no Monarchy.

Future generations of Royals have a single career path, that of Military officers, and this must be the least cost-effective selection process for the Military. Other than that, they cut ribbons, wave at crowds and are subject to extreme media scrutiny. And all the while they must smile and carry on waving.

But the Monarchy, and Sovereign, does have a constitutional function. They pass laws, and thanks to some limited Freedom of Information requests, we know that something like 160 laws and pieces of legislation were changed after requests by various members of the Royal Household, Charles included. But we're not allowed to know which pieces of legislation were changed, and from what to what either.

Its secret.

The cornerstone of Common Law is that it applies to Kings as well as serfs.

Only it doesn't.

The Coronation is a set piece to legitimise the Crown in the nation's mind, not to question it, to make it seem part of the nation's history.

One final point, I served my country, not the Queen. I may have sworn an oath to her, and saluted every officer I met as that is saluting and respecting the Queen's commission. But it is my country I served.

I served to protect our, all our rights. Including the right to protest. I may not agree with anything you stand for, but would defend your right to protest to the death. If Western values stand for anything, its the right to protest. But that is now being taken away here. Despite reaching agreement with the Police this week, the leading Republican pressure group were arrested in London yesterday, BEFORE protesting.

That is un-British, and un-western. But is the way that this Government, and signed into Law by Charles that we as a Nation is going.