Wednesday 5th July 2023

Since the London Olympics in 2012, I have blogged at least once a day, pretty much every day since.

I have blogged about my life.

Our life.

Lives of friends and family.

Mum has gone, Jools's Dad has gone.

Jen's Mum has gone.

Meg has gone.

A few years ago, I was on operations and travelling hither than thither, even work sounded exciting: airports, hotels, restaurants, deadlines.

And then I became an auditor, travel was less.

Stress was much less.

Thankfully.

But since September 2019, life has been pretty stable.

I travelled to Ireland for work in May, I am due to travel to Denmark at the beginning of September and Porto at the end of that month, and maybe the South of France too. But between, I work from home, I look after the cats, prepare dinner, and at weekends either churchcrawl of go chasing orchids.

Rinse and repeat.

Is there any point in blogging every day now I am home for the next nine weeks, working?

I don't even chase every orchid species in the county now, just most of them.

Do you, dear reader, get bored?

I do sometimes, writing the same things day after day after day. Maybe I should just write when stuff happens, or something inspires me to write?

As for Wednesday.

Well.

The highlight yesterday was making ciabatta loaves for dinner.

Jools had bought a mix a week or so back, that all you had to do was add water, mix and let rise. How hard could it be to make my own from scratch?

Not that hard, but time consuming. I didn't have over 12 hours to allow the starter to, start, so I made it and put it in the kitchen window where the sun fell on it, speeding things up I thought.

Then after four hours, added to the rest of the ingredients, mixed and left.

Mixed and left.

Mixed and made into loaves.

The recipe said the dough would be "wet".

No kidding!

I used an oiled pallet knife to mix, shaped into two loaves, placed on floured baking parchment and instead of letting it rest further, just put in the oven.

And what I got was two, irregular loaves, not good looking loaves, but with the Caprese for dinner, they were perfect.

Or one was.

The second we would have Thursday.

I sliced the tomatoes, the cheese. Seasoned, put on balsamic and oil.

Poured wine.

Yummy.

Work is best left unspoken about, instead, the crack of thunder at five, the only one within a hundred miles, and right above our house. The storm radar agreed. Then the rain fell. And fell.

In the garden, the ox-eye daisies are going to seed, and I think about my next move.....

Tuesday 4th July 2023

Independence Day (US of A).

And for me, back to work.

Life seemed better after a good nights sleep. When I got up just after midnight to use the facilities, the full moon was hanging low in the sky, well on its low westward journey through this shortest of nights.

Up at quarter past five, and so I lay in bed listening to the sounds of the morning. The magpies and other corvids busy clearing up any leftovers in our gardens.

My knee is still painful, so even if the weather was to be fine, I would not be going out, so made plans to go into the garden several times during the day to get some air and limp about.

It was on one of these walks that I noticed, now that the ox-eye daisies were going over, that a third Pyramidal spike has emerged in the lawnmeadow, so later in the afternoon I got the shears out and cleared a space around all three spikes. Promising myself I would do more each day.

As for work, well, it happens every day and each day throws a different spanner into the works. I just roll with the punches and run interferance.

There were podcasts to listen to, and cats to feed, all in all meaning I was not bored.

Another day in which storms were forecast, on and off, but there was no way those in the south of France were ever going to drift north to us in those light winds.

Again.

We did get heavy rain later though, which will do the gardens good.

Dinner was defrosted and warmed shepherd's pie and Boston beans. Easy peasy, the lamb from last week's roast and the left over gravy, topped with cheesy mash.

Yummy.

It was nice not have to rush around, and then spend the evening reading, relaxing.

Monday 3rd July 2023

There was never any doubt I would go to Rob's funeral. Rob was born just two weeks before me, and in our many meetings, we found we had so much in common.

A drive to Ipswich should be something like only two and a half hours, but with the Dartford Crossing that could balloon to four or more.

My choice was to leave early, soon after Jools left for work, or wait to near nine once rush hour was over. If I was up early, I'd leave early, I said.

Which is what happened.

So, after coffee and Jools leaving, I loaded my camera stuff in the car, not bothering to program in a destination, as I knew the route to Suffolk so well.

Checking the internet I found the M2 was closed, so that meant taking the M20, which I like as it runs beside HS2, although over the years, vegetation growth now hides most of it, and with Eurostar cutting services due to Brexit, you're lucky to see a train on the line now.

I had a phone loaded with podcasts, so time flew by, even if travelling through the endless roadworks at 50mph seemed to take forever.

Dartford was jammed. But we inched forward, until as the bridge came in sight, traffic moved smoothly, and I followed the traffic down into the east bore of the tunnel.

Another glorious morning for travel, the sun shone from a clear blue sky, even if traffic was heavy, but I had time, so not pressing on like I usually do, making the drive a pleasant one.

Up through Essex, where most other traffic turned off at Stanstead, then up to the A11 junction, with it being not yet nine, I had several hours to fill before the ceremony.

I stopped at Cambridge services for breakfast, then programmed the first church in: Gazeley, which is just in Suffolk on the border with Cambridgeshire.

I took the next junction off, took two further turnings brought be to the village, which is divided by one of the widest village streets I have ever seen.

It was five past nine: would the church be open?

I parked on the opposite side of the road, grabbed my bag and camera, limped over, passing a warden putting new notices in the parish notice board. We exchange good mornings, and I walk to the porch.

The inner door was unlocked, and the heavy door swung after turning the metal ring handle.

I had made a list of four churches from Simon's list of the top 60 Suffolk churches, picking those on or near my route to Ipswich and which piqued my interest.

Here, it was the reset mediaeval glass.

Needless to say, I had the church to myself, the centuries hanging heavy inside as sunlight flooded in filling the Chancel with warm golden light.

Windows had several devotional dials carved in the surrounding stone, and a huge and "stunningly beautiful piscina, and beside it are sedilia that end in an arm rest carved in the shape of a beast" which caught my eye.

A display in the Chancel was of the decoration of the wooden roof above where panels contained carved beats, some actual and some mythical.

I photographed them all.

I programmed in the next church, a 45 minute drive away just on the outskirts of Ipswich, or so I thought.

The A14 was plagued by roadworks, then most trunk roads and motorways are this time of year, but it was a fine summer morning, I was eating a chocolate bar as I drove, and I wasn't in a hurry.

I turned off at Claydon, and soon lost in a maze of narrow lanes, which brought be to a dog leg in the road, with St Mary nestling in a clearing.

I pulled up, got out and found the air full of birdsong, and was greeted by a friendly spaniel being taken for a walk from the hamlet which the church serves.

There was never any doubt that this would be open, so I went through the fine brick porch, pushed another heavy wooden door and entered the coolness of the church.

I decided to come here for the font, which as you can read below has quite the story: wounded by enemy action no less!

There seems to be a hagioscope (squint) in a window of the south wall, makes one think or an anchorite, but of this there is little evidence.

Samuel and Thomasina Sayer now reside high on the north wall of the Chancel, a stone skull between them, moved here too because of bomb damage in the last war.

I drove a few miles to the next church: Flowton.

Not so much a village as a house on a crossroads. And the church.

Nothing so grand as a formal board outside, just a handwritten sign say "welcome to Flowton church". Again, I had little doubt it would be open.

And it was.

The lychgate still stands, but a fence around the churchyard is good, so serves little practical purpose, other than to be there and hold the signs for the church and forthcoming services.

Inside it is simple: octagonal font with the floor being of brick, so as rustic as can be.

I did read Simon's account (below) when back outside, so went back in to record the tomb of Captain William Boggas and his family, even if part of the stone is hidden by pews now.

I had said to myself, that if I saw signs for another church, I might find time to visit. And so it was with Aldham, I saw the sign pointing down a narrow lane, so I turned and went to investigate.

First it looked like the road ended in a farmyard, but then I saw the flint round tower of the church behind, so followed the lane to the church gate.

There was a large welcoming sign stating, proudly, that the church is always open.

St Mary stands on a mound overlooking a shallow valley, water stand, or runs slowly, in the bottom, and it really is a fine, fine location for a church.

I pushed through the gate and went up the path to the south porch, where the door swung open once again.

The coolness within enveloped me.

An ancient font at the west end was framed by a brick-lined arch, even to my untrained eyes, I knew this was unusual.

There were some carved bench ends, some nice fairly modern glass, but the simplicity of the small church made for a very pleasant whole.

I no longer watch TV much, so was unaware of the view and indeed church being used in the TV show, The Detectorists.

One of Suffolk's hidden treasures, for sure.

It was now past midday, and I had just about two hours to get to the crematorium, some 14 miles away. I knew Ipswich has traffic problems, and there's always a chance I failed to follow the sat nav at a junction, so I set off in plenty of time.

Ipswich indeed does have traffic issues, especially where the old A12 crosses the old A140 by way of two mini roundabouts. These I remember from the mid-70s when we used to go to Portman Road by coach, and these were always jammed. At least at half midday I sailed over, as he who hesitates can be stuck for ages.

Then along the old ring road, again I remember from those coach trips to the football, not much has changed, just the cars quicker and the tempers of their drivers quicker still.

I reached the crematorium, with over an hour to spare. I checked on the sign outside the waiting room to make sure I was in the right place, and Rob's name was there.

I sit and wait on a bench, and see Rob's wife enter the waiting room, and that of Daki.

It was all too real.

At two I went in, saw Sarah and looked at the service card I had been handed, saw Rob's smiling face staring back and I crumbled. I hugged Sarah and Daki, sobbed how sorry I was.

It was time.

We filed in, and I took a seat at the back. Hanging Around by The Stranglers came on the sound system, and Rob was carried in.

It was a fine service, no religion, just memories of a fine and complicated man.

Once it was over, Supertramp's Give Just a Little Bit came on, to end on a positive note.

For a while we stared at the drawn curtains, Sarah and Daki hugged and sobbed.

It was over, Rob was gone.

Outside, I tried to speak again, but emotions overcame me again. I said I wasn't going to go to the wake, so instead in driving summer rain, dashed back to the car and started to long drive home.

I headed out east through Foxhall and onto the A14, then down the A12, no podcasts this time to cheer me.

Traffic was heavy in places, but I made good time, and made it over the Thames by half four, and I promised myself a stop at Medway Services for a whopper and coke.

And onion rings.

Dirty food, and nice.

I called Jools to let her know I would be at Jen's by six, so she would drive there as she had borrowed Jen's car, and we would drive back home together. On the way we called in for KFC for Jools, then the final dash home to be back at half six.

I had been gone almost exactly 12 hours.

And that was that. And as my dear old Dad would have said, one hell of a day.

Sunday 2nd July 2023

It has been the best part of two months since I last had a hair cut, and to be honest, some days its like I'm weating a fur hat. I went orchiding last Sunday rather than go and get it cut, so I only have myself to blame, really.

We laid in bed until half seven, nearly lunchtime really, got up, fed the cats and had coffee, breakfast with yet more coffee.

And then it was time to go out.

Jools siad she would do the garden, so stayed home, I drove to Folkestone via Capel, down the steep cliff road, then beside the now overgrown olf Harbour Branch before turning up Tontine Street.

I was early, but it was a fine sunny morning, so standing outside the shop for 15 minutes, watching the dregs of society go about getting their first can of Super Brew or asking everyone and anyone if they had a light for their dog end.

I had only been outside for five minutes when the door was opened and I was shown in, treated like royalty, taken to the chair and my mop of untamed locks would be fought with. 40 minutes later, it was done. I looked dofferent, felt cooler.

So, I paid the guy, and walked back to the car.

I had the morning, so despite saying I would do no more orchiding on the downs, I drove to Wye anyway.

At the top of the down, there is a feature called The Devil's Kneading Trough: don't askme, I didn't name it. So, I have seen the Devil's Ditch, Devil's Churn, among other thing. In this case, the trough is a valley down the side of the down, we had looked on side before, so I went the other side in the hunt of orchids.

I passed to German children playing with cows, not the wisest thing to be doing, and their parents nowhere in sight. I left them to it, and upon my return there was no sign of children, cows of distraught parents, so I'm assuming good news.

I walked to the very shoulder of the down, where the ground drops away three hundred feet in a very steep slope, thus disturbing the couple still akip in their sleeping bad, wine glasses scattered around.

I found two Pyramidal spikes, but that was it.

So back to the car and a long drive to another down, where the coony we discovered last week, and one final hunt for the "yellow" LSO. Just in case we'd missed it.

On the way up, my right leg fell down a rabbit hole, those turning my knee some more, and me turning the air blue with some choice swearing.

I searched and searched, but of "old yella" there was no sign. But showing that even many eyes can miss things, I did find a "var. belgarum" LSO, hidden in long grass, another undescribed variant of this highly variable species.

And that was that. Most others were either going or gone to seed, some with the last flower of two in good condition.

I went back to the car, turned it around and drove for home, where it was long past brunch.

We had a pizza between the two of us, and beer (or cider) so spent the afternoon trying to stay awake. Still no football, the season is still five long weeks away.

Jools watched a film, and I caught up on Twitter now that Space Karen has fixed some of what he broke earlier.

Saturday 1st July 2023

A new month, though one in which I still have shots from May and June still to post. Possibly some from April too.

So, with the year moving on, I thought I'd do a bit of light churchcrawling, and return to Pugin's church in Ramsgate, aka the Catholic Shrine of St Augustine.

The weather was supposed to be poor, so other than shopping, not much done in the morning as we waited for the rain and clouds to sweep over.

Jools went swimming, while I waited for another delivery of beer.

Sweet beer.

Jools came back at one, and I headed out laden with all my camera gear, and drove to Ramsgate, where I hope to find the church open.

Traffic was heavy, with folks all going to Westwood Cross, but I turned off into Ramsgate, nearly having an accident with a white van man who seemed to think he didn't need to use indicators when changing lanes. I bottled it as he steered into my, missing the car by an inch or so.

Dick.

The church was open, but visitors must have been thin on the ground, as the two volunteers at the entrance engaged me in long conversations about Pugin, the church and the Grange next door.

Pugin was lit by a determination to eliminate what he saw as "pagan" classical design and replace it with Gothic. He was a blur of activity, designing church after church as well as other commissions, and getting married at least twice.

The church has been seen as his perfect ideal of what one should be, he and his family lived in the large Gothic spread, The Grange, next door.

I had the church to myself, it is fabulous, and Pugin himself lays in one of the side chapels. I record details of the decoration, windows and toles, but will return another day to record the windows with the big lens.

I leave just before the church is to close, get in the car and drive, without incident, to Sandwich, then take Knightrider Street out to the Estate for some Marsh Helleborine action.

The observatory was empty, with door locked, and I got no reply when I tried to call the number to see if it was OK to access the meadow with the orchids.

Dozens of spikes out, but many more to come in the forthcoming weeks, but this will be my only visit here this month.

I snapped some of the spikes, and turned to leave. On the way back I saw more butterflies than I have seen so far this year, including my first Comma, which was freshly out of the box.

I walked back to the car, turned it round and drive back home, arriving back just as the ice cream van went by.

Ice cream? I ask Jools.

She says yes.

So, I go out to get two 99s, and we sit on the patio licking and munching the cornets.

Friday 30th June 2023

Friday.

At last.

And with temperatures dropping, it meant a decent night's sleep, Cleo trying to nest between my knees notwithstanding.

I get up just as Jools was leaving to go to yoga, there was a fresh cup of coffee waiting. She's a keeper!

I do the bins, fill up the feeders, then have a shower, all before half six. A second coffee puts me in the zone and ready for work.

I am all caught up, as much as I can, so read mails and respond to those I can, then wait for the monthly department meeting where we are told again how great everything is, and how the changes being imposed will be even better.

Or something.

Any questions? We're asked. What would be the point?

The rest of the morning was like trying to tread water until it was time to log off.

Thank you, and goodnight.

I waited for Jools to come home, then loaded the car with the camera and me, then drove off through the town and onto the A20 then motorway, for an afternoon of yet more orchid hunting.

Graham had been doing some research, and had a hand drawn map of an area, marked with Late Spiders and Burnt Tips, this I only discovered later, and I guessed that the information it contained was probably three decades out of date.

Anyway, it needs to be checked out as such records have been known to turn up gold.

When I left St Maggies, it was sunny, if breezy, but by the time I reached the car park, cloud had swept over, and there was the hint of rain in the air. Graham and dave put on extra layers, I just had my t shirt, so had better keep moving.

I had a rough sat nav, so we barrelled off down the down, me reminding myself that each step down had to be retraced back up. As it was 120m didn't sound like much, until I turned my knee on a rabbit hole.

The wind increased, and rain started to fall.

"Well, this is just peachy", I remarked.

Where we were expecting to see Ophrys spikes, we found lots of Pyramidals, but no Ophrys.

I did find what I hoped is a hybrid spike, I called the others over, but there was little interest. I snapped it in the gale and hoped one would come out.

On a slope which I guess to be in excess of 45 degrees, f not steeper, we slipped and slid, only finding an old Bee Orchid spike, just on its last legs. Not much to show for two hours.

We climbed back up, taking much longer than going down, then after getting our breath back, we drove down to another possible site, this time at the bottom of the down.

This was a more sketchy location, I had a rough grid reference for it, but again where the spikes were supposed to be, in the middle of hundreds of Pyramidals, there were no orchids at all.

It was now downright cold, and my knee was complaining loudly. I decide to bail, it was half four. Time enough to follow the sat nav across country to Hythe, then along the motorway and along to Dover.

Back at five for a brew, then to Jen's for supper and cards.

Supper was paprika chicken and potatoes. And wine.

Then cards.

And despite having no idea what was going on, Sylv wins.

Oh my.

Beyond belief

Brexit is failing because the Prime Minister, Rishi Sunak, does not believe in Brexit enough.

Apparently.

It seems the right moment to point out that if a policy is good enough, well tought through and managed, it will succeed. If a policy requires belief, then its not really a policy.

Blaming the Prime Minister, Minister or Civil Service for not believeing in Brexit enough is just denying the form of Brexit chosen was going to cause the issues to claimed to be "project fear".

The latest plan (again) is to withdraw from the ECHR to allow for migrants to be sent to Rwanda as the High Court ruled parts of the plan against the law this week. As DAG pointed out again this morning:

"UK cannot withdraw from ECHR without either breaching or re-negotiating Good Friday Agreement

It is an express condition of GFA that ECHR is enforceable in Northern Irish courts

Any call for UK withdrawal that does not address this basic, inescapable point should be discounted" Adding:

"Any re-negotiation of GFA would require agreement with Ireland (and, effectively, USA and the nationalist community) that those in Northern Ireland should be deprived of legal rights they currently hold."

Also put this in the pile with:

"Breixt cannot be a success until Biden is no longer President of the US". Thus ignoring the fact that Trump was in power from January 2017 to January 2021, and there was no stopping a trade deal being negotiated then, that and the fact that Congress has stated on repeated occasions that any act by the UK Government to harm the GFA will mean trade deal between the US and UK would ever be ratified.

Meanwhile, it emerged, that if any migrants are sent to Rwanda, the average cost for this would be £169,000, for that we could train them to be doctors and nurses and help the NHS, but the Government would rather spend public money in pointlessly wasteful manner.

On Question Time this week, the audience of mostly Conservative voters, who in attendance supported the Rwanda policy, none put their hand up, and this result produced a round of applause.

So much for delivering on the "people's priorities".

Finally, Iain Duncan Dim back a report on how to fix the regualtory border in the Irish Sea. No surprise its a rehash of an almost identical report from autumn last year and is a remix of "MaxFac", Maximum Facilitation. Already reject several times by the EU.

But do go on. And on.