Sunday 16th November 2025

Day two of the international break weekend, and the England game was due to take place at five in the afternoon, which is almost bedtime.

How could we fill the day?

Well, by getting up at half six, having coffee, then going to the gym for another cycling session.

That's how.

Seven on a Sunday morning is when we hard core gym rats are pumping iron and lard.

Just a dozen cars in the car park, and maybe half a dozen folks in the gym itself, and the pool empty as its another gala weekend.

I take my position on the bike, and spend forty minutes peddling round Jaipur in India, mixing with traffic on silly narrow roads, going through strange-shaped archways, biking along battlements, or through familiar crowded shopping areas clogged with tuk-tuks.

Then back home for breakfast and a brew. And a shower, before driving out to the alternative centre of commercialism in east Kent: the Ashford Designer Outlet Village.

Urgh.

We needed a frying pan. Our old one is battered and lost its non-stick coating, and buying them online is a bit of Russian roulette as to how good the quality was.

Much better to see it in person, and feel the quality.

I am a quality manager after all.

OK, former quality manager.

We get to Ashford safe and sound, the roads empty until we approach the tented roof, and then there was traffic.

A slow line to enter the centre and then more slow driving to find a parking space.

We have half an hour before parking charges kick in. Can we kick it?

Yes, we can.

So, out of the car, dodging the puddles over to the covered walkway, and to Procook.

Most pans are part of sets, one seems good, a sauté pan.

But the coated one is no good for high heat, stupid. So we buy and uncoated one, and a milk pan.

Eighty quid.

We pay and scarper back to the car, nothing to pay, so we escape onto the ringroad and to the motorway and home.

Lunch was at Jen's, as she is going on a cruise from Miami on Monday along with Jane, Mike's ex, and I am to drive them to the airport in the morning.

We have been invited to dinner with Jen and Jane.

So we go.

Roast chicken, roast potatoes, steamed veggies and gravy.

Does the job, although conversation is stilted.

After what seems the appropriate time after finishing the meal and washing up, we make our excused and leave, with me to return in 14 hours to transport them to deepest Sussex to Gatwick.

Back home at four, and an hour to wait before England kicked off against Albania.

England had already qualified, having won all seven games without conceding a goal.

An edgy game, though England score twice in the second half to make it a clean sweep of eight wins and no goals against.

And that was your Sunday and the weekend.

Its all go.

Saturday 15th November 2025

It is the Saturday of an international weekend in football, and the highlight is Greece v Scotland in the evening.

Before quarter to eight in the evening, the day stretches out before us, and with 70% chance or rain each hour of the day, we planned to go little.

It seems Mother Nature doesn't read the forecast, as the day dawned with clear blue skies and wall to wall sunshine.

I went to the gym before sunrise, did forty minutes cycling along the Gold Cast in Australia, while listening to a comedy podcast.

All but the last ten minutes flow, but I got it done.

Back home for breakfast and some time in the garden, marvelling how in the middle of November there was still so much colour.

I take shots, and potter around, only to find a bank of sea mist had drifted in from the coast, and the rest of the village and world was lost to view.

There was football on the telly from three. I watched Luton v Rotherham, so chose poorly as the game ended in a 0-0 draw and was dull, and lacking in skill.

That was followed by Gillingham, the only league team in Kent, playing Crawley, but that bubbled along nicely and ended up 2-2.

Scotland played both dreadfully and well.

Poor in defence, but created many chances up front, sadly they were 3-0 down shortly after half time. Then pulled one back, the Greek captain was then sent off, Scotland scored another to make it 3-2.

And then the front three conspired to miss a series of golden chances, or when it seemed certain they'd score, the keeper pulled off a worldie save.

Phew.

Friday 14th November 2025

Nurse Edith Cavell was executed by German forces during WWI as she had aided British POWs to escape.

There was great diplomatic efforts to have her death sentence commuted or delayed, but to no avail.

She was shot by eight soldiers, and in time, her body was repatriated, the wagon her body was carried from Dover is the same used for the body of the Unknown Soldier.

The luggage wagon usually rests at Bodiham on the Kent and East Sussex Railway, but for November it has been brought back to the former Dover Marine station.

I got tickets, so after lunch we would visit, not just to see the wagon and pay our respects, but the station is now a cruise terminal, and is rarely open to the public, and it had been a decade or so since my last visit.

I slept late, late enough so that Jools driving off to yoga woke me up at ten past six. Outside rain was bouncing down, and there was the bins to do.

I got up and put them out, dodging the raindrops, and back inside to make a coffee.

With rain expected all day, other than doing to the station after lunch, not much else planned, whilst Jools had her craft and gossip morning at the village library.

Jools came back from yoga as I was finishing my coffee, so I made breakfast giving her an hour before she had to leave again.

I listened to podcasts and watched videos for the morning, not much else to do, really.

Sadly, we had what we thought was the plumber coming to fix the overflow, but instead Craig came to touch up some paint in the toilet.

So Jools stayed home and I drove down to the Western Docks, over the flyover, past the former Lord Warden Hotel, then round to where lines from London entered Dover Marine, forming a large flat crossing in a tangle of lines.

You can still see how the lines used to curve west to join the main line to Folkestone, but is now concreted over, as are the tracks between the platforms, so to create a large flat parking area for cruisers.

I showed my ticket, and walked up through the central arch along what was the path of platforms 2 and three, past the former station buildings and under the footbridge.

At the far end there was the wagon, so I walked up, showed my ticket again, had my name ticked off, and went to look inside.

Inside there is a coffin, a replica of the one that brought the body of the unknown soldier back from France, and on the walls there were information boards on the only three bodies to be brought back from the war.

I exited it, took shots all around it, then walked to the war memorial, which is a splendid thing, and should be more accessible.

And I was done.

I thanked the volunteers and walked out, getting shots of the walkway linking the former hotel with the station and the Admiralty pier before taking shelter from the rain in the car and driving home.

I had been gone all of 40 minutes.

Once back I began to cook dinner/lunch: chicken pie, roast potatoes, steamed leeks, sprouts and spring greens, gravy and shop bought Yorkshire puddings.

It was all done by four, by which time Craig had done two coats of paint and had left.

I poured a beer and a cider, then dished up, the potatoes lovely and crunchy, without being burnt.

I won the music quiz at six, which was nice, then after washing up I settled down to watch Northern Ireland play in Slovakia.

A poor game, ended 1-0 to the home side, but Northern Ireland go to the play-offs anyway.

Thursday 13th November 2025

Being a Thursday, the day begins, after a coffee, with me going to the gym.

I am keen.

I am keen to have normal feet and legs, and losing my belly, so that I dare not miss a session.

I have a long way to go, but now that most of my current clothes are hanging off, its time to search the attic for something slightly, for now, smaller.

Obviously, when I joined the RAF I was a racing snake. Three years previously I had lost lots of weight, then in the year prior to joining I ran at least a mile and a half most days. This was to pass the fitness test, which involved said mile and a half run and completing it in under eleven minutes.

To get into by collection of (music) tour t shirts from the 80s is a (impossible) dream.

Anyway,I cycled round another Spanish hilltop town for forty minutes whilst listening to a podcast until the end, then back home for breakfast and prepare to go out.

Out as it was a glorious sunny day, and we would be visiting two churches inland from Sandwich, one of which, Nonington, I had not visited for a decade.

There was supposed to be a coffee morning there, so the church should have been open.

A short blast up the A2 to Barham, then off past Womenswold and Woolage, and out across the fields to the only coal pit still standing in Kent: Snowdon.

Its ruinous, and the miner's institute has been flattened for housing, of course, but most of the buildings are there, slowly falling to pieces.

And then to Nonington, along the narrow Church Road which leads to the church, and for a change there is a good parking area beside it.

And surrounding the church are chocolate box pretty houses and cottages, so I snap my favourite. Again.

But no other cars.

We walk to the porch, find the door unlocked, so go in, and find no one there. No coffee morning. No cakes.

But I can get shots of the glass and memorials.

One thing missing was the "Two Roads" stone that used to stand at the entrance to the churchyard, a remarkable thing, but now gone, nor could I find it elsewhere.

There was some new glass: the coat of arms for both Sweden and Finland, but no Denmark. These had been hung in front of a plain window using what looked like fishing line.

We leave, and the next stop is at Staple.

A little known village, but with a fine church, St James the Great, and with several mosaics inside, which are well worth seeing.

It was a ten minute drive to Staple over more fields and through beechwoods carpeted in golden leaves just asking to be kicked, and to the church.

Would this be open?

Jools tried the door, but no luck. I went up, and pulled then pushed, and the ancient door swung open.

A new information display had been set up, and on it for the font, it claimed that the font had been especially made in Suffolk for the church.

To me this seemed odd.

The font was no doubt ancient, but to ship such a thing from Suffolk, and how would it be ordered?

It is no doubt East Anglian, and was there when Hasted visited at the end of the 18th century, even if his description was brief.

The glass is splendid, as is the mosaics, so snap them all again.

And we were done.

Last call was to the butcher in Preston. Not far I thought.

We followed the road out to what I thought was Ash, but was in fact Wingham. So, down the main road to Sandwich, turn off at the bottom of the hill, and straight on for Preston.

I am greeted warmly, and tell the boys I have a huge freezer to fill, so buy a beef roasting joint, a large steak for us to share at some point, minted lamb steaks, teriyaki chicken breasts and two not pork pies, but chicken pies. Locally made and raised.

Then back in the car to home, back past Perry Corner and Nash to Ash and then onto the Sandwich bypass to home. Taking it easy, as I'm an old retired bloke these days.

Once back home we have lunch, and then settle down for a relaxing afternoon.

It was cool enough to have the heating on as the sun sank low in the west requiring us to have the table lamp on.

We dined on crispy breaded haddock, Moroccan spiced rice with preserved fruit and the last of the season's steamed corn.

And then there was football to watch. England, already qualified for next year's World Cup, were playing Serbia at Wembley.

It was a poor game, lots of misplaced passes, but England ran out 2-0 winners and the crowd went home happy.

Wednesday 12th November 2025

It's the middle of the week. Again.

And no kitchen to be replaced now.

And no phys to get up for, but we are awake and about before six, drinking coffee and getting ready.

Although, Jools has her fitness class, and an hour later I had a bridge class.

Is it a class or a club?

A club, I guess. But we do learn things each week. Most weeks. Even if this week there was just four of us, playing shuffled hands rather than sorted hands to make us think about what we were doing.

I dropped Jools off in town before eight, then back home to have breakfast and wash up before driving to Kingsdown, through the warren of roads and drives that stretch into the countryside from the coast.

On one crescent, in a house similar to others either side, is where we were to play, starting at half nine.

Bridge is, on the face of it, a simple game. Whist with knobs on, but there are biddings and conventions that can make saying "one spade" mean a dozen or more other things rather than that I have an OK hand with spades as trumps.

Two hours rattles past quickly, and I have to go to Tesco for supplies now that our acres of fridge space is pretty empty.

Tesco is full of Christmas cheer, but I get little of that, instead fill the trolley with fruit and mainly vegetables. Although cheese footballs do find their way in.

Back home to unpack and think about lunch, before the long dark afternoon of the soul begins.

I have a delivery of beer come, so I pack that away in the small fridge in the kitchen, and settle down to listen to a podcast.

Jools had to go to Canterbury for a chiropractor's appointment, so I settled down at home to listen to more podcasts, feed the chats and check Scully then jab her.

No football on the tellybox, so music played into the evening.

However.

The aurora alarm went off, and as we were expecting a CME just after eight, we hightailed it to the cliffs, where its a dark sky area, to wait for the show.

But the show never came. It was quite cloudy too, but we sat for an hour, waiting. Watching the lighthouses flash their codes while the wind buffeted the car.

We drove home at half nine, where there was just time for a wee dram before bedtime.

Here we go again

Norwich sacked their latest manager, Liam Manning, on Saturday evening.

This is the end of the latest "project" that was to restart Norwich's rise up the table.

There are so many projects at Norwich these days, its hard to know whether this is an actual fact new project or just an extension of last years.

The managers appear pretty similar in splaying style, and sadly, results. With Mannin unable to reverse the slide down the table.

Did I say "slide"? It's more like the club fell out of a windown in Moscow.

Sadly, the same management team that sacked Wagner and appointed Johannes Hoff Thorup and then sacked Johannes Hoff Thorup ten months later and replaced him with Laim Manning, who they have just sacked.

I mean Manchester United have been trying to reboot their squad and club for over 13 years now, so at three years maybe Norwich are just getting started?

The real worry is that not only is the team in a downward spiral, but fans feel more divorced from the club than ever before, and with the bebacle regarding the moving of the away section, trust is at an all time low.

The cub accounts show that it lost £20million last year, now that the parachute payments have run out from our last spell in the Premier League.

Can the club break the cycle?

There is little indication that the squad, even when fully fit, is capable of mounting a rise up the table. Home games are supposed to be when you make Carrow Road a fortress, rather than handing out points like candy to trick or treaters.

It is not too strong to suggest that this appoinment, which is rumoured to be close, is the most important in two decades. The right appointment could reset the squad and relations with the fans. Noriwch are four points adrift at the bottom of the table, which isn't much at the one third stage, but when you've only won nine all season, all away from home, its a mountain to climb.

Worse of all is the air of apathy that has now settled over the club and fans.

Winning might help.

Tuesday 11th November 2025

Being a Tuesday, we were up extra early, so I could go to the gym and be back in time for Jools to go for her fitness class.

So up at half five, and time enough for a coffee before going out into a fiery dawn with the eastern horizon aflame with the light of the still yet-to-rise sun.

I drove to Whitfield, amazed to see the boxercise class in full thump, the whole class giving it large.

I walk to the entrance, sign in and walk up to the gym, to take my place on the bike, and decide to peddle round the Grand Canyon.

I listened to a podcast, and time slipped by.

Just after seven, I was done, so take two minutes to get my breath before walking to the car and driving back.

When Jools was gone, I had a shower and changed. Then went to fill the feeders up, as daily now a large charm of goldfinches half empty the sunflower hearts daily.

What a change from Monday when it hoofed it down all day, Tuesday was sunny and nearly warm.

Then it was the big and thankful task of putting the kitchen stuff back into the new cupboards and slidy thing.

By lunchtime, it was all done, though probably not in their final places, but stuff can be moved. We have plenty of room still, so all is good. We have quadruple the fridge space, and yet both are nearly empty as we work our way through the stuff leftover from the weekend.

In the afternoon went round to chat football with Bev and Steve, then brought them round to see the kitchen, as they had put up with the noise in very good humour.

Jools went to pick up Jen so she could see the kitchen, and to come round for dinner of chorizo hash and share a bottle of XV with me.

I get down to peeling, chopping and cooking before frying the potatoes and dishing up.

Odd that the amount is what Jools and I share, and yet was enough for three.

We toast each other, and tuck in.

No football in the evening, so I write, read and listen to a podcast.

Cheers.