Friday 21st November 2025

My last few hours of being home alone, and again I have to get up to test, jab and feed Scully then feed the rest of the cats.

I woke at ten to five, and found no enthusiasm to get out of bed.

I go to the bathroom, then go back to bed, much to Mulder's displeasure as he comes to sit on my chest and meow. Loudly.

At quarter to six, I get up, and walk downstairs, only for the house to be rocked by a huge clap of thunder.

Or as it turned out, claps of thunder.

And for the next half hour, the storm crashed, banged and flashed. Huge sheets of sleep and hail fell, turning the garden white for a few minutes until it melted.

I had to put the rest of the bins out, so put on my jumper and went out, the slope of the drive was like the runway of a ski jump.

But I completed the task without falling over. I fill the birdseeds up and retire inside where I turn the thermostat up another few notches.

Rain continued most of the morning, the cats decided that they would stay in and sleep, and I would find tasks to do, or as it turned out, lollygagged the morning away through breakfast and an early lunch of jam and crisp sandwiches.

I try to clean up the evidence of the raves and parties I had while Jools was away, then wait for the call from her to let me know she had left St Pancras.

The call came just after one, she would arrive at Martin Mill at 14:22, so I had one last brew and sat with Scully as I found something dreadful to watch on one of the minor TV channels.

Martin Mill is just down the hill, across the Deal road, then more down until you enter the Martin Mill hamlet/village. The station is straight on, so I drive into the car park to wait.

Jools was the only person who got off, and comes into view laden with beads and yarn fresh from the craft show. She climbed in and we drive back home.

We have a brew and some fancy Swiss chocolates. I had already peeled and diced the potatoes for chorizo hash, so after peeling the vegetables and chorizo, it would take about half an hour to cook and combine.

We ate at five, I used the new pan bought last weekend, and it did a fine job, though would be a bugger to clean as I didn't oil the sides.

Silly boy.

We eat, we drink.

It was the weekend.

I was very tired, as was Jools, so she headed to bed at half eight. I tried to watch the Preston v Blackburn game, but chilled to the bone, I gave up at half time and also went to bed.

Boris fiddled

Leaked documents show that Boris Johnson took seven days off during February 2020, just as the seriousness of the outbreak in Italy became clear.

I know, I wrote about it.

The Guardian articles says:

"The files suggest that Johnson did not conduct any official government business on 15, 16, 17 and 21 February. Instead, he appears to have spent time walking his jack russell dog, Dilyn, in Chevening’s 1,416 hectare (3,500 acre) grounds, riding a motorbike given to him by his now wife, Carrie, and hosting friends and family for lunches, dinners and overnight stays.

Entries in the logs for 14 to 24 February make no reference to Johnson working on the Covid response, although he said he had discussed the virus on scheduled calls with other world leaders."

"The files indicate that Johnson carried out just two full days of work during his Chevening break, on 19 and 20 February. He held a 20 minute call with US president Donald Trump on 20 February, during which he said the virus and its origins were discussed. The logs say this was followed by a three-hour dinner with Henry Newman, Simone Finn and Josh Grimstone, former government officials understood to be close friends of his wife.

On 18 February, Johnson worked for just 40 minutes, joining a call with Chinese president Xi Jinping, the documents suggest. Johnson told the inquiry that one purpose of the call was to “compare notes” on Covid."

Johnson repsponded in his Daily Mail column that negative comments in the inquiry of a "lost month" and a "toxic atmosphere" in his Government were untrue.

Rumours were at the time he took the two weeks off to complete a biography of William Shakespeare that he had signed a deal to produce, and had he failed to produce a draft, he would have been in trouble over the advance paid.

It is worth noting that the book has not been published nearly six years later.

Worse for Johnson is that he stated on oath earlier in the inquiry of work regarding COVID he did during this break. Official documents and evidence do not support this.

I mean who would have thought that the serial liar, Alexander oris De iffel Johnson would lie on oath?

And again, his Party, friends and colleagues knew the sort of person he was, and yet elected him leader of their Party and in time became PM. They were not to know a global pandemic was round the corner, but if you elect a clown, the Government is turned into a circus.

Thursday 20th November 2025

I am home alone until Friday afternoon, and so far, I have not burned the house down.

But what it does me, I am on Scully duty first thing, before feeding the other cats and making coffee.

So, up at half five, dressed and downstairs to test Scully, inject her with insulin, feed her, before feeding the other three hungry cats.

I make a coffee and check on the world, before I am off to the gym at dawn.

I go at dawn as the gym is fairly empty, and means there is no excuse as there would be had I left it to later.

It was the second frost of the week, harsher than Tuesday, and me in my shorts feel it especially sharp as I scamper across the car park to the entrance.

I check in and go upstairs, then to my bike of choice, select The Sound of Football podcast to listen to, and then to ride round Lisbon for forty minutes.

Time passes and I am done, so downstairs, double-checking I have my phone, wallet and earphones with me, as in the last month I have left at least one of them behind.

The other reason for being so early is that the roads are not jammed on the way back, about ten past seven. Half an hour later and the A2 would be jammed to Whitfield.

Or would have been.

But there are roadworks on Castle Hill beside the Duke of Yorks school, and the lights meant the queue backed up, so I drove along the Sandwich Road before turning off at Waldershare and heading out cross-country to West and then East Langdon and onto the Deal Road and home.

It was a fine and sunny day. But bitterly cold.

I filled the feeders, then went inside for breakfast before thinking about cutting the old Goldenrod stalks beside the drive.

I think about it until its close to lunch, so have the other two rolls and a brew, before tightening my belt and pulling up my trousers and going outside with the secateurs.

Half an hour later and the job done, all clippings in the brown bin, and the bin left at the top of the drive for collection in the morning.

But out of the shade of the house, the wind cut though me like knife through butter, so went inside to sit beside Scully and binge watch Gone Fishing all afternoon.

Darkness fell early, and the wind continued to blow.

I warmed up some ragu, cooked the rest of the pasta, so after testing, jabbing and feeding Scully at half five, I ate like an Italian King. Or peasant.

And drank a bottle of Fuller's Vintage Ale, which was superb.

Jools called in the evening, she's had a fine time without me, but will be home Friday afternoon.

I watch Peterborough beat table-topping Stockport before heading to bed after a wee glass of whiskey.

That's grand.

Wednesday 19th November 2025

So, the churchcrawling group is going well. We have done four visits, and most of the group are enthused and amazed at the history and wonders on their doorsteps.

So, the 5th visit is next week, but one of the group will be away visiting her family, and for the final visit of the year: so would I take her to the two churches before she left?

I would.

And Wednesday was the day.

I backed out of bridge, so the morning was clear. Jools just had to get to the station before quarter to ten after her Qigong class.

But, she said, the station was just a five minute walk away from the Riverside Centre, so didn't need a lift.

Just dropping into town before eight.

Which I did.

And already the wind was blowing and the rain falling. But Mother Nature had barely got started.

Back home via Tesco where I bought some carrots, celery, bread amongst other things, then back home by half eight for breakfast before going to Walmer to pick Carol up.

By then the sun had given up on the day, thick clouds hung just above the tree tops, wind blew, and sheets of rain fell.

You can never book the weather when arranging meetings or trips, so today proved again.

She climbed in, and I drove through Deal, out over the railway line to Worth before doubling back along the Sandwich Road to Whitfiled, then along to Waldershare.

All Saints is a small estate church, a 17th century Chancel with 18th century side chapes and a 19th century Nave.

Despite being just a mile from Jen's, its situated down a lane, and only the brown "historical church" sign pointing down it to show there is anything worth seeing.

As it is, as you pass the old stable block, it feels like you're trespassing, but the lych gate is in front with a small muddy are for parking in front.

The triple gable end appears through the bushes, so we walk up, past the sad grave of a 14 year old miner who died in Tillmanstone at the beginning of the 20th century, and to the porch where the door swung open.

The church is cold and austere, but to the east the Chancel is tiled richly and glistened once I found the light switch.

But then there are the chapels.

To the north, a 17th century tomb with a couple carved in marble holding hands for eternity above.

"It contains the tomb of Susan Bertie. The same tomb also commemorates Montague, Earl of Lindsey, who was loyal to Charles I, and is noted as 'having attended his sacred Majestic to his grave and giving him a Christian burial at Windsor after his barbarous and horrid murder"

To the north, a memorial so large that the chapel must have been built around it.

Four life sized statues of young ladies, each in mourning, and above two more layers each with winged cherubs. There's another layer above that, with an urn, but that is so close to the ceiling.

"The north chapel was built in 1712 to accommodate the monument to Sir Henry Furness who built the present mansion house in the park. This monument only just fits into its chapel and rises in stages like a wedding cake, with four life-sized broken-hearted ladies at the base for starters. As a conversation piece it is unrivalled in a country church."

They make a remarkable pair.

Back outside, the rain had stopped so we could explore the churchyard a bit. I pointed the family vault of the former owners of Waldershare Park, but with more clouds gathering, we made our back to the car.

Two villages along the Sandwich Road is Eastry, the road now bypasses it, just as well as its narrow streets and five way junction are not 21st century friendly. Not really 20th century friendly either.

We drive into the village, up Church Lane and find a place to park, but the rain had begun again.

As we walk to the west door under the tower, I point out some things of interest, but the rain made us dash for cover.

Inside the tower, in through the inner door and down some steps into the Nave, and in front over the rebuilt Chancel Arch is the famous wall painting: 35 round paintings in medallions, the lily representing the Virgin Mother.

There is a perpetual calendar on one of the south columns of the Nave, and much more beside.

I speak with a warden and agree on a visit with the larger group in three weeks time.

Outside the rain is hammering down, and day had been turned to twilight.

For safety, I took the Sandwich road back to Dover, then along the Deal Road, but some new roadworks had been put up in the 90 minutes since I drove up, clearing blocked drains, so that we were held up for twenty minutes.

It was now almost dark, at midday, amazing really.

We get through the roadworks and into Walmer, so I drop her off at her front door, then to avoid the roadworks, I go back out through Deal to nearly Sandwich before doubling back to Dover again.

The rain had eased, and traffic was going slow, but I thought it now safe to drive at seventy, so made good time as it was half past lunchtime.

I reversed the car down the drive, opened the back door, then had to test Scully, give her some more food before thinking of my own needs.

I butter two seeded rolls and spread Ardennes Pate on them, then spread the contents of a packet of cheese and onion crisps to make a lunch fit for a Bishop.

I have a huge brew too, then go to listen to a podcast while I eat.

Too cold and wet to go out, so I sit on the sofa and watch two episodes of Gone Fishing with Scully, while in the kitchen a huge pot of ragu I made bubbles away for four hours and would be my dinner.

Or two spoonful's of it would.

I cook some pasta, ladle the ragu on it, mix well, add pepper and grated Pecorino, open a beer and tuck in.

Delicious.

And with no football to watch, I listen to podcasts before heading to bed at half nine, as I had to be up early in the morning.

COVID inquiry latest

The statutory inquiry has been quietly going through evidence,but today there were some exposive revalations:

That the Matt Hancock knew that Sunak's "eat out to help out" scheme was causing spikes in infection rates in "intervention areas", but news of this was kept secret so not to spoil the economic benefit.

Here's what I wrotejust two days before that text message exchange:

"We live on the edge of a small village, we don't go to pubs much, only three times since the lockdown started. We haven't eaten out, except for a sausage butty that one time. We go to Tesco once a week to do our shopping, and apart from going to Jen's every now and again, we mix with no one.

And I suppose that's how I thought the rest of the country was.

How wrong I was.

For the past three days I have been staying in Southampton. Southampton is a city, not huge, but a typical, provincial English city. And it was like Mardi Gras in Nawlins.

On Tuesday night we ventured to a small Italian place, so saw little other than those on the main street, seemed quite sensible, apart from the drunks who were shouting and singing until dawn.

Wednesday, was very different.

As I wrote in my blogs, the Government is subsidising eating out to a max of £10 a head, to encourage folks to get out and support businesses. So far, so good.

For two hours I tried to book something online and on the phone: nothing free.

So we went out walking, to the West Quay shopping centre, where I had seen many large eateries and chains; there must be some tables free there?

No.

Everywhere was packed, needing an hour's wait, if they would let you. Most were booked all night.

Some had gaps between tables, many seemed not to.

Most shocking was Wetherspoons. It was rammed. People lining up to get in, no social distancing, people singing, shouting, like there wasn't a pandemic on.

If this is normal in cities and towns up and down the country, and with enhanced lockdowns in many places, and another threatened in Birmingham, there is little hope of keeping the virus under control.

We had no choice but to travel on the ferry to the Island. Going over there was hardly anyone on board, but coming back, it was full. People from different groups were sitting at same tables and benches. Children were running around, banging into strangers, like their parents didn't care.

I am home now, but will isolate at least for a week here, and not go to Jen's for two weeks, just in case.

The week was a real eye-opener, but not in a good way. Sadly.

Stay safe, people"

In addition, had the first lockdown been introduced a week earlier, like in Ireland, 23,000 lives could have been avoided.

And that had social distancing introduced earlier, the need for a lockdown at all could have been avoided.

It was obvious at the time. I wrote much of this in posts in this blog, and even challenged Johnson's refusal to hold a Lessons Learned exercise in the summer of 2020 so to ensure mistakes would not be repeated.

But I'm just a managment systems auditor, what do I know about lessons learned.

Tuesday 18th November 2025

Some teams are doomed to be always the bridesmaid and not the bride.

A series of epic failures dot their history, so near and yet so far from the big summer party of the World Cup.

Tuesday evening, Scotland were to play Denmark with a winner takes all prize of automatic qualification for next year's World Cup in the Americas and the loser would go into the play-offs.

A draw would be good enough for Denmark to top the group, but Scotland had to win.

In the winter of 2001 I was in Scotland with the RAF, and Scotland were in the play-offs, this time against the Netherlands. And won the first home leg 1-0.

We joined the locals at the Beach Bar in Elgin on the Tuesday night to watch the second leg.

Three days of hope was dashed in 90 minutes, with the Dutch running out 6-0 winners. By the time the forth went in, we were the only ones left in the bar.

Laughing and drinking.

Twenty four years had passed since then, and still no qualification for Scotland.

But, to Tuesday: and starting with a very early morning, up at half five for coffee and out to the gym at five past six, getting there in ten minutes for another workout. This time cycling in Utah in the spring, so there was some green, and listening to A Word in Your Ear as I pedalled.

Back home for seven fifteen, so Jools could use the car for her keep fit. Only she wasn't going, so the early start was for nothing.

But it was a glorious day. And a fine day for a haircut.

I am usually fine for three or four weeks, then one morning its though I wake up with a fur hat on.

Time for a trim.

So into town to the new place. There no queue. Heck, there's hardly anyone else and it was nearly ten in the morning.

I had a haircut, shave, eyebrows, ears waxed and a massage. Took nearly an hour and cost just twenty five quid.

Outside the cold icy wind found my shaved face now that the whiskers were gone.

Brrr.

Back home for breakfast and a brew, then a shower and a change of clothes.

I felt good.

Not quite a million dollars, but enough money to buy a compact car, perhaps.

Until the Retinal migraine hit.

I hadn't slept well, but even then, the suddenness and surprise was shocking.

And it was a bad one, I sat with my eyes closed for twenty minutes, then another two hours to recover.

Jools made a brew and we had some fancy chocolates, and I felt better.

By then it was dark, and time to cook.

So I boiled potatoes, then dipped them in oil and roasted them for eighty minutes until crisp and golden. Pies were cooked, and vegetables steamed.

We ate at four, before the cats for a change, and was very filling and warming on a now winter's evening.

And then the football.

The magic of football, or many sports, is the sharing or emotions, both good and bad with ten, a hundred, a thousand or hundred thousand others. And that moment of extasy when it all comes good in the end.

But, if you're a Norwich or Scotland fan, that rarely happens. Which means when it does, its all the more sweeter.

As on Saturday, Scotland were both wonderful and dreadful. Scott McTominay scored an overhead bicycle kick in the 3rd minute to take the lead.

An amazing goal, but probably not the best goal of the night.

Denmark drew level with a hash penalty. Then Scotland took the lead with a tap in from a corner with just seven minutes to go.

The game had turned a few minutes earlier when a Dane was sent off for a second yellow card, because up to then it was all Denmark and Scotland were defending so deep.

Four minutes later, Scotland failed to clear their lines and so it was 2-2.

So far, so Denmark.

The Danes, down to ten men, were timewasting, faking injuries, cramp, whatever. Which would come to damn them.

Scotland were never going to score. And then they did.

Denmark cleared a cross, and it fell to Kieran Tierney, who hit it on the volley and it curled into the far corner.

Cue mad scenes.

Ninety two minutes gone, four to go, but the goal and celebrations meant it was closer to ten.

Denmark piled forward, crossing, shooting, but not quite good enough. The keeper went up for a corner.

No luck.

One last push and the attack broke down, Scotland broke with the ball at the feed of substitute midfielder and Norwich City captain, who looked up, saw the keeper off his line, and lobbed him.

From inside his own half.

I saw David Beckham do that at Palace thirty years ago, but Kenny McLean, the Mayor of Norwich?

The ball cleared Kasper Schmeichel as he ran and jumped to try to stop the shot, but the ball curved into the corner, making it 4-2.

It was the last kick of the game, players ran onto the pitch to jump on Kenny, fans inside the stadium and around Scotland went wild.

Twenty eight years waiting was worth it for that moment.

It even brought a tear to my eyes.

Scotland are going to The Show next summer.

Monday 17th November 2025

Six months back, Jen asked if I would take her and Jane to Gatwick Airport for their flight to Miami.

It seemed and was months ahead.

But the time had come.

In terms of which airport was easier to get to, Gatwick comes out top for us in East Kent, at least by car.

By train I think its London City, but now with Thameslink and Crossrail, Gatwick, Heathrow, Luton and Stanstead are just as easy really.

But Jen wanted a lift.

So, what time is your flight and what time do you want to arrive?

Flight at two, and be there for ten, Jane said.

OK, I'll get you there for ten.

Might be too early, I thought, to drop off your bags, especially with a low cost airline. But ten it was.

So, I will pick you up at eight, and hour and eighteen minute drive to Gatwick allowing for two hours.

As it was, I was up early, had coffee and dressed by quarter past seven, so set off for Jen's to load the car and see when we could get off.

They were ready, but some last minute tasks to do, like close all the windows, with one jammed.

It took 50% the strength of one RAF Armourer to get it closed and locked.

Cases jammed into the car with enough space on the back seat for Jane, and Jen in the front.

Have you got your passports?

I checked them four times already, says Jen.

Off we go.

There really is just one way to Gatwick: up the A20/M20, onto the M26 then M25 and ten miles down the M23.

It all depended on traffic.

Traffic was a bid mad in Whitfield, getting onto the roundabout before going down the Hill and out along the Alkham Valley, but that was as bad as it got.

We turned onto the A20, onto the motorway the other side of the tunnel, and up to Ashford, Maidstone and then west along the M26.

A glorious morning, sunshine too bright if I were to be critical, shining in the side mirrors or rear view mirror.

But we made such good time I slowed down to sixty.

Not much traffic in Kent, and even on the M25, there was light traffic, so we stopped at Clackett Lane for breakfast and a coffee.

We had ninety minutes to make the ten o'clock target.

The last leg, then.

Along a few miles, then turn south onto the M23 to Brighton, but even then traffic was light.

Amazing.

I dropped them off at twenty to ten, just going to the drop off cost £7, but what can you do.

I got out their cases, hugged Jen, and I was off.

Not as manic as Heathrow, but then where is. Back onto the motorway heading north before turning to Kent at the junction with the M25.

I cruise at sixty, enjoying the light traffic and glorious weather.

Back in Dover, I go to Tesco in Whitfield for supplies and lunch, then back home for half eleven and lunch of sushi with Jools. Even sushi in Tesco is expensive, £9.50 each for two fishy selections.

Maybe that's a tad too much for a light lunch at home?

The spring bulbs that Jools planted two weeks back are already sprouting in their pots, so I take a shot.

I got some stuff for dinner: crunchy breaded haddock and a pack of grains with some of the last fresh corn, and after a lazy afternoon I cooked dinner so that it was ready for five.

We wash up and tidy things away, not much to go other than maybe watch the Wales game on TV.

Then the phone rang.

We had arranged to meet Mike and Helen in town for dinner, and they were wondering where we were, as they'd been there ten minutes.

We were honest: we forgot.

And we would be there ASAP.

We rushed into town, at least parking was free, then rush across Market Square to the restaurant.

You haven't eaten already, have you, asked Mike.

Oh no, we lied.

A white lie.

I chose the two smallest starter an main course: insalata Caprese followed by Margherita pizza. I hoped the pizza would be Neapolitan thin crust.

It was.

So, we ate, talked and drank for a couple of hours, we not as full as we thought we would be. But still full little Hobitses.

Jools drove us home, I had a wee dram whilst one of my shots on Flickr approached and passed one million views.