Thursday 27th May 2010

Thursday; not quite Friday, but better than Wednesday and certainly twice as good as bloody Tuesday. Although is it is dull, grey and drizzling. And as I look outside the office window over the slate grey English Channel, 50 little ships are re-creating the most extraordinary event of the second world war; the Dunkirk Evacuations. A Navy Frigate waits on the horizon to escort them over to France , and a gaggle of TV news crews are on the harbour wall watching them go.



Last night Jools and I spent the evening in Ramsgate, taking in the atmosphere as hundreds of people milled around taking in the scene as veteran ships of the evacuation lay in the harbour, 40s music blaring out, and some people strolled around in period uniforms, whilst taking pictures with modern cameras. I left work at four, and half an hour later a lone Hurricane fighter flew overhead in large, lazy circles, its engine having that distinctive drone. Most people were unaware that it was coming, but a BBC cameraman had given me the tip off as I watched him film a link by an anchorman on the other side of the harbour. Over the other side of the harbour, dozens of preserved military vehicles lined up, and pretended to set up field kitchens or put of fires with stirrup pumps.



The little ships were all bedecked with bunting and flags, and these struggled in the stiff breeze, a breeze that threatened the mass sailing at seven this morning. Crew drank beers, and sang along to “Hang out the Washing of the Siegfried Line” at the top of their voices.

At seven, we had had enough and we headed home; I stopped off at a curry house in Deal on the way back and picked up Korma for Jools and a Madras for me; the Madras was almost as hot as a Vindaloo, and I think I may still be suffering from that all day today.



I did have a sense of humour failure with work yesterday, after six weeks of my mails being ignored, I sent out a mail to everyone I could think of in the country, that unless people under them did start answering my questions, I could not do my work. It may change things, but probably won’t, but it did make me feel better.



At least it’s a bank holiday this weekend, not that we have much planned, but three days of doing as we please will be nice, and maybe sitting in the garden if the weather allows.

Back to work, methinks.

Tuesday 25th May 2010

Tuesday; there’s something about Tuesdays I think. Not quite Monday but certainly not Friday. And, as usual, I am waiting for people to reply to mails, something which I do quite a lot. Pressure comes from my boss about recovering costs, but I can only do that if I get information. My new task is the try to change the company operates in regard to following work instructions, as people seem to want to apply these as and when they see fit, and mistakes happen, and nothing seems to change. So, we’ll see how this tilt at windmills will turn out.

At least summer has gone away and spring returned; the weekend was so hot, with Monday even worse; no air and so, so hot. And having to be at work. I drove home last night with the windows wide open, with the warm dusty air flowing through. It really did feel like the first day of summer. That is until the weather changed in the evening and the fog drifted in, and then it cooled down.

The day did begin with me chasing a stunned mouse through the living room after both cats had had their fun with it; I like to think that it will survive, but I'm not sure. I rescued it from the paws of Little Girl and put it in the hedge out the front of the house. Soon there will be a pile of mice corpses there, as that is where I put all mice I rescue.

I am tempted to head off home early due to a lack of work; my boss, as I said, is expecting me to magic some money from our suppliers and contractors for mistakes, but without knowing the actual costs I can’t do that at all. So, I review other cases, check information to see if I forgot something. Not really earth shattering stuff is it?

The computer system did crash this morning, and I went into Ramsgate to do a couple of chores, and mix with the ‘real’ people, always a fun experience; at least there wasn’t the shouting, swearing chavs of last time, but there is a right mix and no mistake. There are lots of old military types, as this weekend is the 70th anniversary of the Dunkirk evacuation; Operation Dynamo, and another flotilla of little ships will depart Ramsgate on Thursday morning. I think that calls for an early start with my cameras.

Anyway, back to work………

Sunday 23rd May 2010

And today would have been my Dad's 71st birthday. It's another date that could result in being maudlin, but one that affirms my belief that life goes on.

And so to bring you up to date, Friday morning dawned bright and clear, sadly, I had to go to work, but driving through the streets of Dunkirk, sorry Dunkerque, past the beautiful marina, the railway station and then on to the quay, or mole, where we were working.

As it happens, Friday was a very auspicious day, as the 100th and final tower for the wind farm was put together, and was the cause for much celebration, and we all went out to watch the huge crane lift the top tower section and lower it onto the lower one. The supervisor of the site was allowed to drive the crane, and we all took pictures and applauded as no one got injured.

I had to leave at three, and bid my farewells and set off back down the coast to the tunnel and before that, the land of cheap wine and cheap stinky cheese emporiums. I zoomed down the autoroute, and went into the supermarket, rushed round picked up sa selection of cheeses, some smoked sausage. And then off to the wine warehouse and I picked up nine bottles of burgandy and a box of rose and then down the autoroute agaon, and off into the waiting area for the tunnel.

I waited and then time was called and we all piled into our cars and drove to the border control for France; they waved us through, as usual. And then waited as the British customs checked the details of everyone's passport. And then I was called into the customs and excise area.

I don't think I'm that interesting, but after I answered the questions, why did you go to France, is this a business or pleasure trip? And my answers got him more interested; not that I was suspicious, but he liked, wanted to talk about wind turbines. And then camera, and then onto the white cliffs. And I missed my train. I only had to wait half an hour for the next one, and in all honesty it wasn't that bad.
We were allowed to drive on, and I got out the Mark Kermode book and finished it before we set out for England.

20 minutes or so after driving off the train in England, I was pulling up outside our house, in bright spring sunshine, with a car full of good wine, stinky cheese and fresh bread.
And so, once Jools was back, we went outside with plates laden with bread and cheese and glasses of wine, and sat in the shade of the tree down the bottom of the garden.

Saturday dawned dull and misty; seems like the sea and endless sunshine didn't mix and so created fog. All of east Kent was shrouded in cloud and mist. I had to take the hire car back, and then the day was ours. We went to Preston to go to the butcher we like, and we visited another country church, St Mildred's, and afterwards we went to a garden centre and bought some shrubs and a couple of hot chilli plants.

Back home we had the rest of the bread and more stinky cheese, which was nice, and in the afternoon I opened the first bottle of the home brew we made a few weeks ago, and it was good. The climax of the football season reached another of it's climaxes, with the Championship play off final and later on the Champions League final. Inbetween, I cooked steak for dinner, all in all, not a bad day.



And Sunday was glorious. Wall to wall glorious in fact. Blue skies, sunshine, no wind, just a gentle breeze and a Flickrmeet to go to down by the sea at Samphire Hoe. We first went to the cliff edge just a mile from our house to look over to France and along the coast up to Ramsgate. Above us a falcon hovered hunting some prey, and just in the right place for me to snap.
And then on to the meet.



In short, there isn't that much to snap, or maybe there is but as we go there so often, but we walked along with those who had come along, showing them some interesting plants and pointing out where the Dover Colliery used to stand.

Someone mentioned a fine garden nearby, and so we decided to head to Sandling Park where there was the promise of rhododendrons all a riot of colour.



We headed off in the car, not sure of where the Park was, but it was signposted, and we pulled into the car park, in the shadow of a minor country house. We paid our entrance fee and walked through the archway in the garden wall; and then our retinas were burned by the rhododendrons. Each one had colours more vibrant than the previous, it was glorious, and all under a azure blue sky. I snapped away, and we wandered through the bushes and then onto the woods, with each stage a variety of plants.



On the way out we had a cup of tea and a nice little scone with jam and cream, it was all very nice.

Friday 21st May 2010

Well, here we are all Frenched up here in France .

It is Friday morning and my time here is short before I begin the short trip home. I have done work since I have been here, which is just as well, as the trip has cost the company some money.

Jools dropped me off on the edge of the white cliffs Wednesday morning on her way to work, I had an hour to kill before the car hire place opened and I could then go and do six or so hours work before heading off to the Channel Tunnel and France.

It was a glorious morning, not a breath of wind and endless sunshine. Ferries shimmered in the distance as they plied their way to and fro, and a large cruise ship made ready to steam to warmer waters, from the dock where I should have been working by now as a baggage handler. But instead I am doing what I do, still not quite sure what it is I do, but I am doing it.



I walked down the steep path into Dover , walking under the main road and into the narrow street that nestles between the A20 and the bottom of the cliffs. And then onto the promenade and wandered slowly along, snapping as I went. The car hire place was open when I got there, and after filling in forms I was allowed the car and then head back home to pick up my bags and on to work.

And work, work, work, and then at half two, time to head down to Folkestone and get on a shuttle for France . It is just half an hours drive, and the system recognised me and I went straight into the terminal after confirming details, with just enough time to grab a coffee before it was time to get on the train and settle down for the journey.

And although travelling the 23 miles between Folkestone and Calais under the seabed is a modern miracle, it is amazingly bland and efficient. You just sit there and the train eases away, accelerates and goes in the tunnel; twenty five minutes of darkness outside, and then in the sunshine of France ; into the station, the doors open and you drive off onto the motorway. Simple. As. That.

I drove up the motorway towards Dunkerque, not in a hurry, just making sure I did not make a mistake. I panicked, thinking I should have taken an earlier exit, but held firm that I head to the centre. I only had a downloaded map to the hotel, and hoped that it would all become clear when I headed into the town.
And, it did. The names of the roads matched the map, we crossed over a river, I turned right, up a wide road, turned left and there was the town square,, and on the other side the hotel. I parked on the street, got my bags and walked in, the reservation was there, I got my key and went upto my room, and arranged to meet my boss for dinner by phone, and that was it. Simples.



We met in the lobby and went into the hotel’s restaurant; it wasn’t bad, just unspectacular, the food choice very limited, and mainly fish based, I had crusty something, which turned out to be cheese on toast, or something like it as a starter, and chicken supreme for main. Inside the restaurant, it was all hushed tones, and all very, well, dull, I guess. I was glad when it ended and I went up to my room.

Thursday was a long day, meetings and talking about procedures, and there is the promise of more today. It’s work, and I am here in France with the chance to go and buy stinky cheese, crusty bread and lovely red wine on the way home, which is always nice.



At lunchtime we went to a large shopping centre to an Italian based chain. It wasn’t bad, I had calzone filled with cheese and veggies. And then back to work and a tour around the site, which is now winding down as we come to the end of the project. The size of these turbines is immense, and at times just shocking, and huge cranes to lift the two tower sections on top of each other, and then they stand nearly 100 metres high, in tow rows. As I type this they are getting ready the 100th and final tower for assembly, a huge achievement, and which has been done efficiently and with the minimum of fuss. Everyone seems so happy and even tempered, although I was assured this was not always the case when they were working at 300mph.



At the end of the day I headed back to the hotel, only to find myself beside the marina and maritime museum. I find a place to park and wander around in the warm sunshine, snapping away and ships and buildings and bridges. There were bars open, but I thought it too early for a beer, and so once I snapped everything, I headed back to the hotel, which I found no problem, and relaxed for a couple of hours. The news washed over me, and when the ‘nice’ news on the One Show began, that was my cue to get out and do something.



I didn’t think I was hungry, but now was, and so I went on a hunt to find a place to eat. I had spied a bar just up the road, on the outside there was a menu promising lots of simple stuff like chicken and steak. I went in and ordered a beer; the owner could speak no English, I could speak little French; he left me to my drinking, which was fine. I had another, and began to feel my head spin. Looking out into the street, I saw a small creparie opposite, and they had a menu outside too. I drank up and walked over, it seemed to be open, but not busy. I went in, and asked in fractured French;

“Open?”

“Yes”

“Eat”

“Yes”

“OK”

“Sit down”

It was decided I should have a small carafe of red wine and pepper steak; the wine came and I sat at the table in the window and watched the world go by and into the bar I just left. Friends met, kissed, ordered drinks and stood out in the evening sunshine smoking and making small talk. The steak came, not before I drank all my wine, so I ordered another as the meal came. It was good, or at least better than I would have had in the hotel, with the thought of facing chicken supreme giving me a shudder.



After coffee, I walk back to the hotel in the gathering gloom of dusk, and back to my room to fall asleep.

Monday 17th May 2010 (part 2)

Inbetween Borough Market and our target lay New London Bridge, the Monument and then the network of mediaeval streets that mark where the City of London begins. Marking the beginning of London Bridge is a huge glass building, called simply No 1 London Bridge, it is a wonderful ix of angles, glass and reflected reflections, and is a photographers delight. I have photographed it on a number of occasions before, but snapped it again as the light was a little different.



We barely glanced at the view to Tower Bridge and as the river snaked eastwards towards the sea, and had our eyes fixed on the cluster of office buildings that marked out the City.
Being a Saturday, the City is just about all closed, even big supermarkets don't bother opening on Saturday, and so walking past huge branches of Marks and Spencer on a Saturday morning, and them being shut tight is odd.
We pass by the Monument, a column built to mark the place where the Great Fire of London is rumoured to have begun in 1666, I stop to snap it and to listen to the bells of the church just below it, St Magnus the Martyr ringing away, sounding for all the world like St Pauls.



Up, then, a side alley and we find ourselves approaching Leadenhall Market, a Victorian covered market, now fancy shops and street cafes cluster under it's wrought iron arches. Like the rest of the City, it is closed, but that is fine for photography, the only thing spoiling it are a few parked cars.



On through the market, and towering above us is the modernity that is the Lloyds Building; finished in 1986, it has all it's pipework and gubbins on the outside, and is finished in what looks like burnished steel, and still looks decades ahead of its time. I have snapped it from all angles, even inside, so I get the usual regulation shots and we walk on, up the alley between it and the next door Willis Building, a graceful curve in the latter making a huge mirror in which Lloyds is reflected.



And over the road up another narrow street, St Mary Axe, to number 30, but there is no need to know it's address, as the Gherkin, or the Baltin Exchange towers above most buildings, and is unmistakeable in it's shape.



With my wide angle lens I get close in and snap, snap away, through it's triangular arches, and up it's graceful lines so that the sky is reflected in it's spiralling triangular windows. It is wonderful, truly.

A coffee shop is open opposite, so we go in for a cup and to pause before deciding where to go next.
We decide soething in the direction of St Pauls and then onto the West End and Soho beyond; it looks a long way on the map, but it's not really. Like we found in Paris, cities are not as big as you think, and so we set out passing tall office blocks, the Royal Exchange, the Bank of England, St Pauls, Fleet Street, the Royal Courts of Justice.



Phew! We stop for a drink in the pub opposite the High Court, I have a pint of mild, which is not too alcoholic; hence the name. And we decide we're getting tired and maybe tramping the streets is tiring, and maybe we've had enough. Looking at the Tube map, and trying to work out which lines are still working at weekends, I decide our best option is to head to Covent Garden and then on the Tube to St Pancras and our 21st century train home to Kent.

But Covent Garden is not a place to just pass through, especially not on a spring lunchtime, with street performers out in force, and huge crowds trying to find a place to eat of just taking in the sights. Outside pubs, crowds of Portsmouth fans get ready for the cup final by trying to make as much beer as possible disappear, and singing, loudly, and gernerally having fun, whilst a couple try to be meanacing. And a lone policeman tries to ask them to 'keep it down.'

I snap a few street scenes, performers and tourists before we reach the tube and are squeezed into lifts and under the streets we go. Onto the platform and a train arrives and whisks us to the Euston Road and St Pancras.

We wait half an hour until the train arrives and then sink into the chairs and wait for us to fly through dark tunnels, across Essex marshlands, under the Thames and through the rolling Kentish countryside to the coast and home; all at speeds of up to 140 mph. Or not, depends whether you believe the train company's bumf.

Back in Dover we got ready for the final exciting event of a great day, the passing of a steam locomotive, and I wanted to go and photograph it because I could. We met my friend Gary, and instead of going down on the footbridge over the line, we went up to the cliffs high above for grand panoramic shots as she steamed into view.

AIl in a minute of so, she had steamed through, and Jools and I went home for dinner of mozzarella and beefsteak tomato slices a glass of red wine; it was great, and a reminder of our honeymoon in Tuscany.

Monday 17th May 2010 (part 1)

That's one day of the week down already. And there I was battling the forces of incompetence and laziness, and not really winning. But getting things to change is like a game of chess, lay down the traps and wait for the prey to make the mistake. Or am I thinking about spiders? Anyway, in tow days time I will be in La Belle France meeting those I may end up dropping in the kaka, or rather they will drop themselves in it. And already they have.

But more of that another night. The weekend is over, the sun is shining and the garden is growing, growing. We have garlic, sunflowers, tomatoes, beans strawberries, sweet peppers and flowers, flowers everywhere, all growing. And we had fun with our two days off. On Friday we went for cocktails at a local bar, to celebrate the nuptials of one of Jools' bosses. We got a drink out of it, and then went outside to chat with a few of the other wallflowers whilst the bright young things dazzled in the spotlight.

We then went off to a local Indian place for the traditional English dinner of curry, rice and naan bread. And beer. Or I did. It was all very nice, and the restaurant was empty when we walked in, and just four more people joined us, and all in for about twenty knicker; not bad.

Saturday, we were up with the larks, and cats, and out driving down to Dover Priory after picking up Jools' Dad's wife, step-mother-in-law? Anyway, she had never really looked round London, and we offered to take her to a few of our favourite places.

So, we arrived at the station to find that I had messed up the train times, and the high speed service did not run at a quarter to eight, and that we would catch the 'classic' service instead. Quite how much slower it took that the high speed, or how much slower than the same journey had taken back in December before the timetable change. We cruised through the admittedly beautiful Kentish countryside, pausing for what seemed like ages at stations. It seemed to take forever, which was nearer two hours. But, in time, we did arrive at London Bridge and we got off, and London Town was all ours.



In truth it is some time since we passed through London Bridge, and beside it Europe's tallest building, The Shard is being built; so we paused whilst I snap it, and then we move on to Borough Market.



Borough Market is claimed to be Britain's leading artisan market, and is full of lovely fruit, veg, meat and fish, and is a riot of smells and is just a pleasure to wander through, sampling what was on offer, and marvelling at the taste. We buy buffalo Mozzarella, Italian tomatoes, spicy smoked sausage and other things so wondrous we spent our wallets empty in a few minutes.



We stop for a wonderful bacon sandwich and a cup of tea; we sit watching the first of many Portsmouth fans we were to see that day, having a huge fry up washed down with the first beers of the day.



And then out over New London Bridge, to the City and my location of choice, 30 St Mary Axe, of as it's better known, The Gherkin.

Friday 14th May 2010

And now begins the long dark afternoon as the second hand slowly, ticks the years down until it is time to yabba dabba do all the way home.

All in all it has been a productive week, every now and again I bang my head against various walls that are put up in front of me, sometimes I know them down, sometimes I don’t. Just looking forward to two days off and not thinking about all this stuff; that I dream about doing my job most nights now is the usual thing for me I guess. Given that I still dream that I am working back in the chicken factory, and I have not worked there for nearly 20 years.

Last night we went out for a drive after Jools had fetched Chinese. It was nice, although guessing what kind of meat was in with the beansprouts was one thing. All mixed in together it was fine, doubly so if covered with sweet and sour sauce, which is syrup, really. We drove out from St Margaret’s and north to Ramsgate and then over to Broadstairs to Joss Bay where we looked upon the wonder that is the windfarm in all it’s glory. We got there just as the sun was setting, and the air was clear and it felt like we could see for forever. We took some pictures and then drove back. Not all that exciting, but to see the golden light of a late spring evening was wonderful.

On the way to work this morning, I stopped beside a field of oilseed rape to snap Ripple windmill up on the hill beyond. The sun shone upon it against a clear blue sky; it looked wonderful, and we live less than five miles from here; how did I ever get so lucky?

For those that follow these things, we have a new government, Dave and Nick, who are firm friends, and have fixed grins and smiles on their faces, who are always agreeing about things for now. Of course, that may change in the months and years to come, but for now the conlibdem pact is in full force. In a few weeks we will know, after they conduct a spending review, how deep a hole the country is; what is clear is that taxes will rise and the pain will be country-wide.
But, that is in the future, and for now the Dave-Nick love continues.

And for us the weekend stretches out like a stretchy thing, with the promise of cocktails tonight to celebrate someone at the box factory’s nuptials; London tomorrow and two steam locomotives passing through Dover as well. Photographs ahoy methinks.

Have fun.