Saturday 19th September 2015

I am writing this on the evening of the 19th, it is our 7th wedding anniversary, we are just back from a day out in London, and outside darkness is falling and a bright crescent moon is shining down from an almost cloudless sky. Across the valley someone has lit a bonfire, and the blue smoke is drifting lazily in the still evening air. It is an almost perfect September evening, it has been a warm and sunny day, London is full of fans attending the Rugby World Cup, so it is even more crowded and more cosmopolitan than usual.

In short, life is good, life is better than good, really. And I am married to a wonderful woman, someone who has outlast the two previous Mrs Js. Combined. So, there you have it. But before I talk about today, let us go back 24 hours and relive Friday.

Friday

The rain began during the night, once again causing someone's car alarm to go off. Again. And again.

We woke up at five, both of us had big days ahead of us at work, so I got up to feed the cats, make coffee whilst Jools got ready to leave.

And then I had three hours to prepare for a meeting with a customer. As you do. I had been supposed to travel to London for it,but that was binned the day before, so instead we dialed in via the phones on our computer. Or something like that. And by that time it was lunchtime, and I had a loaf of bread to make. Whilst outside, the rain hammered down. Harder.

At least my allergies were under control, and with the work over for the week, I switched the laptop off, find a resource with ten years of the Danny Baker and Danny Kelly shows, and with them burbling in the background, I make busy, stripping elderberries from their stalks, making sure the bread rose, and the afternoon passes into early evening.

Jools comes home, we have insalata caprese with the garlic and herb focaccia I made. I open the next to last bottle of cheap red in the cupboard, and we toast the weekend.

In the evening, I sit down to watch the first game of the Rugby World Cup, England beat Fiji, but in the middle i break so we can watch the Don.

The day is over, the clouds clear outside, and there is the promise of fine weather for the weekend. But for us, a hectic week is over, and bed is calling.

Friday 18th September 2015

Thursday

On this day, some 25 years ago, I went to a faceless blue office block opposite the old chocolate factory in Norwich to swear allegiance to HM the Q, and therefore take a shilling and therefore join the Royal Air Force. I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. After the formalities were over, we were all allowed to return home, taking the travel warrant which we could exchange for a railway ticket to take us in the morning to Newark Westgate, where we would be assured that a coach would be waiting for us to take us to where basic training would begin.

So, Granddad and myself walked back to the railway station to catch the train back to Oulton Broad, and then home. IN fairness, being an ex-guardsman, he wanted me to join the Coldstreams, but for me, that was way too serious. So, the RAF it was for me. I packed, checked and re-packed. At half four, I walked to the Fighting Cocks pub in Kirkley, to meet my old friend, Scarecrow AKA Richard, for beers and playing pool. Even then it had not hit me what I was letting in for, just living for the moment, or the next pint.

At half nine, I walked home and took to my bed.

Next morning, the 18th, I caught an early train out of Lowestoft, laden with my kit, to Norwich where the other three who joined with me the previous day, so would board the train to Peterborough and then to Newark. I can remember having a bottle of orange juice on Norwich station, which I spill most of as I had the shakes from the night before. We board the train, me still full of the joys of spring, looking forward to this exciting new life. This lasted until we got to Newark, and after a few minutes an old bus came lumbering in, we were nervous as the IRA were still at large, and we could be targets, do we ask every bus if they are going to Swinderby.

We get on, I sit wanting to get going, and see where we would be spending the next seven weeks, thinking it all a great jolly jape. We waited for some more recruits, then the bus started and we trundled off through Newark and out into the countryside. Now, I enjoyed my time at Swinderby, once you get used to it, there are no worries, no stress, you don't have the time: everything is arranged for you, so you just go along with it. But, the first look as we turn off the main road, was a little like a prison, the dull weather did not help, looking all menacing and run down.

We get off and are met by a shouty, sweaty man with a stick, the SWO, who takes us to the Pardre's office. We wait. We are taken to get a shirt and jumper and tie, so we will be a mix of military and civvy for the rest of the day. Later in the day we were taken to our barrack block, something from the war, and unheated. The place was a mess; the outgoing course had trashed it, meaning we had much work to do in the next week.

And the day passed; waiting, jumping up when someone came into the room, then more waiting. But from early next morning, things would change, oh my word, yes. But then it was just for seven weeks, and that was with a week off in the middle. Six weeks of marching, PT, soldiering and the sch. Easy. And I got even fitter, made friends and so by the beginning of November was ready for the next stage; trade training.

And 15 years later, I left. I remember so looking forward to that day, and then it just passed. In the evening I drank whisky, and at midnight saluted the RAF and me being a civvy once again. But that meant that the Queen stopped paying me, something I would have to address. But until then, cheers.

That was ten years ago, of course. So, ten years out of the mob, ten years happy, ten years thinking for myself, deciding myself what and when I did things, and if they didn't suit, I said no. And the voice of doubt has lessened these past few years too. I have grown confident as a person, and I am happy. Happy with Jools. Happy in our house. Happy with the cats. Happy.

And now here I am, international playboy and quality expert, living the life of Reilly, travelling Europe, nay the world, doing quality stuff, and generally fooling people into thinking I know what I am talking about. And for the most part, over the last ten years, many of you have been with me, either through e mails, my and your photos or through these blog posts. And I think I can safely say it has been a riot at times, real fun, and I hope to meet each and everyone of you to say thanks and shake your hands. Because your feedback, your mails, have kept me sane at times. So, to you all, thank you!

That this double anniversary was spent at home, prepping for an important meeting is typical really. At least I was home and would be that night too.

Jools left me at home, I made coffee and braved the computer and the lurking inbox. And so the day began, I dealt with issues, and the day passed. I prepared for the big meeting, and spoke to people and eventually, I got things back under control, and felt fine.

Outside the sun was shining, and it was warm enough to sit on the patio. Needless to say work kept me inside until late in the afternoon, where I decided to go out for a walk. The autumn sun shone down, already apparently sinking low in the west, making the shadows lengthen in the golden sunshine. There were dozens of swallows in the sky, diving and swooping before they decide it is time to fly south. Along the track at the end of the road, the elders were so laden with berries that some of the branches were nearly touching the ground. I decide to forgo the walk and go back home to collect some plastic bags and return for some harvesting.

Thursday 17th September 2015

Wednesday

Did I really travel all the way to IJmuiden and back yesterday? My mind and body says yes, as I slept like a log, and woke up at six, barely rested. Thing is, it was for the most of the time, sitting, waiting or listening to people talk. None of it on its own, taxing. But all in all, and the 17 ours away was more than enough, Just glad there were no major delays, really.

Once I was up, drinking coffee, I see from the BBC that 24 hours of rain is forecast, and indeed it is hammering down outside. This will only mean more cat-related misery for me as none of them will want to go out and meow at me every 5 minutes for food/attention/meow?

I put the radio on, have another coffee and set the work computer on and start dealing with the issues of the day. And from the day previously, of course. The cats eat, eat some more, then sleep off the meat and kibbles through the morning, and as long as I leap up and re-fill their bowls, I am left alone to work.

The other thing was the return of the allergies, not as bad as Monday, but still I needed to take pills and regular breaks standing at the back day, hoping that the wind did not change direction, so I could at least stay dry. And sneeze-free. Which was nice.

The day passed, and before preparing dinner, I slump on the sofa with Molls and do some channel-hopping. There are something 50 chennels on Freeview, and almost nothing worth watching. I mean who does watch this stuff? The elderly, injured judging by the adbreaks. Injured at work? Worried about funeral expenses? And then there was the Zippo lighter collection! Yes, just what I need.

Pasta salad was made at lunchtime, so I just had to egg and breadcrumb the sliced aubergine, and begin cooking once I saw Jools parking the car on the drive. She is having a tough week as her boss is away, so she is doing both the jobs. And it is full on. But it is better with dinner, some cider, or beer, and comedy on the radio.

As I have put things off to the last minute again, I spend an hour planning the Open House visit for Saturday, if we are going up. Should be interesting, but we are staying away from the the popular buildings; we have seen the queue at the Gherkin. So, the plan will remain a surprise, but then it is also possible we might not go either, like last year. But we shall see. It has been some time since we were in London, so, we are keen to go.

Wednesday 16th September 2025

Tuesday

Like an over-long motion picture, the project has had a number of false endings. Or places where we thought that it was coming to an end. Last week's trip to see the installed turbines and the celebration dinner seemed final enough. But there was one more act, one final, final ending; and that was the final meeting with the customer, to talk about what went right, what went wrong. And then celebrate. And for us all, this meant one final trip to Holland, to IJmuiden.

And for us all, this meant that we were all up before dawn, to travel to our home airports to fly into Amsterdam. And for me this meant getting up at half four to get ready so to be able to catch the quarter to six train to London. As well as being dark outside, rain was hammering down still. So hard had it reined in the night, that it caused a car alarm to go off. Several time. Oh, how we laughed. And then went back to sleep. Woke up again. Went back to sleep. And so on.

After a coffee, I put on my boots, and a raincoat and grabbed my small bag, and off we went.

The roads were covered in downed leaves and branches, but still passable, and any worries I had that trains would be affected were groundless, as the Javelin was already sitting at the platform. I said bye to Jools, got a ticket from a machine, just to be quicker, and took a seat in a carriage near the back of the train. All set now. And we even set off 16 whole seconds early, into the night and the blackness of the Harbour Tunnel. And already on the other side I saw the large amount of trucks already being delayed by the bad weather.

Rain still fell outside, but in the east, I saw the first light of dawn showing on the horizon, but on the land all was still dark. Through Folkestone, Ashford, picking up passengers, and outside the dawn spread, casting a wane light over the Kentish Weald. Over the Medway, into Ebssfleet where more people got on, and it was standing room once more.

Stratford was busy, the DLR train filling up with strapping blokes heading to building sites across the East End. For a change, at the airport I had no bags to check in, as it was just a day trip, and I was able to get my boarding pass for the return flight to. So, once I had them, I walked straight to security and was sitting down ordering breakfast in less than 10 minutes after arriving, I still had 90 minutes before the flight was due. And in a change, I ordered the granola and yoghurt thing as well as a large coffee instead of the full English I really wanted. I thought that there might be some unhealthy food to eat before the day was out.

The flight was called, but this time I did not have to scramble to get overhead locker space, I just had a small day bag. Anyway it was only half full, so I took my eat in 9D, and waited for the engines to fire up.

A 40 minute hop to Amsterdam followed, with as soon as me reached cruising altitude, we began the descent. But due to heavy traffic, we were held in a stack longer than the rest of the flight, over and over we passed over Luchterduinen and IJmuiden. As we finally turned on final approach, the coastline was obscured by a veil of rain falling from a jet black cloud. A sign of things to come. We landed in a heavy rainstorm, and as seems usual, the taxi from the distant runway to the terminal seems longer than the flight, even with the stack!

Once we reached the gate, and waited to get off, once in the terminal from the next gate a swarm of people dressed in red and white emerged off another flight: Manchester United fans, in town for the big game at PSV that night. Even at the early hour, some had been drinking and some half-hearted singing began, but faded out when others failed to join in. There were huge queues at immigration, as everybody has their passports checked, so the time dragged, but then we would all have to go through this.

Once through, I walked to the main concourse to find most of the others having just arrived, so we waited around for one last person to arrive from Manchester, and him being an Everton fan being on a planeful of Utd supports, he was bound to be in a bad mood.

Once we all were there, we went to the hire cars, loaded up and set off for the office. Despite many of us being here many times, with the roadworks on the roads outside the airport, we got lost, as I always seem to to do on every trip, making us circle the entire airport before ending up where we began, but taking the correct turn off a roundabout and onto the motorway. At least rush hour was over, so traffic was as light as it does get there, we made good time and would be early for the meeting.

I won't go into details, but it all went well, and now we really could say, the project was over, and we can look towards to new one coming up. To celebrate some more, we were taken to a converted church in the centre of Haarlem, where a meal was booked. They also brew their own beer, which piqued my interest, and I agreed to go, even though I would not be able to eat as I had an earlier flight back home that the rest. I had two halves of a dark strong beer called 'Doubting Thomas', which was very nice indeed, but made we really hungry, as the customer had failed to lay on lunch for us earlier.

I called for a taxi, and it arrived just as the starters did for the others, and all very nice it looked too. Grrrr.

Outside the taxi was waiting, and had no credit card machine, so I would have to pay cash and claim it back. Double grrr.

As we drove over the maze of roads and canals, dark clouds began to gather, and soon a monsoon was falling, and the driver hammered along flooded roads at 100kmh onto the motorway, where he proceeded to go even faster, zipping along at a mighty rate. Day turned to night again, and visibility was less than 50m in places, so it was some relief when he turned off to the airport, heading down quiet roads, and so slowing down. €47 for that, all my new white hair too!

I walk straight up to security and immigration: I had 40 minutes before boarding, so no time for a meal. Instead I grabbed a roll for a place beside the gate, it was microwaved and tasted of foam. But its food, right? Nearly.

We board the flight, and what with the long day and two beers, I snooze the way over, missing the sight of clouds over the Channel, but I do open my eyes to see us pass by Thanet, recognising the shape of it, and the curve south of Pegwell Bay, but in the dusk I could not make out detail on the cliffs beyond where our house is. Jools would be there, making dinner, feeding the cats.

I make my way to Stratford, arriving 25 minutes before the train to Dover, so I eplore the shopping mall,a nd find a wide selection of places to grab a snack from. I have a calzone pizza, which they blitz in some kind of microwave, which renders the pastry to same texture as whatever it was I had at Amsterdam.

I get on the train, less than half full, for the final push to Dover, through the night. It is getting to the time of the year when travel will be in darkness. Jools is waiting at the station, ready to whisk me home, in time for a cuppa, a check on the footy scores to reveal that those Utd fans would have a long journey back, as they lost 2-1. Would they still be trying to sing? Probably.

Tuesday 15th September 2015

Monday

For the most part, 2015 has been very good for me as far as allergies are concerned. But as we go into autumn, something triggers attacks, and whilst these are no where as severe as in previous years, they do happen and still have the power to surprise me.

I went to bed on Sunday, congested, so it came as no surprise that soon after waking up that the sneezing began, and I think I can say this was the worst attack so far this year. I took some off the shelf drugs, and had the door open, despite being cold. The sneezing subsided, but did come back a few times through the day, and by mid-afternoon, no matter what the weather was like, I was going to have to spend time in the garden, or outside at least, getting some fresh air.

This did mean regular breaks from work, to stand at the back door, and so I could watch as storm clouds swept in from the west, so the day alternated between bright sunshine and showers turning the day almost into night.

By half two, with another attack building, I had no choice but to sit outside on the patio, wrapped up warm, in a bid to ward off the attack. It did work, beause in about an hour or so, I became aware that my breathing eased and I could go back inside. The drugs had made me snoozy, so I lay on the sofa whilst daytime TV burbled in the background.

At five, I knew I had to 'buck my ideas up' as Dad would say, so I fed the cats and begun to prepare dinner, chorizo hash, so that when Jools came home we could eat.

The day faded and was dark by half seven. I packed my bag for the trip to Europe on Tuesday, listened to the football on the radio, and somehow another day had gone.

Sheesh.

Monday 14th September 2015

Saturday

Once a year, those of us who like a bit of culture, have one day a year on which we can with some certainty, get entry to churches and other buildings which are normally locked or not usually open for visitors. This is the annual heritage day, which in theory lasts for four days, but in practice, most buildings, churches especially, are only open the Saturday. I am well under way in visiting and snapping Kentish churches, I have done something like 210 of them, but some churches are a pain, and a bane. So, with the list of what was open, and a list from the annual ride and stride charity event which should see many more churches open and staffed, I create another list of the tricky local churches I would like to get into, on the list were some new ones, but old 'favourites' like Northbourne School, Whitfield and Preston.

On Friday night, Jools and I made a list, or rather I made a list and she did a route, which I amended. So, all was set for a good day or churching on the morrow.

And when the big day arrived, and once the usual visit to Tesco was out of the way, I checked the cameras, lists and even remembered my notebook with the masterlist of all churches visited, so we were all set fair. I say set fair, but of course the weather wasn't going to ball ball, at least not in the morning, so we drove to Folkestone into what seemed like one of those 'end of the world' downpours, when day turned to night, and any speed above 30mph seemed foolhardy.

But we arrived safe and sound in Saltwood, a small village now absorbed as part of Folkestone. It is an attractive place, with a fine hotel, village hall, and at the end of a long dead end lane is a wonderful church. We parked at the end of the long winding brick path that lead to the lych gate, the only thing we would ask, is it open? So, I leave Jools in the car and go to check the door. It swings open, with a fine interior becoming visible. I have to go back to the car to get the cameras and so tell Jools we could get in.

As what will become a pattern for the day, once I had got my shots, we looked at the list and drove to the next church. Now, due to me playing GWUK again, some of these I can't reveal the location of, as yet.

Anyway, seeing on the notice board that Saltwood controls, if that is the right word, the chapel of east at Pedlinge, we think we might go there next, just on the off chance it is open. Pedlinge was once an estate church, and I have never been inside, but I must have visited it about half a dozen times, just in case it was open. Sadly, for me, it wasn't open, Jools tried the door and it did not move. So, another look at the list, and off we go for the shirt drive. After that was my next difficult church, Aldington, a large rural church beside a farm, and is almost always locked. It overlooks the Romney Marsh, but is not one of the marsh churches, but is splendid, or so it looks from outside. I even know the way without looking at the map, and soon the massive un-Kent-like tower can be seen across the fields.

And after parking on the narrow quiet lane outside, and a long walk through the incredibly large churchyard, and to my delight there was a sign outside the door pointing the way in. So, in we go, and another delight awaited us, including two wardens who I think were not anticipating getting any visitors. Are you a rider? no. Are you a strider? no. So I explain the photographing Kent church thing, and they seemed happy, and very happy to talk.

I believe I was polite in engaging in conversation as I went about my photographic duties, but I may have been a tad single minded, if so, I am sorry.

Now, I had noticed that the lane we were on continued to Sellindge, another church I have found locked on more than one occasion, so, we should go that way. Down the valley-side, under the motorway, the two railway lines and into the village, turning up the A20 and hurtling past the church the first time, neither of us seeing it. We turn round, head back through the village and just notice it as we speed by again. We do stop right by it the third time, and I believe I can see the door open.

Indeed it is, and I surprise another warden, who is doing some maintenance as I begin snapping, the whirring shutter alerting him. We talk. A lot. And I am in there for half an hour, but it is another fine church, and one in which I get a warm welcome. But the church is always locked now since local kids tried to burn it down last year. Is life so dull in rural Kent where only burning the local thousand year old church will make things better? I doubt it.

One last church before lunch is at Hougham. Pronounced Huff-ham. Or Church Hougham as it should be. I was here many years ago, before I began work at the box factory, it was locked then, so would i get in? Yes, and no as it turned out.

The village had a fete on, Chuffest, and many houses and buildings had stalls or were selling food and drink. And the church was holding a quilt exhibition. So, once we parked up and I walked to the church, I found all surfaces and most of the walls covered in wonderful quilts, but still covered. So near and yet so far. I said I would come back, maybe in another 6 years. Tat the organiser did not know it was the heritage weekend was a tad disappointing.

We drove home, through Dover, just in time to see some out of town agitators stage an anti-immigration demonstration: most had masks on and looked right idiots, but then I suppose Dover will become the focus for these. Castle Street is also blocked off by police, as I guess the market square was where the main demonstration would be. How long ago now does the image of the drowned child seem? How quickly we forget.

Jools bails on the afternoon of churching, which is only to be expected, but anyway, I expect it all to be over by four, so I have three hours to get cracking.

Walmer has two large churches on the main road through to Deal, a Baptist and a Catholic one, so finding there was an ancient Anglican one was a surprise, but finding there was also a modern Victorian one as well was a massive surprise. Both are called St Mary, so I thought I was going to the Old Church, but found myself outside a huge Victorian church, which again was staffed by two wardens who greeted me as the second person they had had that day, and the first heritage one. Inside, it was very impressive, so I snapped away, and the warden even drew me a map to where the old church was, down Church Street, of course.

I manage to find a place to park outside the old church, and follow two cyclists through the large churchyard to a Norman church, which after being largely expanded in the 18th century, was returned to its original size and layout in the 19th, and very well done indeed. And the inside of the the church was covered, I mean covered in memorials. It was now a race against time, and after finding two more open, I head to Northbourne School not expecting the old Betteshager church to be open, so in that I was not disappointed in that it was locked. It also takes some finding, which I really resent. I was going to go to Preston, but after receiving no reply to the mail I sent ten bays before, I could not be bothered to go on another wasted journey. My last stop was Whitfield, which also is never open, but to my surprise was, but only for a wedding, so I could not go in. Oh well, 13 churches visited, 10 open, all in all not a bad day.

I go home, with the radio on, just as Norwich score their third of the afternoon to seal the game against Bournemouth. We do concede one late on, but hold on to rise to eighth in the league, Chelski lose at Everton, and later on, Liverpool lose against Man Utd, neither of whom really convinced.

Sunday

What with three days away, and then the day of churching yesterday, I really did not feel up to much on Sunday. And so I did next to nothing, which worked out just fine. I could have done some gardening, walking, foraging, but in the end, TV, radio, eating, computing and general lazing around. I did not even go to see Nan, I stayed home and ate popcorn and snoozed on the sofa listening to the radio. I bought a box of microwave popcorn, and it cooks in less than two minutes and is great. But I ate all three packs in three days, and know that if there were more, I would eat those. So, no more poppin for me.

I start the day with MOTD, Chelski losing to Everton, Man UTD beating Liverpool. And once I cooked bacon butties, watching Norwich carve Bournemouth open at will. Great stuff.

We had a bit of a clear out, old clothes and books we really will not read and don't want to keep. But we did keep both sets of His Dark Materials, among other stuff we could have put of for the charity collection. We now have more space on the shelves which means we can now buy more books.

I suppose what we both fear is our house becoming like Mum's, where all surfaces are covered in tat and crap. So, we have cleared out and it feels much better.

We have lunch, and then the rain arrives, putting pay to anything but eating popcorn, drinking beer and snoozing on the sofa listening to the radio with Molly, whilst Jools visits Nan.

The day fades, the rain hammers down outside. I cook dinner, kofte kebabs, which were spicy and great, before we tidied up and were ready to watch a new BBC adaptation of An Inpsector Calls, which I had not read before, so it was all new to me. Not what I expected, and a good social commentary. And, once more, that was your weekend.

This week sees me taking a day trip to Holland, a 20 hour day, with added meetings.

Sunday 13th September 2015

Friday

And so the weekend is nearly here, with just a morning of endless meetings to either attend or prepare for. But I am home, and tomorrow is Saturday. So, lets get it on!

Nothing would give me more pleasure than to fritter the day away, but with plenty to be getting on with, I put on one of this week's episode's of the Radcliffe and Maconie shows, make a coffee, have breakfast: a huge smoothie made of fresh raspberries, blueberries, banana and grapes. One thing the week away did lack was fruit and veg, so a chance to catch up and be healthy.

Outside it was another glorious morning, but the sun very low in the sky as it rose, and the light pouring through the leaves of the raspberries, and causing a mist to rise. I snap the scene, because its there.

At half seven, I decide there is no hiding from work, so I settle down with yet more coffee and begin work.

At half one, the meetings done, mails written, and with the usual software failure, there is nothing more that can be done. And with the allergy attack that had been threatening all day, it seems the best plan was to spend some time outside, maybe get some exercise, so I could hear the cliffs calling.

On with my walking boots, and grabbing the cameras, I set off along the street and over the fields. The light seemed strange, not quite misty, but not clear either, kinda dirty. It diffused the sunlight, so I take shots. The hedgerows are laden with fruit, yet more elderberries are ripe and the blackberries are fattening up. All looked glorious. But this was a walk for exercise, not gathering.

Past the pig's copse, down the dip and up the other side; passed by cyclist and a horse and rider. I make way for the all, just so I could have a rest and take a shot or two of course.

The other side of the cycle path, the fields are bare, and some have just had a covering of manure, meaning it smelt well fruity up there, but there were birds of all kinds feasting on the worms and insects that were uncovered.

Up the final slope to the monument, the car park was full, but people out walking, but anyway, mattered nowt to me. I stop to snap the orchids, which are really struggling after the repeated mowings, and grazing by the floppy-eared bunny bastards. I take a few shots, before walking to the edge of the cliffs to look down onto the beach far below.

Happy with that, it was time to turn round for the stumble home, but I could breathe in deep the fresh air, the walk had cleared the allergy. It felt great. And it was the weekend. I check my work phone, which I had brought along: no mails, no messages or missed calls. Let the weekend begin!.

I retrace my steps back, which is mostly downhill, except the parts that aren't. If that makes sense. Or not.

Heck, its even warm again, I think I might like to sit on the patio with an ice cold beer. So that's what I do, a pint of London Pride goes down very well, whilst being in close attendance by them cats who are convinced it is time for dinner. Nearly.

I cooked breaded pork again for dinner. Thing is, chicken and pork steaks look quite similar in the freezer, there is always the possibility that there is no chicken left of course.

Jools comes home at half five, and so the weekend can begin. We eat, exchange news of the day.