Sunday 8th November (part 2)

Sunday

And as I am on me travels again tomorrow, here I am on a Sunday evening, playing catch up with the blogs. I was hoping to have a period of time at home, but seems work has other ideas. However, if all goes well I might get the key to the executive lounge in a few months. Or not. Whatever.

We woke up at just gone six, the cats had given up trying to wake us up, and so there was a calm over the house. All of them appeared as I walked into the kitchen, all wanting some meow, which was good as its all we had. That done, I made coffee, checked the interwebs and then sat down to watch the previous day's football. Someone has to do it. I do it so you don't have to!

That done, we decided that maybe we should go down town to attend the remembrance parade. And so that is what we did. Driving down into town at ten, finding a place to park, snapping the ongoing demolition of Burlinton House, then walking down Biggin Street to the town hall to join others who were there. We passed the massing bands of the sea scouts and air cadets, and mingled with all the veterans and others who wore their poppies and medals with pride. I have a medal somewhere, maybe I should wear mine? I don't think too much about my time in the military that much, just o anniversaries, like this year with it being 25 years since I joined, but I was lucky, met some good people, learned some stuff and traveled to Vegas, Italy and Germany. And the Falklands too! So, joined up, saw some of the world, was not shot at.

So, come eleven, we stood in silence, and I remembered those friends I lost, and my family and others who did not come back. We sang hymns, praised the Lord. We left as the wreaths were being laid, we had come and mourned, it seemed enough. We passed the serious drinkers in the Prince Albert and Weatherspoons, who had not paused. So it goes, so it goes.

We drive to Folkestone, we were going to walk along the pier there, but instead we walked up the old High Street, looking in the art shops, and browsed through the racks of new recods at a new shop. I didn't buy anything. We end up in a micropub, it being just past midday, we also order some nachos with our drinks, and that seems like the right thing to do.

We decide not to go to the pier after all, instead go to visit friends on the way home, then call on Nan. We drove over the downs and then down into River, calling into see Gary and Julie. They are well, and it is always a pleasure to see them, swapping stories about life, art and photography. Sadly, the car park at the home was full, so we come straight home for coffee and laying down.

The day fades, I have the North London Derby on the radio, whilst I write blogs and edit shots. I am not concentrating too hard on the game. It all seems very exciting, but is washes over me really.

We have dinner, I call Mum for the usual avoiding the elephants conversation, then it is dark already outside, I need to shower and to pack. Where does the time go?

25 years ago: the next step (part 2)

We arrived at Arron Lines and found we had been allocated beds in a four man room. It was luxury compared with what we had at Swinderby. Other blocks around gave the impression of being like a council estate; the mess and club were a short walk away. There was a NAAFI as well, to cater for all our needs. And we could for a drink any night we liked!

We were told that our course mentor would come to collect us from the block at half eight, and that was it; no inspections, nothing. We went to the mess, had roast beef and all the trimmings and thanked our stars.

Next morning, we made bed packs and were stood to attention when the sergeant came to collect us. You can cut this nonsense out for a start he told us. We noted that.

He marched us to what was to be our other home for the next eight months, Weapon Training Squadron, or WTS, where we would have information and maths and science rammed into our heads. We marched like all airman who had just completed basic training, arms swinging until they were parallel with the ground, we looked good. Cut that out as well we were told, walk in a squad, move your arms, but none of that marching nonsense: you're not on parade now.

We had our course picture taken, then were taken into the hanger to begin our transformation into armourers.

Once again we were bottom of the pile, with all course ahead of us looking down on us: we stood in the vending area trying to look invisible before being called to a classroom to fill in paperwork and begin our basic maths. These would be long days

I suspect that after tea in the mess, we went over to the club for beer and listen to music. I seem to remember Brown Ale was 37p a bottle, and many time I had 37 1p pieces and would pay for my sole drink that way.

Sunday 8th November 2015

Saturday

It is with some relief that I wake up on Saturday morning, a day off, and a day to relax. Saying that, still not feeling 100% what with the lack of sleep as a result of travel and allergies. But, today was a day to do what I wanted. What we wanted.

I came downstairs and waiting for us was a very dead mouse, laying in the middle of the living room floor. I decided to skip breakfast, however. I fed the cats, then made coffee, and we talked about plans for the day. We had to go shopping, and that was it. So, once dressed we went to Tesco to get a few things, collect the last of the Old Spiced Hen beer, and come back home. That done, we were back home by half eight, I warm the croissants up, make more coffee, then we settle down for a quiet morning, with me listening to the radio and messing round on the computer.

What I was messing around with, was making a photobook of the orchid shots taken over the last two years. I had to select the shots, upload them to the site, add text then double check everything before arranging the pages on the book. I was three quarters through the task, when we had to go out at half twelve, answering a plea from a friend to help move some kit up at Western Heights.

So, we put on our scruffy clothes, and drove to Military Road, parking at the entrance, and waiting for the rest. Paul helps runs the volunteer work up there, and we had to moves some tools and stuff before the bats roost for the winter, and it would be impossible to enter the site without disturbing them.

Anyway, we walk up into the keep, grab handfulls of stuff and take it back down, before loading a trolley up and dragging the kit round the moat, then through the tunnel in the retaining wall. I had forgotten how great it is up there, and hopefully, work allowing, we will do more work up there, but work being work, and travel being travel, and I feel so tired at weekends. But we shall see.

Back home we have Scotch Eggs for lunch, then it is time for football on the radio, and more photobook stuff, then making the calendar for next year. Phew. I finish at just before three, having taken 5 hours in all, but the books should look wonderful.

Norwich played Swansea, and in a tight game City scored the only goal midway through the 2nd half. A win is a win, and means we move above Chelsea, and we stay there as Chelski stumble at Stoke to lose 1-0. Strange times.

I cook steak for dinner, which is very good indeed. Even better were the sauteed potatoes, which were so darn crispy, and doused in seasalt and malt vinegar. Perfect.

Jools watched Dr Who, I mess around online more, and find that the day has slipped through our hands once more, enough time to have an extra large helping of QI before bed time.

25 years ago: the next step

I heard from my friend in NZ, Tony, that he enjoyed hearing about my first day in the RAF, so I thought I would revisit my time in the RAF every now and again to inform you, dear readers, of what we did after we took the Queen's shilling.

I left you at the end of my first day at RAF Swinderby, known as something like No! School of Recruit Training. It was situated on the Lincolnshire wolds, somewhere between Newark and Lincoln, and it is now an antiques centre. Quite apt as much of the base 25 years ago was antique. Antique beds, antique bedding, antique barrack blocks and so on and on.

First two weeks involved lots of drill, marching up and down, turning, about turns and all that, PT, theory, which was called GSK or General Service Knowlege. I seem to remember our staff giving us the answers to the exam the night before, which seemed to be cheating to me. And lots and lots of messing aroun in camouflage, learning how to use a rifle, how to treat injured people, what to do when under fire or when attacked by gas or nuclear weapons. It was full on, and then in the evenings you cleaned your kit, cleaned the block.

As your time went by going through basic training, at the end of each week each flight did a test, and if you passed you got something to show everyone else that you were progressing: at the end of the 2nd week you go to take the yellow backing from behind your beret badge: to do this you had to pass the drill check: this was a set series of marching which you did without input from your drill staff, who looked on.

At the end of the 3rd week, I think, we were given our proper ID cards, and those of us over 18 could go into the Newcomers bar to drink. But we needed permission to go in, and I can't remember going in to drink more than a handful of occasions.

At the end of the 4th week week each three flight intake did a two day faux-military exercise. This took place at RAF North Luffenham in nearby Leicestershire, and involved putting into practice the training you had done in the previous three weeks: you were bombed, shot at, and ran around like the monkeys we were, and had to put everything we had into it. One of the scenrios was called the Thor Run, which, from what I remember, invlved a lot of running, in a squad,carrying all your kit. There was other stuff as well, including 'stand-to' at silly o'clock to repel an attack or two.

Once you passed this MFT (Military Field Training) once you got back to base, you were allowed to wear the blue uniform, rather than the camouflages we had worn up to that point. From that point onwards, it was all practicing for the passing out parade. More marching up and down, this time in shoes rather than boots, which made less noise. And then at the end of the 5th week, you got to wear your best blues, your number 1 uniforms, which you would wear on the passing out parade, when you parents and friends would look down at us all as we showed off how we had changed. Changed and would never be the same again.

We had learned advanced swearing for a start, and we all swore all the time, as swearing seemed to be the best way of coping with all the shouting and marching.

seven weeks after arriving, we all got lined up ready for the parade, there was a band which we used to take the beat of our marching from. We marched onto the parade ground, our family and friends were sitting looking at us, unable to tell us apart, but we all looked smart, we marched in time, and looked like proper airman. For many of us, this would be the only time, but for now, we marched tall and erect. And proud of what we had become. We were on top of the world.

At the end of the parade, we met our families, had lunch with them. And then it all changed.

Basic training was just the first part; breaking us down from being civilians, making us think like servicemen and women, getting us to think and react in a set way. Now we had to become something useful. The RAF had t teach us to do something. For me, it was to be an armourer. So after spending six weeks together, we all boarded different buses, or drove in our cars to bases around the country to learn a trade. I went to RAF Cosford in the West Midlands, driving my Skoda Estelle loaded with all my kit, driving into the unknown, but on top of the world as I had achieved something.

Of course, we were now bottom of the pile, a new curse, one which all the courses ahead of us would look down upon and mock. But in a week or two, a new course would start and we would no longer be the FNGs. But for now, we had arrived in our own ways at Cosford, been given a bunk in what looked like houses, and a quantum leap on from Swinderby. It had central heating, double glazing, unlimited hot water, and we did not have to march. Well, we walked around in a squad, but not the swinging arms to the extent we did during basic training.

Instead, we were taught maths, basic engineering, engineering science, and all the different aspects of my new trade: explosives, ejection seats, support equipment, loading aircraft and bomb disposal. Once we had passed all the exams and the practical tests, we would be allowed to leave training and join the mythical 'Real Air Force.' Something I never did find.

Sunday 7th November 2015

Thursday

After a restless night, but I suppose I must have got some sleep, although I felt like I hadn't slept a wink. The alarm brought me round, six in the morning, and two and a half hours to get ready and to the gate, which I could see from my hotel room. I throw the little stuff I had removed from my case, back in, and walk down to the reception for breakfast, which was mainly coffee. There were a few others down as well, although quite not as detirmed as me to get to the terminal and all checked in. Outside on the two minute walk to the terminal, there was rain in the air, but I got there without getting too damp, I get my boarding pass and once dropped off my case I walk through those Danes on their way for some autumn sunshine further south.

I take a table under the business lounge, so I could use the VIP wifi, I still have the code. I check mails and reply to those that are urgent. At eight I walk down to the gate, passing through immigration and find that the gate is crowded, which is not that unusual, but I always laugh at the business types queuing to be first on the plane when we have reserved seats. So, I am last on the plane, and take up my usual seat. The usual checks are made, I close my eyes and wait for the engines to start up and we can get on our way.

We climb into the misty skies, soon losing sight of the ground, but after a few minutes we break through the low cloud only to find another layer above us, meaning we are not in sunshine. I take the free breakfast; cheese roll and more coffee. I try not to look at the powerpoint presentation the guy in a seat in front of me is creating for Lego: I am sure all kids would be glad to know how serious the company takes its products. More to it than just bricks, apparently.

I get a glimpse of the sea as we cross the north of Holland, and I see the dyke I drove across back in May. The ground was lost until we were on final approach, I saw the Medway twisting through Chatham and the chimney of the power station on Grain; then it was the fuel tanks on Canvey Island. As we bumped across south east London, getting lower, we skim over rooftops, cross the river once more and are down on solid ground.

We file off the plane, then rush along the passageway to immigration. Looking at my watch I see that I have no chance of getting the early train at Statford, so calm down and ponder the coffee and sausage roll I will order at the cafe while I wait. There was a broken down train anyway blocking the line to Canning Town, so it was ten past ten by the time I reach Stratford. Walking into the cafe they know my order again, so I have the gingerbreat latte with an extra shot. And a sausage roll. And I get to sit at the table overlooking the tracks below so I can marvel as the Eurostars hammer through the station heading for St Pancras.

I climb onto the Dover train at quarter to eleven, having arranged a tax to collect me at the other end. You know the journey by now, but I mark each landmark as we rattle along at a fair rate across south Essex, into Kent and then under the North Downs to Ashford.

The taxi is waiting, the driver is not very talkative, but I squeeze some words out of him in the end. Once inside though, I am overwhelmed by a wave of tiredness, and so after turning the heating on, I take to the sofa and have no energy to do anything. I do keep my mobile on, in case of emergencies from work. It does not go off, so I deduce that no one is missing me for now.

Darkness falls outside, and in a move to make life simple, we have defrosted soup for dinner, which is very quick and about all I can manage. And that is it for Thursday, I can't wait for half eight to come round and then decide enough is enough, and once dosed with drugs we go to bed.

Friday

What with me waking up sneezing at half four and heavy rain forecast, the last thing I felt like doing was driving 104 miles there and back to Brighton to see Peter Hood and the Light in concert. I booked tickets back in April, and had hoped to have the beek before at home so we could have a fine night out. But, I had to make the decision at six in the morning, and with heavy rain and fog forecast for the journey back too, I decided that we would skip the gig. That I have been waiting since 1981 to see New Order songs played live, when I decided to revise for my CSE math exam instead of going to Norwich to see New Order: that they were notorious for starting gigs very late at the time, I thought it best. And yet, I pulled the pug on the gig; Jools took the car to work, meaning with the early start of the concert, we would not make it in time.

No point in crying over spilt milk, I suppose. So I have breakfast once Jools leaves for work, and I tackle the jammed inbox at work. I have a contractual document to review through the day, as well as attend meetings and make phone calls.

I have toasted cheese sandwiches for lunch, the cats bring me mice and bits of mice through the day, and at three I see no one else is online, so I decide that the weekend has arrived and pour myself a large glass of wine from the near-empty box. Cheers.

Jools comes home at just before five, so I start cooking chorizo hash. Once cooked and served, I have another couple of glasses of red wine, and that was that. No Don now until the late winter, so I spend the evening watching an FA Cup game on TV, and Salford beat Notts County 2-0. Hoorah,

Time for bed.

Friday 6th November 20165

Tuesday

A full day at the office.

Well, once I got myself up, have breakfast and drive through the rush hour traffic. The hotel is in a huge conference centre cum concert venue complex, and is impressive. My room is large and comfortable, so I have no complaints. Its not if anyone listens though, is it?

Anyway, once I have breakfast, two coffees, I am ready for the traffic, but as I am in a central hotel, the drive should be interesting. And indeed it was, taking 45 minutes to travel the 8Km, and being stuck in traffic between the regular traffic lights. Thankfully, I have a sat nav, so I am not concerned about getting lost, and with no meetings until afternoon, no need to worry about being late, either.

Once out onto the main road, traffic is lighter, as most people are still heading in the other way. So, I arrive at the office, do the round of handshaking and greetings, this being such a pleasure in seeing so many old friends and colleagues, as I work from home or travel so much.

The day passes, meetings, mails and a lunch with friends. With the drive back to the centre, there is no point in trying it between three and five, so I find work to do, there is always some, and finally pack my laptop away at half five.

That night I am meeting a colleague, Manu and Anni for drinks and a meal, so I am in a hurry. But the traffic is fairly light, and I arrive at the hotel, find a parking space and go up to my room to change. I decide I need a beer, so go to the bar to find a bottle of the local Christmas beer for sale, and only 6% is safe to have on an empty stomach. Manu is there, as are other people form work, so we stand and chat and drink.

Once Anni arrives, Manu and I walk with her to a Moroccan restaurant a few minutes’ walk away. We talk more, Manu and I order our food, me a vegetable tagine, but when comes is mainly steamed peas and carrots, and is a major disappointment. With Anni needing to be at work by six the next morning, a late night was never on the cards, so at half eight she leaves, Manu and I walk back to the hotel and take to our rooms. On TV is football, which I watch whilst I potter around, crashing out soon as the final whistle goes, with Real beating PSG 1-0.

Wednesday

Thing about being on a project. And a new project at that, is that there will be a kick off meeting. Maybe more than one. And there will be team building. Oh yes, team building. So, what better way to spend the day in an airless meeting room with a flip chart and powerpoint, then to try to gross a lawn without touching the grass. Or something.

It is all part of the thrill of being on a project, but it is something we gird our loins and join in with, if we have failed to book and inspection or audit like I did through most of the last project. But, for this, we were all told to attend on pain of death. To prepare a four page critique of ourselves. Oh joy. I said I liked to drink beer, drink wine and take photographs. Or something like that.

And as I had failed to realise there was to be an evening meal, I had booked a room at the Zleep at the airport, so more packing, checking out and meeting two of my colleagues for breakfast. One thing I have improved on over these last few years of endless business travel is not to forget stuff, I mean leave things in my hotel room. I have come close, usually my mobile, but I quick double check and I am ready to go.

I check out. Again. And am sitting down in the breakfast room wen Rob arrives. I can say that The Radisson does a great breakfast, and the bacon was of perfect crispiness for a fine butty, or roll as we were in Denmark. And then there was the drive through the rush hour to the venue for the event: another hotel.

Somehow, the sat nav took me on a far less busy route, arriving at the venue in under half an hour. We walk in, are shown to the meeting room, and the endless supply of food begins to arrive: this time more breakfast rolls and fruit. At mid morning break, there is more snacks before a fine buffet for lunch. Back in the room there was a selection of crispbreads, more snacks and fresh pecan buns. It was non stop eating, really. No wonder we were all falling asleep. Quick, drink more coffee. Oh noes, there's another type of cake.

Mmmmmm, cake.

And to round off the day, for the team building part, we get to prepare and cook our three course dinner. What could possibly go wrong? Nothing as it turned out.

Poached Salmon with Hollandaise Sauce and vegetable Parisienne.

Veal loin with mushroom terrine, acacia sauteed cabbage, pommes rosti and veal glace.

And

Gratinated apple with run and raisin ice cream and brandy snaps.

All we delicious and well cooked. The ice cream was fun to make and was wonderful.

I volunteered/insisted I make the ice cream, as I have never made ice cream before. I boiled a litre of whole milk with a litre of cream, while at the same time I whisked together 500g of sugar and six egg yolks. Once the milk boiled, I poured it into a bowl with the eggs and sugar, stirring all the time. Once cooled a little, I poured some into the machine and watched as the mixture turned into ice cream. An hour later I was done, and had a huge container of ice cream ready.

Once all was done with the other courses, we sat down to eat, and I can say it was all delicious. However, as soon as desert was eaten, I had to leave as it was by now quarter past nine, and I had an hour's drive to the airport to the Zleep. At least the roads should be quiet.

I bid my colleagues farewell, went to the car and made my way to the motorways, then down to junction 57, then across to Billund. It was an uneventful trip, other than me willing to stay awake, the indegestion helped with that.

I dropped the car off, checked into the hotel and had a shower. It was half ten, and in seven hours I would have to be up and heading to the terminal. Only something in the room was setting the sneezing off. So, a disturbed night, like I really needed that after two nights that week of less than 6 hours sleep. Oh joy.

The challenge continues..... What Brings You Happiness? All the Big and Little Things . . .

1. The dawn of a new day. Any day, at any time of the year. It might be the best day of your life, and all that is to come.

2. That meow I hear from Molly when she realises I am home from my travels. Like just now. She may act aloof, but I know.....

3. That smell, the first whiff, when the loaf that has been proving has begun to cook.

4. The first glimpse of the cliffs, as they just drop away to the sea a couple of hundred feet below.

5. After being away from home, and seeing Dover Castle for the first time, meaning I am nearly home.

6. Although I don't drink instant coffee, but the moment you pierce the foil on a new jar.

7. The first hint of autumn, be it either the first tree turning from bright green, to early morning mist rising in the valley in front of our house.

8. Watching an electrical storm from the house with the lights off. And the sound of rain hammering down. (now that the house is fixed)

9. The smell of a new vinyl record as you pull it from the sleeve, and the anticipation as to how it will sound like.

10. The first orchid of spring. The start of a fresh season.

11. Knowing I will spend the rest of my life with Jools

12.After a hard day snapping, reviewing the shots taken and seeing how they turned out.

Like the person who inspired this, Thanks Dawn, so may things and people in my life give me pleasure, joy and inspiration. But then I have always been an optimist, much to most people's surprise, but then I try to see the best in people and mankind in general; for every bad deed that is reported, there are hundreds that go unreported. I believe in people.