2016: The year compassion and truth died

Yesterday, in the Daily (Hate) Mail, columnist Jan Moir posted a top ten of the most crashing bores who made 2016 wearisome for her and those on the Nazi alt-right. Top of the list was Lilly Allen who went to see the "Jungle" camp in Calais and wept at the conditions she saw. She also apologised on behalf of Britain for they way they were treated. So, there you have it, from the peddler of lies and untruths, being human is something to be derided. What the actual fuck has happened to this country and its people that we have so lost sight of what being human is that compassion and caring for others is something to be moaned at?

And yet, at the same time, people wonder where all the hate we see in the world is coming from? Yes, I wonder too. Immigrants, the poor, the unemployed, single mothers, the disabled, anyone non-white have been the subject to hate and vilification form either the Brexiteers or their cheerleaders, of the moron-elect in the US of A.

Why doesn't the press call out these sum for what they are? Because they are in on it too, blaming anyone but white people for anything. Even when it is there fault, they blame others for pointing out how useless they are. Talking down Britain is how pointing out the flaws in their "plans".

Tomorrow I will post about my hopes and predictions for the new year, but most of all, I hope and pray that Britain finds its humanity and begins to love each other and everyone non-British and non-white.

You might say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.

Friday 30th December 2016

How tired were we? Well, so tired we lay in bed until nearly eight. So late the cats went back to sleep having given up on breakfast. So late the sun was showing above the houses the other side of the dip when we did get our sorry asses out of bed and swing into action.

Action being feeding the cats and making coffee.

I check mails and see that my minions are on line. So I call them to get an update, check that there are no other documents to file, and when there are none, I go to make more coffee and breakfast.

On Skype, I can see how many colleagues were online, and as the morning wore on, and turned into afternoon in Denmark, there was just a couple left, so with no mails or things to deal with, I switch the computer off and make lunch Jools had gone into town to pick up her shots from Japan so she could add tem to the effemera we had collected from Japan to make a scrap book thing. Should be good when it is done.

Anyway, with that done, we watch a recording of the Flying Scotsman on the SVR, an as it happened recording of a run into Kidderminster, and as a bonus had no commentary, just the noise of the locomotive working, and a few words spoken either by the driver or fireman.

For lunch we have the last of the salt beef I made a week ago, and with the day ours to do with however we saw fit, we watched Star Trek: Beyond, which I had ordered online and arrived that morning. Due to work we now don't listen to Wittertainment, so had no idea if it would be any good or not, or what the plot was. As it turned out, we both found it poorly storyboarded, with most of it a confusing mess. A mess with snappy dialogue though! There was the final part of the wildlife in New Zealand to watch.

By then it was dark outside, there was a blog to write, shots from the railtour to edit and post. And dinner to make: cold turkey and fried potatoes, the traditional post-Christmas meal when I was growing up. Now its what we have, and its the cold stuffing Jools and I both love.

We listen to Iggy Pop on the radio for a while, before I switch over to the football as its another day with no escape.

And that is that. Just one more day to go.

Thursday 29th December 2016

When I said to Jools several months ago that I wanted to go on a railtour visiting several freight only lines, I had not thought through the implications. Implications that meant that due to a change in the route that the tour was due to leave at 07:44 from Victoria. And to get to Victoria in time to catch the train, we had to arrive in London by 07:00 to allow us to get across London. And in turn that meant leaving Dover on the 05:53 train. Which, finally, meant getting up at half four.

To ride on a train. Around London. Arriving back at the same place we left from!

Anyway, to visit three freight branches, including the one to Grain port from Gravesend, and to ride on a loco hauled train, around London. Not a bad way to spend the day I suppose.

The alarm went off at oh God its early hours, or 04:30, and I lay in bed listening to Phil Collins sing "Separate Lives". I knew I had heard it before, just trying to think of the other singer on it, but failed. Anyway, after starting with Phil Collins, the day could only get better, right?

We get up, feed the cats and puts of extra down too, as we might be back late. Jools makes coffee, and we check on travel news as fog had been forecasted, but there was just frost. But as the car was in the car port, it was frost free. We pack breakfast, lunch and snacks. With what we had bought yesterday, coupled with four rolls I prepared, we would not starve. And we had a bottle of fizz, as on a previous strip we were on, we saw people on the next table have a Champagne breakfast. And that's what we wanted.

We loaded the car, and drove into town, along the untreated roads to the Duke of York's, then into town, slithering down Castle Hill and round the town square to the station. I found a place to park in Priory Mews, Jools went to buy the tickets. And once we were both in the station, laden with cameras, computers and food, we boarded the Javelin to wait the ten minutes before it left.

It wasn't crowded, even for a rush hour train. Even after Ashford and Ebbsfleet there was plenty of space, showing I guess most people taking an extended break. It was too dark to see anything out of the wondow, except when we went through towns, and so I looked at cars slithering on untreated roads, and towns not yet woken up.

We arrived at St Pancras, with no time to dither we made straight for the Underground, but as ever what seemed so close ended up with us walking down endless tunnels and passageways until we arrived at the Victoria Line station. But with a train every 2 minutes, within a minute we were on board, and 8 minutes later walking up the steps onto the concourse at Victoria station. We had over half an hour to spare.

Men of a certain age were gathering, so sure we were at the right place. It does mean that I too am a man of a certain age, although I did not carry notebooks nor track diagrams to tick off the unusual lines we would be traveling. I am not at level of obsessiveness. Yet. Orchids notwithstanding, obvs.

We get a coffee. I say a coffee. It was a salted caramel latte with cream and sprinkles. I'm not even sure it had coffee in it, but it was damn fine. And so I felt enthused to do some railway photography. After showing our tickets, we were allowed onto the platform, JOols went to find our seats and I went to snap the loco at each end of the train. THe 66s aren't the most handsome of trains, but a loco is a loco, and one at the buffers at a London termini is a rare event these days. At least for us.

I joined the band of photographers at the far end of the platform to snap the front loco, another 66, looking fine as dawn's light brightened the sky.

I joined Jools in carriage E, and opened the fizz, and together we had the strawberry jam roll I had made the night before. Not sure if they are meant to go together, but it worked.

Anyway, right on time the train lurched out, making its way out of the station, winding its way past the EMU sheds to the right and over the river to Battersea. We then took a freight line to the east, under the main lines, doubling back on ourselves until we crossed back over the river, following the London Overground route to Stratford:

London Victoria
Grosvenor Bridge
Stewarts Lane Junc.
Longhedge Lane Junc.
Latchmere Junc.
Kensington Olympia
North Pole Junc.
Mitre Bridge Junc.
Willesden Junc. HL
Kensal Green Junc.
Gospel Oak
Camden Road
Canonbury Junc.
Navarino Junc.
Lea Junc.
Channelsea Junc.
Stratford
Maryland
Forest Gate Junc.
Woodgrange Park
Barking Station Junc.
Barking
Ripple Lane
Dagenham Dock
Rainham
Purfleet
West Thurrock Junc.
Grays
Tilbury Town
Thames Haven Junc.
Gateway Arrivals

In the course of this long lazy trip, the sun rose spreading warm light on the frosty rooftops of old LOndon Town. The city awoke, and as we cruised past commuter station, the rumbles of the diesel engines startled unwary waiting passengers with their eyes glued to their phones. We got waves from of the younger passengers waiting too, of course, because everyone wants to wave at a train.

We drink our fizz, the train picks up more passengers at Stratford, then makes its way to Barking, Dagenham and out int the south Essex marshes, running beside the familiar high speed line until we cross under the M25 and out past Tilbury.

We turn off the Thameside main line, down a new built double line to the container facility, going at walking pace until we were stopped beside two of the massive container cranes that straddled the lines so containers could easily be loaded or unloaded. We stop for 15 minutes, so those who want can lean out of the windows to take shots.

We double back to Grays, then reverse again traveling back east again. I had noticed a spur off the main line leading through a gate; and it was this line that we would take next. The remains of a former passenger line leading to a ferry jetty, but long since disused and now another freight handling facility.

The branch is only a few hundred metres long, just about long enough to take our train, twelve carriages and two locomotives. On either side are ugly new freight storage buildings and containers. We take pictures again before the train reversed out, and then made its way back round London, following the way we had come until it got to Longhedge Junction.

From there we went via Denmark Hill, Nunhead, Bellingham, Buckley Junction, St Mary Cray and to Swanley. And because of a bridge deemed too weak to take our train, we then had to reverse to back down to Chiselhurst Junction, Grove Park, Lee Junction, Sidcup, Crayford, Dartford, Gravesend and then to Hoo Junction where the Grain Branch forked off.

The Isle of Grain, or Hoo Peninsula, is where Dickens set Great Expectations, and it is otherworldly, scattered villages and churches lay among fileds covering low rolling hills, until the branch reaches Grain where it runs beside a creek to the old oil refinery.

By now the sun was very low in the west, making it hard to see from our side of the train. I know the area well, but seeing if from the train is really good, even if thanks to the heating being turned back on in the carriage, made the windows all condensated. As we reversed off the isie, light faded, but thankfully we made good time, and rattled back along the way we had come.

Turned out we could get off at Swanley, and if we were in time there was a train at Dover at ten past six, meaning we could be home before eight. At Swanley, due to regulations, we could not get off until the signalman said it was safe and the train shuffled up the platform, so we had to wait ten minutes. But we had plenty of time before our train.

I made the most basic of mistakes when snapping a train at Swanley. I did not check the platform I was standing at, and a fast train went through at full speed as I stood on the yellow line. A few inches to my left and I could have been an ex-Jelltex. Stupid boy.

We got on our train, with a few tired shoppers or young people on a night out, and so the train with us trying to stay awake went south to the Medway towns of Rochester, Chatham, Gillingham and Rainham. But a power failure at Rainham meant we went non stop to Sittingbourne, and from Canterbury ran fast into Dover.

Nearly back at last.

We had to clear frost off the windscreen, then take our time in getting back up Jubilee Way and then home. It was ten to eight, and all three cats were waiting.

Meow.

We made drinks after feeding the cats, ate some of the leftover food, and at half nine after 19 hours up, we went to bed.

Not a bad day, mond.

Wednesday 28th December 2016

And despite working at least some of each day, except Christmas Day, I am now at the point at guessing what day it is. I mean it could be Wednesday, but just as well be Sunday. Who knows and who cares? Only those who have to earn a crust at this time of year. And for me, even if I do, it just means changing seats at the dining room table to look at a different computer screen.

We get up just before seven, and dawn is making its way over the sky from the eat. There has been a very deep hoar frost, and all the cars on the street look like they have white ten o'clock shadows. Just as well we don't have to go out until later.

There is breakfast, and another coffee, and then I can work. First of all find where my minions are, as they have failed to tell me when hey were returning. Turns out they were working, and seemed a little ticked off I wasn't happy with them for not informing me when they got back. We exchange curt mails, but then I am the boss and mostly right.

And after reading and responding to mails received, I can get down to the main job for the day; renaming files and creating sub-folders to put them in. The job had to be done and took three hours. But at the end, I know it was worth it, even if no one will ever look at the files again.

Lunch come round, and we have cold turkey rolls. There is still a LOT of turkey and stuffing left. But that's OK, as we like both.

We have bird seed to get. And with work quiet, I go out with Jools to Carlton Place, with Christmas over, its not so crazy down there, and it means we can go to Morrison's for food on the trip tomorrow. At least that was the plan.

I go to the pet shop, and Jools goes to get her Japan shots printed, and we both think the others' job will take ages, so we each go round the store buying food for the trip. We meet after each of us has paid, and each carrying a bag full of food. We will not starve. In fact, we have so much we eat some for dinner that night and still have enough, more than enough for the trip.

On the way back, we go down the Bay, I was hoping to try out the revamped Coastguard Inn, but with the weather so splendid, the car park for the pub and along the prom was packed. A little sunshine brings people out. And in the suntrap that is the bay, and in the lea of the cliffs, it felt downright warm in the afternoon sunshine.

I walk down into the shadow to take a snap of the cliff rearing up, then back to Ian Fleming's house with the old cliff fall behind. Jools sits on the beach just enjoying being out on such a fine day.

There is another part of the documentary on the wildlife of New Zealand; penguins nesting in woods, kiwis on the beach and a snail that eats worms like spaghetti.

Another days draws to an end, maybe sunset coming a minute later than the day before, but it is a start, and spring is on its way.

We have warmed up Indian snacks for dinner, and a beer, and somehow the evening slips away, and with an early start in the morning, we go to bed at half nine, and already outside there is another thick frost.

Tuesday 27th December 2016

This is the 38th blog of the month, and 428th of the year. Or something like that. My word, I have been busy, writing all this stuff down. I don't know if anyone actually reads the Brexit stuff, but one day, when the thing is done and dusted one way of the other, it might be fun to put them all together to tell the story from my point of view.

Anyway, thanks for bearing with me though this year, and the other years too. Next year will see the 9th anniversary of the start of this blog, and see me write the 2,000th post, which I suspect will be music based, and look like being my favourite tunes of all time. Or might not, we shall see. Depends on what I am doing when it comes to write it.

But the next year plan is for a future blog, for now, it is yesterday.

So, Tuesday.

Bank Holiday.

As Christmas fell on Sunday, the bank holiday that usually market it was not needed. But thankfully, that is then cashed in on the next working day. Boxing Day is also a bank holiday, so that was Monday. And Tuesday so became another holiday. Although not in Denmark or Belgium, where in such cases the public holiday vanishes. But as they worked, I would as well, as long as I had work to do though.

Anyway, with clear skies, it was a cold and still night, and dawn, when it came brought forth light on a cold scene, a heavy hoar frost was everywhere, and away in the wout, the faintest sliver of waning moon was just above the rising sun, still below the horizon. As I looked, the sliver was not yet bright enough to blot of the dark disk that made up 99% of the rest of it. But as the moon climbed, grew brighter, the darkness faded. Then as the day got nearer, the moon faded too. It would have made for a great shot, but it was way too cold to have gone outside to snap it.

There is the Bank Holiday football to watch on TV, so a very slow start which should have been a slow day with work. At half nine, my phone bleeped that it had received a message, and apparently had missed a call from my manager. It would also appear that there was reception trouble, as I had to go right to the front window to be able to get a signal to call him to see what was wrong.

And so it began, another day at work, Chinese whispers and other stuff to deal with. But with 90% of the company on vacation, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

With the radio on and Jools supply a constant stream of coffee, the morning went quick. She also braved Tesco to get some rolls to put the salt beef in for lunch, and it turned out that sourdough rolls and salt beef go really well with each other.

There's a bunch of stuff to watch on TV, stuff on the i player, so at two, after checking in the guttering Jools and I fitted, the wrong way!, on the shed, and played with Mulder as he laid on the shelter roof. Seems like he could have laid there all day, watching us run our fingers up and down the gaps in the slats for his entertainment. And we would be dumb enough to do that for hour too. As the sun set at the far end f the street, we watched something, then something else, and then a documentary on the wildlife of New Zealand. I can't tell you how much I would love to visit those isolated valleys and see the pre-historic life that still lingers there.

THere is football in the evening, Liverpool playing someone. They run out 4-1 winners and seem happy enough.

Getting "clean" away with it

Over the years, new words or terms have been thought up for horrible actions or events. Bombing civilian areas is called collateral damage. Torture is now called extraordinary renditions. Lying is called being economical with the truth. And now Hard Brext, also called economic suicide is called Clean Brexit.

On the 26th, a pro-Brexit group, Change Britain, published a press release which seemed to suggest the amount that Britain could save were it to leave the EU in an uncontrolled way could save Britain £24 billion a year. Only, it turned out that the press release was the report too. And the maths and ideas just don't add up. You can read a take down of that report here: "http://eulawanalysis.blogspot.co.uk/2016/12/hard-brexit-benefits-change-britains-24.html So I don't need to go over the points. That neither the print media, nor the beloved BBC did any basic research themselves into this, and just repeated its "conclusions" verbatim.

Yesterday, muppet in chief, Michael Gove tried to accuse others of not producing facts when challenging the idea of Brexit. Something of the pot calling the kettle black there. And anyway, Gove doesn't trust experts, which is why there really is no arguments in the Brexiteers words, just pure blind faith, and they hope they don't get found out. Gove used to be a journalist, and so could get away without actually telling the truth some of the time, most of the time, whatever. But a journalist that calls for something to be scrapped because in his view it doesn't work is one thing, but a politician doing the same thing is negligent bordering on the reckless. Imagine being so dumb to call for Britain leaving the EU and not having a plan for making it work? But that was what Gove, Johnson and Davis did. They won, and then handed over the job of making the impossible work to the experts they had spent months rubishing.

Of course, when the experts fail, the Brexiteers will not take the blame for not having a plan, they will blame the experts for failing to deliver the impossible.

There is a case going through the Irish courts in the new year that asks if the Article 50 notification is reversible. This is being done because during the case which concluded at the Appeal Court this month, both sides for different reasons said it was not. The reason this is important, is that if the Irish Case goes to the European Court of Justice, as it is bound to, and they say that in certain circumstances, maybe if by the country wanting to leave can change its mind, then this means the vote that the PM has promised Parliament at the end of the negotiations, rather than be a rubber stamp, or a Hobson's Choice with the only alternative would be crashing out of the EU without any deal, but what if in the vote Parliament could say to the Government, no, this is not good enough, stop the process until you have a better deal? This, stopping Brexit in its tracks.

You can see why the Brexiteers are horrified, their only real argument would be that we are so far down the path, best make the most of it now and get on with it. However, it is likely that the Government would have to go back to the drawing board. Probably forever.

And next year, by the end of February, the Appeal Court will publish its judgement. If the Brexit agenda is to be kept to, and the Government lose the case, they will have maybe 4 or 5 weeks to get a bill through Parliament that satisfies British Constitutional law.

As the New Year goes on, more companies will threaten to leave the UK of Brexit and its implications are not made clearer. It seems the only real option for the Government is to make Britain a tax haven, cutting tax rates for corporations and the super rich, making Britain attractive. This is OK< but of course means less tax collected, less public services for the rest of us, or us paying more taxes to make up the shortfall.

It is a mess. And will get worse. But then we can always rely on reality and facts to put a few sticks in the wheels of the Brexiteers tricycles.

Monday 26th December 2016

Life is always better after ten hours sleep. And Boxing Day was no exception.

We had gone to bed at nine, on what must have been the mildest December night on record; something like not getting under 12 degrees, and it felt very much like that.

We had switched the heating and water off so we could sleep through, and not woken by the boiler firing up. The cats even gave up trying to wake us up and had gone back to sleep.

But just after eight, we stirred. Oh now its breakfast time the cats thought. Yes, it was. And what better for breakfast that cold sausage rolls? Nothing, other than pizza, obvs.

So, outside it was a clear and bright morning. I mean not a cloud in the sky bright, and so we thought it best not to waste it by sitting indoors, although that was tempting I have to say.

The port opened at six in the morning, but there was little traffic around, and the roadworks along Townwall Street are all but done with two lanes open in each direction now; so no hold ups.

Down on the Hoe, there was little wind, and in the sunshine felt warm enough to walk without coats, but we took them anyway.

Out from the car park, along the winding park over the slacks, sheep scattering in all directions, lest I capture them with the camera, and they end up on Crimewatch.

Sheep are not by nature, bad, but they are followers so easily lead astray.

I meander along, snapping, meaning Jools has to wait for me on occasion, meaning she gets in the shots too.

I did come down to look for flowering plants, as through Twitter I had seen pictures from Wales of Coltsfoot in flower. No such luck down on The Hoe. Mostly it was too muddy beside the path, but with a couple of kestrels hunting overhead, and the bushes full of birds, there was plenty to look at as we walked back to the car.

THe car park was filling up, so just as well we were leaving. In fact we were going to the old folks place in Whitfield, to see how they had got on over Christmas without anyone else calling round or joining in for dinner. Each Tony's three children had other things on, or made excuses, and so it was just him, Jen and her Mum. Who is 96, deaf and slightly odd. The eccentric side of mad. And a little over four and a half foot tall. But that is beside the point.

We raided the chocolate bowls, all Roses and Quality Street, then sat down and heard the news, and stayed until the roll up smoke got too much, and we made our excuses and returned home.

A coffee and a generous slice of Christmas cake, and we settle down to watch something on TV, then listen to the football on the radio. Or I do anyway.

City lose yet again. And have a player sent off for handball. Again. And like many others, we are beginning not to care, really.

I warm up some sliced turkey, boil some vegetables and warm some gravy through. And in an hour we have another fine Christmas dinner, almost as good as the night before.

With the clear skies came a massive drop in temperatures, so we put the heating up a few notches, and settle on the sofa for yet more festive TV.