Wednesday 22nd March 2017

Today will sadly be remembered for the actions of a single male who undertook an attack on people in Westminster. I am not going to waste any more time describing that, or how deluded he was, or how nearly as bad the right wing idiots were in using it to further their hate. Hate begats hate, and nothing good becomes of that, both sides need each other, and without them they will die. Best to remember the heroes who risked their life in doing their jobs, either protecting Parliament or trying to save those that had: heroes one an all. Whilst all around, London carried on as normal, people worked, went to the tube or railway station and went home, while other went out to eat and drink. Its what Londoners, all people do, meaning that the terrorist's main aim, of changing our lives, failed. Already.

On the home front, it was a quiet day: the usual stuff. Get up, have coffee, work out, shower, work, lunch, work, prepare dinner, eat, watch TV, go to bed.

It is funny in that I have not worked on survey boats since May 2009, and yet I still dream about working on the from time to time. Tuesday night I dreamt I was on a ship, and for some reason could not get off, or there was some other emergency I had to attend to. And I could not find my room or some other piece of equipment. No idea why my mind does this to me when I sleep. I also dream quite regularly that I am still in the RAF, I had been so busy that I had forgotten to prepare to leave it and become a civvy, and find myself working on my final day with no job to go to the next day, and there are all these jobs to get done before I can leave. Anyway, that's what my mind does when I'm asleep, wear me out, apparently.

When we got up, it was getting light, the brightest part of the day, with clouds expecting to sweep in from the west on a keen westerly. It felt cold, and not quite light. Jools was already making coffee downstairs, so I go down, check online for news about stuff, and we talk about plans for that night and the weekend.

As soon as she leaves, I go upstairs to do another session on the cross-trainer. Might only be 20 minutes, but I am doing it, and enjoy listening to the radio, if not the exercise, but I do know I need to do it. I puff along to the New York Dolls, Pulp, The Clash and Gary Numan. Among others.

Time for a shower, get dressed, put the bird seed out, then make coffee, have breakfast and be ready for work at eight. If not before.

Main thought for the day was what to have for dinner. And for some reason I began to think about the leftover turkey from Christmas and so decided to make curry with some of it. I searched on line and found an interesting recipe, got the turkey out of the freezer, leaving it for an afternoon task.

Clouds got thicker outside, and inside it got no warmer, and in the end decided to put the heating on. I know, I know, could have put a jumper on, but I had to sit around and work, so might as well be warm doing it.

Yet more leftover aubergine and pasta salad for lunch, which I had at half ten, as I was so hungry.

Come the afternoon and I began to cook the curry. In truth, it might not have been the best recipe to follow, and I tried to be careful about how much curry powder to use. As I added the onions, turkey , mashed potato (!), tomatoes and everything, it began to taste like a thick stew. The last ingredient was Chayenne pepper. 1 tsp: no difference. Another generous shake: still nothing. Two more brought some heat, so I cooked it some more and left to stand until Jools returned and I could cook the rice.

Molly and I watch an episode of Time Team, sitting on the sofa while it gets dark outside. The hours and hours of rain we should have got was restricted to a heavy 5 minute downpour. The twins were out in it, and Mulder came and stood on my lap and then shook himself dry. I was no longer dry of course.

We have the curry, not so good as I hoped, but did not kill us, or not yet anyway.

At quarter to eight, there was international football on TV. England v Germany, from Dortmund, and what should have been a good game, even if only a friendly, was a massive let down, with it being played at walking pace. I watched it all, mind, managing to stay awake in the first half, then in the 2nd, Germany began to play and scored a belter of a winner.

And that was it, a whole day gone.

Tuesday 21st March 2017

After the rain of Monday, endless sunshine was forecast for Tuesday, I mean the skies had cleared Monday night, but even still. However, with it being the spring equinox, the sun rose in the south east, now shining into the spare room window just before six when it rose. I mean, I know the sun moves where it rises, but since living here, I see the changes on a day by day, or week by week basis. Come June the sun will almost be rising in the east.

We get up, Jools makes coffee and gets ready for work. And after Monday, promising myself all day that I would do some exercise once work trailed off, then failing to do anything, I made myself do a session on the cross trainer as soon as Jools had left. Not long, but long enough to get a sweat on, and trying to sing along with what I was listening to on the i pod. That done, I had a shower, got dressed and checked work mails before making breakfast, then doing more work.

By mid morning, it was a glorious day outside, but with a keen wind blowing from the west, it was a day for wearing a jacket if you wanted to really enjoy the day. In between reading, I take breaks so I can work in the garden, planting out for the pots that almost covered the new patio, so the whole area will look better. Turns out we have more huge spaces in the old raspberry beds, and will need yet more plants.

Work continues, and so the morning passes. I make corned beef sandwiches for lunch; for those of you not familiar with corned beef, it is an acquired taste, and not for everyone. It is processed beef, put into cans for transportation from places like Argentina or Tesco. Once these were magnificent beats being corralled by gaucho, not sitting looking forlorn on a slice of faux healthy bread with salad cream to add an exotic flavour. I also add the dried fried onions on, to add a bit of crunch, and to give me heartburn as it turns out. Nice.

And so to the afternoon, with more of the same; sunshine, cool breeze. But then I remember that it is Mother's Day, and I have to post Mother Dearest's card. I know there is a post box around here somewhere, and end up using GSV to find it, just at the start of the next road up the hill. I could walk there, then go for a longer walk along Collingwood Road to Fleet House, down the dip and back. Heck, its afternoon, probably won't need a coat, right?

Wrong. However, I won't find out until it is too late and I am walking along the top of the hill.

The house at the end of the street still has a fine display of daffodils. I snap them as I walk past, because in a couple of weeks they will be but a memory. I turn up Station Road for 25m the turn right again, posting the card in the box; no collection until the morning, but should be OK. From there the street goes mostly straight to the fields, running parallel with our street. Despite being one street away, it feels different, more modern houses with some building work going on in an empty plot. It continues a bit further than our street, behind the houses to the right there is the small field which as the path from our road on the other side.

I clear the boundaries of the village, and realise the wind is at my back, still cold, and will be colder once I turn for home. Although this is just a few hundred yards from our house, I have never walked along thris street, getting a slightly higher and so different viewpoint. Once pass the cross-field track which we normally go down, I had still not walked in this direction down this street.

Anyway, I come to Fleet House, the pig's copse is still empty, and down the dip the sheep's paddock is also now empty, and three sheep had been there over winter. I take the usual shots, showing how the season has changed since I was last down here. At the bottom of the dip, there is still mud, but mostly it is dry.

And cold. Jeez, once I walk back up the dip, turn along the track to our street, I am walking headlong into the wind, passing a man walking his dog whilst wearing a parka (the man, not dog). Is it that warm? he asks. No, I reply, shivering.

I make it back home, put the kettle on for a cuppa, and think about putting the heating on, but with it coming on in half an hour, thought I could survive until then. With a cuppa I pull through, and soon the heating came on. I check my work mails, and power the laptop down. Its an easy dinner; leftover pasta salad and aubergine slices.

Jools arrives home in time to do some work in the garden before the light fails. She collects some flower pots so she can repot some seedlings growing in the bathroom. See, exciting stuff here!

We eat our fill, but find there is still some left, enough for both our lunches on the morrow. All from three small aubergines, breadcrumbs, some dried pasta, low fat yoghurt and some cottage cheese.

Monday 20th March 2017

Monday came like my mood, dark and already raining. It was set to rain all day, a day at home where I could look at the outside world though rain-soaked windows.

We were up at six, and by twenty to seven, I had drunk my first coffee, so went to watch the recording of the football, meaning of I skipped through the punditry I would see highlights from all three games before it was time to work at eight. As it was, I watched them all and was ready for work by half seven, made another coffee and had a bowl of Bran Flakes, because, well, you know.

THere was no escape from work. I mean I would like to think with the end of the project coming, I could bask in a job well done, but the next one is calling, and I have much reading to do. So, best check mails, answer calls and get down to some reviewing.

With the best of intentions to get ahead, it seemed the forces of evil were intent on dragging me from my chosen task to doing something else that should look after themselves, or at least be looked after by someone else. No such luck. However, in that manner the morning passes.

Outside, rain falls down hard, and the wind blows a hoolie. Just nice to be inside to see the rain falling in sheets in the valley at the bottom of the garden. At least I wasn't bomb servicing in this weather, like I did in years gone by.

The 20th will go down in history for two reasons: 1 The PM announced that Article 50 will be triggered on Wednesday week. Which may be the end of the country as we know it. Anyway, I avoided the news and the BBC website all day, as hearing politicians crowing about things they don't understand isn't good for my blood pressure. I hope I'm wrong about this, but you know, I don't. And then the Director of the FBI was interviewed under oath, and it turns out that Trump's campaign was under investigation for it's links to Russia since last July. Let that sink in for a moment. However, Trump's subsequent Tweets made the impression that other stuff had happened, but, the President's campaign was at least supported by a foreign power. And Russia at that, and that the investigation had been going on longer than the revelation about HRC's e mail server, which fizzled out.

I mean that in itself was an incredible thing, but after 50 or so days of lies and craziness form 45, it all seems par for the course, and while we focus on him, his team dismantles social care, PBS, funding for the arts, and so on. Bread and circuses indeed.

In the afternoon, I make breaded aubergine, and once Jools arrived home, I began cooking. Outside the rain stopped and stars came out. It was Vera Lynn's 100th birthday, and there was to be some kind of light show at the cliffs, but it was a private thing, or just for TV cameras anyway.

We watch a documentary on British photography. That was my idea I have to say. Interesting stuff about photo-journalism, and how important it is, if painful to see images of the dead and dying. And the effect it has on the photographer.

Grab some popcorn and watch the chaos unfold

Today it was announced by Number 10 that Article 50 notification will be sent to the EU Wednesday week.

So the phony war will end, and the shit will get real. Nothing that has happened since last JUne has convinced me of anything other than the fact it is an exercise in monumental folly, and that it really will not end well.

Me, and those, like me, who believe we are right in our thinking of how bad Brexit will be, can sit back and watch the chaos unfold, and at each turn we can say "we told you so", or, "what did you think would happen"

I hope I am wrong, I hope those like us are as wrong. And that in two years time Britain sails onto the sunlight uplands of a free trading nation. Rather than the reality that Britain has turned the clock back 50 years, won't guarantee the status of EU nationals that have lived here for decades, indeed some are already being refused leave to stay. Playing politics with people's lives, using them and their families are bargaining chips.

Already various industries have reported shortages in manpower; European workers went home for Christmas and did not return. Care Homes are already reporting such shortages of staff that contracts with local authorities will not be honoured.

But, remember this, every tax break given to industries or bankers will have to be paid, with less social security, us paying more taxes, or us working more hours. There is no free lunch, and it will be those at the bottom who will be paying more. Still, take back control, eh?

Sunday 19th March 2017

Welcome to the weekend. Again.

For various reasons, we both have been washed out thanks to the previous week, so the choice not to do too much was not a hard one to take. And in truth the weather was not going to be too good anyway, so let us just stay around the house, do the garden and me do some cooking.

Of course, there is some football to watch, so I sit with a coffee on the sofa and begin to watch. Outside the birds are busy eating the seed i had put on. When people walk by, or they hear a strange noise, they fly away. At one point, when there is a large number of starlings in the garden, they all take off as one, and a split second later, I see a brown shadow fly by, just under the level of the top of the window. I get up to investigate, and on the fence the other side of the road sits a Sparrowhawk, just resting and looking about.

I am stunned for a while, then Jools having come down when I called out to her, asks why I don't take a shot. So I grab the camera which has the macro lens fitted, just to get something. Then, as Jools watches the hawk, I fir the large lens, telling myself all the while he will be gone when I have the lens ready.

But, walking to the window, it is still there, I fire off some shots before, with a flourish, it flies off into the garden, but I get one last shot with it's tail feather spread out, but no head in the shot as it was partially hidden by fir trees.

Wow, excitement.

But back to the football and the coffee. I do check the fence from time to time, and certainly there are few birds about feeding in the garden for a couple of hours.

I had gone back to Tesco later on Saturday to pick up some olive trees, as you do, and also got croissants, so in a major change we have them on Sunday instead of bacon. Still good mind.

Then it is back out into the garden, and the problem of finding a way to train wisteria up the shelter, and how to hang a terracotta jar for birds to nest in (don't ask). Turns out that the latter was beyond us, as we did not have the right fixings, and also turns out that wisteria will grow and grow and serious thought must be given as to how it will be there in the longterm, and attached to the shelter. Jools moves plants in pots from the patio in preparation for planting in the old raspberry bed, all exciting stuff I'm sure you'd agree, but all necessary.

For lunch, I tried something new, something else from the Long Weekend book; chickpea and fennel seed fritters. They are made with chickpea flour: who knew there was such a thing, you mix the flour, water and seeds in a pan until it makes a paste, put it in a tin, slice when cold and shallow fry. Once golden brown you put three or four slices in a bread roll, squeeze lemon juice on them and sprinkle with salt crystals. Not sure if it was quite as good as hoped, but interesting, and worth doing. Good news is that I have enough flour to have them three more times.

It was afternoon, and it would have been easy to have carry on working, but in fact, Jools went for a snooze and I retired to the sofa to listen to football, and so the afternoon passes in rather a pleasant way.

Evening comes, and instead of something cooked, we have the last of the bread we had with insalata caprese on Saturday. We know how to live.

It might have been a quiet weekend, but there is some interesting stuff coming up over the next couple of months, I promise you. We round the day off on the sofa watching a documentary about sound, and learn much, then it is robot wars, which is good and non-taxing, as it should be.

No words needed

Here are some quotes and facts from David Davis' appearance before MPs this week, just to show what happens when you let Brexiteers get what they want.

Mr Davis rubbished the Treasury’s pre-referendum forecasts of an economic crash if Britain left the EU with no fresh trade agreement. But, when asked by the chairman of the Brexit select committee, if a new assessment had been carried out, Mr Davis replied: “Under my time, no.”

It drew sharp criticism from Labour MP Pat McFadden, who alleged: “Without an assessment, you have mortgaged the country’s economic future to a soundbite.” But Mr Davis hinted no assessment of the Brexit options will be carried out, saying: “You don’t need a piece of paper with numbers on it to have an economic assessment.”

And he appeared to downgrade the Government’s pledge that the UK will enjoy the “same economic benefits” outside the EU, telling the MPs: “I was expressing an ambition.”

On the impact of crashing out with no deal, he said: “It’s not as frightening as some people think – but it’s not as simple as some people think.”

During the evidence session, with the committee shadowing his Department for Exiting the European Union, Mr Davis also:

* Said it was “probably right” that holidaying Britons will lose EHIC cards, which provide free or subsidised healthcare across the EU, but added: “I have not looked at that one.”

* Admitted he did not know the implications of leaving with no deal on the transfer of personal data, which is a crucial issue for the booming tech industry.

* Acknowledged UK producers of dairy and meat would face tariffs of up to 40 per cent under World Trade Organisation (WTO) rules – “the numbers in agriculture are high”.

* Described the argument that the UK could walk away without paying a penny to the EU, if no deal is reached, as “interesting” – “a very good start in this exercise”.

* Said he expected Northern Ireland would end up with a “very light border, not a hard border” with the Republic.

* Said he “assumed” the "Open Skies" agreement – which has slashed airfares across the EU – will be lost, although he would fight for a successor.

* Confirmed financial services firms are poised to lose "passporting rights" to trade in the EU, saying: “I would expect that to be the case, that’s an area of uncertainty.”

Quotes taken from The Independent

In other news, The Prime Minister has refused Nicola Sturgeon's demand for a 2nd Independence Referendum for Scotland, using the same arguments most of us who want to stay in the EU use; stronger in a Union, why separate from your strongest trading partner. And so on, the irony meter went off the scale.

Sturgeon's demand for a referendum seemed to cause the government's announcement that Article 50 was going to be triggered to be delayed until the end of the month.

I'll leave you with a question, and it is an interesting one: when was the decision to leave the EU taken and by whom? This is interesting, as the notification to leave, is covered in Article 50 clause 2. But, how has clause 1, the decision according to the Constitution been taken, and by whom? No one has, really. The PM can't take it, Parliament was not asked, and the referendum was advisory only. My guess if (and when) Article 50 is triggered, someone will challenge as to who could and who has made the decision.

Saturday 18th March 2017

32 years ago, I began work at the chicken factory. It was the first full time job I had. Before then, there had been Government schemes that offered zero chance of employment once it came to an end, there was the three months I spent working on the electrical counter at boots, or the four weeks I worked at a Garage along Beccles Road, I last until they got fed up with my, my procrastination got too much for them. And there was the few weeks I spent being the cooked meats counter at Sparrow's Mini Mart, slicing bacon. Not that I did that 40 hours a week, although it felt like that sometimes.

Somewhere intween was the shortest job of all time, four hours spent as a short order chef, two hours per day as a trial. THey asked me not to come back on Wednesday, so 2 days, two hours per day, equals four hours. I did learn how to prepare lettuce.

Somehow I talked myself into selling double glazing. I mean I took part in the week's training course, which made it all seem so easy. Monday the next week I began knocking on doors. Ten minutes later, my illusions were shattered and I knew how hard that would be. The week after I started at the chicken factory.

I was to stay there until September 1990, when I joined the RAF. Like all jobs, its the people you work with that makes it bearable, and that was more true with the chicken factory. The first two weeks I sat on a stool and turned wings as the chickens, hanging from their feet went past on shackles. Within a few days I had RSI, but there was the radio to listen to, and my imagination to run riot in, wondering what I would do if I won the pools. Two weeks later, I was moved into the chiller to pack the completed product of a new line. This meant a quiet life, no one watching over me, and an extra £4.10 a day.

I stayed doing that for some 18 months, working, laughing with friends and listening to the radio. Not a bad job really: I gave my Mum some money for food and rent, but we were all doing well, Dad working a load of overtime in the shipyard, Mum working as a cook at a boarding school. Life was good for us all. We went to play darts on a Friday night with friends.

In 1987, I got a job as a quality inspector. I had no idea what I was doing, but learned well. Learned how to use a sharp pencil some times. But, programming the weighing machines, checking weights of packs and all the other stuff we had to do. This meat I progressed from the blue boilersuit brigade, to having a white coat, trilby and a set of pens. This I did for nearly two years, and I enjoyed it, but fell out with my manager, and went back "on the line", getting a blue boilersuit again.

From then I began to wonder if that was all there was, did I want to spend my whole life with such narrow horizons? I began the climb up the slippery slope of management, being in charge of many of my friends. That was tough, but then there was the thought of what else? I mean I worked hard, and at weekends I went clubbing, dancing the night away pumped up on lager. Apparently everyone else was off their tits on E or something stronger, but I saw nothing. When there was the fuss about acid, I thought it was ironic, as I had never seen anyone taking drugs, nor offered any. And that was the case until I joined the RAF in September 1990.

My friend had joined up in 1989, and I thought I should try it too. I began to run, wanting to be fit seeing how James struggled to get through basic training. I ran at least 5 times a week, doing a mile and a half, then two, then three and beyond. As well as walking much more too. Great during the summer months walking through Oulton Broad. As 1989 ended and turned into 1990, I went for interviews, and was accepted to join as an armourer. The day I got confirmation from the MOD, I was offered a salaried position at the factory. A real choice, but no choice at all. I chose to see the world, wear a blue suit, and declined promotion.

I say that now, as for one reason and another, that day lead to me having quality experience, a friend who talked me into joining the RAF, seeing the world, getting engineering qualifications, both of which, in time, lead me to work in the wind industry.

And here I am. Traveling to Denmark, Belgium and places inbetween and all over, all for work. Amazing really.

Saturday.

Well, I know orchid season is getting close, and I could spend hours and much money traveling all over the county looking for them. But they won't be out yet, and all I would have seen more rosettes, and although I would have enjoyed it, it probably wouldn't have been a good use of our time and money. THe garden still needs much work to do on it. There are even more plants to be planted, beds to be dug and the hedge to be trimmed. Although, for the hedge, Jools had a plan.

Before then, there was shopping to be done, of course, and after ten hours sleep I felt almost back to normal. Anyway, even better after a coffee. I make a list, check it twice, then go to Whitfield to Tesco.

I come back with bulging bags. Sadly, the bakery was behind, so there were no croissants, but it did mean we could have bacon butties a day early if we wanted. Turns out we wanted. So after putting the shopping away, I fire up the grill and get cooking.

The plan for the hedge was to get a gardener to do it; one had put in a leaflet though our door, so we asked him to come round and trim the hedge on the right hand side. We could do it, and have done, but it is large, takes us two days and is all over the place. So just after nine, Rob come round with his van full of tools, gets his trimmer on a pole, and with extension poles, and gets trimming. He does it in an hour and a half, and it looks great. And all for under twenty quid. We say we will pick up the clippings, so he is free to go, and we have a trimmed hedge.

Through the afternoon there are three rugby matches to watch. This is the first year I have done this, but is good if I have the digital radio with the football commentary running.

It is a fine way to spend the afternoon, especially supping from a large bottle of strong Belgian beer, and munching on a bag of paprika baked corn. I know how to live! In football, Norwich win now its too late to matter, can don't concede either. We have a chance of the play offs, but really don't deserve it to be honest.

At five, there is the Ireland v England game, England on an 18 game winning streak. Sadly, England were not quite good enough, and Ireland deserved to win, thus bringing an end to this year's 6 Nations. England are champions again, but failed to get the grand slam.

For dinner I cook Kozani chicken with prunes, a recipe from Rick's Long Weekends book. I wasn't looking forward to it, as the last time I ate prunes, under duress, was at Primary School. But these prunes were no black, were sweet and would take the flavour of the sauce that the recipe created. Apart from chicken, the other main ingredient was saffron. Greek saffron, and so from a selection of the interesting dishes we saw Rick cook, I ordered the ingredients a couple of weeks ago. Now it was time to cook.

Boil the chicken with saffron, then fry some onion, add sweet paprika and the prunes, add to the chicken and the liquor, cook until the chicken is tender and liquor reduced. I boiled some rice to go with it, and let me tell you, it was wonderful. Something to make again.

As Norwich have won, it means I HAVE to watch the highlights, even if they're meaningless. So it goes, so it goes.