It was always going to be thus: when Brexit went wrong, it wouldn’t be the two decades worth of non-planning by Farrage and co, nor the poorly prepared for referendum win, the hastily sent A50 letter when the country is far from ready, when the Cabinet and PM 18 months later still don’t know what the end game will be. No, it must be the EU’s fault. Immigrant’s fault. Civil Servant’s fault. The Chancellor’s fault. Remoaner’s fault. Anyone but theirs.
And Lord Digby Jones yesterday tweeted that we should all stop moaning and making Michael Barnier’s job easy. And he also railed against unelected officials taking decisions out of the people’s hands. That’s Lord Digby Jones, member of the House of Lords. The unelected chamber.
Conservative MPs tweeted la la la messages at tweets referencing actual facts and figures instead of actually paying them any attention. I mean, fact based decision making, now that would be a thing.
May met the Irish President today, and was left in no doubt about the promises made in phase 1, and the need to implement them into law. They resolved to come up with some solution to the Irish border rather than regulatory alignment. But in the end that’s what it will be.
There are several speeches planned for this week, by May, Johnson and Davis. There is talk in a narrowing of differences. We shall see, Johnson was pushing his own plans in the papers yesterday again. Briefing against his own cabinet. Something that is now normal, in these extraordinary times.
Thursday, 15 February 2018
Sunday 11th February 2018
With the sun expected to shine, at least in the morning, it would have been easy and tempting to go traipsing all over the county chasing orchids, wild flowers, churches or whatever. But with my travelling ways catching up on me, and in fact I just like to relax, watch and listen to football, listen to music, mess in the garden, cook and so on, it turned out the plan for the day was to have no plan.
We did not have a night of cards and wine to recover from, so up at six or half past, with the sun getting ready to rise and the sliver of waning moon hovering just over the horizon.
I make coffee, feed the cats, then settle down to watch football, Citeh playing football from Hollywood, demolishing Leicester 5-1, and playing with style and panache that is barely of this planet. It is glorious to watch, and we will talk about this City side for many years to come, even losing managers smile when they talk about the fabulous goals Man City put past them.
There is bacon butties to be cooked, more brews to be made, then at ten, time to tackle the garden. But as we have done much over the winter, after half an hour it was done, I take a few final shots as the builders are due in this week to lay a path and made brick borders for the beds. It will look wonderful. We hope.
Even with the sun out, I should have gone for a walk, but I could not quite get the enthusiasm for it. But I do do another session on the cross trainer, forth day in a row, huffing and puffing along to Shawn Colvin, not really work out music, but like having a conversation with an old friend.
We decide to have dinner at lunch, shoarma, fried potatoes and corn. Simple, but delicious. The smell of the marinated lamb lasts into the next day in the house; the gift that keeps on giving. Jools washes up, and I sit on the sofa to listen to the football on the radio; and my eyes may have closed some.
Jools decides to go for a walk, up and down the four roads of the estate, and within ten minutes of her setting out, dark clouds swept over and it began to snow. Not big fat wet snow, but like polystyrene balls, dry snow. It is still snowing when she returns, all cold and ruddy cheeked.
In order to warm up, she does a session on the cross trainer too. That warms her up.
I pack for the week ahead, get the documents I need, check the camera batteries in case I see something worth snapping.
We have cheese on toast for supper, we are getting sleepy already, and the weekend has slipped us by again.
We did not have a night of cards and wine to recover from, so up at six or half past, with the sun getting ready to rise and the sliver of waning moon hovering just over the horizon.
I make coffee, feed the cats, then settle down to watch football, Citeh playing football from Hollywood, demolishing Leicester 5-1, and playing with style and panache that is barely of this planet. It is glorious to watch, and we will talk about this City side for many years to come, even losing managers smile when they talk about the fabulous goals Man City put past them.
There is bacon butties to be cooked, more brews to be made, then at ten, time to tackle the garden. But as we have done much over the winter, after half an hour it was done, I take a few final shots as the builders are due in this week to lay a path and made brick borders for the beds. It will look wonderful. We hope.
Even with the sun out, I should have gone for a walk, but I could not quite get the enthusiasm for it. But I do do another session on the cross trainer, forth day in a row, huffing and puffing along to Shawn Colvin, not really work out music, but like having a conversation with an old friend.
We decide to have dinner at lunch, shoarma, fried potatoes and corn. Simple, but delicious. The smell of the marinated lamb lasts into the next day in the house; the gift that keeps on giving. Jools washes up, and I sit on the sofa to listen to the football on the radio; and my eyes may have closed some.Jools decides to go for a walk, up and down the four roads of the estate, and within ten minutes of her setting out, dark clouds swept over and it began to snow. Not big fat wet snow, but like polystyrene balls, dry snow. It is still snowing when she returns, all cold and ruddy cheeked.
In order to warm up, she does a session on the cross trainer too. That warms her up.
I pack for the week ahead, get the documents I need, check the camera batteries in case I see something worth snapping.
We have cheese on toast for supper, we are getting sleepy already, and the weekend has slipped us by again.
Sunday, 11 February 2018
Saturday 10th February 2018
To quote the song, how good to be back home again.
Indeed it is.
Scully had slept beside me all night, and I had also s;ept without stirring, some nine hours, and so woke with a spring in my step, or it could be just that it was the weekend. Even better was that JOols had had a Tesco delivery the day before, so we did not need to go out for croissants, back, milk, etc. We have a coffee, then an hour later another with warmed through croissants.
The question was what to do with the day, and it seemed it was churches and meat. In that we needed to go to Preston, and I had made a mental note to visit Eastry and maybe Woodnesborough.
The forecast was for sunshine in the morning, and rain in the afternoon, so better get out and make the most of it! It is only a ten or so minute drive to Eastry, the main road to Sandwich now bypasses the village, and I have only been to it once or twice before. The narrow streets and lines of parked cars make travel through the village, but then we have to add our car to the parked ones as, well, we needed to get out.
Most of the shops in the centre have been converted to houses, but tthere is a fine looking pub, chippy, newsagent and coffee shop. So, not too bad. And just down a lane lined with listed buildings is St Mary.
I guessed it would be open, as it was. We got inside through the odd porch at the west end of the church at the base of the tower. Inside a warden was hoovering, and apparently none too pleased to have visitors. I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine, seemed to be the message. So I went round snapping away with the 150mm, then the wide angle and finally the fifty. I took about a hundred shots inside, and another 50 outside. The church has some fine wall paintings over the cancel arch, and has a rare 28 year dial calendar on one of the pillars holding the roof up of the south aisle. I snap them all, and then again with a different lens.
The warden had gone by then, so I was able to take my time and go where I wanted to get the last of the shots of details I felt I needed.
When we walk back to the car, a truck had ignored the road sign warning of a width restriction, and whilst locals shouted at it, the driver inched forward threatening to take two houses out. The air was blue, as the escort, who should have known better swore at the locals.
We went to the car and drove out back onto the bypass and then to Sandwich, taking the Canterbury road before turning off at Nash.
We didn't need much, but fancied shoarma on Sunday so needed some lamb. And I took the opportunity to get some steak and a beef joint for roasting another weekend.
The other side of the main road, and through the village of Ash is Woodnesborough. Its name hints at its great age; it is either Saxon or Viking for Woden's Hill, and there is evidence of fortification at the highest point of the low hill the village sits on.
The church was open too, so I can redo many of the shots I took on Christmas a half dozen years ago. We find some fantastic 13th century tiles in the chancel, that had not been thrown out during the inevitable Victorianisation.
We could have done more, but there is other weekends, and as it was just past midday, we were getting hungry, so we drive back via Whitfield and the hundreds of new houses filling the former fields.
THere is football, rugby too on TV and the radio, and there is writing to do. So, I while away the afternoon, as usual following Norwich via Twitter, who salvage a draw at Derby scoring and missing a penalty. There is then the England v Wales rugby match to watch. Or the first half, as time is getting away, so I record the second half, go to do some phys.
After working out, I cool down then make dinner, breaded chicken and lentil dahl, which went down very well with a pint of Danish IPA.
I can then watch the second half of the rugby, England win. Just. Then have a shower, watch the Championship highlights and somehow its bed time already. How does that work?
Indeed it is.
Scully had slept beside me all night, and I had also s;ept without stirring, some nine hours, and so woke with a spring in my step, or it could be just that it was the weekend. Even better was that JOols had had a Tesco delivery the day before, so we did not need to go out for croissants, back, milk, etc. We have a coffee, then an hour later another with warmed through croissants.
The question was what to do with the day, and it seemed it was churches and meat. In that we needed to go to Preston, and I had made a mental note to visit Eastry and maybe Woodnesborough.
The forecast was for sunshine in the morning, and rain in the afternoon, so better get out and make the most of it! It is only a ten or so minute drive to Eastry, the main road to Sandwich now bypasses the village, and I have only been to it once or twice before. The narrow streets and lines of parked cars make travel through the village, but then we have to add our car to the parked ones as, well, we needed to get out.
Most of the shops in the centre have been converted to houses, but tthere is a fine looking pub, chippy, newsagent and coffee shop. So, not too bad. And just down a lane lined with listed buildings is St Mary.
I guessed it would be open, as it was. We got inside through the odd porch at the west end of the church at the base of the tower. Inside a warden was hoovering, and apparently none too pleased to have visitors. I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine, seemed to be the message. So I went round snapping away with the 150mm, then the wide angle and finally the fifty. I took about a hundred shots inside, and another 50 outside. The church has some fine wall paintings over the cancel arch, and has a rare 28 year dial calendar on one of the pillars holding the roof up of the south aisle. I snap them all, and then again with a different lens.
The warden had gone by then, so I was able to take my time and go where I wanted to get the last of the shots of details I felt I needed.
When we walk back to the car, a truck had ignored the road sign warning of a width restriction, and whilst locals shouted at it, the driver inched forward threatening to take two houses out. The air was blue, as the escort, who should have known better swore at the locals.
We went to the car and drove out back onto the bypass and then to Sandwich, taking the Canterbury road before turning off at Nash.We didn't need much, but fancied shoarma on Sunday so needed some lamb. And I took the opportunity to get some steak and a beef joint for roasting another weekend.
The other side of the main road, and through the village of Ash is Woodnesborough. Its name hints at its great age; it is either Saxon or Viking for Woden's Hill, and there is evidence of fortification at the highest point of the low hill the village sits on.
The church was open too, so I can redo many of the shots I took on Christmas a half dozen years ago. We find some fantastic 13th century tiles in the chancel, that had not been thrown out during the inevitable Victorianisation.
We could have done more, but there is other weekends, and as it was just past midday, we were getting hungry, so we drive back via Whitfield and the hundreds of new houses filling the former fields.
THere is football, rugby too on TV and the radio, and there is writing to do. So, I while away the afternoon, as usual following Norwich via Twitter, who salvage a draw at Derby scoring and missing a penalty. There is then the England v Wales rugby match to watch. Or the first half, as time is getting away, so I record the second half, go to do some phys.
After working out, I cool down then make dinner, breaded chicken and lentil dahl, which went down very well with a pint of Danish IPA.I can then watch the second half of the rugby, England win. Just. Then have a shower, watch the Championship highlights and somehow its bed time already. How does that work?
Saturday, 10 February 2018
Friday 9th February 2018
As you may remember, I left the last post climbing onto bed at the Hotel Propellen in Billund. This is to make sure I had a short and fog-free trip to the airport in the morning of something less than 5 minutes. THis also meant I had an extra hour in bed, meaning I could set the alarm for a little after six. Heck, probably half past or quarter to seven would have been OK.
I get dressed and go to the breakfast bar, through two restaurant rooms and past the oriental guy doing the vacuuming. I have a fresh roll with bacon. A breakfast of champions, along with a bowl of bran flakes and coffee. Always coffee. Back to the room to pack, I had paid the bill the evening before, so all I had to do was drop the keys off on the way to the car.
I scrape the windscreen, but the heater on full and drive past the entrance to Legoland, past the half dozen empty car parks to the airport entrance, dropping the car off at the parking lot.
I walk quickly to the terminal, drop the car keys off, check in quickly as there was no line, go to security where there also was no line. I was congratulating myself at how clever I had been, not realising I had left my passport in one of the trays at security. I realised about 30 seconds later, and after trying to walk down the up escalator, I go to the top, rattle down the steps and find it and my boarding card still there.
But I am reunited with them, go up through the duty free shop; could I be tempted by a glass or run, I was asked. At seven in the morning? I think not, thanks. But don't let me stop you.
As I have no key to the lounge, I find a table underneath it and use the free wifi I still have the password to.
And so the hour passes, and I can then walk to the gate where we wait some more. Outside the sun rises as does a think mist. It looks stunning, but I think I was the only one to notice.
We can board, and like most times I am the last to go through to the gate, walking down the steps to the pan, pausing to take a shot of the plane with the rising sun behind. I take my seat in 7A, yes, that's right, and so have a limited view because of the engine hanging from the wing.
Anyway, once in the air, there is mist covering the ground, so nothing much to see, so I read my book, declining breakfast and passing the 100 minute flight in the world of rock stars and stories of their life changing day.
The pilot tells us it is raining in London. And we find Blighty shrouded in cloud, we drop down through layers of dark cloud, rain lashes the plans, and there is no sign of the ground. We emerge from the clouds over Grays and the Dartford bridge, getting lower. Side winds makes the plane sway, but the pilot does well, and we touch down. It is nine in the morning.
But we have to wait ten minutes for the ground crew to get the large hand luggage out, and as we were parked at gate ten, a walk along the whole length of the terminal to immigration. Even with my bag waiting, I guessed I wasn't going to make the quarter to ten train, doubly so as I had to wait 6 minutes for a train to Stratford.
In the end the train arrives at 09:44, and had I had run up the escalator and over the main road, through the station, down the escalator, I might just have made it. As it was, when I got to the station I heard the bleep bleep as the doors on the train opened on the platform below, I could have tried, but had I not made it, I would have been stuck on the platform for an hour. So I amble to the cafe and have second breakfast, read some more and generally chill out.
I pop into the shopping centre, buy what I think is a nice loaf of seeded bread, but when the seller takes it out, it is only about four inch square for four quid! Still, looked nice, so I thought, why not?
Time to go down to the platform, in time to see a Eurostar hammer through at 150mph, and impressive sight as it climbs out of the tunnel and takes the middle road of the down lines. I take a shot, because I could. My train pulls in, I pull the case on board, stow in in a rack and take my seat. Too tired to read, I allow the scenery to slide through my field of vision once we are out of the tunnel. Rain falls gently, but I am happy, nearly home.
The taxi is waiting for me, ready to whisk me home. The driver knows me now, and asks about my week and weather. Its a nice moment.
Molly is waiting for me, looking fuller figured and happy. So once inside I give her another packet of food, unpack and make a brew.
Jool comes home at three, takes Scully tot eh vet for her jabs, but Mulder did a vanishing act, so he will have to go next week. Of course, he turns up a few minutes after Jools had left. Meow he says.
I go to do a session on the cross trainer. Its not easy, I would have been happy to laze on the sofa, but I did an half hour, puffing away to Fleetwood Mac. But I'd rather jack, of course.
Jools comes home, whilst she does phys, I feed the cats then prepare chorizo hash.
We round the evening off watching Only Connect, and somehow the evening had gone. But tomorrow it am the weekend.
We have lots to celebrate, not less the fact we have refinanced the house and might be mortgage free in a maximum of eight years. Now that would be something.
I get dressed and go to the breakfast bar, through two restaurant rooms and past the oriental guy doing the vacuuming. I have a fresh roll with bacon. A breakfast of champions, along with a bowl of bran flakes and coffee. Always coffee. Back to the room to pack, I had paid the bill the evening before, so all I had to do was drop the keys off on the way to the car.
I scrape the windscreen, but the heater on full and drive past the entrance to Legoland, past the half dozen empty car parks to the airport entrance, dropping the car off at the parking lot.
I walk quickly to the terminal, drop the car keys off, check in quickly as there was no line, go to security where there also was no line. I was congratulating myself at how clever I had been, not realising I had left my passport in one of the trays at security. I realised about 30 seconds later, and after trying to walk down the up escalator, I go to the top, rattle down the steps and find it and my boarding card still there.
But I am reunited with them, go up through the duty free shop; could I be tempted by a glass or run, I was asked. At seven in the morning? I think not, thanks. But don't let me stop you.
As I have no key to the lounge, I find a table underneath it and use the free wifi I still have the password to.
And so the hour passes, and I can then walk to the gate where we wait some more. Outside the sun rises as does a think mist. It looks stunning, but I think I was the only one to notice.
We can board, and like most times I am the last to go through to the gate, walking down the steps to the pan, pausing to take a shot of the plane with the rising sun behind. I take my seat in 7A, yes, that's right, and so have a limited view because of the engine hanging from the wing.Anyway, once in the air, there is mist covering the ground, so nothing much to see, so I read my book, declining breakfast and passing the 100 minute flight in the world of rock stars and stories of their life changing day.
The pilot tells us it is raining in London. And we find Blighty shrouded in cloud, we drop down through layers of dark cloud, rain lashes the plans, and there is no sign of the ground. We emerge from the clouds over Grays and the Dartford bridge, getting lower. Side winds makes the plane sway, but the pilot does well, and we touch down. It is nine in the morning.
But we have to wait ten minutes for the ground crew to get the large hand luggage out, and as we were parked at gate ten, a walk along the whole length of the terminal to immigration. Even with my bag waiting, I guessed I wasn't going to make the quarter to ten train, doubly so as I had to wait 6 minutes for a train to Stratford.
In the end the train arrives at 09:44, and had I had run up the escalator and over the main road, through the station, down the escalator, I might just have made it. As it was, when I got to the station I heard the bleep bleep as the doors on the train opened on the platform below, I could have tried, but had I not made it, I would have been stuck on the platform for an hour. So I amble to the cafe and have second breakfast, read some more and generally chill out.
I pop into the shopping centre, buy what I think is a nice loaf of seeded bread, but when the seller takes it out, it is only about four inch square for four quid! Still, looked nice, so I thought, why not?
Time to go down to the platform, in time to see a Eurostar hammer through at 150mph, and impressive sight as it climbs out of the tunnel and takes the middle road of the down lines. I take a shot, because I could. My train pulls in, I pull the case on board, stow in in a rack and take my seat. Too tired to read, I allow the scenery to slide through my field of vision once we are out of the tunnel. Rain falls gently, but I am happy, nearly home.The taxi is waiting for me, ready to whisk me home. The driver knows me now, and asks about my week and weather. Its a nice moment.
Molly is waiting for me, looking fuller figured and happy. So once inside I give her another packet of food, unpack and make a brew.
Jool comes home at three, takes Scully tot eh vet for her jabs, but Mulder did a vanishing act, so he will have to go next week. Of course, he turns up a few minutes after Jools had left. Meow he says.
I go to do a session on the cross trainer. Its not easy, I would have been happy to laze on the sofa, but I did an half hour, puffing away to Fleetwood Mac. But I'd rather jack, of course.
Jools comes home, whilst she does phys, I feed the cats then prepare chorizo hash.
We round the evening off watching Only Connect, and somehow the evening had gone. But tomorrow it am the weekend.
We have lots to celebrate, not less the fact we have refinanced the house and might be mortgage free in a maximum of eight years. Now that would be something.
More Brexit reality
The arguments, as such they are, revolve around the UK Government, cheered on by the Telegraph and Express, revolves around them wanting two things, individually are fine, but together are impossible. But as no one from the BBC or print media really challenges this cakeism, it is something May can get away with month after month, claiming to desire a deep and meaningful relationship between the UK and EU, despite wanting to leave the EU, SM and CU.
So it takes Michael Barnier to point out the impossibility of this position by saying that if Britain wants to leave the EU, and May wants to leave the SM and CU, then there would have to be physical barriers on the Irish, and other, borders. This is the consequence of these red lines. But obviously, this is being painted as more EU punishment, but I have said many times, any deal not only has to be done within the EU rules and laws, but in those of the WTO too. And any deal the UK is to get, then the EU would have to give to all other countries in their preferred trading partners list; Japan, Canada, etc.
Barnier also added that the transition is not a given, as there are some serious issues to be decided first, the Irish border for one, and without no transition deal, UK will crash out of the EU in under 14 months time. The clock is ticking.
And today, the Foreign Secretary is pushing his own version of Brexit, opposed to his own PM's. In the past, such activities would have resulted in being sacked, instead he is being mentioned as being the next PM.
Some low-level talks have taken place last week between the EU and UK, but have not resulted in any thawing of relations. Barnier adding is is surprised by UK's positions. As are we all.
And the Cabinet still has not reached any agreement on what UK's final Brexit position should be, so that rolls over to another week, with rumours that May might cave into the Brexiteers and allow Britain to walk away from negotiations and so crash out of the EU. In the long run, that might be the best course of action, as it would bring matters to a head in double quick time, rather cake, cake and more cake.
So it takes Michael Barnier to point out the impossibility of this position by saying that if Britain wants to leave the EU, and May wants to leave the SM and CU, then there would have to be physical barriers on the Irish, and other, borders. This is the consequence of these red lines. But obviously, this is being painted as more EU punishment, but I have said many times, any deal not only has to be done within the EU rules and laws, but in those of the WTO too. And any deal the UK is to get, then the EU would have to give to all other countries in their preferred trading partners list; Japan, Canada, etc.
Barnier also added that the transition is not a given, as there are some serious issues to be decided first, the Irish border for one, and without no transition deal, UK will crash out of the EU in under 14 months time. The clock is ticking.
And today, the Foreign Secretary is pushing his own version of Brexit, opposed to his own PM's. In the past, such activities would have resulted in being sacked, instead he is being mentioned as being the next PM.
Some low-level talks have taken place last week between the EU and UK, but have not resulted in any thawing of relations. Barnier adding is is surprised by UK's positions. As are we all.
And the Cabinet still has not reached any agreement on what UK's final Brexit position should be, so that rolls over to another week, with rumours that May might cave into the Brexiteers and allow Britain to walk away from negotiations and so crash out of the EU. In the long run, that might be the best course of action, as it would bring matters to a head in double quick time, rather cake, cake and more cake.
Friday, 9 February 2018
Thursday 8th February 2018
Another day or meetings lay ahead. Ring, ring, seven AM, or half six, really, brings me back to this awful place. Or the quite nice hotel room of Scandic Vest (west). Sure, it was cold outside, but there had been no more snow, and away in the west, or was it east, the crescent moon and Venus were shining brightly, the moon much, much larger.
But there is work to be done, there is my case to pack and several trawls round the hotel room to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. I go down to the lobby, check out and load the car, go back inside to have breakfast, people watching as the tables fill up as more and more people come down to eat. I hear snatches of conversation as people plan their working day ahead, I have no one to talk to, just concentrate on eating and getting as much strong and sweet coffee in me, so to be bale to stay awake.
There is the drive to work, to the soundtrack on an 80s disco with Last Night a DJ Saved my Life booming out as I ran a series of amber lights getting to the office. I make it safe, find a parking space and prepare for the day's stresses. People arrive, we make greetings over the tops of the screens of the open plan office.
Too soon, half eight come round, and so it comes to play my part of bad cop, to Katharina's good cop. Or is it the other way round?
The day passes really well, I feel I have managed the time really well, and feel that even as we delve into the depths and mysteries of engineering change, it has all gone well. I will deserve my time next week without thinking about the project.
Anyway, the curtain rises, and we play our parts.
At lunch John sees some old friends in the canteen, it really is very pleasant, I begin to relax.
And all too soon the meetings draw to an end, we shake hands and John departs. I brief the team on what had happened, and find myself so very tired. Not tired, but worn out. At quarter to five, I go to the car to begin the drive to Billund where I had a hotel room booked. A few weeks ago, I had to battle thick fog one morning to get to the airport, I did not want to repeat that, so was staying a mile from the terminal, if I could get there.
The E45 was rammed with cars, as all roads in and around Aarhus are. I wait in line to join the motorway, and stop/start my way south until it was time to turn off. In the west the sun sank lower and lower, the sky turned pink and then red as the day ended. All I needed to do was get to the hotel.
Hotel Propellen is next door to Legoland, the original one. But when the theme park is closed, the hotel is fairly empty. I park up and check in, also taking a key to the fitness room.
I go to my room, change into my gym gear and go to the gym, do half an hour on the cross trainer, get hot and sweaty. All was going well until the i pod's battery went flat, and there was no music. I give up, and go back to the room, have a shower, dress for dinner, taking my book to read whilst I wait for dinner to arrive.
I had ordered Wiener Schnitzel, which came with almost half a pound of garden peas and some pan friend potatoes. But the schnitzel and peas was pretty much enough, so I left most of the spuds, preferring to drink all the beer before going back to my room to listen to some music on the radio until my eyes grew heavy again, and it was time for bed again. But tomorrow, I was going home.
But there is work to be done, there is my case to pack and several trawls round the hotel room to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. I go down to the lobby, check out and load the car, go back inside to have breakfast, people watching as the tables fill up as more and more people come down to eat. I hear snatches of conversation as people plan their working day ahead, I have no one to talk to, just concentrate on eating and getting as much strong and sweet coffee in me, so to be bale to stay awake.
There is the drive to work, to the soundtrack on an 80s disco with Last Night a DJ Saved my Life booming out as I ran a series of amber lights getting to the office. I make it safe, find a parking space and prepare for the day's stresses. People arrive, we make greetings over the tops of the screens of the open plan office.
Too soon, half eight come round, and so it comes to play my part of bad cop, to Katharina's good cop. Or is it the other way round?The day passes really well, I feel I have managed the time really well, and feel that even as we delve into the depths and mysteries of engineering change, it has all gone well. I will deserve my time next week without thinking about the project.
Anyway, the curtain rises, and we play our parts.
At lunch John sees some old friends in the canteen, it really is very pleasant, I begin to relax.
And all too soon the meetings draw to an end, we shake hands and John departs. I brief the team on what had happened, and find myself so very tired. Not tired, but worn out. At quarter to five, I go to the car to begin the drive to Billund where I had a hotel room booked. A few weeks ago, I had to battle thick fog one morning to get to the airport, I did not want to repeat that, so was staying a mile from the terminal, if I could get there.
The E45 was rammed with cars, as all roads in and around Aarhus are. I wait in line to join the motorway, and stop/start my way south until it was time to turn off. In the west the sun sank lower and lower, the sky turned pink and then red as the day ended. All I needed to do was get to the hotel.Hotel Propellen is next door to Legoland, the original one. But when the theme park is closed, the hotel is fairly empty. I park up and check in, also taking a key to the fitness room.
I go to my room, change into my gym gear and go to the gym, do half an hour on the cross trainer, get hot and sweaty. All was going well until the i pod's battery went flat, and there was no music. I give up, and go back to the room, have a shower, dress for dinner, taking my book to read whilst I wait for dinner to arrive.
I had ordered Wiener Schnitzel, which came with almost half a pound of garden peas and some pan friend potatoes. But the schnitzel and peas was pretty much enough, so I left most of the spuds, preferring to drink all the beer before going back to my room to listen to some music on the radio until my eyes grew heavy again, and it was time for bed again. But tomorrow, I was going home.
Wednesday 7th February 2018
Welcome to Legoland.
I am writing this on Thursday night, I’m on my way home, just had dinner and now listening to the radio. Its been a long three days, but now on the slow slope to the weekend, and just half an hour of work to do and I can relax and go to bed.
Wednesday was the middle day of the three days of meetings. I won’t lie it was hard to summon up enthusiasm to get up and be ready for a day in the conference room, dancing away.
I am up at half six, having breakfast at seven, and then driving to the office along the packed ring road to the office, early enough to be able to park near to the building entrance.
Time for an hour’s work until I get a text message saying my oppo had arrived. OK< here we go then.
We have meetings all morning, pause for lunch, but are done an hour early, meaning I get to catch up on my work, resulting in me being able to chill out that night. Just as well as John said he was bored with the hotel and wanted to eat in town; he would drive and pay!
Nice one.
We meet at seven, with the quarter moon high in the sky, shining down as we got in his faux off roader hire car, we drove down into the centre, park on the side of the road and having discussed what to eat on the way down, I point at the tapas bar I mentioned, and we go in.
Eight tapas to share between us, and a carafe of hacienda red did for us, a bowl of fresh bread rolls. Sadly, only one other table in the place was taken, but the food, a mix of hot and cold dishes was fine and tasty. A good choice it turned out.
John drove us back to the hotel and tempted me to a nightcap, no good whisky on offer, but some nice rum. We talked to one of the staff, who had an unusual accent, French-Scottish it turned out, now with a Danish twang.
And that was it; so up in the lift to my room, and am diverted by the third Men in Black film; could it be worse than the second? I find myself entranced, like watching a car crash. Some of it was good, but most of it dreadfully bad. I mean not just hammy or cheesey, but just stinking the place out dreadful. I watch it to the end and go to sleep, angry.
I am writing this on Thursday night, I’m on my way home, just had dinner and now listening to the radio. Its been a long three days, but now on the slow slope to the weekend, and just half an hour of work to do and I can relax and go to bed.
Wednesday was the middle day of the three days of meetings. I won’t lie it was hard to summon up enthusiasm to get up and be ready for a day in the conference room, dancing away.
I am up at half six, having breakfast at seven, and then driving to the office along the packed ring road to the office, early enough to be able to park near to the building entrance.
Time for an hour’s work until I get a text message saying my oppo had arrived. OK< here we go then.
We have meetings all morning, pause for lunch, but are done an hour early, meaning I get to catch up on my work, resulting in me being able to chill out that night. Just as well as John said he was bored with the hotel and wanted to eat in town; he would drive and pay!
Nice one.
We meet at seven, with the quarter moon high in the sky, shining down as we got in his faux off roader hire car, we drove down into the centre, park on the side of the road and having discussed what to eat on the way down, I point at the tapas bar I mentioned, and we go in.
Eight tapas to share between us, and a carafe of hacienda red did for us, a bowl of fresh bread rolls. Sadly, only one other table in the place was taken, but the food, a mix of hot and cold dishes was fine and tasty. A good choice it turned out.John drove us back to the hotel and tempted me to a nightcap, no good whisky on offer, but some nice rum. We talked to one of the staff, who had an unusual accent, French-Scottish it turned out, now with a Danish twang.
And that was it; so up in the lift to my room, and am diverted by the third Men in Black film; could it be worse than the second? I find myself entranced, like watching a car crash. Some of it was good, but most of it dreadfully bad. I mean not just hammy or cheesey, but just stinking the place out dreadful. I watch it to the end and go to sleep, angry.
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