where art collides philosoperontap

Imaginary music fills my head. “Homeward bound, I wish I was.” In fact I am indeed homeward bound, on the slightly delayed 10.13 out of Manchester Piccadilly heading for Cleethorpes via Sheffield. To fall asleep and discover I was in Cleethorpes would be a mistake and an unlikely event. I change trains at Sheffield.

For some reason I like changing trains at Sheffield. Dunno why. Makes no sense whatsoever. It would be much better if this train did not have Cleethorpes as its final destination but was heading straight to Lincoln.

This morning I made several observations. A lorry turned up at the building site opposite with a load of gravel. The driver climbed down from his cab and opened the white metal gates inward, then returned to the truck to reverse in. Then he realised that one of the gates needed to be opened in the other direction, ie outwards. Down he got again, sorted it out and then reversed in. He had to wait for one of the builders to rock up before tipping his load.

Down at breakfast I passed a large man tucking in to a full English. Looking up he smiled happily whereupon I noticed he had some of his fried egg stuck to his face. I chuckled to myself, said nothing and proceeded to fetch my OJ.

Bloke in the lift’s shoelaces were too long and were trailing on the floor. I noticed later that he had a broad brummy accent.

Later the holding area for platform thirteen at Manchester Piccadilly was a tableau of people waiting for their train to be announced and others moving past them.

The Uber driver’s name was Amanuel. He worked in a bank Monday to Thursday and drove an Uber on Fridays. Possible also at the weekend. Amanuel is an Arsenal fan and had Talk Sport on his car wireless set.

These are things I noticed this morning. There are many other observations I could make but it’s a question of how much time do I want to invest in the activity.

Looking out of the train windows I see dry stone wall patterned scenic hills on one side and rows of stone cottages lining the main road on the other. Some of these valleys were trashed during the industrial revolution. Dark satanic mills.

This land has no mobile connectivity. It was ever thus, since time began. Sheep have no need of mobile phones. All they need is grass, and mint sauce.

Bloke opposite has cheap earphones. I can hear the tv programme he is watching on his phone. Marseterchef.

Up at seven thirty this morning. “What on earth is going on Tref” I hear you say. I know, I know. I’m off to see Wayne in Manchester. Got a stash of trefbash beermats for his office. After all it was his marketing person Jodie wot did the design. Seem fair.

The upshot of all this is I had to be ready to leave the hoose at eight forty five and had a few bits and bobs to sort in the kitchen before going. Breakfast for example. A more normal day sees me at my desk in the shed for eight thirty but that only involves a thirty second commute as opposed to more like three and a half hours.

Still, the journey between Sheffield and Manchester is very picturesque. Can’t say the same for Lincoln to Sheffield. Hey…

Sat writing this on the train whilst listening to my fave tunes on shuffle. The train manager (guard of old as opposed to old guard) has just been to check my ticket. Seems a bit pointless considering I already had to scan the barcode to get through the turnstile. I suppose people can bypass the turnstiles, somehow. Anyway I am legal. Legit. I have the appropriate ticket to ride. There’s a tune in there.

Currently at Saxilby. I have a table for four to myself at the moment but will see how it goes. Maybe if I look very antisocial nobody will want to come and sit here. Not sure I know how to do that though. Couple got on and are buying a ticket from the guard (neo train manager). Maybs there aren’t turnstiles at every stayshun.

The large dirty brown striped flatlands of Lincolnshire look very wet as we race on by. A fallen tree in a disused bit of spare land between the track and the fields. Large bales of straw. New recently planted greenery emerging. The whirling criss cross patterns of tractor tyres. Blurry hedgerows.

In Manchester for two nights. I quite like a trip to Manchester every now and again. I am wearing a raincoat, natch. With wollen beanie. YThey never used to be called beanies. It’s a bobble hat without the bobble. Why did bobbles go out of fashion? Did they go out of fashion?

Gainsbororough Lea Road. Famous for the Gainsborough Model Railway Society. There is no other reason to come to Gainsborough. The Ping Golf Course maybe. I am only passing through. Dingy looking caravan parks try to hide behind steel fences. Next up, council houses with a caravan parked on every other drive. We move on. Small pond surrounded by reeds and with a solitary paddling swan.

I have removed my Bose phones. Quite a hubbub in the carriage that I couldn’t hear when listening to music. Good headphones. A large power coalfired power station provides an industrial backdrop.

This journey is very boring. I am reminded once when THG and I went to Leeds on this same train. A hen party got on at some point. Boy were they loud. I was fortunate in having my Bose with me. Made a huge difference. Unfortunately Anne had to suffer until the journey’s end. Hooray for Bose. And yes of course I offered them to Anne, probs 😉

There is pub in Sheffield Station called The Sheffield Tap. Quite good. I have occasionally broken my journey there althoug none of the Sheffield lads seem to be availabe this Friday. Will do me no harm to stay clear. Likely to be a bit on the early side anyway. WIll be a Friday mind you. Well into the weekend.

Worksop has long back gardens behind terraced houses abbutting the railway line. Traffic wait at the crossing, barriers down. Empty sidings. Bits of track strewn all over the place. Actually an interesting station with lots of train machinery lying around. Waiting.

I’veadenoughofthisandwillnowstop.

Ze kettle is boiling. With a German pronunciation. This is almost certainly because I am re reading Spike Milligan’s seven volume war trilogy. Totally politically incorrect and full of language with which Dominic Cummings would be comfortably familiar. V funny though. I suspect you need to have a particular sense of humour.

Later, the kitchen is buzzing. Kettle on again, breakfast consumed, about to consume cup three. I like that. Cup three, not cup number three. You didn’t need me to explain, did you. That was a statement not a question. You will have observed.

Today is Tuesday. Again! They keep coming around. Boring some might say but imagine if we had a different name for every day of the year. Or every day even. We would constantly be running competitions to decide what a day should be called. Just like storms and hurricanes, or Antarctic exploration ships.

No we can’t have Dave. Dave happened three thousand years ago. Still plenty of words left in the Oxford English Dictionary. The main one, not the shorter or the concise OED obvs. I do perceive a problem with this naming system. We would eventually run out of words, even if we went through every language in the book. Either we would need to start again or keep inventing new ones. 

This is fine up to a point. I doubt the pace of word naming would keep up with demand, sensibly. Even Shakespeare, who would sometimes stick a couple of hundred new words in a play, might struggle.

The other issue is people would struggle to remember the name of the day. For example I just randomly opened The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary Volume 1 A – Markworthy. Page seven hundred and ninety six has the Word Foudroyant at the bottom. First heard in 1840 Foudroyant has two meanings. The first is  thundering, stunning; also dazzling. Won’t bother you with the second meaning.

Now I can see you leaping instantly to the problem here. People are going to confuse Foudroyant with Fotmal and Fougasse, both of which lie very close to either side of our word. Fougasse is actually on the next page but visible, albeit one is at the bottom of seven nine six and the other is at the top of seven nine seven.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand why we stick to only seven words to describe days of the week. Notwithstanding the fact that most of the words in the OED weren’t invented when people started naming the days. The Greeks or the Romans probs. At least in the Indo-European world.

I’m not sure, to choose a random alternative culture, that the Awa Guaja tribe of the Amazonian rainforest has evolved its language and naming conventions in a similar manner but I will desist from geographical distractions here. There are already too many variables in this thread.

Bought the dictionary when I first moved to Lincoln as a fresh faced engineering graduate. Figured it had its place on the shelf but it is rarely referenced. I moved here on Sunday, January seventh 1984 having had a few months off and the book was probably bought that summer. It is interesting to note that January first 1983 is considered to be the official birthday of the internet, or so a quick Googling tells me. Most of you will recognise this as the date that ARPANET and the Defense Data Network officially changed to the TCP/IP standard. Nuff said.

All that remains for me to do here is to restate that today is indeed a Tuesday and not Cyesiology, Fantee or Gnathostegite. You will never again need to ask the question “what have the Romans done for us?”

…

I left the shed to do a bit of packing for tomorrow. Ten minutes max. By the time I got back it was getting dark. Only the Lagunitas IPA sign illuminated the inside. The mood lighting is now all on. The Lagunitas sign being lit up is an indication that the shed is, mostly, open for business. Whatever the nature of the business.

Later…

It is now totally dark out, light pollution aside. The brown leaves on the deck in front of the shed are lit up by the outside lights and I see the reflection of the Lagunitas sign in the French doors. Inside all is calm. 

I’ve brought my book with me but not yet felt inclined to delve. My screens distract. The curse of the screen, of the world wide web. Technology hangs around our necks like a leaden weight. The book is a well thumbed paperback. 

I’ve been monitoring progress with ticket sales for trefbash and we are pretty much where we were at this time last year. Notionally just twenty two tickets left now. Unless you want to actually pay for a ticket in which case I’d make one available especially 🙂That’s how I roll. Generous to a fault.

There is news. This afternoon has seen a busy Tref with a number of items struck off the jobs list. To whit the broken lightbulb in the bathroom has been replaced, the fridge magnets awaiting repair have been repaired, ish, and the bike rack has finally been hung on the garage wall using the special hanging hooks purchaysed from B&Q yesterday. This did involve a trip to Wickes to buy the right sized rawplugs. All now sorted and the space in front of my bench has been regained.

Bench space regained. Sounds like the sequel to the first bench space novel in which said worktop was initially tidied but then became cluttered once more.

Just tuned in to the weekly sales call. Muted with no camera. Just listening in. Like to stay in touch with what’s going on. Stayed there less than five minutes. Boring.

This morning the big news is that we are anticipating a visit from the cooker repair man, whoever he is. The old repair man isn’t in the game anymore apaz and this one has taken ages to nail down. If he is the only cooker repair man in town he must be quite busy. The left hand oven clicks constantly as if it is trying to light the gas flame even though it is already lit and the right hand oven doesn’t come up to temperature. Needs sorting obvs.

The everyday story of life in Lincoln in 2023. You share the highs, the lows and the visit from the cooker repair man. Can’t say that is either a high or a low but there will almost certainly be a brief period of elation if he fixes the problem(s). We also have Tom the Tree man coming in December for the usual annual hedge trim. You heard it first.

Quite a busy week ahead actually. Off to Manchester for a couple of nights on Wednesday. I quite like going to Manchester, for a couple of nights. Not staying in the Hiton this time as Wayne says it has gone downhill a lot. Normally my only reason for staying there (points apart) is its proximity to the convention centre but I’m not going there anyway this trip.

The leaves on the lawn are becoming noticeable. This weekend might see us getting the blower out. See how it goes. The deck in front of the shed certainly needs sorting. My feet keep bringing leaves in. Untidy or what?

…

The cooker repair man’s name was Chris. Annoyingly the clicking sound on the left hand oven had gone away. The other problems persist and we need to send details of the cooker model when we can find the booklet. Hmm. It wasn’t in the box identified by THG over the phone. Leave it with me 🙂

THG has some mates around for lunch so I’m in da shed with a bowl of soup heated up before any of them arrive. V nice soup fair play. Some sort of spicy chicken with spinach and a variety of veg. Home made obvs.

…

Listening to some tunes. Roxy Music, The Police. In a good frame of mind. Positive. Why not? Sat in the TV room with ma phones on so I don’t have to hear the programme THG is watching. Some “find out who I am” documentary/reality tv thing. I’m a real snob when it comes to TV. Ain’t many programmes that cut it for me. Got a book. No worries. Crazy little thing called love. THG 🙂My head is bobbing around. Nodding. I’m glad I can’t hear the telly.

Sitting with ma gurl is nice. I’ve known her for thirty seven years. Wow. Thirty seven years!

Ancient empty streets too dead for dreaming. Bob Dylan’s poetry. Pure genius. Not sure about Bob himself.

Remember, remember the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot. Heard on the wireless just now, not for the first time obvs, but the words resonated. Roll nicely off the tongue. I like words that roll nicely off the tongue. That’s how I roll 🙂

Won’t be heading to the Lindum fireworks display even though it is just down the road. Was fine when the kids were at home but reality is long queues for the bar and these days far fewer people we know. All our contemporaries are in the same boat. Kids have left the fold and far easier to stay in front of the fire with a warming glass of 1996 single variety cognac or words to that effect. That kind of thing. Must put mine in the fridge.

The beef casserole carefully prepared on Friday is now being warmed up on the top of the stove prior to sticking back in the oven on gas mark one for another three hours or so. It must be said it tastes great. A result. Quite good at casseroles, me. Spuds peeled and green beans trimmed.

One of the guests is bringing a fruit crumble although THG is a dab hand at such delicacies. Fair play. I need to set the fire. Nowt like a log fire in the autumn and obvs totes appropriate on the fifth of November.

Tis a beautiful day out. A nice morning to get things done in the garden, I’d imagine, not that I particularly indulge in such activities. When one has a head gardener, highly proficient in the management and control of nature on the estate it would seem pointless. Disrespectful even. Who am I to suggest that such and such a bush needs pruning? 

Responsibility for management of the grapevine has been delegated down but according to the RHS guidance that doesn’t need doing until next month. This is something I have been reading up on and indeed did a lot of on location research during our time in France in September. Never seen so many vineyards. The main takeaway from that effort was the vines seemed a lot tidier than ours and this is down to active pruning during the growing season. Grapevines grow very quickly innit.

Research into this important subject area will continue in 2024 and I daresay you will be kept abreast of my latest thinking.

…

Everything is in place for lunch. Fire blazing away in the grate. Primordial.  Bought a new hand axe yesterday that made light work of a piece of fence for kindling. No idea where the felling axe is but that’s a bit overkill for fence and somewhat on the heavy side. 

A fence is a very recent thing. I guess we have to have them, at least if you live in close proximity to other people. The place we stayed at in Cahors had a wall with a gate at the front but was open to the fields at the back. I doubt anyone ever came anywhere near the place. It  wasn’t the kind of joint that would attract casual passers by.

The noise of a fire is on its own soothing enough even if you couldn’t stare mesmerised into the dancing flames. It’s a bit like listening to test match cricket. You nod off a bit and when you wake up nothing much has changed. At least that’s how it’s supposed to be. Doesn’t always work out like that, especially with our lot. Ah well. I’ll stick with the fire for the time being.

Bacon and egg with a few button mushrooms casually tossed into the pan and washed down with a cup of tea makes for a good start to the day. Got a few things to do d’aujourd hui. Nothing too onerous. I make a point of not booking anything in the diary for Friday afternoon though it doesn’t always work.

A quiet weekend lies ahead which is good. We do have some friends coming round for Sunday lunch but that too is good. Making a habit of this 🙂

…

Friday afternoon. Tools mostly downed. Work email still open in a small corner on the far right of my desktop arrangement. I have a 5k Apple display and a second 4k screen so can fit a lot of stuff on. In fact a word doc is best suited to being worked on in half a screen as otherwise there’s a huge amount of white space in front of you.

I quite fancy opening a bottle of wine tonight to go with the pork stroganoff but this is not consistent with my keto diet and fair play to me I’ve stuck to it very well this week. Might treat meself to a slimline tonique with a splash (wave) of gin. See how it goze. It is Friday after all.

The pork stroganoff was originally beef in the plan but we couldn’t really tell what the meat was when it came out of the freezer. Twillbefoine. Lovely I’m sure. Beef casserole is in the oven on gas mark one or two. This is for Sunday. It‘ll sit there until maybe eight or nine o’clock and once cooled can go in the fridge in the garage until Sunday morning. Flavour should develop nicely. I’ve done a double sized batch again so we ‘should’ have some left over.

A glass of water has been poured. Four trees have been removed from next door’s garden. The not insubstantial trunks are now under the conifers in our front garden in the guise of large logs. They need turning into small logs, spitting and stacking at the button of the garden. The huge pile of oak logs  at the bottom of the garden also needs the same treatment. 

This is no longer a Tref putting some time and effort into it. It needs industrial strength tools and expertise. The woodpile needs a good tidy anyway. I’m tempted to get my Norwegian Wood book out ready to discuss stacking techniques but in reality any stack will do. Any stack in a storm, as they say. I think.

There’s a load of old fence stacked in the woodstore that could do with turning into kindling. Will make everything much tidier than the higgledy piggledy pile it is now. Also you can hardly get near it at the mo. A morning with a chainsaw and a log splitter will do the job. I’m already excited.

Of course the glass of water has nothing to do with the logs. I just wrote that expecting that some related and highly relevant words would follow. This is not what happened as you can see.

The pouring of a glass of water, as a stand alone act, has in itself plenty of merit. If it was done by Banksy as a piece of performance art it would sell for millions at auction. The buyer would have to decide whether to drink said glass of water and be part of the work or to keep as is. Whole H2O.

The former is much more in keeping with the genre. Just imagine going down in history as being the person who paid a million bucks for a drink of water and then proceeded to knock it back. Makes lighting a cigarette with a fifty pound note pathetic in comparison. Bad for your health an all.

You don’t see that many fifty pound notes in circulation. It isn’t a thing that regularly inhabits my wallet. That would be mostly receipts.

Today I intend to purchase some socks. This is not a regular occurrence but I am also in need of some other items of clothing so I thought a trip to Boundary Mills near Grantham would do the job.

I’m not a massive fan of Boundary Mills as it appears mostly to be an old man’s shop and obvs I am not yet in that category. They do however sell denim jackets and I need one of these because one of the kids told me that is what people wear to music festivals. This is the same kid to whom I gave my old Timberland denim jacket. The one with the leather collars.

Tbf I never used to wear it and may well only wear this one to trefbash, who knows. It will have lots of appropriate badges and embroidery. Could become a thing 🙂

Years ago I bought a load of cub scout badges when visiting Tom at the World Scouts Jamboree. Ten pence each. There were also brownie badges in there. I have badges for sewing, knot tying, all that sort of thing. Ironing! Oh how times have changed. They ain’t going on my denim jacket though. It all has to be love and peace, man kind of stuff. Pass me the spliff.

One of the things Boundary Mills is good for is socks. They sell a wide range. Last time I went, quite a few years ago now I bought what I thought was far too many pairs (were too many pairs?) but now they are mostly worn out, darn it. Nobody darns socks any more mind you. If you want a lift to Boundary Mills now is the time to stick your hand up. I’ll be going in fifteen minutes.

They do have a Lee Jeans outlet in St Pancras but I’m not going to town for a while and I think I prefer Wrangler. Not for any particular reason other than it feels tougher. I often wrastle steers yanow. BM has both. I was thinking Levis but they don’t sell em anywhere near Lincoln and they are probs trendier which isn’t something I naturally go for.

Thassitfornow.

Milkman came at around five thirty. Five twenty eight to be precise. We hold on to this precious service even though ever since the demise of the Coop dairy in Boultham Park he comes all the way from Newark. I was awake. Prompted me to get up. 

The milk is still on the doorstep. Inside the porch. No particular rush to bring it in. It’s spinach, mushrooms and poached egg for breakfast. When I was a kid in Waunfawr near Caernarfon the milkman would leave a slate over the tops of the milk bottles to stop the blackbirds pecking at the cream. Don’t have that problem now. Even the full fat doesn’t have cream on top. I still turn the bottle upside down though before opening. Just to mix the cream in a bit. Like the old days 🙂

We used to get four or five pints a day when there were six of us living at home. Six! Sounds like an awful lot. A full house. Then as they moved out we gradually reduced the amount until now it is two pints three times a week. Sometimes top it up from the local milk shop, ie Waitrose. I am a drinker of milk. At university I used to get through three pints a day.

Only thirty seven days until this year’s trefbash. Registrations are ahead of last year which is good innit. I’ve started buying bits and bobs to make the party rock. You will have to wait until the night to see what they are. Usual kind of thing really. This year’s theme is music festival. Plenty of scope for creativity there. You are invited.

Had my annual flu jab yesterday. Went early to Newland Coop pharmacy in Anne’s car to make sure I got a parking space and to make sure I wasn’t late for the nine thirty slot. There were two or three available which is unusual. I was in at nine twenty and out almost immediately having been sorted by the pharmacist Tony who remembered my name. That is a talent. All the parking spaces had been filled up by the time I got back to the car. Result.

I took Anne’s car because mine was at the menders. A rodent had chewed through one of my fuel pipes causing a leak. Not good. Effin rodents. Expensivo as it is not covered by the warranty. Ah well. Down at Coops’ garage later they said this was a fairly regular occurrence there. Mostly chewing through wiring. Will pick the car up today. Ryan from Marshalls called as I was pulling in to the pharmacy car park to let me know it was sorted.

…

Productive day in prospect.

…

The shed is a calming place. I have made a pot of tea and am waiting for it to brew. I have a conference call in my diary for ten minutes’ time and should be in possession of a nice cuppa by then.

Listening to a spot of Miles Davies in the TV room. It is there mainly to drown out the sound of the cheeky chappie Jamie Oliver as he tries to convince home cooks that his recipe for beans on toast is the one to follow. I already know how to cook beans on toast so don’t need to watch. It might not be beans on toast but you get my gist.

Just biding my time until University Challenge comes on. I am happy to admit that I am not the UC ace in the Davies household but I like to think I can learn something off the other occupant. 

Trouble is we tend not to like the same programmes. I like most sports and WW2 documentaries. My chosen life partner is an avid follower of Association Football and of Snooker and I am happy to watch those and UC in her company. When it comes to other genres of television I have to switch on my headphones. Happy to remain in the room though.

I can either watch something different on a device or, as I am about to do, read a book. In this case it is Vol 1 of Spike Milligan’s War Diaries trilogy. The trilogy had in total six volumes.

Old JO has aged since I last watched one of his programmes. Happens to us all. Not a grey hair in sight which makes me somewhat suspicious if you knowworramean. Maybs I’m just not looking properly.

Up earlier than feasible. Why on earth would a person get out of bed at five thirty on a dark and wet autumn morning. Answers on a postcard to the usual address.

Last night I was researching music festival attire, for trefbash. My experience of such events is limited. Music fests that is, not trefbashes.

I am, we are, registered to be eligible to buy tickets for Glasto. Tix go on sale this coming weekend. Quite frankly I don’t know why I stuck out names down. Did the same for the Olympics and ended up buying eighteen tickets for next summer’s games. Rugby and basketball. Crowd of us going.

Anyway re Glasto I was having a conversation. I said I would have to go glamping. Issue was whether that got me anywhere nearer the actual site where the bands are. Apparently not. Everywhere is a distant route march. A far cry from the early days eh?

Probs won’t go for Glasto tickets although you never know. Gotta try everything once, except heroin n stuff like that. Not my kind of thing.

Son Jose played at Glasto once. His band, The Pylons,therefore had tickets for the central artist’s campsite. If you look at an aerial photo of Glastonbury this campsite is the only green patch in view and is right next to one or two of the stages. 

The green is because most bands rock up for the day in their long wheelbase transit vans and go home after their set. Not The Pylons, who took in every moment of the festival. The other benefit of being one of the acts is that your route in bypasses the massive queues of cars full of punters on their way into the public areas. Apaz.

Anyway gotta go. The kettle is screaming at me from the kitchen. Boil me Tref, boil me. THG must have her tea.

I was reminded over breakfast that halloween is tomorrow night. There’s me thinking it had already happened and I’d got away with not having to ignore the doorbell. Figured we must have been out.

Anyway my strategy is to be in the shed for the evening and to have the lights off in the house, or at least leave it to THG to sort. Halloween is an American fad that has grown in the UK that we didn’t do when I were a kid and I can’t get excited about it.

I have, however, thought of a good trick. From the safety of the shed I can broadcast ghostly noises through the Ring video doorbell and watch any responses. I’m a miserable git innit 🙂

In the meantime I’ve opened up the shed early today. Feeling brightish and want to get a shed load done today. Geddit? Tis a suitably dank autumnal day in the shire and the shed is a brightly lit haven amidst the yellows, browns and greens that characterise this time of year.

My thoughts this morning turned to the question of pruning. I will at some stage need to prune both apple trees, the apricot and the grape vine. The job probs needs to wait until next week according to the Royal Horticultural Society by which I place great store. 

I discovered that we should have been pruning the vine as necessary during the course of the growing season, something that also occurred to me when touring the vineyards of France this September. Their vines were a lot tidier than ours. Next year my approach will change and hopefully the grapes will not be as sour.

This is a great time of year. A time for filling your belly in preparation for the lean times ahead. Ok this probs doesn’t really apply in the modern day but we are still conditioned to do it. This coming Sunday we have some friends coming round for lunch. This I like. 

We don’t often have a Sunday lunch. Am thinking of a rich beef casserole or similar. Fresh crusty white bread slathered with butter. Nice bottle of red. Log fire. Stuff like that. Might even broach one of posh cognacs brought back from France for afters. The casserole can be made the day before. Although I’ve made hundreds over the years I still like to go over recipes. Make sure I have a proper handle on it.

Usually I make a larger batch than necessary and we either finish it off in the week or freeze portions. Problem right now is that all three freezers are full. Gawd knows what’s in there. The smaller one is supposed to be just mine for keeping ice in n stuff. Hasn’t worked out like that.

Couple of weekends ago I made an extra large batch of chilli con carne. Most of it got eaten on the night which was an endorsement. One of us finished off the single remaining portion in the week. No chilli mix. Just natural spices.

This morning started with a small portion of granola, berries and yo gurt plus several cups of tea. Back on the keto diet which I do get on with.

…

Listening to a spot of Miles Davies in the TV room. It is there mainly to drown out the sound of the cheeky chappie Jamie Oliver as he tries to convince home cooks that his recipe for beans on toast is the one to follow. I already know how to cook beans on toast so don’t need to watch. It might not be beans on toast but you get my gist.

Just biding my time until University Challenge comes on. I am happy to admit that I am not the UC ace in the Davies household but I like to think I can learn something off the other occupant. 

Trouble is we tend not to like the same programmes. I like most sports and WW2 documentaries. My chosen life partner is an avid follower of Association Football and of Snooker and I am happy to watch those and UC in her company. When it comes to other genres of television I have to switch on my headphones. Happy to remain in the room though.

I can either watch something different on a device or, as I am about to do, read a book. In this case it is Vol 1 of Spike Milligan’s War Diaries trilogy. The trilogy had in total six volumes.

Old JO has aged since I last watched one of his programmes. Happens to us all. Not a grey hair in sight which makes me somewhat suspicious if you knowworramean. Maybs I’m just not looking properly.

No rush. Had breakfast. Now letting it go down a little. On my tod today until THG gets back from Chelmsford at around 4pm, trains, the met office and Allah (or anyone else) willing. 

I’ve tidied up after breakfast. Gosh. I must have had it drilled into me after over thirty five years of married life and finally I got the message. Maybe.

Bit of pottering is on the agenda for today. No idea what. There is such a thing as planning ahead too much. Normally, when going on a trip for example, I plan in fine detail. Hotel bookings are sorted long time in advance for example.

In January Hannah Davies and I are off to South Africa on the next, and probs last, dad and kid trip. Most of it is already booked but I do have two nights yet to be sorted. I am inclined to leave this until we get there and take advice locally. We want to do a couple of days on the Garden Route before flying to the Kruger National Park. See how it goes innit.

The taxi for tonight has been booked though. When it comes to taxis on a Saturday night it is essential to book if you want to avoid waiting three hours for the next available one, especially as rain is yet again forecast.

…

Bit of an issue trying to book internal flights in SA with Air Link. Their credit card system would appear to be knackered. Have left messages via various social media platform but they don’t work weekends. If it is still knackered on Monday I’ll have to see if I can find a travel agent who will do it for me. Old skool or what?

Now listening to some sounds in the shed. Roxy Music. Gotta pick THG up at 4pm. She’s been doing a spot of gardening at Hannah and George’s place in Chelmsford. As you do/she does.

In other news my car is at the menders. Bloody rodent damage = leaking fuel pipe. 

…

LOUD music

Eurostar Lounge, Stardate 27102023

All is quiet in the lounge. Checkin was quick and easy. Irish passport speeded up the process at EU customs. Anyone needing a stamp seemed to take a lot longer to be processed. Suspicious looking furriners one and all. Woman before me had a black passport. Wotsthatallabout!

Good meeting at the Brussels Airport Sheraton this morning. I must say the airport is a lot easier to get out of by train than it is to get there. All the platform announcements only mention the final destination so you have no idea which trains are going to stop at the place you want to go. In this case the airport. Was the same going one stop to the hotel in Grand Place yesterday. 

Google’s suggestions involved a change of trains. Norravinthat. Taxi was easy and timely. Even then the driver didn’t really understand how to get to the Sheraton and dropped me off a bit of a walk away. I found out during the meeting that had I taken an Uber it would have been a route march as Ubers aren’t allowed onto the airport itself.

Tbh my experience of Brussels airport has never been great which is one of the reasons I catch the Eurostar. The other reason is that the Eurostar terminal is a hundred yards from where you get off the train at Kings Cross.

It is a Friday. I’m on my way home so debating whether to help myself to a drink in’t lounge. My dilemma is this. I’ve been working on a bit of a white paper and it only needs an hour or two with a clear head to finish off. This doesn’t involve alcohol.

However I will need internet connectivity to add the references and internet access on the Eurostar is pants. There. Looks like I’ve just talked myself into a beer. Ciao amigos.

…

Bit tedious. Some guy on his phone talking ‘got to get this wrapped up fairly quickly’. My ‘phones aren’t drowning him out.

As I was boarding there were lots of different languages to be heard. Made me think how wonderful it is that languages were able to develop in isolation all aeound the world. Wouldn’t happen today with modern communications. Makes you also think what a shame it is that the world is converging on a small number of common languages. Will be a long time before one finally wins out. We probs wouldn’t recognise it.

As I write we are leaving Brussels. The train is pulling out of Gare du Midi and heading slowly through the burbs. Goodbye Brussels.

The Business Premier carriage is full. Doesn’t bode well for speed of service especially as the trolley has just rolled past me to another coach. Maybs that’s not our trolley. Gonna lay off the champagne. The glasses they dish it out in are far too small. Thimbles almost. Wot!

The guy on the phone’s knee keeps bobbing up and down. Suggests he is tense though his tone of voice doesn’t suggest that.

Now that the drinks have arrived the guy has finished his call and is on the white wine. Somewhat overfilled his glass but hey. Poured the whole of one of those small airline sized bots into his glass. Was a different trolley to the aforementioned and I was one of the first to be served fair play. G&T. Looks like some sort of curried chichen salad for lunch. What’s not to like.

On journeys like this where I effectively have two hours of downtime I could be reading a book. However I prefer to use the opportunity to stick some random verbage on the page. As you might have noticed. Looking at my dog and bone I’m somewhat amazed to see a full set of bars of 5g. Maybs things are on the up connectivitywise.

…

He is working now. Laptop out, juggled around the food tray that hasn’t yet been collected. Can’t identify with it anymore. Might have been me once. He is wearing a chunky watch. I don’t do chunky watches. In fact I don’t do watches.

We are approaching the tunnel. Lots of fences and barbed wire.

…

I’m going home I’ve done my time. 16.06 from London Kings Cross to Lincoln Central. At this time I would like to give thanks to the two people who had booked the two window seats from Kings Cross to Newark who didn’t turn up for the train. Thanks both. These tables, for four, are really only intended for two, and tbh one is best which is where I am at. I will glare at anyone planning to board into first class at interim stayshuns.

I feel quite relaxed on the train. Had three pints with Charlie Boy in the Parcel Yard at Kings Cross. Our table had a reserved ‘sign’ on it. Aluminium job. We did enquire after the significance of this at the bar but no clue was forthcoming. We ignored it. 

Similar notices were on the other tables in our section of the bar. When the table opposite was vacated I pinched the reserved sign and put it in place of the one I had already nicked from our table. Will go well in the shed. At around 15.40, when I was preparing to leave anyway, a member of staff came to the table and informed us that the section was booked from 4pm. Foine. I was already on my way.

…

Pulling into the borough of pete. A confusion of ancient cathedral and nineteen seventies concrete monstrosities, I assume. The platform is rammed but none of them look as if they are destined for the first class carriage. Couple of false starts who quickly realised their mistake and about-turned at the door. Don’t want any more people on ma table innit. We continue our journey…

The kitchen clock ticks tirelessly in its relentless pursuit of time. While the battery lasts. Amazingly it appears to be showing the right time. Someone must have adjusted it because as far as I recall it was always a few minutes behind. Maybe I did it. Dunno.

Tis a gentle start to the day. Up slightly earlier than usual for a feast of avocado toast. We had some guac left over from the weekend and another avocado to use up before heading to Laandan today.

There is much to do afore we go, not the least being I am in need of a new pair of shoes. I like to wear trainers when pounding the mean streets of London and mine are bright fluorescent green. A black pair would be more suitable. Not that it really matters or anyone really cares. Well I do.

Found a hotel for less than two hundred quid. A rarity these days. In London. Doubletree Angel. I prefer the Hilton Angel but that seems to have got a lot more expensive. The point about the Hilton is that it is only around 100m from my birthplace, the maternity wing of the Royal Free Hospital. I like to go and look at my blue plaque. It’s flats now.

At least the Doubletree has a bus stop right in front of it. V handy for Kings Cross. I like using the bus in London. Better than the tube, especially if you can sit on the front row of the top deck. The best seats. Must make sure I have my Oyster card with me. 

…

Only ran out of fuel in the Tesco car park dinneye. On the way to refuel. Range suggested I had a few miles left but the needle went quickly to zero. I suspect I also have a fuel leak. Will have to wait until the weekend as I am now away.

…

Dark Side Of The Moon playing in ma phones. Chillin out before heading out. THG wants to swing by the lounge but she can do that tomorrow. Lounge fare is rarely comparable to a decent pint of Neck Oil in’t pub.

Darkness is rapidly descending on Islington and the great metropolis that is London. Red lights on tall structures alert passing aircraft to their presence. 

We caught the bus here from Kings Cross. Only three stops but handy enough. You really notice the multicultural nature of London when you travel by bus. A kid got on at the same time as us. Can’t have been more than eleven years old. He wore a football top but I couldn’t tell who the team was. When onboard he reported in by mobile. Presumably mum or dad to let them know he was on his way.