where art collides

Sat in the front room with a cup of tea listening to the sound of the rain on the conservatory roof. Chucking it down outside. I quite like seeing the raindrops splash on the granite worktop around the bbq. The water doesn’t flow off showing how level it is – well done @Nick Rossington, perfect job.

THG and I are off swimming this morning. The last lane swim slot is at eleven. Am hoping the whole world won’t be thinking of exercise until after the year is out. It will be what it will be. It is a gloomy morning and hopefully the rain will keep potential swimmers indoors.

The time between Christmas and New Year’s Eve is somewhat anticlimactic. Truth be told we aren’t big New Year’s Eve partygoers in our house so it isn’t even as if we have one last fling to celebrate the old year’s passing. 

I have occasionally been tempted to mark the twelve days of Christmas in accordance with historical tradition which would take the partying into January. However the fact that we started “feasting” at the beginning of December makes a “twelve dayer” at this stage of the game physically challenging.

In the interest of historical accuracy I just googled the twelve days of Christmas but it initially kept coming up with the song. A tweak to the search term did the job. Today is the Feast of St. John the Evangelist. I’ve stuck it in my calendar as an annually repeating event. Makes a lorra sense to me. Good ole St John.

There do appear to be a few gaps in the feasting so not every day is going to involve over eating and drinking. Makes sense to me. Just had breakfast and I’m already feeling full. Won’t need any lunch. There won’t be enough leftovers to last every day until Twelfth Night anyway. We are already talking about freezing some of the cheese which happens every year. I guess we could buy less cheese…

One feature of having a full house at Christmas is the self filling dishwasher. Well it feels like that. Every time I try putting something in it it is always full. Either that or already running a wash cycle. THG tells me the same applies to the wash basket. As soon as it is emptied it fills up again. I’m assuming the tumble drier is also taking some hammer cos as you know it is raining outside.

It is noted that the milkman delivered two pints of semi skimmed at three twenty nine am this morning.

Ah the mundane aspects of life that hide behind the glamour of the Christmas holiday. Hope yours is going well for you.

Ciao bebes.

The kitchen is bathed in bright, dazzling sunlight. So much so I’ve moved into the living room to drink my tea. Upstairs the bagpipes have started up. I must say this has brought a smile to my face. Tom, the owner of this new set, is clearly up and now the others will soon follow.

Today is Tom’s birthday and I guess he can get away with it, for the moment 🙂What is clear to me is that the bagpipes are not an instrument you can just pick up and play intuitively. Some lessons are going to be required. Currently we are at the drone stage. No tune yet.

We do have a plan for the day ahead. Well actually no we don’t. Some years we set off for my sister Ann’s in Holt which is a four hour trek and therefore quite disruptive on Tom’s birthday. We like visiting the fam obvs but this year the lad gets to chill out and has a day of football watching in store. That’s soccer for the colonials amongst us.

The house is remarkably tidy. This is down to the endeavours of THG whilst the rest of us slumbered in front of the fire. On the coffee table the lid on the customary large tin of Quality Street sits loosely on top obscuring the fact that there won’t be many chocs left. Next to it are two large Monty Don gardening books. THG has already made inroads into their contents.

The bagpipes have done their work and all the occupants of the bedrooms are now in the kitchen. The smell of bacon accompanies the sound of sizzling and the occasional refrain of Christmas carol lingers.

Christmas climaxed yesterday. Over for another eleven months before the build up starts again. Boxing Day onwards is all about surviving the remainder of the holidays before the self imposed austerity of January kicks in.

I don’t really like the months of January and February and can see why those who can move to sunnier climes for the period. There is a BA sale on. I clicked on an ad for a holiday in the Caribbean but the term sale proved to be relative. A cursory glance showed a saving of £250 on an £8,500 holiday to Trinidad and Tobago with business class flights. Didn’t bother looking up First but don’t think they fly that class of cabin to da Caribbean, mon.

Anyway I am already off to the Southern Hemisphere in January. It is summer down there. Good job I haven’t packed away my summer clothes. I say “down there” but there is no real reason why the Northern Hemisphere should be depicted on the top half of the globe. It is fairly arbitrary.

In the meantime my biggest decision of the day is what to eat for dinner. The choice is left over lamb balti or leftover beef and turkey in a fajita. Having just consumed some toast and marmalade prior to moving into the living room I don’t feel inclined to think about food right now. The decision is being deferred.

The milkman normally comes on Mondays but not this one obvs. Probs wants to give the horse a break. All is quiet upstairs in the Davies house except for the occasional sound coming from a bathroom.

Downstairs is a hive of activity, at least in the kitchen, as THG gets on with some of the veg prep and I prepare myself for the breakfast short order chef role. The ingredients are out of the fridge but there is noone yet to cook for.

Tbh we are all still full after last night’s chindian. It may be a restrained Christmas breakfast although I’ll believe it when I see it.

In the meantime please show restraint when opening the presents. I have visions of wrapping paper flying around in a frenzy, cries of delight or feigned “this is my favourite colour slightly too small jumper” delight and “don’t forget who gave you what so that you can write thank you letters. Now what did aunty Flo give the youngest?

Happy Christmas all

The king’s Christmas message was just mentioned on the wireless set on my bedside table. Didn’t hear the context. I have a built in filter that switches these things off. Used to do the same with the old queen. They are not relevant to me.

Tis the Eve of Christmas. Morning. THG and I are up and at it but there is no sign of life coming from any of the guest bedrooms. The bottom of the refrigerator is being emptied to assess the vegetable sitch. See whether we need to add owt to the list for a last minute dash to the shops. 

I made a fab beef stock yesterday so that is sorted and this morning first thing, before breakfast, I’ll crack on with the pigs in blankets so that we know how much leeway we have with sausages and bacon. Be assured we have plenty.

The emptying of the fridge revealed a supply chain issue in that we would appear to have multiple bags of different foodstuffs. This situation arises when you have seven independent minded people in the house who indulge in multiple ad hoc trips to the shops.

Rewind. I took a break from writing and after tomorrow’s pigs in blankets we only have three bangers left. These will not survive this morning and therefore sausages have been added to the last minute shopping list. The Waitrose sausages won’t be as good as Fosters spicy Lincolnshire farmhouse but needs must. Can’t see Fosters opening today.

It is amazing how much food we get through with seven large adults in the house. The sitch is exacerbated by the fact that most of them seem to go to the gym or off for runs to Nettleham and back thus increasing their appetites. When you add midnight/one ey em visits to the fridge upon return from the pub you can understand how we really need to stay on top of the food inventory.

I daresay I will add to this post when I have some leisure time later today but for now I am off to cook breakfast.

Ciao amigos.

..

The shopping list is slowly being compiled:

Grean beens

Aunt bessies yorkshires

Milk

Sore sedges

Bread and croissants

unsalted butter

peas

I struck off tinned grapefruit as THG had, with great presence of mind, already procured some from Lidl. This is the only time of year I have tinned grapefruit for breakfast because that is what we did when I was a kid. It is the law.

Slightly bemused by my miscalculation as to the quantity of sausages required for Christmas. I bought sixteen which turned out to be way off the mark. Dunno what I was thinking! This lot are gannets. I’ll probably need to check the wine stocks as well. They also drink like fish. No idea where they got that from. 

…

Waitrose running low on lots of things. The time to go is between two and three pee em when they will be selling stuff off cheap. Only issue is we are seriously low on freezer and fridge space. As it is THG is going to have to squeeze the yorkies in somewhere. Off course I could make fresh yorkshires tomorrow but there is so much going on you need to make life easier for yourself where possible. 

I will make the stuffing today. Get that out of the way. And the brandy butter. Food at Christmas is a lot of faff and I know some people prefer to go out to eat but it is never the same as having it at home and then crashing out on a settee in front of the fire, arm dangling into the tin of Quality Street and a glass of brandy next to it on the floor.

This year I have not made provision for trifle. I love trifle. Mam always used to make trifle, for consumption in the evening on Christmas Day. This year I am going without. There is enough to eat anyway.

Saturday morning and the house has been a hive of activity since quite early on. The noise levels have started to drop as homecoming offspring gradually head out for some last minute Christmas shopping. These Londoners are so busy forging their careers/partying that they don’t have time in the normal run of their lives. This is what the internet was designed for.

Actually I’m not sure that Vint et al had Christmas shopping specifically in mind when inventing tinternet. They almost certainly thought it would be cool to be able to send each other messages saying “Hi there, what is the weather like in Berkley?” and stuff like that. Or more likely “incoming missile coordinates”.

It takes a few moments of adjustment when they all come home. “Where did that loaf I bought go” – “they’ve eaten it already”. “How many pints of milk?” Hey, we wouldn’t have it any other way. There is plenty of time when it is just the two of us. We are ok.

I do have some duties to perform this morning. Our Joe is cooking us a gourmet lunch and I have to strip three ducks of their breasts and make some stock. Mallard. In my mind this is a day to avoid shops although tomorrow it will be unavoidable. Fruit, bread, milk etc. The milkman won’t come now until Wednesday.

Preparation has already started for Christmas Day. I’ve roasted some beef bones and will be making a nice stock. Looks like this morning is going to be spent in the kitchen. Better go.

…

If your name is Eve how do you feel about being called Christmas Eve? If your surname is Day I guess it isn’t out of the question that your parents could have called you Christmas. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was known by that name. Christmas Evans for example.

If you don’t know who he was just Google it. He was a contemporary of my great (x4) grandfather The Rev Daniel Davies who founded the Baptist Church in Llandysul. I visited his grave ten years or so ago. It was in the oldest part of the cemetery and only recognisable because a member of the church happened to be around doing some job or other. The original church is still there but now used as a vestry or similar.

Daniel was a tenant farmer. He was around at the time of the great religious revival in Wales. Prior to building the church locals would gather in people’s homes to worship together and in Llandysul I believe they used the corner of a field.

Having a name like Davies did pose a problem when researching the family tree. A quarter of the inhabitants were called Davies. Dewi ap Dewi – David son of David after the patron saint of Wales. This evolved into Davids or Davies. Fortunately our lot were leaders of the religious community which helped as the census entries had them down as Ministers or Preachers.

I need to check the work I did ten years ago and expand on it. I found it hard to get back beyond Daniel without spending hours and hours on the ground. Church records were a bit patchy and “David son of David” doesn’t help the cause. Both Daniel’s brothers were also Ministers of Religion, one of them being with the established Church in Wales. There must be some written record of his parentage somewhere.

My family history is interesting. No royal lineage or someone who became famous for inventing the left handed widget extractor or similar.

However the history of the Davies family does reflect what was going on in the world around. We were tenant farmers, took part in the religious revival and then became woollen mill owners during the industrial revolution. When that began to wane we were miners and my dad was the first in the family to get a University degree.

I guess this participation in waves of change continues with my involvement with internet technology and in the subsequent generation being part of the world of social media.

I’ll let you know when the book is ready. In the meantime don’t hold your breath 🙂

Friday, Friday, looks good to me. All days should look good. It’s going to be a short one but  growing hereon longer, by the day. Silly that we should even think about yearning for long summer days when we are in deepest midwinter. We should love the dark days with low light and miserable weather. Shouldn’t we? 🙂 Let us enjoy the moment.

This is the last working day before Christmas and, believe it or not, I have some work to do. Goodness me wtf gor blimey etc. Well folks, the unremitting grinding of gears is an ever present feature in the engine room of commerce. Constant lubrication is a must. Attention cannot be allowed to drift and focus must be maintained. At all times.

In the meantime Simon the plumber is in the garage servicing the boiler. Don’t want any sudden interruptions to the normally smooth operation of the central heating over the festive season do we? Eh? Better safe than sorry. We also have the open fire as a backup. 

It’s no different to having two different broadband connections entering your property from different directions and using totally different technologies is it? One assumes every one of you has this sensible infrastructure architecture in place. No UPS mind you. Maybs I should have asked for one for Christmas.

This morning I have a ten ey em call after which I’m going to give all the staff, ie me, the rest of the day off. This is a tradition in most workplaces on Christmas Eve. I realise today is not Christmas Eve but it almost feels like it and if I want to give myself the rest of the day off I will. Carols banging out in the shed. Everything is at peace in the Davies world.

After my call @hannah and I are off to Fosters to buy protein and thence to Waitrose to buy whatever we feel like taking off a shelf. It’s the rebel team. Dad and daughter. So long and thanks for all the money off vouchers 🙂

The milkman came at four oh five this morning and left us four pints of semi skimmed.

Every year the Davies family converges on the mothership to attend the Annual Morning Star Carol Session, heralding the official start of Christmas. Last night’s singsong was another great success and we look forward to Hannah and George’s arrival tonight to complete the team.

Today is the eve of the Winter Solstice, the most important feast day in the calendar for the pagans amongst us. In recognition of this, a long lunch has been planned at Ole Ole, an excellent purveyor of very fine Spanish fare in uphill Lincoln.

I daresay that the conversation at the table will be about bygone feasts where the slaughter of wild boar preceded a raucous night of eating and drinking. It is unlikely that any of us will stay the pace to be around for the official solstice which will be something like three thirty ey em.

Wannabe pagans are however set to gather in the Strugglers at early doors for the annual Independent Traders Official Christmas Party. Bring your membership card 🙂

No milk today.

The milkman came at four nineteen ey em this morning. Only one more delivery until Christmas which is on Friday. Because we only get milk on Monday,  Wednesday and Friday it seems likely that the next delivery will be a double sized job. That means four pints which will only last us one day over the holiday period as we will have a full house.

Looking out of the kitchen window I see pink clouds. The back garden is largely still and when I rang the meteorological office to ask about the weather for the day ahead I was told not to expect any inclemency. The pinkness in the sky should not therefore represent any sort of shepherd’s warning. A meteorological anomaly perhaps. Didn’t really ring em btw. I have their application on my mobile telephone.

Busy day ahead culminating in the Morning Star carol singsong tonight. Before that I have other seasonal duties to perform and also a two hour conference call at noon. Wot wot wot wossgoinon Tref I hear you say. A conference call in the week before Christmas?!?!?! Well yes I say, a conference call. Be assured, however, that I mostly only do stuff that I like doing and I am looking forward to this call. I shan’t trouble you with its purpose.

There is also work to be done on the morrow. This “work” involves a canal boat journey with @Wayne and @charles followed by a leisurely lunch at a fine local Spanish restaurant by the name of Ole Ole. Later that afternoon there is the annual Independent Traders Christmas party at the Strugglers. I suspect I won’t be staying out as long as some of my fellow Independent Traders having already had the earlier luncheon.

Got to get to grips with meself. Morrow and luncheon are distinctly Victorian words and I am a forward thinking individual. Victoriana does not seem out of place at Christmas though. Many of our favourite Carols date back to this bygone era and we will be singing them tonight at the Morning Star.

If I were you I’d get there as early as you can to secure a seat.

A day out in York in prospect. Pub crawl. Catching the 10.02 out of Lincoln Central. Want to get there early in order to spend an hour or so in the railway museum first. One of life’s joys. Last time I was there I sat in one of the seats on the Japanese bullet train only to notice the sign afterwards “PLEASE DO NOT SIT ON THE SEATS”. Didn’t see it until I was on the way out of the carriage. Oops.

The railway museum is somewhere you can just hang out. Feeling the presence of the engines. Historical greats. Quite in contrast to the pub crawl although in fairness many of the pubs in York are quite historical themselves. This is my only pub “crawl” per se of the year. Apart from last week’s Gamma job in town. I think.

The only thing I need to make sure of is catching the train back. We usually end up a fair distance from the stayshun and it is then a walk or ride decision. The ride buys me more time with the lads but introduces a variable in respect of how quickly I can grab an uber. This in turn adds uncertainty to the time of arrival at the station and therefore whether I catch the train or not.

The journey home used to involve changing in Doncaster or simlar but nowadays there is a connection in Newark where I join the 19.06 out of Kings Cross. There is rarely anyone in 1st class between Newark and Lincoln so quite comfy really. THG has volunteered to pick me up from the sayshun. I could have been a travel agent in another life.

Et voila. A good day out in prospect. In York.

Pretty sure I was the oldest bloke at the darts last night. You struggle to believe that such an event can happen, in real life. Most people were there in fancy dress and we picked up some Paddypower green santa hats in an attempt to blend in. Most people were totally bladdered by the end of the first game. In fact they were mostly bladdered before the start of the first game.

The darts on the stage pretty soon became incidental with the crowd being more preoccupied with goading others around them to down pints in one. I got away without having to do so, largely because I imagine I was old enough to be at least their father.

A few observations stuck in my mind. One guy was wearing a Christmas jumper with the words Feliz Navi Darts. Then another bloke in a very fetching top and skirt remarked that security had “confiscated my tits” and one of the Germans sat near to me on the back row must have had an upset tummy because he was unwell over the back railings. 

There was a queue for the cubicles in the gents, which surprised me and I assumed it was because they needed to remove their fancy dress in order to use the loo. Then someone who knows these things told me it was for other nefarious reasons and out of sight of the security guard who was permanently stationed inside the gents loos. I have never been anywhere before where there was a security guard in the toilets. I live a very sheltered existence.

On a more mundane sporting level I was quite surprised that it took almost an hour before we saw our first one hundred and eighty and I noted that they replaced the dart board with a new one after every game.

We got through quite a number of jugs of Neck Oil and just before the nine pee em cutoff for selling jugs our John went to the bar and came back with two more. By the time I left, before the end of the second game we still had unconsumed beer which presumably Johnny boy dispatched. There was no way the darts were going to finish before the notional closing time of eleven pee em.

Carnage it might have been but what a great night out. I feel as if I don’t need to go to another darts evening but am glad I went to this one. I shall resign my membership of the Professional Darts Corporation happy in the knowledge that I took full advantage of my year following the ocky.

Today, Sunday, I have some time to kill before meeting my heir apparent, Tom, to watch the Liverpeul v Man u game later this afternoon. I could almost envisage spending the day relaxing in the hotel were it not for the fact that this hotel is not particularly conducive to this. I might pop down to the lounge to check out the vibes.

The hotel is full of tourists, fair play. There are nicer times of the year to come to visit London but I guess people go for winter breaks. Wrap up well 🙂 I suppose I am a tourist this weekend meself.

The day dawns. The big day. Car is picking me up at ten fifty five. Whisking me to Lincoln Central, the railway gateway to the world. From Lincoln Central you can get to any destination. Ok there might be a few changes involved but that’s going to be the case wherever you start. 

If you stand on one platform you can go as far as Grimsby, or Peterborough even. Another gets you to Newark and beyond as far as London, Nottingham, York and the Highlands of Scotland – Aberdeen. Everywhere. There is even a train to Sheffield and Leeds. Exotic ou quoi?

I might drop the train company a line offering the marketing strapline. LINCOLN CENTRAL, GATEWAY TO THE WORLD. Totes free of charge obvs. They can choose the font to fit their corporate style manual.

There we go. Inspiration over for the day. Back to the mundane. What am I going to wear? We are off to the darts this evening. Ally Pally. Quite excited. Been thinking of going to the darts for years and earlier in 2023 I joined the PDC in order to secure early access to tickets. The tickets went very quickly. I doubt there is anyone who bought one that isn’t a member of the PDC.

Watched the darts last night. Raucous atmosphere. Didn’t know any of the players involved but it didn’t matter. Will be the same tonight. Might have a little flutter, to make it interesting. Five quid on the bloke in the red shirt please. It’s as good a way as any to choose.

So I have a relaxing enough start to the day with plenty of time to get ready. Kitchen has been tidied, ish. THG will want to redo it anyway. I also need to clear the shed and then pack for the expedition. Two nights in Islington.

The sporting party is gathering at Tom’s flat in Highbury Corner at four pee em. A (very) late lunch or early dinner, call it what you like, then train to the Pally. I’m sure photos will be posted. 

Back on Monday. That will be it for the year as far as London is concerned. I’m not tired of London, yet, although London can be very tiring. You have to take the right, unhurried, approach. There is a bus from Stope E at the front of Kings Cross Station that drops me off a few yards from the hotel. V convenient. Several numbers to choose from and they are fairly frequent. Absolutely no point taking a taxi especially as I will only have a small bag.

It’s a short bus ride. Three stops. I don’t even bother going upstairs to see if there is a seat available on the front row. It is walkable if it comes to the crunch but the bus is cheap and easy and I like going on the bus.

Sunday am thinking of taking in a Tate and then there’s the Liverpool v Man U game to watch at four thirty. Cousin @Enda will be v excited. He is a big Man U fan 🙂

Milkman doesn’t come on a Saturday but we have plenty in.

Busyish day ahead. Tom the tree man is coming at noon and before then I’ll have to drop THG off at the stayshun for her trip to Liverpeul. It’s time for the annual hedge trim plus we need some logs chopping. Couple of meetings this afternoon then off to the Star early doors with Ajax and anyone else who fancies coming along.

The last of the bacon was consumed for breakfast. The last in the fridge, not the last ever, obvs. Imagine the furore if there was no more bacon. Ever. Vegetarians the whole world over would simply shrug their shoulders and raise their palms to the ceiling. I however would write to the Times to complain. “How could we have let it get to this?” Disgruntled of Tunbridge Wells.

For a kick off I haven’t used up all my brown sauce. I typically only have brown sauce with bacon. And sausages but bacon is ranked higher than sausage in the food hierarchy. Maslow’s food hierarchy of needs places bacon at its pinnacle. If you are at the top then bacon is all you need. And crispy duck pancakes with hoisin sauce.

Maslow’s food pyramid does not apply to everyone. There are specific exclusions if you are on a diet, or a member of a religion that prohibits the consumption of certain foodstuffs. Also no fast food is mentioned by Maslow. This may simply be because the concept of fast food in Maslow’s time did not exist or was applied to a quick cheese sandwich. 

For sure there is no KFC or McDonalds. In the world of Maslow when you eat a meal you do not get hungry again half an hour later or feel really crap because it tasted great when it was going down but immediately afterwards feels greasy and ‘orrible.

Maslow would have approved of my breakfast. I can picture him now looking on at me with a knowing nod of the head, hand holding his chin. With it I had a large glass of milk. Milk is one of the top five drinks together with water, tea and a decent pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord Pale Ale. No idea what the fifth is. 

One day I’ll put some time into trying different liquids out to see if I can find the fifth. I’d probably need a research grant to cover the costs especially as it is likely to involve the tasting of some high end wines but I’m sure there will be a business case for it.

The milkman came at four twenty three ey em.

…

Came back from Waitrose with a white loaf and a packet of cheese and onion crisps. Lunch today is going to be a crisp sandwich. This is just below the bacon sarnie in Maslow’s book. Slightly annoyed that I had to be rescanned. Presumably the system was surprised that there was no gin or beer in the basket. It’s a good job I only had five items in the trolley.

A rescan is quite rare at Waitrose fair play. I stopped using the scan as you go thing in Tesco when I had to do rescans in two out of the first four shops I did. Noravin that. I don’t like going to Tesco anyway.

…

We are very lucky to be able to discuss food in this way. If your difficult decision of the day is whether to have fish or steak for tea then life can’t be that bad. A clergyman friend of mine once said he visited a family in Africa and was offered a meal. His hosts did not eat because they only had enough food for him. He felt very bad about it but their pride was at stake.

We are off on Safari in February and my hardest decision is going to be how much to leave as a tip. That and meal choice on the rest of the trip. When you stay in hotels you find that menus are very much the same wherever you go.

Tom and his lads are trimming away. Amazing how much stuff grows in a year. The garden is a cacophony of leaf blower, chainsaw and hedge trimmer. At least the shed is reasonably sound insulated.

Taxi driver from the hotel this morning was v complimentary about my jacket. Very nice of him. He used to be a travel agent until around twenty years ago but the internet killed that off so he did the knowledge instead. Our Belgian office uses a travel agent but it is a lot easier to sort things yourself using apps et al. 

Part of the fun of travel is the time spent planning. I spend ages planning a trip. I like to think that by the time we go I have it all down to a tee. Wonder where that saying comes from? I found out about “x marks the spot” on a tour of the Tower of London and “on tenterhooks” when visiting the kipper smokery in Peel in the Isle of Man. No longer in business unfortunately, the kipper smokehouse.

All things come to pass. A fair few pubs I used to frequent as a lad are no longer there. I grew up near Crosby in the Isle of Man. There were three pubs in Crosby: The Crosby Hotel, Halfway House and The Highlander. The Highlander closed, the halfway rebranded as Waggon and Horses and then closed but the Crosby is still there.

The Crosby is where we would repair on a Tuesday night after a cricket match. Crosby Cricket Club. I was only sixteen but the team would buy me pints of bitter and I would either walk home in the dark up the back lane or mam would come and pick me up. That lane could get very dark. Sometimes the only way of doing it would be to walk in the middle of the road so that you could feel the camber on either side. Happy days.

Made the ten oh six train this morning. I had toyed with the idea of catching a later train and visiting the Tate Modern as the Hilton Bankside is very close. Figured I’d go at the weekend instead as I am back down for the darts at Ally Pally. Staying at Angel. If anyone wants to come along on Sunday let me know. I am a member and can take three guests into the paid for exhibits without having to book. What’s not to like? Mind you none of you wanted to go to the darts 🙂

I find that somewhat bemusing, that I had no takers for the darts. Not even any of my mates from Lincoln. It’s supposed to be a great day out. Going with the Davies men. They know a good night out when they see one. 

The train is at Peterborough. Woman getting off accidentally pressed the button to open the toilet door instead of the door to the platform. Easily done and done it myself on more than one occasion. Peterborough is halfway home. I don’t get off at Peterborough although it is a popular destination for commuters. Not much going for it in my mind. The passport office. Mind you that’s the only bit of Peterborough I’ve been to and that was a quickish in and out.

We pass a field where a tractor ploughs a lonely furrow. Keeping the nation fed. 

The milkman doesn’t come on a Thursday.

Milkman came at around four oh six this morning. Two pints as usual. Drank some milk at breakfast with my bacon sarnie. Bread was over-toasted. I sliced one too thin! Nivver mind.

THG dropped me off at the stayshun at around quarter to nine. The nine eleven to Newark was already in and at platform 3A. Right by the entrance and no need to mess about with the footbridge. Result! Looks like a newish train an all. A good start to the day.

Am on the way to the bright lights and on this occasion would appear to have some work to do relating to number portability. Iawn. Don’t even know why I mentioned it. Such things are important although not in the great scheme of things.

The news this morning was full of bad stuff:

The government winning a vote on Rwanda. They are so up their own arses on this. There are far more important things to worry about than immigration and boats. Like number portability.

Then there is COP28. V important but our government considered the Rwanda deal to be more important so flew our top guy home for the vote. We are all doomed. At least this government will go before we do.

And then there is the UN call for a ceasefire in Gaza. Elsewhere on the page there is Ukraine v Russia war, sad deaths of teenagers in a car crash and the shrinking UK economy.

The first “good “ bit of news came from Gloucester where a silver 1,700 year old ring was declared treasure. I assume that is good news. At least compared with the other s45t going on it is.

Enough of that. That kind of stuff should be reserved for other media such as X, such an instantly recognisable brand that it is bound to succeed. I doubt it. There was something called twitter which did exactly the same kind of thing but that came and went. The whale must have sunk. Or was the whale on Facebook? Not seen it for yonks. Maybe the bird flew away. Peter was its name. You might have been thinking of Paul. 

The carriage is gradually filling up, from the other end which is near the entrance to the platform. I moved to the front to be nearer where I want to be when I change at Newark Northgate. A cheery train manager is making an announcement. We are about to depart.

Sgonna be a long day in town. Lots of “networking” if ya know what I mean. You have to send your top guys on this sort of jaunt. People with lots of experience and therefore the stamina to stay the pace. 

The train trundles slowly in the direction of Newark. Just passed the scrapyard on one side and scrubby birch woodland on the other. We pass a lot of land that seems to be permanently fallow and unused. Must be on the wrong side of the tracks.

I quite like the romance of coming from the wrong side of the tracks. In reality it is far better to have been brought up in a nice comfortable family environment where you had great parents and all the head starts in life. If this is you, be grateful. I know I am. Don’t waste it.

The line between Lincoln and Newark is quite slow. This means if you look out of the window you see a lot of things. Over the years it has prompted me to write the occasional poem such as “The rusting tractor (at Collingham Station)”. We are just passing Collingham now. Then there was “The church” which stood outside Newark and would appear to have seen better days.

The fields today are waterlogged as was the station car park at Swinderby. Only three cars parked up and one of them belongs to Network Rail. It is a truly miserable December day. Even the blanket clad horse in the field looks miserable. Not much fun fenced off on your own in an anaemic looking plot of grass.

Just noticed that I have a thirty eight minute layover at Newark Northgate. Schoolboy error. I initially booked this train so as to get to town in time for lunch with a customer but that customer cancelled and now I’m meeting @Charles before heading to the annual Gamma shindig. Could have caught a later, direct train. Ah well. We life and often don’t learn. I won’t be doing any number portability stuff in the station caff. It isn’t the right environment for it.

The wetness of the fields around Newark makes you wonder whether this area was all marsh and bog before the Romans drained it. I assume they drained it. Newark must be on the endangered list when it comes to sea levels rising.

Now sat in the waiting room on platform 2. Made the mistake of chatting to some woman. Now she won’t stop. Gawd help us. I’ve had to deliberately ignore her. She is the station waiting room equivalent of the nutter on the bus. I think she is lonely. Someone else is occupying her. Someone with weaker ignoring skills than me. I hope she is not sat next to me on the train. Gonna be a headphones job.