Stuck at Heathrow

We were inevitably late leaving Hamburg yesterday, following delays from Storm Dennis, but were glad to get away with only an hour's delay. We had a bumpy landing in the strong cross wind, but then were stuck on the taxiway for over an hour waiting for a slot. The pilot informed us that the Heathrow computer system was down, and no planes could leave or approach any gateway! We felt most sorry for the people who should have made connecting flights. The flight attendants were visiting their seats to give the best advice they could; the couple in front of us had been going to Chicago, but were told they would not get away today, and must go to the information desk for more news.

So we sat there, just looking at the rows of gates at Terminal 5, each filled with a BA plane but none of which were moving. When eventually they did clear a gate and we went through to baggage reclaim, it was more chaos. All the boards announcing which carousel the bags would come up on were blank, and we were all queuing to see a man with a mobile phone taking verbal instructions and writing down carousel numbers by hand! Departures were even worse: all the indicator boards were down, and the entry gates to security were not recognising the bar codes of the boarding passes. People were being checked in manually, and the gate numbers were being written up on white boards. The news says it was an IT glitch, but that does seem improbable, and we suspect it was a major hack into the system. But these days, conspiracy theories always sound more plausible than reality.

Bartok, our new guinea pig

Getting back home, Andre and Edwin had prepared a meal for us, which was very thoughtful and welcome. Also, they have bought a new guinea pig to replace Pilot (see Christmas 2019). He is called Bartók, continuing our theme of naming animals after famous poets or scientists, or - something new - composers. He is very tiny, only six weeks old, but loves cuddles and nestles up to us seemingly fearlessly.

My new paper, appropriately enough about galaxies in a journal called Galaxies, has brought two responses already from a Professor at Ohio state university, and another from a Professor of Astronomy at the Russian Academy of Sciences in Moscow. It is always a surprise to get messages from such distant places, but very welcome of course when they are so supportive. It must be dreadful to get massive amounts of attention from people who just spit vile and the hatred of envy at the fame of people in the spotlight, like unfortunate Love-Islander Caroline Flack. Much though it's nice to be recognised by a couple of academics, I would hate any fame with that degree of attention, and am glad to live a quiet anonymous life in gentle Hundon.

Stuck in Hamburg

Yesterday we rose while still dark to fly to Hamburg. Edwin and Andre had treated us to the trip as a delayed Christmas gift, but they hadn’t reckoned with Storm Dennis chasing the heels of Ciara so rapidly. We got here easily to a fine hotel, and walked in the evening past the train station to find the little cafes and places that make eating out so interesting. Today we wandered through the old quarter, threading over the canals and cobbled roadways to the Ratenhouse (town hall) where a protest demonstration was in progress against the rising right wing AfD movement that is against Muslims and Gays. our trips to foreign cities always seem to coincide with some local protest. But at least they on the right side. We were glad we didn’t get caught up in a pro-fascist march.

Later we continued our walk to the Miniatur Wunderland, a huge collection of modelled countries filled with moving trains and vehicles and even a craftily modelled airport with planes landing taxiing and taking off into banks of cloud. It was every schoolboy’s dream.

Today, Sunday, we wait in our hotel for news of flight delays and cancellations from Storm Dennis, hoping we get back. Ann is busy already working on her contingencies - other ways back by land air or sea. We wait upon events.

Driving through Storm Ciara

We woke on Sunday to the howling winds of Storm Ciara, so drove out across the width of Suffolk to see for ourselves how bad it was. Ciara is an Irish name, meaning "dark" or "black haired", which should have been warning enough. Apart from a broken branch bouncing off the windscreen on to the roof, we arrived safely in Lowestoft and the car was unmarked. We did pass a lorry wedged across the road. It had swerved to avoid a fallen tree, but couldn't. The remains of the broken tree were lying on the pavement. The lorry had its front nearside badly stoved in. It had clearly just happened, for there was only the lorry driver and a helpful car driver in hi-vis jackets directing us round the wreckage while they awaited the police.

After a good lunch in the Victoria Hotel, we walked through the storm along the beach. The rain was almost horizontal, and bitterly cold as we got drenched, but the dogs loved it and were running round like young soaking pups. I was glad we had remembered to pack a spare towel to dry them, and some treats to cheer them.

Afterwards, we called at the Pier Hotel in Gorleston for coffee. I came out to find tiles blowing off the roof and smashing on the ground round us. Happily, the car remained undamaged. On the way back on the duel carriageway towards Norwich, the rain fell so thickly it bounced off the bonnet and roadway to resemble a thick fog, impossible to see through. I slowed to about 10 mph. Even a passing police car with flashing blue lights, was barely moving at above 20 mph. We were glad to be back safety home, for a warm bath and to dry out.

Lucy sent a text today asking if we had recieved the parcel she sent on Saturday. We hadn't, so tonight I went out with a torch to explore the grounds. I found the parcel hidden round the side of the house, where it had been fully exposed to the recent storms. She has sent us a gorgeous basket of goodies, including cake, chocolates, and little bottles of wine and whisky. I like my whisky straight with no ice or water. Luckily, the contents had remained dry and nothing was spoilt. 

Winter sunrise over Hundon

Sunrise over Hundon

Wednesday: Another cloudless daybreak, with winter frost and a low mist on the hills. It has been the mildest of winters, without snow or fog or heavy frosts. Not a breath of air moves the trees beneath the perched birds, gathering in great numbers now to nest and mate, though I cannot pretend to identify them.

A pretty Thames walk

Thursday: Having failed to secure a flight through Lastminute dot con,  today we must drive down to the UK offices of Astellas near London, to return their computer and the pass for the building. The team sent me an email when I said I had been let down and couldn't get to Leiden, saying they were sorry not to say goodbye in person, and they had a card and gift for me!

We stopped near Windsor for lunch, overlooking the Thames with a good walk available for the dogs. The journey back though was the usual nightmare of rush-hour traffic, but on the doorstep on our return was a UBS parcel marked "extreme urgency!". It was the gift from the group at Leiden - a fine calf leather folder, with a thank you card of generous comments. All as welcome as they were surprising.

Lastminute dot con.

I have recently had a contract with two companies, one of which had been extended for two months but was scheduled to end on 31 Jan. Unfortunately, on that same day, the other company also contacted me to say they wouldn't need me any longer, and the job would finish at the end of this month, so suddenly from two big contracts I will have none. C'est la vie in this game. But yesterday, all this was forgotten when we were treated to dinner with Edwin and Andre.

Enjoying the boy's hospitality

They a fantastic apartment in Cambridge. It sits on the second floor of a purpose-built modern block behind the Beehive centre, so they can walk or cycle into town or to the station, yet it has ample car-parking space and a large locked store for the bikes. On the inside, they have furnished it in a light, modern manner, comfortable, functional, and not over-cluttered, yet without being minimalistic. Last night they invited us for a full three-couse meal, beautifully made and presented. It was delicious. Afterwards, we played a game called "Overbooked" - clearly a favourite of Ed's who loves the operational side of airlines. This consists of four people, each with their own airline, and a model modern passenger plane onto which we had to arrange as many passengers as possible in various combinations, with overbooked passengers being "bumped off" - not a murder game, but a technical term for what airlines do when they overbook. Despite Ed's love of airlines, and skill with arranging timetables, it was Andre who won and Edwin came last!

Turning now to real airlines, I booked a day return to Schipol with Easyjet through Lastminute.com to return my company computer. Today, I tried to print out the boarding passes required to make the journey, but Easyjet have no record of the booking! Lastminute.com have taken my money, and run off with it - and there seems to be nothing I can do about it. I think they should be called Lastminute dot con.

Exit Brexit

Brexit comes at last

 Well, finally it's done. After all the debates and arguments, the procrastination, the negativity, the failure of imagination and lack of nerve, Britain has gathered her skirts and stepped boldly into her unknown future as an independent nation once again. The public spoke in 2016 with the referendum; and they spoke even more loudly with the European elections when so many Brexit MEPs were voted in. Then finally – because Europe, the establishment, parliament, the courts and much of the public services were not listening – we shouted so loudly in December that the world had to listen, if not hear. We wanted out - and huge numbers of us were prepared to vote for a right-wing, conservative party that promised to do just that.

Although I initially had some sympathy for the European project, and the ideal of a united nations of Europe, in practice it was trying to ignore centuries of differing opinions, traditions and customs by making individual nations into one homogenous bloc in some idealised image of a one nation state. This was never going to work well, and popularist cracks began to appear in the edifice of which Brexit is now the potent symbol. Everyone who voted for Brexit will have had their own reasons. My own attitudes swung towards it with Project Fear. Never had I heard such blatent propaganda to try to swing public opinion. This was no rational debate, and the more alarmist the statements, the more I rebelled against them. I simply could not see how they could all be true, with events predicted to be so dire that it was as though we would enter a nuclear apocalypse.

Finally, with a majority of our representatives constantly bickering and blocking any progress towards what so many in the country clearly wanted, I –like so many of my countrymen – yearned for a strong government again that could get things done. Like so many of us, my cross went to the Tories who, for all their faults, were talking sense. Indeed, when compared with the slogans of the Remainers with their "Bollocks to Brexit", even Jeremy Corbyn was talking sense, though of a somewhat uncommitted sort.

A large police presence, but a ruly crowd

So, last night, 31st January 2020, saw Ann and I join tens of thousands of others in Parliament Square to mark and celebrate an historic moment in Britain's history. The event was marked by a massive police presence - with innumerable police cars and vans, sirens, and a phalanx of mounted police. Yet the whole event was good-natured and peaceful with exuberance rather than drunkenness. Despite the BBC's efforts to portray Remainers as a potent presence, we saw no more than half a dozen, huddled together next to Downing Street, barricaded off from the vast crowds pouring past them down Whitehall who mostly ignored them, and certainly had no wish to fight them in this moment of victory.

Many young people
waving flags

Another lie propagated by the press was that the crowd was mostly older white people. Certainly, Ann and I were in that category, but the vast majority of that crowd was young, with a good smattering of non-whites amongst us. What was evident, however, was an overwhelming spirit of patriotism, a sense of a love of Britain and her heritage, like the Last Night of the Proms, with much flag waving, wearing of Union Flag costumes, and singing. Like it or hate it, that is a potent force that clearly underlay much of the Brexit movement. Politicians in the future will ignore it at their peril.

Brexit party London

It was like a New Year's party
filled with young hopeful people
many voices in foreign languages
many mixed nation's faces
the soft shaking hands
in a calm comradeship
and sweetening of spirit
burying the bitterness
the acrimonious argument
above all
was a feeling of relief
the civil war was done
but who had really won?

Annie Elliott 

A week of mixed fortunes

A little out of order, the previous Sunday was strange. We went to St Ives, intending to eat at the Dolphin Hotel overlooking the river, but after heavy rain the surrounding fields and carpark where deeply flooded, so we had to go round and park in the town to walk across the old bridge. We got there just after 3pm, but all the food had already been cleared and the place was deserted. Other hotels in the town were too full to find a table, so we went to an old haunt from our boating days, the Lazy Otter which generally serves all day and is never full, but it was closed for refurbishing, so we moved on to the Five Miles From Anywhere, but this was packed and rowdy even at 4pm, for they were holding a dirty shirt contest. We moved on to Finally we cut our losses and made for the Cadogan Inn near Bury St Edmunds.

In the middle of the meal, the phone went and it was our sister-in-law, Chris, to say her brother had died suddenly. She and Richard phoned him as they were leaving for a w/e in Wales, but getting no reply she insisted they turn round to check on him. He was only 65 and has lived alone since his partner died, so they used their key to get in and found him lying on the settee, still warm. He had been quite well, even going to a Wassail evening that week to celebrate some new apple trees, so the death had to be reported to the coroner and they are still waiting to hear when the body can be released. Our meal was terrible anyway, with no decent vegetarian options, and that call put a final damper on a fruitless day.

Step Children

I have done my best as a step-mum
to go gently on my way,
never stepped on the toes of real mum
or had over much to say.
As the months have turned into years,
the children have since grown,
they have shown me much love and kindness
sometimes even more than my own.
They say blood is thicker than water,
and that you can't get blood from a stone,
but love is tasted in sorrow
and love is what my step children have shown.

Annie Elliott 

On the domestic front, we had a take-away supper party on Friday with friends, with fish-'n-chips as the chosen menu. It makes for a simple supper which all enjoy, with minimum preparation (just put out plates and cutlery). Drinks flowed freely, and the talk followed, speculating about the Chinese flu and putting the world to rights as we all love to do.

Saturday was Burns' Night, and Ann arranged a wonderful Burns' Night supper to honour her Scottish heritage. Ann carried in the  vegetarian haggis on a silver platter while we had bagpipes music blaring out from Siri, and I read the poem Address to a Haggis. We then each had to read a poem of our choice, then a quiz followed. First prize was a bottle of Timorous Beastie whisky. To my annoyance, Edwin won! but it was well deserved - he'd been swotting up on the Bard all afternoon. Later, he did allow me to sample a dram.

Edwin shows his spirit

In Clare walking the dogs, the woodpecker was again hammering his song invisible in the trees above, but across the river a female woodpecker was attracted enough to fly across and perch upright on one of the fence posts to listen critically. She gave a thumbs down and flew off, leaving her forlorn lover to hammer alone.

On a more cheerful note, another wonderful poem from Ann, I have had another paper accepted for a journal called Galaxy, and today came a remarkably well-written letter from grandson Luke. He has just won a school physics project for the British Physics Olympiad, and will be advanced to take part in the National  6th-form finals, with a chance to present at the Royal Society. Good luck Luke!