27th June 2016 The vultures have landed.

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Monday 27th 61F, 16C, breezy and cloudy with bright sunshine. In an unprecedented arrival, the Danes are shocked by a large flock of 34 meat eating vultures landing in the north. Only a few single birds have ever been seen since 1858. I would have thought that London was a far more fitting site for such visitors but it seems Denmark was chosen instead. It may simply have been a GPS error from all those whirling windmills. While cynics might have suggested that norther Denmark presently lacks dead bodies in the streets so they were definitely lost. Though it is possible they were looking for corpses from the gangland tit-for-tat killings? 

The birds may just have been eying the feeding potential of a whole continent in crisis. No doubt the posh Danish restaurants will already have paid volunteers to bring back an example from the flock. To add to their tasteless, shark's fin and endangered mushroom soup. Or perhaps, the birds had heard the rumours of the catastrophic death toll in the Danish pig sheds. It seems the birds with a 9' wingspan have yet to be informed of the giant plastic 'woodlice' parked outside most pig farms. Where the adult pig carcasses are routinely laid for out collection by the meat rendering lorries. It seems the vultures will soon have had their Danish bacon. [With added sugar.] So they will soon return to gorge themselves on the packed tourist beaches of Spain.

Meanwhile I have had to make do with a small, almost black bird of prey being mobbed by tiny birds over the front fields. Did I mention that there seems to be an acute shortage of Magpies this year? I have hardly seen any at all! Just a walk down to the village facing the traffic. With the wind roaring in my ears on my return. Half a dozen House Martins were clinging to the tiles of the church roof and being fed at frequent intervals by adults on the wing. It was fun to watch the young being buffeted by the wind. They seemed to be perfectly synchronized and would all flap their wings briefly in unison. Some of them had a beautiful sheen on their plumage when they caught the sun.

Showers on and off all day. Rest day.

Tuesday 28th 63F, 17C, bright but cloudy. Only odd showers forecast for today with rather light winds. Despite some grey moments it stayed dry. No walk but a short, hilly ride for 10 miles.

Wednesday 29th 57-65F, 14-18C, heavy overcast, raining and rather windy. The rain is expected to clear to sunshine and showers later. It brightened up in the afternoon so I went off into the wind. The plush fields were full to the brim with grain crops in all their variety. There were several flooded roads where this morning's rain had not found a safe exit. Coming back with a tailwind via the tiny, hilly lanes was as close to perfection as cycling can get. In warm, bright sunshine, with fluffy clouds decorating the blue sky I wallowed in the beauty of the countryside. With no traffic to speak of and the wind providing a free motor I arrived home happy and relaxed. 18 miles for only 3001km so far this year. What a slacker! 

Thursday 30th 57F, 14C, overcast, windy and cool. It is supposed to rain for the next 36 hours. June was not remotely the warm May which went down in the record books. Except for record rainfall in Horsens it was a bit of  damp squib. It is odd how little rain usually features in my cycling exploits. I have even been carrying the sweaty but lightweight 'supermarket' rain jacket in the bag. If only the designer had added arm pit vents it could have been far more comfortable. Every time I thought there was a brighter widow to go out it tipped down again.

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25th June 2016 Burp!

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Saturday 25th 65F, 18C, heavy overcast with light winds. Rain or showers forecast with a light garnish of thunder. After yesterday's heavy Brexit I'd better keep my head down. Probably between my knees is best to avoid unexpected nose bleeds. The Danish press talks of Britain waking up to a hangover.  With London and Scotland hoping to stay in the EU.

After Horsen's once in 500 years downpour the US has rallied with a once in a 1000 years downpour.  Friendly international competition has its place, but really? If this is what we can expect from AGW I'm definitely investing in a rubber dinghy and a life jacket. Next door had a speedboat lying in their back garden for years but took it with them when they finally 'downsized.' Which is a shame because it just means more expense in these difficult times.

The back fields used to flood every year but that was man-made too. Another neighbour complained to the council that they always needed waders to mow their back lawn. So the commune sent in their crack troupes. They arrived in a fleet of unmarked black vans, concealing balaclavas and uniforms without insignia. Armed to the teeth with weapons grade, motor strimmers they soon removed obstacles to the natural ebb and flow of the former open sewer.

Sadly, that swiftly put an end to any hope of starting a boat hire business! So we went back to sniffing burning furniture instead. At least that was how it was most days. You'd have thought they'd throw an ark together from all that free demolition waste wood but there's no accounting for personal taste.

The hedge took another pasting this morning despite the Head Gardener's stern disapproval over shape, height and general form. I just hope it doesn't lead to yet another international incident. I ma fairly sure that diplomatic relations would take a turn for the worse if I criticized her cooking.

Plans for a ride were curtailed by a sudden heavy shower. The forecast is upgraded to a Yellow Level violent weather warning. I just hope Denmark doesn't try to return the ball from the US' baseline! Not to worry, the new fleet of American fighter aircraft will save us form the worst if there is another deluge.  West Virginia-30 Horsens-15. The net buoys should be ready by now.

Langeland and Svendborg in SE Fyn has had violent weather with boats overturned, local flooding and damage to 20 houses from fierce gusts and cloudbursts. 30-30. Not that I'm a tennis fan. Or a fan of much else 'sporting' for that matter. The term is hideously abused and sporting it certainly is not! Most of it is just the redistribution of wealth in an upward direction.

Having studied the DMI's weather charts carefully I could see that most of the bad weather was sliding past Fyn to the west. So off I set into the finest of misty drizzle. It started raining properly at halfway while I was in the shops and kept it up for a while. The traffic was well behaved today and left me plenty of room to avoid wheel spray. Though the new cycle paths were flooded right across their width again. Forcing me to slow right down to avoid spraying myself or hitting obstacles hidden beneath the water.

The newer stretch of cycle path on the other side of the road seems better because they weren't quite so mean with the asphalt. The greater height, relative to the granite kerb stones, allows the water to run over the edges more easily. More asphalt may be laid at a later date to bring the level up along the earliest stretch. They have been quite busy laying the kerbs since I last rode that way. Which will add another couple of miles to the new cycle paths when the hardcore has been covered in new asphalt. It was a clever idea to use rough hewn, white granite to make the edges high visibility. The raised edges should also stop agricultural traffic from using the cycle path as they do routinely elsewhere. 15 miles.

Google blogspot is broken again. It refuses to update and shows a blank new post page again and again!

Sunday 26th 56F, 13C, heavy overcast, light winds. The forecast cloudbursts have been cancelled and we may see some sun today with odd showers. Gusting to 30mph, unfortunately, or it might have been a good day for a ride.

The aftershocks of the sharp Brexit continue to rumble. The real skurks in causing the vote to leave have yet to admit their sociopathic complicity. Nor deflate their colossal egos in their unnelected EU power cabal. They want Brixit be punished to avoid other countries demanding a referendum on Juncker's mass suicide cult.

What about the huge sums being wasted on white elephant projects and the drooling idiocy of routinely moving the entire, homeopathic EU parliament? All to satisfy some craving for limp national recognition? This alone requires heads publicly roll at the top. Soros is calling for a complete reorganization but it may be too little too late. I blame the banana fiasco as being the last straw in Juncker's hard push for the Dover clifftop. The ultimate double bluff? Deliberately make the EU unworkable so it collapses under its own weight for lack of public support? Does he have any other explanation for his peculiar behaviour? That's always the problem with predatory sociopaths. It's always the victim's fault. Give a small man a lot of power and they end up invading Poland.

A splendid day for a ride. With glorious sunshine and a sky full of snow banks of cumulus and a fresher feel but far too much wind for comfort. Not that I was complaining [for once] about cruising at 18-19pmh with 25mph seen regularly on the slightest decline. I saw a bunch of cyclists out training and passed them at 24mph going the opposite way.  The complaints started when I had to turn in to the wind to get home. Now i was seeing 14mph with occasional bouts of 7.5mph climbing into the wind.

I have been monitoring how I am adapting to much lower  mileages. It now seems as if I am wind [breathlessness] limited when climbing rather than pain limited by my legs. Not going badly at all really. Continuing to practice climbing out of the saddle. Amazing that I was only able to manage 2 seconds when I first tried. Now I can climb while standing on the pedals for hundreds of yards. Much like a few motorcyclists I saw today. I don't know how far they'd been but those broad saddles seem strangely uncomfortable. 23 miles.

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Friday 24th Brexit. [The salty, sugar-coated, EU mark-cist, lower fat serial.]

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Friday 24th 72F, 22C, warm, breezy and very humid. Bright start but clouded over. The exact opposite of the DMI forecast. Possible thundery showers after lunch. Best to go without lunch then? Just a steady walk down to the village to stretch my legs. Swallows and Martins were swooping wildly around together. A dead cat on the verge had obviously found the car with its name on it. While a large brown buzzard is hunting low over the front field. Just another [lazy] day in paradise.

Those of a nervous disposition had better gloss over the following diatribe:

Some of my readers may still be be unaware of Gravely Blighted's EU referendum "sharp exit" result. I just hope I won't need to pay the Continental 'coyotes' for an illegal boat ride back to the UK. As British, ex-pat immigrants [despite having British birth certificates] we will have to come ashore at some quiet cove to avoid the armed Border Patrols. No doubt supported by red neck, Cornish pasty toting vigilantes in rusting SUVs. With a row of red, white and blue LED spot lamps arranged across their bull bars. No point in trying our luck at the Chunnel. It's been done to death by others who claim far more right to be living in the UK than mere ex-pats. Perhaps we should stop wearing sombreros and 3rd degree suntans and try to look more like the newly impoverished we really are? Even the charity shops over here are far too upmarket to disguise ourselves as recognizable 'natives' beyond the grinding, off-white teeth of Dover. 

Over 320,000 Brits live in Spain alone. Claiming refugee status as having escaped from 'cruel and unnatural' treatment by the vile EU Dictatorship won't help the immigrant's cause. They had turned their backs on all that England holds dear [Eton, Oxbridge, Cliff Richard & Old Money] and must pay dearly for their disloyalty to Gravely Blighted. House prices in Spain will collapse overnight if they are all forced to move on from their chip shop & Corry, razor wire gated communities.

Meanwhile, the innocently blameless, at the center of the EU dictatorship, are demanding Brixit leave ASAP so their private dictatorship can continue unabated. i.e.Without personal loss of [their] fabulous incomes and [their] unnelected status. No lessons must be learned at all [taxpayer's] costs + VAT + Strasbourg + VAT + Ist class travel allowances + VAT plus 6 star hotel accommodation + allowances on the gravy train + VAT + 7 star chefs for breakfast + a private aircraft + VAT + neutered eu parliament + tin pots + VAT.

We must all publicly weep for St. David Cameron now he has retired to a life of grinding poverty on his lifelong pension, in a former council house. His monthly pittance and wealth regulated heating allowance, will be paid in now completely worthless, British Pounds. As the rain falls steadily over The Lordanumb Markets of Ye Olde England and the bloody Empire. Perhaps they will name a star after him. Or, at the very least, an EU paperwork, landfill crater. Which reminds me: I'd better invest in some removal boxes before speculators force prices out of reach for we, former-EU citizens.

For all my tongue-in-cheek complaints about Denmark they'll have to drag me kicking and screaming onto the ferry back to the UK. Back to the sleaze, the crime, the traffic noise, the violence and the grime. The well-earned and well-oiled chips on shoulders and the crippling insularity and insecurity. The ignoring the neighbours and the delusions of grandeur if they find a half crown down the back of a secondhand, faux leather settee. While perusing the charity shop wares and posh frocks in the identikit, grim and brutalist grey, chain store, double lined, diesel belching, buses only, high streets.

The mongrel society with such empty claims to racial purity that racism and class intolerance must be worn like an impenetrable force field to avoid all risk of contamination. Above [and below] all, the micro-hierarchical layers of class and prejudice. The empty snobbery and inverted snobbery. The flea market, house clearance, antique dealers and secondhand booksellers and gallery-daubist shifters and snake oil salesmen with their posh, put-on accents. The chip shop grease purveyors and takeaway staff with their fake "Frenchy" accents to add "a nice bit of class, innit" to the ritual proceedings.

Where everybody knows their place and know nothing of place beyond the drunken bars of mass tourist resorts and/or the local pub. Where the make and model of car defines the man [or woman] and their social status to an absolute Golf tee. Where good taste in building became an  endangered species back in the late 14th century. Where inequality lives cheek by jowl on opposite sides of the same, traffic blighted streets.

Where anything not fixed down is "just aksin' to be taken." Where nothing is sacred except institutionalized sexism, thievery, bullying and snobbery. Where mention of bank robbers alludes only to the institutions and never the folk heroes. Where dressing like a scruff has been raised to a mass form of coat couture. Where voice analysis, to place the user in their allotted class, is locked into the British genes. Where fear of strangers is so deep seated that you can smell its acrid stench in every social interaction. Where delineating a marauding Viking, terrorist, lower order peasant or Typhoid Mary, plagues every sweaty-handed introduction.

Where "getting away with it" is the first order of the day even before the first cigarette or jolt of ashtray aroma, instant caff. Where the scowling mask of social indifference is worn with national pride. Where counting the number of local burglaries is a closely fought, national sport with annually engraved and stolen trophies. Where voting is always for the least worst choice amongst the [police station] line-up of toffs, spivs, be-suited scruffs and upper crust, mafia bosses. Where they all delude themselves that they are infinitely superior. While living in a perfect facsimile of some backwards hell hole lifted straight from some dystopian 3rd world sweatshop where the forecast is always more rain. Where litter, projectile vomit and graffiti are the only recognized, public art forms in all their infinite variety and rainbow hue.

Where the opening moves of every conversation are a poorly disguised interrogation of the stranger's blood loyalties to some football-shirted bunch of multinational millionaires riding around the filthy back streets in plastic sports cars. Where accomplished ignorance is the highest level of attainment in many a 'public' school. Where shouting louder is the British-born and white bread, Google Translate of yore, and today. Where none should walk with their heads up. For shame of a long and bloody history of human exploitation and modern slavery in equal measure. Where the rules of dress are so deeply ingrained that it is standard wear for all seasons and all weather conditions. Or, to be spoken of, in derogatory terms, unto the 5th generation. Where charity and "rip-off" Britain begins, and ends, at home.

I'll get my [multicultural, Johnny foreigner] coat [of many colours]. ;-)

Click on any image for an enlargement.

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