When Saturday Comes.

As I have said before on these pages, that feeling when the bell goes off at six in the morning and we walk out into a Doverian dawn and can come home, that feeling is really quite good.

Great in fact.

And so, on Friday I headed home, so tired and worn out from the chopping and changes of shifts. Within half an hour I was making the return trip to drop Jools back there for her day at the coalface. I did the Tesco thing on the way back, and so, although not quite having the store to myself, it was almost that good.

Back home for breakfast and a shower, and a half hour lay in bed turned into four hours. But, I awoke almost refreshed. As I had had word that I will be switching onto days for the foreseeable future, I took the opportunity to go into town for a haircut when the children were at school and so be able to be in and out of the shop withing an hour. Or less.

We are borrowing my bother-in-law's car whilst ours is being repaired after some asswipe crashed into the back of ours, and so instead of the Polo we have a BMW series 5 beast. Parking is not easy, and fuel consumption is scary. However, it's cheaper than hiring a car, and a big car is so very comfortable.



Saturday morning, Jools and I head out to Preston to the butcher, mainly because the trip so great and for me to stop and photograph another church. We bought a huge streak to share between the three of us. And then we stop off in the village of Addisham on the way back for me to snap the parish church. And wonderfully, it is called The Church of the holy Innocents, and is as beautiful as it sounds.



Time for a quick bite to eat and then off to Gillingham for me to go to the football and Jools and Nan to go shopping at the huge Marks and Spencer. My team Norwich, now ploughing their poorly ploughed furrow in the third tier of the football league, and Gillingham being the closest they would be playing to our home.

Now, don't know if I mentioned this before, but I had the choice of either going to the football or going to my high school's 30th year reunion. The main swinging point was that partners were not allowed to go to the reunion, and so I decided that football wins; and meant not having to stay with mother dearest either.

So, I found myself in the terraced streets of Gillingham looking for the floodlights and the crowds heading down to the Priestfield; only that is the same as Dover in that everyone seems to be a Spurs or Arsenal supporter. But, I got my bearings, and after checking into which pubs my friends would be going into, I went on a pub search.

I got regular updates as to how far along the M25 the coaches were, whilst I tucked into a pint of Stella and watched the live game on the big screen TV. My friend, Ian and his girlfriend, Shirley, arrived soon enough, and we stood outside in the autumn sunshine and caught up on our lives in the 18 months since we last met.

Soon enough it was time to go to the ground, and as I had a ticket with the home fans, I bid them goodbye. The Priestfield is not a big stadium, and quite how small ws shocking, and indicating how low Norwich have fallen. I had a seat on the halfway line, and a good view. And settled down to what I hoped would be a good game and three points for us.

Sadly, it did not end up that was as we had our goalkeeper sent off ten minutes before halftime and they scored from the penalty. The rest of the game was mainly us hanging on and the Gills shooting poorly. Resigned to losing, it came as a surprise that we equalised in the 97th minute of the game and snatched a point.

Only one person in the main stand stood to cheer, much to the anger of those around him. Me.

That night I cooked the steak, and very nice it was too. As were the sauteed potatoes and the red wine. I slept well.

Sunday, Jools and I walked the eight miles into Deal, along the cliffs. The weather is stunning right now. We are having a glorious autumn, and indeed we have had a wonderful summer too; unlike some parts of the country.

Anyway, we walked through knee-high grass along the chalky cliffs with the English Channel shining like a sea of jewels below us. We passed other happy folk taking in the morning air, greeting them with smiles and a warm hello.

The cliffs peter out at Kingsdown, and so we walk past once grand houses beside the shingle beach and then past Walmer and then Deal castles until we come to Deal pier where our friends were waiting for us to share breakfast. Nothing quite like bacon butties after a brisk walk.

We had invited them to Sunday lunch, well, tea, and had planned roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and veg. I had boiled a bone to make stock for the gravy. And it all turned out wonderful. As Jools and I prepared everything, Matt and Dadi went for a walk down in St Margarets Bay.

Dinner was wonderful, the beef cooked to a turn; the roast potatoes cooked in goose fat and crispy to the point of perfection; the Yorkie just done enough not to be blackened round the edge. We rounded that off with vanilla ice cram with fresh pineapple. It was rather perfect.