Sunday 18th June 2017

Phew, what a scorcher. Says all of Britain as it wakes up the the 3rd day in a row of temperatures that most Australians would consider "chilly". But it am hot, so hot that the cats no longer are sleeping on the bed, and Mulder just comes by to remind us that breakfast might be appropriate at some point.

Anyway, we get up, and outside the sun is already up, getting hotter and hotter. Jools and I have coffee, then wait for Tony to Join us so we can go out for the morning, as the afternoon would be too hot for anything. The plan was to drive to Canterbury, wander round, have breakfast and come home. Simple plan, and what could possibly go wrong. We drive to Canterbury, only worrisome spot was when a Ford Ka decided it had to be in front of us as we waited at the final traffic lights into the city, he then cut us up going into the roundabout, but then carried on, while we took the dead end street under the city walls tp the car park, stumping up tow pounds seventy of your English money for just over two hours parking, and then the city was ours.

As planned, it was quiet on the mean street of Canterbury; cafes and restaurants were only just putting out their tables onto the streets and alleyways. But for us, we could be the mix of old and ancient buildings, cobbeled streets, Pilgrims Hospital, the closes gates to the cathedral precinct. And then down Palace Street to see and snap the door at the old Kings School shop, walk back, look at the bridges over the Stour and marvel at the ducking stool used to try witches, so they say.

Places are filling up, so we walk back to the Buttermarket and take up a table in a Belgian place, Jools and I order hash and Tony has a fry up. And life is good. Despite them being short of staff, food comes just in time so I can scamper back to the car to get a new parking ticket and to wait for Tony and Jools to come back. They arrive two minutes after I have spent one pound seventy on another hour's parking, but I was happy enough to get in the car and drive us out into the countryside and hopefully will come in through the open windows and cool us down.

Our destination was Fordwich, the so-called smallest town in not just England, but Britain. But of course, turns out there are different measures as to what smallest means, but anyway, Fordwich is pretty enough, strung out along a narrow main street, which gets to less than 6 feet wide in some places, and with 90 degree bends. And yet people try to race through, swerving round corners. We are here to marvel at the way in which the modern worl has taken over the ancient, and the two live side by side, not always happily.

We found a place to park on the main road, the square outside the church was full with nearly half a dozen cars. Tony and I walk to the bridge over the Stour, taking our lives in our hands crossing over the road. We look at the river upstream. And then the river downstream. And walk back round the George and Dragon to meet up with Jools outside the town hall. The other pub was also closed, so no coffee for Jools. Having explored the whole village, we go back to the car to take a long round trip home, through Stodmarsh, back to Wingham and then back to Dover.

We arrive home after lunch, and treat ourselves with huge bowls of ice cream. It is too hot to do anything other than stay inside in the shade, listening to the radio, editing pictures and writing blogs.

One thing I did forget is that Tony and I went for a walk in the heat of the afternoon. Regular readers of my posts will know of "The Dip", and Tony is one of three of my friends on Flickr who have said they would like to walk down there for real.

As Tony's time here was getting short, even though it was hot and humid, just after three we set off, walking down the street to the beginning of the path over the fields. Not much different from the walk I did a few days earlier, other than I had company, for whom I am sure if was like a photo album coming to life.

I said to Tony that at the pig's copse we wouldn't see any as the young porkers would be sleeping through the hottest part of the day. But they heard us coming and ran through the trees to come and say hello, sniffing my fingers to see if I had any food with me. Sadly, I didn't, but they seemed happy that someone had walked by; pigs are sociable, so seem to have real joy in interacting. Doubly so if food is involved.

We turned right and the road began to drop, until the view opened out, and there it was: the Dip.

Pictures were taken, and asking if he wanted to go on, he did. We walked down to the very bottom, where mud from the storm a few weeks back was still several inches deep, and then after picking our way through the mud, began the long walk up the other side, with regular stops to look at views, wildlife and giving my poor back a rest.

We did it though, and to round off the experience, we went to the top of Otty Bottom Road to look down towards Kingsdown, before turning for home. His time taking the path from the village, through the farm and up through a field of broad beans back onto our street. The beans were so high, it looked like we were swimming as we climbed the last hill before arriving back home.

The afternoon passes, and as the day coold I make it hotter again by making steak, garlic mushrooms, steamed corn and fried potatoes. It was glorious, even if I was melting by the time I had cooked it all.

Days are now running out for Tony, less than three days before he begins his long trip home, he seems part of our lives now, even the cats, Molly excepted, have gotten used to him.

We sit outside as the sun set, me sipping sill strong Belgian beer.