Sunday 9th June 2024

A day full of plans.

Or a morning, at least.

Up with the larks at six, and after a quick coffee, we were out before seven, driving past the port and up the A20 to Folkestone and the orchid sites just beyond.

We take a main road off the motorway, then a side road, then a lane and finally, a track barely wide enough for the car.

We park in a passing place, and gather our gear together, climb over a stile, through a wood and into the meadow beyond.

I have made Late Spiders shot of the day twice, so a third seems a tad overkill, but we saw so many fine and interesting spikes, including at least three hybrids.

I did OK, pushed myself and so got the shots and saw the spikes I wanted.

Time was slipping, so at nine we went back to the car, then drove back onto the motorway and into Folkestone as I badly needed a haircut.

We arrived in town at half nine, I walked to the barbers and found it open, and a chair waiting.

I was shorn, then had a proper barber's shave too, for the big event tomorrow.

A proper shave means being shaved twice with a cut-throat, then more soap added, before finally a hot, wet and cologne-infused towel is pressed into my face.

I smelt and looked lovely afterwards.

We called in at the new Italian deli on the way back to the car, spending £42 on bread, beer, cider and other lovely things.

Jools drove us home, back along the cliffs and into town, getting back at midday, time for a brew and breakfast.

And that was that, really. A quiet day, with food and drink at regular intervals, music on the radio and sitting in the garden while the sun shone.

I had bought a focaccia from the deli, not as good as home made, obviously, but good enough, so we ate that with caprese and a glass or three of red wine while we listened to Desert Island Discs.

And somehow the weekend had gone again.