Saturday 15th March 2025

Its the weekend again.

Anod not much planned, other than stuff for photography and the usual hunter/gathering in Tesco.

A fine if clod and breezy day really made it feel colder than it was, but also meant we were not that inclined to go far outside.

We are off on our travels next month, and for reasons I need more focal length for my camera.

I already have a Sigma 120-400mm lens, which is OK, but to bring our target species closer, I thought I would need at least double 400mm.

Cheapest way to do it would be with a teleconverter, rather than paying up to fifteen grand for some super-duper Canon L series.

Last weekend I bought a Canon converter, which worked well with my macro, but the Sigma lens did not fit.

Bugger.

Seems that part of any teleconverter design is a protruding element, and not all lenses match the design, and Camera maker converters not only don't fit secondary lens makers products, but not all of their own.

An internet search showed that a shop in Canterbury had one, so I asked them to put it away and we would come on Saturday. Being a Sigma one, there was a good chance the lens would fit, but this wasn't guaranteed.

Anyway, it did fit, and saved sixy quid on the Canon, though the resulting set up lacks autofocus and loses a couple of stops in exposure.

But works.

We had planned to go to a natural garden centre in Faversham, but road leading to the A2 north we clogged with traffic, and it seemed so much easier to head out past St Martin's and out towards the coast via Littlebourne.

We turned back towards the A2 in Wingam, so crossed the countryside at a steady pace until we reached the main road.

All was going well until a car forced it way past me at the traffic lights at Lydden. There really wasn't room, but the woman driving her young daughter went past anyway. Repeated blasts of the horn did not dissuade her.

We were beside here in the queue at Whitfield roundabout, and despite moor tooting on the horn, she did not look at me, instead turned left to go to Tesco.

She could have killed us and her daughter, just to get a Big Mac and a Happy meal 30 seconds earlier.

We called in at Westcliffe church to snap an Alexander or two, jut this week in flower.

Alexanders (Smyrnium olusatrum) was brought to the UK by the Romans, apparently.

South east England is rife with it, lining most hedgerows and roads, emerging in January and getting bigger and bigger with each week.

This week they have just started to open, so this is one of hundreds we saw along the road through Westcliffe.

It is edible as a salad plant, so you'd never go hungry in Kent.

Back home for a brew, and fit the teleconverter and see if I could snap some birds in the garden.

Football all afternoon, and trying to stay awake, of course. Norwich had played, so a chance to concentrate on how Ipswich did.

Oh dear.

Instead of football and Craig, we went out to meet with Sean and Ange at the Crown in Flinglesham, which Sean had never been to.

Once we had all arrived, we were shown to our table, and I asked the waitress which ales were on draught.

Draught?

Jools asked about cider on tap.

Ciderontap?

I asked what the specials were.

They're on a board by the bar.

But what is there?

Sean went to have a look while the waitress strained her braincell.

Sean and I ordered rack of lamb, and were asked which potatoes we wanted with the meal. We both said triple fried chips.

Only it came with mash. And she did not tell the chef we wanted chips.

We waited ten minutes until all parts of dinner was brought, it had all been a bit of a disaster.

The food was OK, however.

But the thought of another course left us cold, so we paid the bill and made good our escape, Jools driving us back tot he Sandwich road and then back home.