Wednesday was a non-phys day, so it meant that I could lay in bed.My brain did wake me up at just before five. I heard Jools get up to feed the cats, but I went back to sleep, laying in to nearly seven, fraught with odd dreams.
Jools had a class, and I would go with her so I could go and try to get a hair cut.We had coffee and breakfast, before we left home just before eight, parking on a side street near where the old Rack of Ale used to be.
Dover is a typical provincial town, with a historic High Street and commercial centre. But due to decisions made by local councils, the commercial centre has moved to either Whitfield or the new St James Centre.
Meaning that what is left on Biggin and London Streets are left fighting over the remaining crumbs.
Half eight on a working morning, the town should be waking up and people come to open shops. But what there was, was mostly abandoned shops, and those open were either vape shops, nail salons or European corner shops.
There are four of five barbers, mostly run by eastern European or Turks, but the one I favour failed to open, so went to the next that opened.
We parked on Park Street, and after a minute or two, I walked down the side of the River Dour, a major chalk stream, through the town to near the bus station, before cutting through to Biggin Street and the place where the barbers are grouped.
Above, the sun rose into a clear blue sky, looking warmer than the two degrees it was. Meaning it was no time to linger and watch.
I go into the barbers and am shown into a chair, then wait ten minutes after being dressed in a sheet by an assistant, then wait for the artist himself to arrive.
He did arrive and began to do his stuff, but then another arrived, and piece by piece reclaimed his scissors and clippers from the desk in front of where I was being trimmed.
I have no idea if this happened every day, but it was very awkward and was happy that once shorn, I could pay and escape.Jools was done with her class, so we arranged to meet back at the car before driving up through town s we could call in at Tesco for some supplies, and then head home.
Lunch was bacon and sausage butties, perchance a tad too much for a lunchtime snack. So it was that come supper time we were still not hungry.Then it was time for the first meet of the year for the churchcrawling group.
To make things easier for me, I chose a church under the cre of the CCT which knew would be open, so no need to liase with a keyholder or warden. That church was St Mary at Capel-le-Ferne, one I havenot been back to for about five years.
No one to pick up this time, so a short drive through town and onto the A20, turning off at Capel, then once in the village turning off down hapel Lane, back into the high downland that lies between Dover and Folkestone, away from the coast.
Light was flat, and the subdued hues suited the month. At the church, there was parking now suggested on the access road to the farm, then walk up the muddy track to the church. I slithered up to check that the church was open. It was, and so disturbed two workment who were digging two new graves.
In ten minutes the group arrived, four of them, so I lead them back to the church, and inside, where the stone walls had done nothing to keep any heat in, so was like standing in a fridge.
I showed them the triple-arched chancel wall, unique in Kent, and the reason for the visit.
We talked about the isolated site, and why the village centre is now a mile away near the coast.
And that was it.
So to drive home before the light faded totally, and before the school run really began.
We watched more archaeology through the afternoon, and by the time that ended, darkness had fallen and it was time to wait on the cats as dinner time approached.
Turns out we were not hungry after all, so made do with a handful of peanuts and a beer or two before the evening of more League Cup football between Chelsea and Arsenal, which was pretty good entertainment, and the visitors winning 3-2.
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