Thursday 24th September 2026

Now that the spring and summer filled with holidays, church visits, hunts for orchids, and visiting 19th century fortifications are over, we have days to fill.

Doubly so with there being no football on TV, well, except for Thursday when Wales were to play Portugal, and that was live on BBC.

We were up again for six. I went down to feed the cats, only its Jools that normally feeds them, so I am alone.

I make coffee.

I had made coffee and was about to take the first sip, and that's when the cats decided I could feed them now.

NOW.

I feed them, we potter around until it was time to leave, ten to six or something.

We both get on the bike, do 50 minutes, though with no huffing and puffing, it was still humid in the gym.

And then, what?

Back home.

For a brew.

Breakfast.

Another brew.

Then a shower and a change of clothes.

I texted Jen to see when she was in so we could visit. She was off to a funeral in the afternoon, so we left then.

Jen had been given some green tomatoes. She didn't know what to do with them, so I looked online and saw that you could make salsa verde. And we had all the ingredients.

So I made the salsa, added an extra chilli as I thought it might need an extra kick. The allow it to ferment for four hours until dinner time.

I read some more, Jools fusses around her composter, and in that way the afternoon slips by.

Nachos are toasted, laden with grated cheese, then plated up. Salsa and sour cream added, and then ate.

Messily.

Yum.

Indeed.

And, the salsa was about perfect, I had added some honey, which the recipe said, but I added more, and it had bite, but not too much.

I had a one of the three remaining beers from our trip to France to wash it all down with.

And then to football.

Wales played OK, but were undone by a deflected shot. And Ronaldo walked around, had chances, but his lack of pace meant they went begging.

Wednesday 23rd September 2026

I can't remember when we bought our latest mower. Possibly four or five years ago.

Last year it stopped working, and I, the engineer, tried to fix it.

I did not fix it.

Jools said we should take it to the lawnmower repair man in Whitfied.

I tried to fix it again, and failed.

Turned out that the fuel had gone stale, as I only use the mower two or three times a year, so drained the old fuel out, tightened everything up and sold me special fuel at twenty five quid a gallon.

But the mower fires first time, and works well.

I never used the collecting box, it all looked rather complicated, and maybe I though manual labour cleansed my soul.

Or something.

With the equinox falling at six minutes past midnight, and the day was to to be warm and sunny, I thought I would "do" the lawnmeadow.

After a lay in to six, coffee, and lazing around. Jools went to her class, and was now going to go to a different craft club so to taxi for Jill along the street as her dementia is too much for those who used to drive her about.

So, when she left at quarter to ten, I got the mower out, took ten minutes to attach the box, then dropped it down two notches and gave it a good going over.

No manual scarifying for me, I now have an electric one. So ran that over next, dragging the dried thatch to the surface, before finally mowing again, collecting the thatch with no raking needed.

I was done by half eleven, and the machines put away, the clippings in the bin, and sipping on iced squash when Jools came home.

It looked great, almost lawn-like.

All I have to do now is wait for next week's rain, and the day before, sow or broadcast the seeds, then let nature do her work over the winter, and hope for a fine display next spring.

Other than that, not much happened. I read more of the book in the afternoon sitting beside a gently snoring Scully.

In the hedge I saw a Blackcap, and two Chiff-chaffs came hopping up the path only to see me, then fly away in a panic.

Leftovers for dinner, and squash.

And a football-free evening to relax in, and sit on the patio to watch the fuller gibbous moon rise through the clouds over France.

All rather nice, really.

Tuesday 22nd September 2026

My brain and body woke me at half four, so I was first up and downstairs.

No cats!

So I make coffee for me and herbal tea for Jools, and as I was about to take the first sip, then came the cats.

Test and jab Scully, then feed her and the other three.

By which time Jools is down, and we are actually ahead of schedule.

I am off to the gym at six, and have ten minutes to kill, so go to Tesco just to scout the fuel prices, as the Duke of Yorks petrol is now £1.80 a litre, Tesoco is sixpence cheaper, so there's that.

On Thanet, its another twelve pence cheaper still. That's competition for you.

I go to the sports centre, wait five minutes, then go to wait by the entrance, with the other gym rats and kids going to the pool, as there's another gala on the weekend.

I do my forty minutes, and happy with that, back downstairs to cool down, then back home so Jools has the car.

Once home there is a fresh big brew waiting, which I drink sitting on the patio with Scully. Again.

Jools leaves for her classes, I have breakfast, then a shave and shower, so all fresh for the day.

I start to read the new book on churchcrawling, and so the morning slips by.

Jools is back for half eleven, and comes with spicy lamb samosas for lunch, which go down well.

And into afternoon, more of the same: alternating between reading, writing and editing yet more shots from the trip to France. I am now at the end of the second day with those.

We have an early dinner, tidy up, then have the whole evening to make our own, but with little football around, we end up going to bed just after eight, with the gibbous waxing moon hanging in the sky to the south east.

At six minutes past one, the autumn equinox passed, but I slept on.

Nine and seven years ago

Nine years ago, Mum lay in a bed in the new Norfolk and Norwich Hospital waiting for a free bed at the old Papworth Hospital in Cambridge, after another heart attack, it was decided that mere stints now were man enough for the job, but something called a cabbage was needed.

This, the doctors would later tell me, give Mum the oxygen she needed, and so could gain a full life again, able to walk, get out of the house and so on.

Seven years ago, two short years later, that chance of a new life was wasted, and Mum was five days from death.

After the operation at Papworth, they made her walk, every day, and until she met the minimum requirement, she would not be allowed to leave.

She did the minimum, not a step more.

Then back at the James Paget Hospital, she could not be discharged until a care package in place. This was outsourced, and to make their job easier, and more risk-aversed, Mum had a catheter fitted and was discouraged from walking by herself to the toilet, twenty steps away.

So, after an operation designed to give her a new life, the system then set up a situation in which she would move even less.

The eating of Pringles and boiled sweets, smoking again meant that her situation was even worse.

In July 2019, some two months before her death, her social worker and myself tried to persuade her to move into sheltered housing, made difficult by her use of equity release. But she was having none of it.

She stayed.

Her cleaner, and former geriatric nurse, tld me MUm was in the final stage soon after. I doubted Sheila, but she knew. I though Mum had strong genes. She did, but had used them up.

To read each day, from my old blogs, the oportinity the cabbage offered, and then the total waste of time it was on her, is heartbreaking.

Her final word on deciding against moving into a home is that all her health issues had been "cured".

The last chance ship sailed that day.

So it goes, so it goes.

Monday 21st September 2026

Monday again.

Every day is like Monday.

Or Tuesday.

Or Wednesday.

Or whatever.

Anyway. A quiet day, one with no appointments or churches to have to visit, or orchids to photograph.

Just Monday.

Re-reading my old blogs, I see I would go out, while not every day, and perhaps not most days. I would go for a walk, some days. In summer and peak butterfly, most days in a week.

I had not been out for a walk over the fields to Windy Ridge in weeks, perhaps since before we went on holiday.

So, when Jools asked if we would be going out for a walk, I said we would.

We had coffee, breakfast and second brews, then sat outside so we could catch some rays, and be with Mulder and Scully. Mulder lay stretched out like the old tart he is.

But he's happy.

We go out at ten, just a tad too late as it's already warm, and butterflies might be too flighty already.

I wanted to check the fields were lucerne had been sown over the years to see of there were any Star thistles, which have appeared this year in a few places where lucerne had been sown.

None here, and because I was looking down at plants, I bemoaned the lack of Clouded yellows.

Like those two, Jools said pointing.

Indeed.

A third flew right by me, but didn't settle, and anyway, I didn't have the big camera with me.

Jools was picking sloes as she went, so even with my dawdling, she was soon lost to sight behind me.

But I stopped at the bench, hidden behind the hedge, knowing she loves to stop here too. And in ten minutes I heard her footsteps, and then there she was!

We sat for twenty minutes, then I set off for the wood, looking for fungi among the fallen trees, but only found King Alfred's Cakes.

So it goes.

I walk through the wood, then down the hill towards Collingwood, then along it to Station Road so I could take shots of the Toadflax growing in the hedge on the other side of the road.

And so began the great football famine of 2026, with only international games to sustain us, and none of those until the weekend it seems.

I sat outside in the warm sunshine reading my new book, but once the shadow on the hedge covered the seats, it was cool enough for a jumper.

And so after dinner, we do our hobbies, and outside the shadows deepen and night falls, soon Orion will rise, hunting among the cosmos.

Sunday 20th September 2026

And so we come to Sunday, the final day of club football for some 19 days, and all that we have to sustain us is international Nation's League games. England are playing four games, apparently, over the next 16 days, including against World and European champions, Spain.

I was awake before the alarm.

I lay awake in the pre-dawn dark, pondering my life choices of the previous day which included wine, more wine and port.

Once we were both up, I suggested we might not go to the gym, but there was black smoke.

So we would go to the gym.

After coffee the world looked better, if it didn't feel it. But we drove to Whitfield, parked, then walked to the entrance, and upstairs, for once, there was no music playing.

Just silence.

We started our workout. Then the duty guy came in, went into the office and the music came one, with my headphones only just keeping the 123bpm eurodisco and big beats out.

I had an hour of the podcast to go, and I had intended to do the workout to the end. But I got to 45 minutes, I was bushed, and thought that I might get to fifty next time.

That's the plan.

Back home before most folks were up and about, home for a brew and cool down.

Washing was done, and with the early morning rain clearing, should we hang it our or just tumble it.

It was hung out. And we were rewarded with clearing skies and even warm sunshine.

The afternoon was filled with football: a choice of the Auld Firm Derby or the Black Country one. I opted for Wolves v Albion. And by the time that ended, Norwich had kicked off against Bolton.

In a comedy game where neither team could defend, Norwich lost by the odd goal in seven. Again. Thus having conceded 13 (thirteen) goals in the last three games.

Sigh.

The final game was Fulham v Man Utd, which ended 1-1 with Utd scoring via a deflected goal in injury time. It was just about the worse game of the weekend, a weekend where both Arsenal and Chelsea lost 3-0, and Citeh scored five to Sunderland's three earlier that afternoon.

So it goes.

In the evening we have dinner, which turns to night quickly.

We go to bed to read at eight.

Endex.

Saturday 19th December 2026

Out 18th wedding anniversary. And international speak like a pirate day!

A day packed with stuff!

Almost so packed there wasn't time to write the previous day's blog.

Up at half five for coffee, finish the shopping list so to be ready for the gym at ten to seven.

The port is quiet now we're into the tail end of September, so no traffic on the A2, we arrive at the sports centre as the doors open, with most going to the pool, as usual.

We do 40 minutes, then with time already against us, we leave to drive to Tesco, where the renovation is complete, but many items are had to find.

We're out by half eight. Back home to put the shopping away and have breakfast.

We lollygag a tad to much, so suddenly it was five to ten, and our first appointment of the day.

Dover has had a lot of history. And a lot of military history. Not only is there the Castle, Western Heights, The Citadel, there is another fortress, on the other side of the road form the Castle, Fort Burgoyne.

Once surrounded by an Army camp, that has now been raised, or the buildings have, and now just the flattened land showing where one guardrooms, barracks and messes once were.

Beyond that is another of Palmerstone's Follies: Fort Bergoyne.

The Fort is now closed most of the time, but on heritage weekend, it was open from ten to four, so another part of the town's history will be open for us to explore.

We drive along to the Castle, then turn right up on the Guston Road, and for once, the gates to the former camp were open, and signs pointing to the car park.

We go in.

Up the main drag, and on both sides only hints now where buildings once were, all ripe for construction of yet more homes.

We park, are welcomed, then walk to the bridge over the moat, or defensive ditch.

In front of us is the parade ground, and behind that, rows of semi-circular brick-arched buildings, which was the fort itself, and the officer's mess. Below were the junior rank's accommodation and kitchens, wine cellars and so on.

We take shots along the front of the fort, then explore the passageways through it, before taking the steps to the carponiers.

Its all in pretty good condition, though steps were crumbling in places.

Firing portals have mostly been bricked up, but it would have bristled with guns and artillery, but we were to see, even more so above.

Back to the surface, and up the slope leading to the upper levels.

Like Western Heights, this was designed not to be visible from the sea, all that gives it away are the plethora of chimneys and mounds hiding the heavy gun positions.

A good selection of wildflowers too, but most had gone to seed. I ID some, and snap others.

We had come to the end of the battlements, so down the slope and back to the car.

We had two hours back home to fill before we would be off out again, and thankfully football came to fill it, even if I wouldn't see the end of the Spurs v Villa game, though for two teams that had one goal all season between them, it was an entertaining game with Spurs missing chance after chance, mainly thanks to the Villa keeper.

Then in the second half, Villa sore. Score again. And score again. Spurs had a goal chalked off for offside. Then after we had left the house, Spurs score their first two goals of the season, though not enough to get a point.

We were driving back to the Romney Marsh, as the unique belltower of St Augustine in Brookland was open for just an hour from three.

To Hythe, then Dymchurch, New Romney, before out across the marsh itself almost to the border with Sussex, and the last town in Kent before you reach Rye is Brookland.

OK, its a village. Not a town.

And the church, which has much of interest, also has the triple "candlesnuff" belltower, built of wood beside, so not to sink into the soft ground.

Probably.

I have been here maybe a dozen times, and the tower has never been open, until today.

We park, and see that the door to the tower was open, the doorway, five feet high, had a sign saying to mind you head. Needless to say I hit my head, once inside we find a circle of chairs, and the vicar explaining to half a dozen visitors the history of the tower.

Began as a open-sided structure, with four huge oak columns at each corner, the oldest dates from the mid-13th century. The walls were added, and the roofs of the candle snuffs added too.

Sadly, there is a platform below the bells, so you can't see all the way up to the chamber, but its an impressive space, with ancient wooden beams, some repurposed timbers from ships, criss-crossing to add strength.

I thanked the vicar, and we bid her farewell, walked back to the car for the drive home.

On the radio, Brighton were running rings round Arsenal, and were to score three goals.

We came back the same way, thus avoiding the traffic hellhole that is Ashford.

We got back at ten to five, just time to start cooking.

I rustle up a tagine, boil some rice, and in half an hour went from being behind schedule, to ahead.

I had a beer to celebrate.

Ange and Sean arrived just before six. I opened a bottle of the fancy vintage Burgundy I bought in that France, and we toasted all of us.

After a starter of rolled salami wrapped in cheese, i warmed the tagine, boiled corn, and dished up.

Sean and I drained one bottle of red, then started and finished on the one he brought.

The evening grew old, and the port was opened.

Oh dear.

At some point, Sean was poured into the car, and Ange drove them home.

Time for bed.