Wednesday morning, and so up and about for a packed day.
After getting dressed and having coffee, I have to drop Jools off in town for her fitness class. Though I drop her off at the layby near the castle, where away to the left across the Channel, the coast of La Belle France is as clear as a bell.
I go down to the coach park to turn round, pausing to take shots of the castle, glistening in the rays of the just risen sun, before driving back up to the Duke of Yorks roundabout, along to Whitfield, before turning down the hill to River.
Kent is mostly chalk downland, and this is carved and shaped by the movement of water. Water caused by rain and snow melt, flows along valleys in winterbournes.
Dover's river, the River Dour, rises mainly in Temple Ewell, although that water flows from Chislehurst at least, to rise the flow along one of the town's valleys into the town.
Another branch rises along the Alkham Valley, near the hamlet of Drellingore, from which the winterbourne takes its name. This bourne is said by local lore, to only flow once every seven years, but in recent times has flowed more frequently than that.
We did pass that way on Saturday, I noted it's passage over farmland at the valley's lowest point, so would return to snap it in due course.
I park in the gateway of a field, the usual spot, and in the deep shadow of the down, take four or five shots before driving off to the next stop.
Next stop is Barham.
I go back to Temple Ewell, take a sharp left towards and through Lydden, and re-join the A2 heading towards Canterbury.
I turn off, towards Barham, take the narrow lane past the church, then onto the main valley road, past the village shop, parking on the main road near the bus stop, already busy with pupils waiting for their transport to the city and their high school.
The Nailbourne is another winterbourne, a bourne at at Littlebourne a handful of miles to the north east, becomes the Little Stour, which then in time joins the Great Stour at Plucks Gutter.
Mills were placed along the Nailbourne, towns grew up along the bourne, and at Barham, the bed of the Nailbourne is literally a street.
Kent County Council made regular updates last week as the bed of the Nailbourne filled, and the river flowed again, allowing people along its course to make arrangements.
It is quite the sight to see a lively and gurgling stream, nearly a river, flowing along a street, hemmed in by red and white plastic barriers. But this is normal. At least normal for Barham.
Further along, there is a gap between the barriers and walls of houses to allow a path to remain mostly dry, and so along this the residents can still come and go.
I take a few shots, then walk back along The Causeway, beside the bourne, back to the car, so to my final destination along the valley, Bishopsbourne.
It turned out that although the flow was impressive, it wasn't enough to close the fords into the village, the second ford had water in a culvert below the road, rather than over the road.
I didn't stop to take a shot, so instead turned back to the coast, and thoughts how to kill half an hour of time.
Down through Denton to Hawkinge, then avoiding the jams into Folkestone, I turned onto the A20 towards Dover, and when I reached Aycliffe, I turned up the cliffs to St Martins.
The rising sun caused stark contrast over the western docks, and the new customs facilities. I stayed half an hour, listening to a podcast, taking shots of the work underway.
I had things to collect from M&S, so drove down Military Road into the town, parking off Castle Street, and going to St James to collect a parcel for Jools, then going to a shoe shop to pick up a cheap pair of summer shoes to go away with.
Finally, walk to Chapin's, to wait for Jools so we could have a breakfast, without cooking at home.
I get a table for two, order a pot of tea, and settle down to wait for Jools. People come and go, ordering scones, or a breakfast.
Jools arrives. We order our breakfast and a cuppa. We catch up on news, while on the next table, an American lady tied to explain what eggs "over easy" meant.
Breakfast came, and we were hungry, so we tuck in, and make the lovely fried food vanish.
Our next port of call was the wood behind Waldershare church.
Wild garlic, aka Ramsons, are a wonderful ingredient for sausages, and so the butcher at Preston said he would love some sweet young Ramsons leaves.
Which is why we were in the wood behind Waldershare church, walking down the long woodland track, down the slope, then snipping the young shoots.
We soon fill a plastic bag, and I think that was enough as it was early in the season, so we take our swag and beat a retreat to the car, then drive along the Sandwich road to the coast, then over the marshes to Preston.
Mark was happy with our gift, but with us going away in three days, we take no gifts, and head back to Sandwich, then along to Whitfield to home.
Phew.
Back home we had a brew, so pistachio filled chocolates, and the question as to what to do with the rest of the afternoon.
Although sitting around eating chocolates is great, it seemed a shame to miss the warm sunshine outside, so I said I'd go for a walk.
My target was a small stretch of hedgerow at the top of the down, where Lesser Celandines show their glorious yellow faces. Only trouble was that to get there I would have to walk the muddy tracks, double so the places where water gathered and made the mud more than ankle deep.
I went up Station Road, beyond the four roads of the estate, past the war memorial and to the top track, dodging the cars and vans hammering along the road over the top of the down to the start of the track. And the start of the mud.
Truth was it looked worse than it was, with me having to walk along the very edge in only about three places, and the trainers I thought would be caked with mud, weren't.
Much.
I get to the stretch of hedge, and there were about a dozen spikes open, so i snap the best two, then set about walking to the track leading back down to Collingwood.
Thing about chalk downs is that rain and moisture seems through the nine inch soil to the chalk below, and seeps away. Even with heavy rain just a few days ago, the mud was firm enough, mostly to walk on.
There was one spot I knew would be bad, a spot where the two tracks crossed, and the two fields above the crossing both drained down the track. Making a large mud bath.
Even this had a fairly dry path through it, so it was just past the horses in their paddocks, to the bottom of the small dip, then up the other side to Collingwood.
I walk along it to check on the colony of Coltsfoot, and was rewarded with two spikes showing. So I snap one, then walk to Station Road again, before turning along to Chez Jelltex where a fresh brew was called for.
It was four by then, and the warmth of the day was fading, so the heating was put on and the back door closed.
All ready for an evening of football.
Norwich were on TV, playing already relegated Sheffield Wednesday. On Wednesday. A huge potential banana skin for City, doubly so with the injury crisis. But City played well, scored twice in the first half, then cruised to another win, albeit with another potential season-ending injury to a forward.
Still, nearly safe now.
That took a couple of hours, but by three all the prep work was done, and so with kids to collect from school, they left and silence returned to the house.
