Saturday 27th June 2026

A few months back, a call was made for volunteers to man the Royal Air Force Association stall at the Headcorn Air Show.-

I had volunteered for such things a few times, but for various reasons the air shows were cancelled.

But this year, it was still on.

Despite a bit of confusion of timings and how to get in, the day rolled around and all was set.

Also rolling around on Saturday morning was thunder, as another summer storm drifted up the Channel, waking me at four, so I lay awake until it was time to get up at five.

The storm rumbled on, and once I was ready leave after a coffee, it was still drizzling, which would make it humid.

There was no clear time to be there, other than the gates opened at ten, but that the leader for the day, a lady named Makenzie said she and another guy would be there from half six to get the stall ready.

I drive up the motorway to Ashford, then out along the A28, traffic was at least light before seven in the morning, so I made good time before turning off the main road and drove through several picturesque villages before arriving at the aerodrome, parking in the field opposite.

I was waved through the gates, and directed down a line of stalls, where I could see the RAFA tents.

Once introduced, I was given a picture of the table display, pointed to two vans filled with boxes and told all stock was in there. Somewhere.

So for two hours we filled up the four tables at the front of the stall, filled with RAF-themed goods from cheap and cheerful, to things more expensive, the most pricy item being a signed and framed print of a Red Arrow signed by all nine pilots.

Yours for forty quid.

The clouds cleared, and the sun came out, so the humidity rose quickly. I took a bottle of water, but had drunk that by half ten, so went to another stall to buy more ice cold water to keep hydrated.

Under the roof of the tent, the heat was kept in, so that we were all soon suffering from the temperatures.

But we did a roaring trade, and we were shown how to use the card reader thing, and were soon collecting money for the good cause.

Either side of midday, the humidity crept towards something like 90%. I spent over a tenner on cold bottles of water, and during lunch, another tenner on a pint of lager and a pint of alcohol free Kronenbourg. The latter had a horrible chemical taste. And if that's the best they can do, then I'll give it a miss.

We were busy all through the day, but it did east off after eleven when the flying displays started, though some were better than others, and then we had to explain to customers that despite half the stall being Red Arrow related stuff, the Arrows themselves were not going to appear.

Then smiles turned to frowns.

People who attend such things are a mixed bunch, but a significant percentage are middle-aged men dressed in combats, or combat-themed stuff, hats featuring Spitfires of Lancasters. I said to Richard, if they loved planes and the military so much, why didn't they join up? They can't all have had shin splints.

Spitfires, Hurricanes, P45s (I think) among others took to the skies.

But as families suffered with the heat and humidity, numbers began to drop as people went home early, and manning the stall became a bit boring.

Last event was a fly by and refuelling stop for a Chinook, and by then it was half four, and my legs and back were grumbling, just from standing so much.

I walked back to the car, then took five minutes to edge out of the car park, only to be stuck in a line of cars behind a driver who did not go above 30mph, even when back on the A28. They braked whenever a car came the other way, as the train of vehicles behind got longer and longer.

I got past them just as I drew near to Ashford, so could cruise round the roundabouts, past Waitrose and onto the motorway for a blast back to the coast and home.

I got back at quarter to six, Jools telling me I had missed the ice cream van, but shad had one without me.

I took off my top, and my t shirt underneath had dried out, leaving behind lots of salt stains.

A brew, then supper of garlic chick and stir fry followed before I went for a shower and a change of clothes.

Kicking of at ten, was England v Panama. I was shattered and snoozed through most of the first hour, the excited radio commentary woke me when anything near a change occurred.

England score twice late on, but was a poor game and performance.

I went to bed at midnight, and it was still hot.

Going back to Iceland

We're not going back to Iceland, it's just another football blog.

A decade ago this week, England lost 2-0 to Iceland in the 2016 European Championships, bringing the careers of Frank Lampard Jr. and Stevie Gerrard to an end.

It was a dreadful defeat. Not beacuse that performance was bad, but coming after two decades of underperforming by England sides since the Euros held in England in 1996.

That's so long ago, those championships marked the point at which I returned from my posting in Germany to the sleepu hollow that was RAF Lyneham.

The term "golden generation" was coined after England beat Germany in Germany in 2001 by 5-1. It did seem the start of something different, coming after most of my lifetime when Germany would always beat England.

But it was England who won, became smug, while Germany realised something had to be done, and they rebuilt with youth.

Germany won the World Cup again in 2014. England did not.

These were my comments about England after the 2010 World Cup:

"And what a let down, England were even worse than in previous games, and despite pulling a goal back before half time, and having a perfectly good goal disallowed, they were a very poor second to a cool and efficient German team, that now goes on the meet Argentine in the quarter-finals. This is a healthy dose of reality for most England fans, brought up on the belief that England has always been the ebst as well as inventing the game.

But years or under-investment in youth, and over reliance on expensive imports have meant a darth of talent in the Premier League, and this day had been coming a long time, that most hadn’t seen it coming is a sad indightment on the FA and Premier League.

Many of the so-called world’s best, or Golden Generation have had their international careers brought to an inglorious end, and rightly so. Failure of the basics like how to control the ball with one touch or be able to pass to each other being worse offences than tactics or who should or shouldn’t have played.

That there are no real replacements in the pipeline means that the day when England might challenge for the World Cup is maybe a generation away, and only then if there is a sea change in attitudes, which lets be honest, isn’t going to happen any day soon."

And in 2014:

"Nothing has changed, and nothing will change, we will stumble into the major competition every two years, hoping against hope that this time it will be different, but it never is. So, until football admits to itself that there is something wrong, and the FA actually does something about it, it will not change. I was so angry after South Africa, and yet, the FA did nothing. And so this time round, I’m not angry, just disappointed that four wasted years, no real change has happened, nor has any change been put into motion.

The likes of “Super” Frank and Stevie “G” will now being closing their international careers, each two years there has been nothing but optimism followed by failure. The players say they are sorry for letting the fans down, let the FA say something similar, saying how sorry they are at the failure of getting out of the group stages for the first time since 1958.

So, while the rest of the world celebrates and looks forward to the next stage of the competition, England’s layers will be either on the beach soaking u the rays, or getting ready for pre-season. The really sad thing is eight weeks from now, the league season will be under way, and all this failure at international level will be forgotten, and the media will be telling us how great the Premier League is. And nothing will change.

Quite how English football has sunk so low, and we are so happy for it to be this way is a tale of money, money and more money. And how the incompetent FA allowed the Premier League to be set up, and failed to put in controls and so the league bloated and became the foremost football organisation in the country, and the success of the national team is of no concern to the PL, just how the billions keep rolling in from TV companies from around the world.

Eight years ago, Germany were horrified by only reaching the quarter finals, and so reorganised the game in their country, and four years later, a youthful German team took England apart en route to the semi finals. Oh, if only the FA would take such actions after this shocker, but things will not change, the same players for the most part, will be laying the same tactics and we will endure failure once again in Russia in 2018.

It is, after all, just a game, and gives us something to talk and moan about, those 52 year of hurt."

And after that defeat by Iceland:

"England lost last night to Iceland in the knock out phase of the Euros. England were dreadful, I mean really bad, and yet I found myself wanting Iceland to score a third as it would make it worse. England did not register a good chance on target the whole game, and conceded thanks to two goals that would embarrass a park team. The manager resigned, but there is no one really to replace him, because as I have pointed out, those that have gone before from Kevin Keegan to Sven to Steve McLaren to Capello and now to Roy have achieved about the same results. The only common factor is the players.

Not good enough."

In the summer of 2016, Sam Allardyce was appointed as manager. It seemed to sum up Englash football, Mike Bassett: England Manager made real. Truth is Allardyce was a better manager than he was given credit for. I think he was the highest profile England manager/coach at the time, and after "safe" Sven-Göran Eriksson, overpaid Fabio Capello, and Roy Hodgson, who else was there?

We were to find out when Allardyce was sacked: "The 2016 English football scandal was a sports corruption scandal which began on 26 September 2016 following the publishing of the first part of the Daily Telegraph newspaper's "Football for Sale" investigation into corruption in English football.[1] It resulted in the resignation of England national football team manager Sam Allardyce after only one game in charge, as well as the sacking or suspension of numerous English Football League club staff, including Barnsley assistant manager Tommy Wright."

England Under 21 coach, Gareth Southgate, was appointed, someone who had no fear in promoting those players from the U21 side to full internationals. In his first tournament as Manager, England made the semi-finals, losing to Croatia. In the delayed 2020 Euros, England made it to the final, losing to Italy, after taking the lead early on in the final. in 2022, England lost to France in the quarters, but until then performed well. Harry Kane scored on penalty, but missed a second one later on. And it was Kane who perhaps symbolises the England team reborn.

Kane is now one of the best players on the planet, has set scoring records at Tottenham, Bayern and also for England, where is is England's all time leading scorer. Supporting him is a cornucopia of other youthful players, as English teams, and English players who developed around Europe all matured into excellent players.

If Southgate had a faul, then it was to be timmid when boldness might have won England a tournament, the 2020 Euros being a case in point. Leading early on, England had Italy on the ropes, yet didn't push their advantage, and allowed Italy back into the game.

Although England have not played too well under Thomas Tuchel, who was appointed to lead the national side for 18 months until the end of this World Cup, performances alone do not win tournaments, it's all about winning, and sometimes grinding out results. Maybe England won't win the World Cup this time either, but now that we have reached the knockout phases, we shall see. Tuchel knows how he wants the team to play, and the role each player has in that potantial victory.

But I suppose the point of this post is how England have gone from serial bottlers in tournaments to a team that we expect to "go deep" in each one, and get to at least the quarters, and have a chance of winning.

We shall see.

Friday 26th June 2026

For the forth day in a row, the all time June temperature record was broken.

And it was to be the hottest day of the year in St Maggies.

Sleep is a luxury money can't buy right now, with the heat rising to the bedrooms, maybe we should just sleep on the sofa?

Up at four, or just gone. Hot enough to have the duvet pulled up, just in time for the sun rising and warm sunlight battering on the curtains.

Are we ready for this?

Probably not.

At least nothing of much import to be done, other than put the bins out, make coffee and try to stay warm.

Too hot for yoga too, so we could have a lay in, but our brains and the temperature had us up and about for five, feeding the cats and making coffee.

After putting the bins out, I retire to inside the house to keep cool. Listen to pods and write. I am behind on editing and posting pictures on Flickr, so I get busy.

It keeps me off the streets.

It was too hot to sit on the patio, at least until after midday and the shade from the parasol covered the seats.

So at about one I go to sit outside, and about half an hour later, a cool breeze sprung up, making it rather pleasant.

But there was family cards planned at Jen's. Jen's living room has a sunroof thing, and at this time, sun shines right through it onto whoever was sitting on one side of the table, which would this day be me.

So I wore my sun safari hat to keep the worse of the heat off my head. And the only cold drink available was cider, so supped sider, though not the strong stuff Jools likes.

Sylv is going back to Bury with Jen on Sunday, so one last cards afternoon. Mike came round again, though his foot isn't broken, just bruised, and he can drive again. John also turned up, so we had a six handed game, which we never finished as both Mike and John had to go at half five.

While I do the music quiz, Jools goes to collect a Chinese banquet for three, but still is too much for four.

We eat well, but there was enough left over for another meal for Jools and I over the weekend.

Back home to feed the cats, write, and be ready for the football at eight: France v Norway. But as Norway had their starting eleven swapped for replacements, France ripped through them, and were 2-0 up in fifteen minutes and ran out 4-1 winners.

Thursday 25th June 2026

There, I think, three native Kent butterfly species I have yet to see: Grizzled Skipper, Dark green fritillary, and Purple emperor.

The latter I had tried to see on two previous occasions. The first with Jools we wandered around the woodland clearing and saw plenty of other butterflies and moths,, but no Purple.

The second I met two experts, including Billy, who is the king of the fish paste bait. But the weather never really got out, and the only Purple Emperor seen was one that dive-bombed me at the delightfully named Dog-poo Corner.

It was perhaps a week early to be going, but they had been seen on site, and having been asked by Fran if I was going, Thursday was picked, as days when I am receiving my jabs make it impossible.

Thursday was going to be very hot, especially at Tunbridge Wells, near to where our prey is found.

Before then, there was the getting up, drinking coffee, and going to the gym.

What with the concert and the car, I had not been for two sessions, so needed to go. And yet was hot and humid, so would not be pleasant.

We both went, I did thirty minutes, which felt like enough to be honest.

And then to the Promenade so Jools could do some swimming.

We parked near the shallow part of the beach, I waited by the car while Jools changed and went in, splashed for fifteen minutes and then back home before the school run.

And we were heading home for breakfast before I was to collect Fran from Dover Priory at nine.

All went well. Rush hour had died down. Her train was on time, so shortly after five past, we were tearing up Old Folkestone Road to the A20 and then up through Ashford and beyond.

The motorway was busy, but not too bad. So we made good time, the sat nav suggested we would get to the car park at ten to ten.

Through Ightham, past its crooked buildings and picturesque pub, and onwards to the woods, and the car park.

The Purple Emperor spends most of its short adult life in the treetops, feeding off honeydew, only coming to the ground to take up water or salts from puddles or poo.

A bait made from various substances derived from fish has been cooked up, to lure the butterflies to the car park, and where, if we were lucky, we would see and snap one.

After parking, we find one fellow chaser, and he said that had already seen one, so prospects were good.

I asked Fran how long it would take to see our first Purple: her answer was 15 minutes, while mine was half an hour.

After waiting around the car park, we walked up the the corner, and a large butterfly was seen, which I thought at first was a White admiral. But no, as Fran shouted, it was a Purple emperor, and so we gave chase, hoping it would settle.

The Purple upper surfaces on its wings only shows if the angle between the wing and the sun is exactly right. And the shot everyone hopes for is an open-wing with both wings showing that purple sheen.

We only saw the purple on distance shots, not so in close up, where it was in the shade with its wings firmly closed.

We met up with three other chases, and indeed chased two males around until one settled near the new metal gate.

It sheltered in deep shade, wings closed, but allowed us to get shots.

But it was nearing midday, it was now beyond hot, and i was running out of water. So, we agreed to end the chase there, and I had some closed wings close up shots, and a single shot with (brown) wings wide open.

Out of 280 plus shots over two hours.

So it goes. So it goes.

We walked back to the car, opened all windows, and drove back out of the wood, and to the motorway, so to head back east to Dover.

Drink in a pub, Fran?

Yes.

I know just the place.

We turned off at Leeds and went down the A20, turning off and going up the down to Stalisfield Green to the Plough which would be not too busy and the beer is pretty good.

I had a Coke and followed that with a pint of Fuller's ESB, which was a very fine pint.

But it were hot.

I said I would drop Fran off at Faversham, making it easier for her to get to Herne Bay and home.

Faversham wasn't too busy, neither was the A2 once I made my way from the station and out of town.

Back home for three, and time to have a cool beer before relaxing. Tough no cooking as we were going out with Steve from next door. A new place for a quiz.

At seven, Jools drove us to the old High and Dry at Waldershare, now called "The Cider Works", the first time we had darkened their doors for about fifteen years, after that suspicious fire that destroyed the pub.

The quiz was to take place in the marquee where the weddings are held, so be cooler, and very nice it was too.

We did very well, just the three of us, and when the marks were tallied at the end of the evening, we were joint first.

A tie breaker question was asked: how many underground stations are there in London.

I knew it was about 270, but sadly one of the other team knew it was exactly 272.

So close.

Wednesday 24th June 2026

Somehow it was midweek again.

Another weekend.

As very day is a weekend now.

Jools asked me if I miss work.

I miss the people, and yet when I left many soon-to-be-former-colleagues asked for my contact details so we could keep in touch. And yet, not have called, written or texted.

So it goes. So it goes.

It was to be possibly the hottest day ever here in England.

It was certainly warming up quickly by the time I rose at six. Sleep is hard to come by in these humid times, so a lay in of an hour is good.

Jools is making coffee, so I get dressed and go down.

The world is still screwed and the reflecting pool is green and peeling in Washington.

I watch the highlights of the overnight games, with the exception of England's, as there were no highlights.

Jools goes for her class, so I remain here, in charge of herding the cats.

I have breakfast. Another brew, and go to sit on the patio until it is too darn hot.

When Jools returns, I take the car and drive into town for a haircut.

It must have been six weeks since my last, and yet it didn't seem that long, but needed taming. I park behind the church, and walk to my preferred shop, barbers, take a seat, and in ten minutes a chair was free.

I tell him that I need to be done by half eleven, as I have an appointment: could be do it?

Yes he could.

He was like a blur, shaving trimming, snipping. I also had a shave, and as he promised he was done by twenty five past.

I go back to the car, drive round to ASDA, park again, then walk through the back lane to the surgery, and after checking in I was told to go upstairs.

I had no sooner sat down and exchanged the traditional greeting: isn't it hot today?

I go in where the same nurse was waiting.

I have to do your other arm this time, she says.

Any pain last time she asked?

I roll my sleeve up, look away. And the deed is done.

See you Friday, I says.

And with that, I am out, down the stairs and back to the car. Along Maison Dieu Road to Townwall Street and up Jubilee Way to home.

All done.

Jools goes to the physion in the afternoon, so Scully and I watch two episodes of Who Do You Think You Are. I do, she snores, happy with her lot in life.

Jools returns.

I cut two more slices of tart, make brews and we have an early supper while the heat of the day begins to fade.

For the evening there was Switzerland v Canada, which ended 2-1, and was pretty engaging. Scotland would play Brasil an hour after I go to bed, and they needed at least a point to progress.

Tuesday 23rd June 2026

Before going to bed Monday night, I checked the weather forecast and saw there was a 50% chance of rain at some point overnight.

So I got the washing in, closed the windows on the car. During the afternoon and evening, a strong storm crept over Bristol and Somerset, with lightning flashes at an astonishing rate.

London suffered a large electrical storm in the early hours of Tuesday. I woke up just after four with rain hammering down, and soon after the thunder began.

The rain and the storm continued until nearly nine in the morning, totally unforecasted so unexpected

But we were well awake before the alarm went off.

The car was due to go into the garage to have its air con looked at, if i were to go to the gym and be back before seven, so Jools could drop the car off then catch a bus to the centre, meant that it was easier, and less stressful not to go.

We didn't go Sunday either, and I will probably not go Saturday either. I'll pick up the pieces next week, no worries.

So instead of phys I had a lazy morning. Helped Jools with the chores, drank coffee, took out the trash once the rain stopped.

There was podcasts to listen to, so instead of listening to David and Mark on the bike, I sat on the patio once the rain stopped with Mulder and Scully, the storm had cleared by was cloudy with a fine, cooling breeze.

Jools was out until after one, so once back we had a slice of tart and a coffee. I would regret the coffee that night as I lay in bed and sleep wouldn't come.

The sun broke through the clouds at about three, and it got very warm indeed. The heatwave had arrived.

Later, the breeze dies, and the humidity lay on Chez Jelltex like a heavy blanket.

I make chorizo hash for dinner. The peppers needed using up, otherwise I wouldn't have cooked. But we have cold beers/cider when we sit down to eat.

For the evening there was England's second game. A poor 0-0 draw with Ghana, and England unable to unpick their locked defence.

A reality check after the demolition of Croatia last week.

Monday 22nd June 2026

The UK is to suffer the second major heatwave of the summer this week. It should peak on Wednesday and temperatures in and around London might top 40 degrees.

It won't be so hot here, of course. We live near the coast and up on the downs near to the cliffs, so we get our own unique weather, different even from Dover or Deal.

So, it won't be hot as that here, but maybe 30 on Wednesday, and so if there was any orchiding to be done, it would have to be done before then, which is why I was driving to Temple Ewell at half six Monday morning, wearing my new walking shoes and camera in the boot.

It was hot overnight, so despite needing more than six hours sleep, that would have to do, so after coffee I was up and out, while Jools said she had no intention of coming along.

The reason for going is that in good years there are thousands of Chalk fragant orchids up there. Plenty of Common spotteds too, as well as Pyramidal. And there is a chance of a hybrid between any of the them.

I parked behind the old George and Dragon, slung my camera round my neck, and began to climb the rough steps into the wood. At least I was only going up to Temple Ewell Down, not Lydden Down, which would involve a climb three times as far.

In the lower meadow, there was a host, hundreds, of Pyramidals. Something I have not seen before. But despite looking hard, I found no pure white ones, but plenty of light pink.

Up through the second wood and out onto the open downland, I climbed up the cuts made by sheep above the path Seeing plenty of Chalk fragrants on the way.

At the top there is a footpath that goes round the gentle summit in a graceful arc, and on the gently slopes there can be the thousands of Chalk fragrants.

Numbers well down this year, and many already starting to brown off, the CSOs were already just dried spikes, pointing to the sky. A few small Pyramidals were among them, but I saw no obvious hybrids, and with it being humid but cloudy, there were no butterflies on the wing.

Orchids are not the only plants up there. Eyebrights, Scabious, Ox-eye daises, Fairy flax and to my delight, close to the ground, Squinancywort.

I have no idea how to pronounce it either.

So, I turned back down the slope to the pat, through the gate and back down to the lower meadow and to the car.

I drove home, Jools was going to take the car and run chores, while I had a brew and then breakfast.

I spent the morning preparing and baking a Limoncello and Grappa tart, something I make this time every year. It has 12 egg yolks, three punnets of raspberries, ground almonds, zest and juice of three lemons. And the booze too, and is a king among tarts.

As that cooked, I had to go into town for an injection. First in a series of six injections in fact.

My last blood test showed very low levels of vitamin B12, so I have to have injections on three days over two weeks.

I drive to Morrison's, park there and walk to the surgery.

Once I was called, the nurse asked me how I was, then told me the jab would hurt as the dose was like a syrup.

I looked away, she jabbed.

And that was it.

See you in two days, I say.

I walk back to Morrison's, get some ciders for Jools as their offers are so good, then drive back home where Jools had turned the oven off once the tart was cooked.

I sat in the garden to read. Something caught my eye, and there was a pigeon.

It had rings on each foot, and seemed tameish.

It would not fly away, just hung round, walking up and down, pecking at the ground looking for food.

I came inside to look on Google about what to do with a racing pigeon. It said give it food and will probably fly off. as well, approach the bird, slowly, throw a towel over it and read the numbers on the rings and report to the society.

I tried, and freaked the pigeon out with the throwing a towel.

But it came back, so I put some seed out, and it happily pecked and ate.

Problem was that the cats were very interested in it, and tried to catch it several times. Maybe it will fly off after being fed?

Maybe.

We tried a slice of the tart for supper, along with a brew, just for QC purposes. Good news is that it passed the test.

Argentina on the tellybox in the evening, with the boy Messi scoring two more goals.