Super Saturday

The question was did I want to meet up at the Dover Beer Festival? I struggled to answer yes or to ask where the beer fest would be. I was told it was in the old town all, Maison Deu. The House of God, and a quick look on the old interweb showed that is was to be a festival of winter ales.

Yum.

And indeed, yum.

My intention had been to go to the gym first thing, but the best paid plans and all that meant I laid in bed for an hour and then suggested we go back to the new cafe on Deal pier as te breakfasts looked so darned good last week, and I thought something substantial before the beer might be a good idea.

Jools agreed and we set off over the tundra that passes for the Garden of England these days. In fairness, the snow was only about an inch deep, but was pretty enough; and as we did not get caught in any drifts we did not need the police and arrived in Deal safe and sound.

We got the parking space nearest the pier, and wrapping up warm and taking our appetites with us we strode off over the sea to the cafe; passing the fishermen casting their rods out laden with lug and the such. Sounds of the Sixties blared out of ancent radios, and they seemed happy enough to be here and not in the bosom of their families. Or maybe they were looking for some free food.

The breakfasts were indeed wonderful; full english with extra toast and marmalade and a pot or two of tea; all rather spendid I have to say.



And then it was back to Dover in time to be there when the doors opened so I could meet one of my contacts from Flickr, Mr Fugunumbmouth; this is not his real name. He told me two of his names, neither of which I am sure was his real name; But we bought pints of dark and nutty and strong warming winter ales and retired to fill in a few details of our pasts.



All the while the hall filled up, and each pint seemed to be getting better and better, but we were due to meer more of the Flickrati at two on one of Dover's piers for more photographs.

A brisk walk to the seafront brought us out into the bright sunlight of a winters day, and as we waited for the others to arrive we made do with watching a young guy do backflips from the seawall down onto the beach; in time he progressed to double rolls, which was very impressive.

After a time the others arrived, and after introductions and much handshaking we made our way along the Prince of Wales Pier and towards the small cafe at the end; all the while we took pictures and exchanged tales of photography trips past. Once again, all rather good.



At the end we gathered round the small lighthouse to photograph it to death; it seemed rude not to join in.



As the light faded, we made our way back to shore and bid our farwells. I made my way home and turned on the radio to learn that my team had somehow managed to lose to a team of less no hopers. Again. And so the pattern continues.

Later I fired up the griddle pan and I cooked thick steaks along with butter fried field mushrooms and Jools went to the chippy for chips with salt and vinegar; all washed down with a bottle of Cava.

Another one of them good days.