Hello. And welcome to sunny Dover where the storm clouds are gathering, lightning flashes around, and the ever louder thunder has chased the higher strung of our cats to the depth of the wardrobe. It's been a bank holiday in England; one that I'm back home for, and one that the weather has stayed fine for too. Until this afternoon.
We're just back from a meeting with a photographer friend of mine called Bob, and we walked the couple of miles of the river in Dover from Temple Ewell into the town itself. Quite clearly not one of the longest river in the world, from where it springs out of the ground in someones garden, runs through the village, along a short valley and then through some ornamental gardens before flowing through the village of River (honest) before it reaches the outskirts of Dover.

Anyway, it's pretty enough in places, and a couple of parish churches were worth a visit and a couple of photographs.



We called in at The Royal Oak in River for a pint when the first drops of rain appeared, but made it into Dover before the rain got too heavy and we phoned for a taxi to take us back to our car and then home.







Since I last wrote i have had a few sniffs of a job, nothing firm as yet. The one in Oz was from a wrongly worded e mail and it turns out they are just collecting names and CVs. I have sent mine in and will know in due course. A move to Australia is not what we really want right now, but if it's the only offer of a job, then we will go for it. So, I have been to the job centre, signed on and all that. They try to make it a painless process, but it is grim. I hope to have a job within two weeks in which case I won't have to go again; we'll see. Thanks to Facebook and the net, we have all had numerous leads of jobs and have sent mails and applications in. It's just a case of waiting now.



Saturday, Jools had a bead class in Deal, and so I wandered around town for a while taking pictures and buying vegetables for the family dinner we had hilariously arranged for Sunday.



The sun had come out, and the sea was flatter than a flat thing. People were out eating ice cream, a bloke was setting up renting out deckchairs, with plenty of takers. I wandered down the narrow lanes between the wonderful old fishermen’s cottages and decided I was thirsty. I went in the Ship Inn and had a pint of Scottish ale.



I joined in the conversation; old things were better than this new stuff and the like. I had another pint and a bag of pork scratchings. I sat beside the bar next to the open window looking onto the street and the people walking past.



The pier was full of people fishing, with some actually catching things; not that I would recognise what fish it was, but the guy looked pleased with himself anyway. A yacht race passed by the end of the pier; I snapped away and thought how wonderful it all was.



Once Jools had finished her class, we went back home and had rustic French bread with mature cheddar, smothered with the squash preserve we had been saving having bought it on our honeymoon in Tuscany. It wasn’t unpleasant at all; in fact we wish we had bought a bloody bigger jar. To finish we polished off the last of the handmade chocolates.


I watched some football, whilst we waited for a couple we know to come round for a bbq; the rain helpfully fell in the afternoon, and by lighting up time, it was clear, and the burgers, kebabs and wild garlic sausages and corn was wonderful. We sipped wines of various colours as the sun went down, and darkness crept over the land.


Sunday, we were going to walk, but decided that we did not have time, as the slab of beef that we had to cook was going to take an age. We ended up on the Prince of Wales Pier in Dover watching people getting off the cruise ships and either heading home or going by coach for a day trip to London. I don’t quite see the attraction of a cruise on something like a block of flats, where every port call will be crowded by other cruisers all doing the same thing. And then there is the endless eating. And drinking.



OK, maybe that.

So, back home and put the meat in the oven, having calculated the cooking time. Prepared the veg, peeled the spuds and whizzed up the Yorkshire Pudding mix. All was set. I opened the wine; better just make sure it’s not corked.

Slurp.

That works. Anyway, with us panicking whether the in-laws would turn up at all, they arrived 5 minutes before serving time. It all went well, although not perfect, but good enough. Nothing quite like a good roast dinner with proper yorkie; a big one cut into portions, not made in a bun tin. We sat on the patio and ate strawberries and cream; the sun shone. Yes, life still is not bad.