Word came this week that my time in the world of boxes may be short as orders are thinning out, although they may try to take me on in production, we'll see. I do feel I am getting into the swing of things as far of the job is concerned. Whether that cuts any ice with them is another thing.
And from this Tuesday, Jools' Nan is coming to stay. Not that she is bad or anything, but it means no fresh air in the house and thinking of not just us, mainly as she does not like spicy food. Anyway, at least the cats will be fussed over by her, and as I am on nights this week, she will have company for most of the day.
So, after what was a very busy week, and I feeling like death on Friday due to work and the cold, it came as a surprise to find myself jumping out of bed on Saturday morning, going downstairs to feed the cats and put the coffee machine on. I guess it's the thought of the possibilities of the day ahead which spurred me on. Anyway, it was just before eight when we found ourselves outside the door of Tescos to do the weekly shop before the freaks and families came out. Spending a small fortune, we were heading back home before half eight and by nine sitting down to bacon butties and more coffee.
Yay, I love weekends.
So, what to do? We had a list of things to do as there was a heritage weekend at hundreds of English Heritage buildings that were not normally opened. Last weekend we had been told that St Bartholomew's Hospital Chapel in Sandwich was worth a look. And so with maps in hand we set off once again to Sandwich and found a parking space near where we thought the hospital was. After a short hunt we found a sign pointing us the way.
As what was going to be a reoccurring theme, the chapel was locked up tight, and so we had to make do with walking around the outside and taking pictures. Surrounding the chapel were old almshouses, which still have to old of the parish living in them, with their names over each houses' doorway.
Ho, and indeed, hum.
Getting back in the car, we looked at the map and I saw that Richborough Fort was open. Jools told me that little more than foundations have survived, but what the hell?
Richborough may or may have not been the landing place for the Roman invasion of 43 A.D. And so the fort may have been one of the first built on British soil by the Romans. Huge walls made of flint survive, as well as massive defensive ditches. The fort stands on a hill overlooking the Swale river and the Dover to Ramsgate railway line, but two thousand years ago, this would have been the coast looking out to France.
We sat outside the visitor's centre and ate coffee flavoured ice cream. The sun shone and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves in the nearby trees.
Next we got back into the car and headed towards Canterbury to a small village called Fordwich, where the ancient town hall was supposed to be open. But, once again it was locked up tight. We made do with looking around the parish church where a couple of small stalls had been set up, and a genealogy help desk had been set up for those looking into their family history. Abouve the nave, a huge royal crest of Willian the 1st hung, showing where this parish's alliegiences laid.
We went into the grand pub, the Fordwich Arm for a drink and some pork scratchings before deciding to head back home for some gardening action.
We cleared the hedge down one side of the garden, and so we were able to have a huge bonfire after the sun went down.
I had thawed out a batch of chilli, which had matured very nicely went down well with a bottle of ice cold real ale, or cider for Jools. Later that evening we watched sparks rise into the dark sky as years of dead hedge were put to the flame.
My chesty cough meant that little more than essential amounts of sleep were possible, and so it was nice and early when I awake again on Sunday. Jools went down to feed the moggies and make coffee, and so I laid in bed with the sounds of the day drifted in the bedroom window as the smell of fresh coffee floated up the stairs from the kitchen.
We went out to Sandgate, near Folkestone, for a wander around and to see if it was photogenic. The town nestles between the stony beach and ancient cliffs, and is a mix of old clapperboard houses and modern flats. Remnants of a castle from the Armada wars had been converted into a Martello Tower for the Napoleonic wars. Rowers made their boats ready as we walked along the beach, and the bright patch of sky slipped further south, and the air was damp with the promise of rain.
That afternoon, we went back home to make jam. Courgette and ginger jam, in fact. And it was pretty good once boiled down and setting as we stirred it. In the evening I made beef en croute, or beef Wellington as it's called here. A couple of left over steaks from when Mother dearest was here were turned into a wonderful dinner, along with with sauted potatoes and fresh corn on the cob.
And so I sat down in the evening to watch the first games of the NFL season.
Yay, Septemeber!
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