But no.
So, I will sit huddled over the computer strung out on milky tea and digestives, just like Kerouac did when he typed On The Road on that wallpaper roll. Nonsense about drugs and the like, it was tea.
Anyway, life goes on, although in an unexciting way for the most part. Tuesday I got to lawnmower out and treated the back garden to a spruce up; due to the good drainage here and the wonderful late summer and autumn, it is the first time it has been mowed since the middle of July, but still looked ok. At least it looks cared for now. I pulled some weeds up, and moved some earth around and was done.
Yesterday was fine and sunny, with just a hint of mist to limit visibility. And as, after studying the tide tables, the last of the spring tides was yesterday, and low tide at around half eleven, I set out to walk from the house to the cliffs and then along almost into Dover to climb down the twisty path the Langdon Bay at the feet of the White Cliffs.
It is a fine thing to walk out of the house, turn right down the street and then take the path between the last two houses and strike out across the fields to the village. Everywhere is a sea of green as spring shoots are showing, and the gentle breeze felt warm.
Once out on the cliffs, the breeze was stronger, but nothing cold, just as well as I had just a fleece top as my coat was currently sitting outside the factory in the boot of our car as Jools worked. I set a good pace and was soon nearly warm enough to take that top off, but decided to save that for the return journey, as I knew i would be a huffing and puffing after the climb back up the cliff path.
As the clifftop path came over the hill and Langdon Bay opened up below, with the castle high above, I took the lesser used one that carried on along the cliff edge, heading down, down until there was a concrete platform, and the path need to take turned sharp left and down.
The path is more like a drainage channel, which is what it becomes after any rain, and going is not too bad. There is a set of railings for most of the way, and the path is not quite as steep as I thought it would be. In places the foliage gave way to offer great views down the cliff, over the zig zag path and down onto the shingle beach below, which got much nearer with each zig and zag.
About five yards above the beach, the path levelled out and came to a platform; to the right there was a doorway into the cliff and to the left a set of steep steps, a ladder, down onto the beach.
I turned right and went into the darkness. Inside was the remains of a WW2 artillery battery, with a couple of gun emplacements that stuck out of the cliffs, although the guns had long since gone. Each emplacement was a brick lined cave, which had been covered in graffiti over the years, with an arched opening looking out to the harbour, the Channel and France. The floor was scattered with little, mostly picnics made of supermarket sandwiches and the like, with a few beer cans, but did not smell like the toilet I thought it was going to be.
I took some shots and went back out onto the platform, went to the top of the steps, took a shot and climbed down.
The beach was made of large round flints, made smooth by years of movement by the sea, and standing up was tricky, but I managed it. And made my way down to the low tide line where the skeleton of a boat lay, slowly rusting away.
SS Falcon was carrying a cargo of hemp and matches in 1924, when it caught fire and destroyed the ship, it's bulk ended up on this hard to get to beach and slowly was returning to it's natural state.
I snapped it from a few angles, snapped some huge chalk boulders that had been sculptured by the sea and covered in green weed, and then gathered myself for the return trip.
The climb was not so bad, it sure got my blood pumping and my breath was hard to catch, but in nine minutes I was standing on the grass of the cliff tops, and another 5 minutes was at the highest point of the walk, and the top of South Foreland Lighthouse could be seen.
I had my jumper off, and the warm wind cooled me down. I passed many people walking along the cliffs, but only I had been down to the bottom and back.
Once back in the village, I even resisted the temptation to go into the pub for a swift pint or two, deciding that a cuppa and something healthy to eat would be better. Not as much fun though for sure.
Time for a relaxing afternoon, spent on the sofa with a cat on my lap and my head in Apathy for the Devil, the Nick Kent book about is adventures with rock's superstars and his decent into drugs; it's a great read and lifts the veil over how great being a rock god was, and just how amazing that Keith Richards is still alive.
And then time to make dinner, some breaded pork steaks, some curried lentils, fresh veggies and a glass or two of red; lovely.
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