In the end, it aint so bad on a Friday; most tills are open, and we got our stuff and were through the checkout, packed the car and heading home by five. Just half an hour later. We bought a ready meal, as neither of us wanted to do any cooking, and so tucked into chorizo risotto.
Saturday, we realised we had forgotten croissants, and so Jools said she would head back to Tesco for a pack. I put the kettle on, and soon enough we were dunking our croissants in piping hot cups of coffee in the French fashion. After seeing our friends do this in Le Mans a couple of years ago, just eating them undunked is no longer an option.
It was a cloudy and windy day outside, and looking at the tide table I saw that it was quite high. Working out the wind direction in relation to Dover , I thought that Shakespeare Beach may well be the best place for waves, and so we set off. I decided it was also time to test my knee properly, and so a climb down the steps from Aycliffe should make it clear whether the knee was better or not.
We parked up and putting on our warmest clothes we headed through the subway, along the clifftop path and then down the steps. Beneath us the waves were crashing against the beach; not in spectacular fashion, but goo enough. High tide was just before dawn, but even at nine, it was still quite high. But there was enough of a beach clear of the waves to ensure we wouldn’t be getting wet feet.
Over the footbridge over the main railway line, and down the steps, and we were on the beach. It would have been easy to sit inside on such a bracing day, but once out of the house and in the wind, we felt more alive. We walked along the high tide mark, dodging the occasional wave. From time to time we would stop to see what the sea had brought ashore, or look a particularly vividly coloured stone or a piece of water carved chalk.
We ended up at the other end of the beach beside the old Admiralty Pier, on which boat-trains used to depart for the continent. But now is just a rusting and crumbling eyesore. The waves were sweeping along the beach, crashing against the pier, and so it was there the biggest waves could be seen.
We turned round and had a face full of wind, as the stiffening breeze was coming from that direction. But even with the extra effort, it was a great walk; our glasses were encrusted with salt crystals and our lips had the tang of salt on them too. Up the steps to the footbridge just in time to see a Javelin pass beneath. And then up the twisty flight of steps, along the path and through the underpass and back to the car.
How about a cuppa on Samphire Hoe I suggested when Jools asked what we should do enxt? Great idea, and so a short blast up Shakespeare Cliff on the A20 brought us to the tunnel, and down through the dark onto the Hoe. Samphire Hoe, an area at the bottom of the cliffs a mile or so long, was built from the spoil from the Channel Tunnel and is now, as well as being a recreation area, a scientific experiment to see how long nature takes to claim the virgin land. There is a cabin, and they sell tea, coffee and the like. We parked up, and sat on a picnic bench, sipping our already cooling drinks.
It has been some time since we had visited a church, and out of the depths of my memory banks I remembered that Woodchurch near Ashford. It was only a short drive to Ashford, and then turn off down the A28, through the wintery landscape and then follow the signposts to Woodchurch. We part near one of the two village pubs, not so cleverly that are next to each other. And we see a footpath between the two pubs pointing the way to the village windmill.
The footpath was more of a stream, and so we slithered our way up the hill to the mill; it’s blades stationary in the breeze. I snapped it from all angles, we walked round it a couple of times, and that was it. So, back down the hill, over the main road to the village church. It seems like we have been on a bit of a streak where each church we visit has its doors unlocked, and this was no different. We go inside, and I dutifully snap it from all angles again. I sign the visitors book, and as I am writing the churchwarden comes in; we chat about the history of the church and the village, and I am given a history of the church.
We head back out, and walk down to the village green, which is big enough to have a full sized football pitch on it. The village team was just finishing a training session, and mud-coated players were walking to their cars and to the pub. Or one of them.
It was midday, and we were hungry, so we walk to one of the pubs, The Bonny Cravat. I ordered a beer for me and a cider for Jools; enquiries for a menu were met with the reply that there was no food today. Oh well; we drink up and decide to head home where I could cook either a late lunch or an early dinner.
So, back home for steak and ale pie, roast potatoes and steamed veg along with the last of the beef gravy from the previous week’s roast. And it was wonderful; I mean really good. That we were very hungry may have helped, but it was a perfect meal. All washed down with either a glass or two of red for me and a bottle of the latest batch of cider for Jools.
And once the football had finished on the radio, we sat down to watch Scott Pilgrim vs the World on TV. It certainly is an aquired taste, but I did get the in-jokes and found it great fun.
And at nine, the NFL began. Due to work, I have not sat up to watch that many late night games this season, but watching the Steelers play their latest rivals, the Ravens in a slug-fest to see which one of them would go through to the Championship game. It made compulsive viewing, and the Steelers got stronger as the game went on, and won out in the end. The game finished at twenty past one, and I went to bed happy.
Not so happy at six when, after Jools had gone down to feed the cats, Mulder came bounding up the stairs, mewing happily, and sat on my chest purring, purring. I did not go back to sleep, but after a while I did get up and was ready to face the day after something less than four hours sleep.
The weather was supposed to get better, and so we took a gamble and went out hoping the sun would come out. Our goal was a picturesque village near Maidstone called Aylesford. Once upon a time it was a small mediaeval village standing on the side of the Medway River . Now the village on the east bank is as ever it was; on the west bank it is a typical commuter town, all stockbroker houses, railway lines and newsprint factories. But it still has a bridge from the middle ages, narrow street lined with timber-framed houses.
We parked the car, and headed over the new road bridge with fabulous views along the river to the old bridge and the village behind. The sun was behind a huge black cloud, and so we waited, and waited. But the cloud would not clear to allow the sun to shine. But, there was promise that it might in a short while. So, we walked along beside the river, to the beginning of the old bridge. I was, of course, snapping all the time, and was loving it. Once across the bridge, we walked around the village, up the hill to the church; inside the final hymn of the days could be heard. And as if by maginc, the sun came out, it got warm, all was well with the world.
We headed back to the new bridge so I could get ‘the’ shot, and that was that.
What now? I said, a drive to the village of Lenham by which time it will be midday and opening time and we will be able to get something to eat. So, a short blast down the A20, we park up, and we were in another picturesque village. We walk round, me snapping away at buildings and churches. And then as the clock in the church tower struck the final chime of twelve, we hot foot it over to the Red Lion. They have a spare table, we sit down, look over the menu and Jools orders braised lamb shanks, roast potatoes and fresh vegetables, and it being warm enough for a spring day, I order a ploughman’s. It was great, so great that we have to order dessert, lime cheesecake for Jools and a fine cheeseboard for myself.
And then time to head home for me to sleep on the sofa ‘watching’ football with kittens on my lap. And so the weekend ended with more and more football and then more NFL. Phew.
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