Again.
And so the weekend began with the usual rumble in the aisles of Tesco before we could really, really relax and enjoy the weekend. I have to be honest that I could not put up with the gangs of un-controlled children gathering in groups, or unhappy toddlers throwing tantrums as they couldn’t get what they wanted, so I looked in the trolley and decided that was it, and so forgot flour, bread, meat for sandwiches, but we do have the world’s supply of carrots as the only size available would have kept a herd of donkey happy for a year; so I should be looking for carrot recipes this week I guess.
And it being the last Friday or the month, meant just one thing; pub quiz. Our hearts sink at the thought. It’s not its unpleasant, the quiz is lighthearted and should be fun; but as we are on my father-in-law’s team, we are the youngest people on the team, most of the others have hearing problems and don’t have a comprehensive knowledge on films, music, etc. So, we have to repeat everything several times, pass answer sheets round so they can discuss what we have written. That when Jools and I do not go they finish in the bottom one, and when we do go we finish in the top half, and last month even managed to win.
So, at eight the pain began, and it was every bit as horrible as we thought. But, we struggled on, and did reasonably well, although we did finish outside the top three and so not win any prizes. We went home saying to each other, we ARE not going next month. It may take three months before we get the enthusiasm to go again.
And on Saturday the heavens did open and the rain poureth down all day. I went into town to collect my new glasses (that was the highlight) and then Jools had to go into Folkestone for a class, and so I sat at home to watch Dirty Leeds get hammered by Swansea and then sit hunched over the computer as Norwich played and revel in another victory as we cement our place in the play-offs.
The promise for Sunday was of sunshine and cloudless skies, if so I was planning to walk to Folkestone with Jools; quite how we were going to get back was another matter. Anyway, the day did indeed dawn with blue skies and no clouds. After a quick breakfast, we got ready, put on our walking boots, tightened our belts and stepped out into the big wild world. The plan was to walk from our house, down to South Foreland Lighthouse, along the cliffs to Dover, up Shakespeare Cliff at the southern side of the town, and finally along the cliffs into Capel le Fearne and into Folkestone.
In hindsight, I should have realised with the rain the day before, it was going to be squelchy underfoot, but those muddy footsteps were hours ahead. We walked along the main road into the village and then through the churchyard, over Reach Road though the old council estate (or it looks like it was) and then we struck out over the muddy fields towards the lighthouse and the cliff edge beyond.
It seems that Jools was having, quite rightly, second thoughts about the idea of the full 16 mile walk to Folkestone, and she soon decided to only walk as far as Dover and then get a bus back home, and so would be able to come and pick me up when I was tired or had completed the walk.
We took the path that leads from the lighthouse, but not right on the cliff edge, a tarmacked road winds its way along with the occasional tantalising view down to the cliff edge and the Channel. And after a while Dover Harbour could be seen, with as ever, the ferries going back and forth to France. We passed very few people on our way to Dover, even at the National Trust’s place there were just the usual few cars parked up looking at the fine views down to the harbour, with those inside not hardy enough to be outside.
After dodging the usual crazy drivers, one Dutch driver failing completely to notice me, failing to indicate and turn whilst I was in the way, we made our way down the steep path and steps, under Jubilee Way and into Dover. The sun still shone from a cloudless sky, and under the lea of the cliffs there was no wind, and it became quite war. Jools and I parted soon after, and I walked off along the promenade to the other side of town, where Shakespeare Cliff towered, and the way to Folkestone snaked up.
The sea front was getting already crowded with those taking in the morning; families let children onto the sandy beach, hardy souls went swimming in the harbour and others just walked their dogs. I, however, strode on, and soon left the people behind as I walked beside the A20 past Archcliffe Fort, through the subway under the road and then up the increasingly steep path up the cliff.
It was at this point that my knees and right ankle began to complain really quite loudly. My lack of fitness meant that I stopped at regular intervals for a breather and to take photographs. The real climb begins just above where the allotments end; the concrete path ends and there is grass high above. After wet weather, the path is treacherous, and if you recall from earlier in this post, we had rain all the previous day. And so the climb was almost impossible. By the hanging on to thorn thickets and a barbed wire fence, I edged up the cliff until the slope flattened out and I could turn and survey the climb I had just completed. My hands were cut and scratched from the thorns and barbed wire, but I had done it. I sat down and after taking a shot with my mobile phone and uploaded it to Flickr; such is the modern way.
And then, I got up and continued on my way.
The views over the edge of the cliff are always stunning; the cliff rises like a huge wave over a 100 feet, and drops away sheer to the beach and sea below. It can be vertigo inducing, but is thrilling, and so it is along the edge of the cliff I walk rather than the marked path a few feet from the edge. Clouds roll in and once again I am in the keen north-east breeze, whilst behind me Dover and the cliffs beyond are in permanent sunshine.
The path is boggy in places, and going quite slow. And as expected the effort began to take its toll on my legs and joints. Folkestone, I realised, was not going to happen today. Nor was the Vallient Sailor pub with it’s fine ales, and not even the Battle of Britain memorial. I called Jools to say I was about an hour from the cliff-top café in Capel and could she meet me there. I walked the final mile along the cliffs, with the most spectacular part which clings to the very edge of the cliffs with sheer drops to the railway below, protected by a sturdy fence. I snap a Javelin heading to Dover, before turning down a footpath to the main road, as I knew from previous walks the path was going to get really muddy from that point on.
No sooner had I made it to the main road than Jools pulled up beside me, and the walk was over. I loaded my bag and coat in the back, and we drive back home, and I am sipping a cup of tea within 20 minutes of being picked up. And as if by coincidence a football match had just begun on TV, and so I sat down with assorted cats to enjoy the match before it was time to cook dinner.
There really is nothing quite like a roast dinner to get the juices flowing, and as a very special treat I had go a joint of lamb for dinner, and it was every bit as delicious as our anticipation had suggested it would be.
And there ended the weekend.
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