Monday 12th December 2011

Life has a way of shaking us from time to time. Just when we think it has settled down and we are comfortable with what it has given us, fate comes along and changes everything. Life, does go on of course, and we can be thankful for what those who have departed have given to enrich our lives, and how much duller of lives would have been in not knowing them.
Apart from us, there is the families and close friends of those who leave us, and how they pick up the pieces of their lives.

I think, we really should say to those who really do make our lives worth living, what they mean to us while we can, before we lose the chance.

Last night, the weekend petered out, fading into a wet and windy Sunday evening, a post on Facebook changed all that. I work in a small department of just three people. I work here in Ramsgate; my boss works in Warrington and Helle works, or worked, in Denmark. She was driving home from work after picking up her daughter from school, and a gust of wind blew a truck into the path of her car.

Not really much else to say; like all good people, she will be missed. She leaves behind a husband and two children.

Before then, it had been an odd weekend. By the end of Friday I was shattered, and as soon as four o’clock came round I went to bed. Being tired, I felt also felt cold. I got out of bed just before seven, as we had tickets for a show in Folkestone: thankfully, Jools looked at the tickets to see the show was for Saturday night, and so we needn’t have a late night after all, and could sit round in our dressing gowns and slippers.

We had a Chinese meal delivered, and listened to the radio before heading to bed nice and early.

Needless to say, I was awake so early on Saturday, I got up, fed the cats and made a pot of coffee and sat down at the computer. Jools was off out as she had to take her Dad and his wife to Heathrow, as they are off to Australia for Christmas, and so needed a lift. I dropped Jools off at their house, so she could drive their, larger car.

I headed home for breakfast, as I had other plans, plans for photography and a steam locomotive.

At nine I picked up my friend, Gary, and we headed out along the A2 to the other side of Canterbury, and then through country lanes to the village of Chartham to await the arrival of ‘Clan Line.’ In fact, we had over an hour before we would have to take up our position, so we wandered around the village snapped a few things and then went to the village shop to get a snack.
At half ten we walked to the station to wait. The train was due at ten to eleven, so we had about 20 minutes to wait.



Or so we thought.

I had chosen Chartham as it has a picturesque and working signal box, and as we walked onto the platform I asked the signalman if the train was on time. 18 minutes late we were told; well, that’s not too bad we thought.

We took up positions on the footbridge and waited. More and more other people arrived to take shots, or just to take the scene in as the train would go thundering through. Every now and again the signalman would come out and shout that the train delay was not 38 minutes and so on. And then, the gates closed and the signalman shouted that the steam locomotive was due, as was a local train coming in on the nearest platform. The news didn’t reach the dozen folks waiting there to photograph the steam train coming through. And sure enough as we heard the toot of the train’s whistle, on the London-bound platform a modern passenger train pulled in.
Up on the bridge we had fine views of Clan Line as it came through, and I could hear swearing from the platform below. And in a few seconds, it was gone, leaving smoke and steam in the air.



We packed our camera gear away, and now quite cold after our hour-long wait and so headed to the local pub, the Artichoke for a pint of mild for me, or a cuppa for Gary.



And then, having snapped our snaps, and me with a pint inside of me, we headed back to Dover for lunch and then for me to lay on the sofa, as usual, and listen to the football on the radio. In a turn up, Norwich play well and take their chances against Newcastle, and head four goals to go back up to ninth in the league after running out 4-2 winners.



That night we headed out to Folkestone for the Mark Steele show, and to get a bite to eat beforehand. We had spotted an interesting Spanish place just at the top of the Old High Street, and so we thought we would give that a go. And very good it was too; I had garlic prawns followed by chickpeas and chorizo sausage for a main. Now, that doesn’t sound too exciting, but it was very good and very filling. And so with half an hour before showtime, we headed down to the theatre.

The show was good, a kind of stage version of his radio show, where he looks at a town via the newspapers and our opinions about the town. We laughed. A lot, before walking back down Tontine Street to collect our car and drive home under the silvery light of the full moon. And for a change, there was almost no traffic into Dover, and the drive was almost pleasant. Sadly, we had missed the total lunar eclipse, but seeing it full now was good enough.

Sunday was every bit as grey and drizzly as the BBC promised. I was sneezing my head off inside, so I thought that a walk in the rain and fresh air might help. It was bracing, and we didn’t really walk too far, but we did see a couple of folks on horses and people walking their dogs along the paths around our neighbourhood.

Back home for a nice cuppa and then cook roast chicken with all the trimmings for lunch. We shared a bottle of fizzy Italian wine, and so the afternoon contained:

Sofa
Football
Cats
Snoozing