Ah yes, sunshine. I know that a reoccurring feature this summer has been the weather reports of endless rain, storms and the usual British weather. And I am going to try to resist the temptation to complain just as proper summer weather arrives and it plainly too hot. I drove home with all the windows down, it really was rather pleasant. All around columns of dust rose to the sky to show where harvesting was still going on.
I arrived home, and the temptation was to slump on the patio with an ice-cold Wobbly, but I grabbed the camera and we headed out to look for butterflies. The day was really too old for butterfly hunting, and the shadows too long, but it seemed too good to pass us, especially as the wind had dropped to nothing. In the end the air was full of the things; mostly Red Admirals, some Common Blues, the odd Brown Argus, a single Peacock and two Painted Ladies. Oh yes, it was butterfly heaven, but they were very wary of us, and getting decent shots was difficult. The Painted Lady stayed on the same branch about ten feet away, just too far to get a decent shot. I stood still until a Red Admiral landed in front of me, and I got the shot I have been chasing for the past few weeks.
Back home for dinner and more sitting on the patio as the sun set; the moths and bats came out and filled the air. It was just too hot to sit inside, and it was a wonderfully simple thing to do. Saturday morning and up to London.
Again.
I say again, as I have travelled up on the high speed line twice in the last week for work, so it was pleasant to go up just for pleasure. Jools was taking some friends on a bead-hunting trip around Soho, and so I had a day in which to fill with whatever I wanted. My plan was to travel the Underground and snap some interesting stations. A contact of mine on Flickr has been photographing all stations over the course of the past few years. There are some gems, and after asking him of stations I should visit first, I had a plan of sorts.
Top of the list was Gants Hill, on which the stations on the Moscow Metro was based. So, we all got off at Stratford and headed our different ways. I walked through the shopping centre to the regional station, past all the signs still up for the Olympics, and ready for the Paralympics which begin next week. So, across the station finding that all the pink ‘Olympic’ signs no longer applied and the usual entrances could be used. Onto the eastbound Central Line and underground we went. Many of the stations I passed looked worthy of further investigation, and I will return.
Gants Hill station is built entirely underground, buried beneath a roundabout on the A12 road which leads all the way to my hometown, and the roundabout was once a marker on a bus trip into London. Little did I know how wonderful the station was just below the road. London Transport was asked to advise on the design of the Moscow Metro, and they ‘practiced’ on Gants Hill, and is every bit as wonderful as that sounds. I got out and snapped the hall between the two platforms. It was being lightly used, so I got pictures with no people in, which suited me.
I went up to the surface to see what the area was like, and was pretty much as I remembered; a huge roundabout with the usual small shops lining each street. I saw a café and thought I should have some fluid, and so went in and ordered an orange juice, a coffee and an oat bar. And was charged just £3 for this, which for London was an absolute bargain.
Back underground, pausing only to take some more shots of the station, and headed back south; the plan being to go to Boston Manor on the way to Heathrow. I got off at Holborn, and crossed to the Piccadilly Line, only for there to be confusion between the station announcements and the train’s headboards. I gave up and headed to Baker Street and then south on the Northern Line to Tooting Bec.
Tooting is famous in Britain for being the home of fictional 1970s revolutionary, Citizen Smith. And it was first time in Tooting. It is quite some way down the Northern Line, past Kennington and the Oval where the home of cricket is. And on into Clapham, Balham in into Tooting.
I snapped away after getting off and made my way to the surface and into the heat of the day. The view was of a large crossroads with queues of traffic in all directions. Small shops lined each side of the street, and many were selling exotic fruit and vegetables. I saw a barbers along the street and decided that it was time to have a major trim, and so went in and after a while got the Cypriot barber to understand me, and he got the shears out and off with my lush locks. After ten minutes I felt half a stone lighter and the cool breeze was chilling my scalp.
Back along to the station, and down into the bowls of London and along a few stops to Clapham Common Station. Clapham Common has unusual narrow island platforms, and the wide angle lens makes these look even narrower, and was well worth stopping off. But what to do now? It was half twelve, and I probably had an hour and a half to go. I made my way to London Bridge station so I could walk over the bridge so I could snap the Olympic rings on Tower Bridge, I continued north heading for Bank Station where I could pick up the line to St Pancras. I ended up at the Lloyds Building and Leadenhall Market and then heading down Threadneedle Street past the Bank of England to the tube station and then to St Pancras.
My plan was to grab a bite to eat. I got a table at the Italian place on the platform and I ended up having Mozzarella, tomato and basil salad flowed by spinach penne pasta. It was lovely I have to say, and perfect for the day. As I had a limoncello to end the meal I got a call from Jools to say they were on the platform waiting for the next train. I got there with 5 minutes before the train to Dover departed; we got two tables next to each other and I snoozed as the train pulled away and headed into the tunnel to Statford.
It wasn’t quite as humid in Dover, but still too hot to sit outside. I sat at the computer listening to the football and checked my pictures form the morning. On the radio Norwich kept shipping goals as the afternoon wore on making it painful listening. At five as the 5-0 defeat sunk in, I turned off the radio. Jools went to the chippy and we dined on fish and chips as it was just too darn hot to be messing around in the kitchen.
Sunday morning and we were up to see the sun rise out the back door. And after breakfast we headed to the National Trust’s place on the cliffs to hunt for Chalkhill Blue butterflies. Once upon a time I thought a white butterfly was just a Cabbage White, a blue was a Chalkhill and so on. Of course the world of macro photography is teaching me the differences between the species. The Chalkhill is found on grassy chalk down land, and the ebst place really is the cliffs themselves. It is just a short drive to the cliffs, and after parking in the top, remote car park, we soon spotted a lone Chalkhill. I spent a good ten minutes waiting for it to land so I could snap it, Jools went through the gate and said, don’t worry about that one there are thousand here.
I followed her and sure enough, just above the grass the air was thick with the shimmering of blue butterfly winds, and all of the Chalkhills. After stalking a few, I got down on my belly and crawled to approach one without it flying off, and in this way got many shots of males, females and mating pairs. I guess we stayed for about an hour and I rattled off 606 shots, before deciding that should be enough. And so back home for a cool drink and to check on the shots.
I mixed up the dough for some saffron buns, whilst outside a layer of high cloud crept in from the west, hiding the sun and taking the temperature down a few degrees. We no longer have Sky, so if I want to catch up on the football I have to listen to the radio; so I went up to the bedroom to lay down and listen. I was joined by Scully and soon enough we were both asleep and the radio burbled away.
The afternoon faded away into evening, the clouds thinned and the sun shone down again, but not as hot. Once again we watched the end of the day from the chairs on the patio, as the moths and bats came out. And so passed another Kentish weekend.
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