Sunday 27th August 2012

The Sunday evening of the soul.

Only, its a bank holiday Sunday which means we get to have tomorrow off work and get paid for it.

Yay!

And, thankfully, someone has arranged the weather so it is typically bank holiday-ish, with gales and torrential rain. We wouldn't have it any other way; what else would we have to talk about?



Yesterday afternoon, after a lunch of stinky French cheese and crackers, I sat and listened to the football on the radio. Only, the BBC saw fit to replace the absolute game with something called 'rugby league' as it was the challenge cup final, when the hordes from the north descend on London, marvel at the electrickey and other modern wonders before heading back home after the game.



Or something like that.

Anyway, they brought the ENTIRE rugby match with only the occasional reports from the real important stuff. Hurrumph.

But, in this way the afternoon passed into evening, and it was time for us to head off to the marshes and The Rising Sun in Stourmouth where we had a reservation for dinner. Despite looking through the entire menu, we still ordered the paella for two as we really knew we would. On the next table was a young couple and their three children. We had remarked whilst looking through the menu that the choice for children was still only burgers and chips, fish fingers and chips and the suchlike. So, imagine our surprise when their oldest two children, neither older than ten, both ordered moules and the youngest had a bowl of whitebait.

I had cheese for dessert, along with a fine smoky malt, which might explain my dreadful night's sleep last night and once again being up with the larks before dawn making coffee and feeding the cats.

After watching last night's Match of the Day, Norwich drew 1-1 with QPR, it was time to head off into the big, wide world. Jools dropped me off at Shepherdswell and then she went to meet an old friend, whilst I travelled on the local preserved railway, The East Kent Light Railway.



The East Kent was built to serve the Kent coalfield, and meandered through the countryside linking the collieries and villages with the main line at Shepherdswell. After the strike in 84-85, the coalfield was closed down, and very little of it remains now. In fact the railway is about the most obvious.



It only runs a couple of miles to Eythorne and a little beyond to Tilmanstone collery, just short of where the colliery was as the bridge over the road has been removed.

So, after photographing the rollingstock, I travelled on the Cravens DMU out of Shepheredswell just before 11, and arrived at Eyethorne, I guess 10 minutes later. Got off and headed for the beer tent where I had a pint of mild whilst listening to the end of The Archers which was coming out of the radio; is there a more typical English scene? We just needed a cricket match to watch I guess.



Jools came to pick me up at half past, and we went home for lunch and tried not to doze off whilst listening to the radio. I cooked roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and all the trimmings for dinner, and Jools picked up Nan and brought her over. She seemed really disappointed that our promise to cancel the sports channels had been carried out.



It is now nine in the evening, it is dark outside, and so another day in the Garden of England draws to an end.