Yes, cakes. One is never enough. A couple of years ago, we tried one in November and had to bake another one to replace it. We don't marzipan or ice them, and just leave them with their cakey goodness and Christmas spiciness.
Friday seemed to go on forever until it got to five to four and it was time to head home. The technicians had come ashore early and gone home, so I had the office to myself, therefore my hearty laughing at the Kermode and Mayo film review went unheard except by me.
So, off to Tesco for a week's shopping, and ended up getting enough stuff to last the weekend. And once that was done and paid for, loaded up the car and back home and now the holiday could really begin.
And Friday night was spent watching football. Yes, now the Olympics and Paralympics are coming to an end, it means we must return, ashamed like a unfaithful lover to the old dependable. And England began their World Cup qualifying campaign with an away game against Moldova. I did have to ask Jools to Google Moldova to find where it was, as I really didn't have a clue.
Anyway, it is behind the fridge just to the lest of Romania, apparently.
And England strung together at least 5 passes, played well, and scored 5 goals; and yet managed to look unconvincing switching off several times, just before half time and in the second half and could have easily conceded goals. Just to remind you, by some quirk, England are currently ranked the third best team IN THE WORLD, which I suppose goes to show just how much you should trust information coming out of FIFA towers.
Saturday morning after breakfast we headed to Mongeham for some foraging action, so we can make jam and jellies. We knew of a footpath behind a garage that is just lined with plum and greengage trees. We picked a couple of pounds and then headed on up the A20 and M20 to head to The Weald for a tour of 'interesting' churches.
Each year English Heritage organises a long weekend where many buildings are open for people like us to visit and photograph. Last spring we visited St Lawrence at Mereworth; and while is it a wonderfully beautiful church, the doors were locked and we wanted to see inside.
First of all we headed inside the M25 to a tiny, but beautiful village on the edge of the Weald where stockbrokers and hedge fund managers have their homes with fine views onto the Garden of england. All along the main road huge gates with security cameras guarded the mock-Tudor mansions hidden behind mature trees.
We turned off down a narrow lane and headed towards to small village of Trottiscliffe; which is not pronounced the way it is spelt so to make the unwary visitor appear stupid. It is pronounced 'Trozli', if Wiki is to be believed.
At the end of a long dead end road leading to a row of cottages and an old stable block is the church. I don't think i have ever seen a church in a more perfect location, it is one of those places that you have to be going as you'll never just pass it.
There was a churchwarden waiting at the door and happy to answer questions and tell us the history of the church. Dominating the tiny church is, what I now know to be from Westminister Abbey is the biggest pulpit I have seen outside a er, cathedral.
We take our leave and head to Mereworth.
We were the only visitors at the church, we parked the car on the verge outside, took in the glorious design of the church before going in. First thing you do see is a pair of spiral staircases; one to the gallery and the other to the bell tower. And straight ahead is a simple wooden door leading to the main body of the church.
I won't try to describe the church, please use the link on the pictures to go to my Flickrstream. The design is glorious, and looking pristine as it has just been restored to its former glory. Or original glory.
Once again there was a churchwarden to greet us, offer us refreshments and answer any questions. It was a shame to have to leave but we were on a tight schedule as we had to be back in Dover by four as Jools had a haircut booked.
So we drove on and came soon enough to a wonderful village called Penshurst. Along with a fine looking church, a square of timber-framed houses, there was also a nice looking coaching in; so we found a place to park and headed towards the church.
We came to the square first; gloriously named Leicester Square, I guess because of the local family that owned the nearby large house. The houses all looked fine, if very old, and under a low passageway entry to the churchyard could be gained.
As at every church we were greeted by a warden, offered more refreshments and given a leaflet on the history of the church. I like to think I got a particularly fine shot from under the bell tower looking down the aisle, and also in the Sidney Chapel, the private church of the local gentry.
Back outside to the Leicester Arms, and we had a nice cold beer along with a fine hot baguette each, which was us sorted until we got home.
Back into the car an on with the churches; and on to Spedhurst.
We found the church with little problem; I say little problem, but as the sat nav kept having hissy fits and sending us in the wrong direction before having second thoughts. Anyway, we parked on the side of the road and entered the churchyard through the lych gate, and were greeted with a fine avenue of mature trees, which had been trained for form natural arches. It was a fine way to enter the church, under the green canopy of the trees.
Inside we had a very warm welcome indeed, a history of the church and a list of the interesting features thrust into our hands, and another warden showed us round telling stories and tales of those that had helped to design of create the features inside the church.
The warden at Spedhurst stressed that we should not miss Groombridge, and as that was next on our list, that is where we headed to next. At least by now the churches were just a mile or two apart and we were rattling through them.
St John the Evangalist is a small chapel, once part of a large estate, dominated by many wonderful 18th century windows and a single handed clock. An old gentleman welcomed us and handed us another leaflet. The mechanism for the clock sits in front of one of the windows, and it's loud ticking and tocking fills the church.
Time was now running out, and so we headed along a very narrow lane through the woods above Groombridge to the village of Ashurst.
Nestling on a small triangle of land surrounded by roads or lanes, the church has a simple white clapboard tower. Inside, the church has been restored in the past year, and it's walls painted brilliant white, perfect for showing off the glorious stained glass windows
Our time had run out and so we headed back to the car and headed for home.
Or so we thought.
Seems like the sat nave thought we lived somewhere on the M25 and after pressing the 'navigate to home' button took us north to Dartford. We did realise this and headed down the M20 and home.
That night we had Nan round for dinner and I cooked steak and ale pie along with fresh veg; all very nice even I say so myself.....
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