It is day 2 of the week off, and a day wasted as I wallow around the house with a heavy cold. As is par for the course, my nose is blocked up with something Noel wouldn't gunge his guests with back in the last decade. all I know is that I can blow it out just sniff it down; the upshot either way is no sleep. I have been awake since two this morning, and I wish I could say I've been productive, but no, just the usual stuff, messing around online and the such.
STOP PRESS!
I almost forgot, I did manage to stand up long enough to help bake the second Christmas Cake; all is now done and it is cooling off nicely. Smells just like a Christmas Cake, which is just as well.
So, back to Sunday. It was hot, I mean hotter than down in the delta like it was in 72. I mean it was just humid. The thought of travelling to Ramsgate to climb a church towers was never really an option. After breakfast, Jools went out to forage over at Preston, and after some half-hearted procrastination, I set out for a walk, cameras in hand. Or bag.
I set off along the path to the glade; snapped a Common Blue and a Brown Argus, but little other butterfly action other than the usual Large Whites everywhere. No Red Admirals, Peacocks or Painted Ladies to be seen. So, I press on.
Instead of turning back, I head down the dip and up the steep path the other side, along the cycle pathand then over the gate and across the downs between the two wheat fields; now harvested and one ploughed and ready for next year already.
The paths are busier now, of course, and so I pass many folks, most pass the time of day, which is always pleasant. And we all have smiles on our faces, which is only right as we are out walking on the fine last summer's/early autumnal morning. Not quite sure where the cut off is between summer and autumn; there seems to be many ideas; I'm happy enough to call September autumn; the evenings are cooler, there is mist in the mornings and birds are showing interest in the seeds in the feeder again.
Up at Dover Patrol parking spaces are in short supply, and it looks busy in Bluebirds. But the bench over by the cliff edge is free so I claim it, take off my camera bag and settle down to enjoy the view over the Channel to La Belle France. It is always a thrill to walk to the cliffs, doubly so if France can be glimpsed.
As the noise of loud conversation drifts over from the picnic tables, I get up and begin the walk back. I do prefer peace and quiet when walking, makes the insects less wary.
Talking of insects, although there was a general short supply of butterflies, there were thousands, and I mean thousands, of Silver Y Moths, out during the day and feeding as if in a frenzy. I get many, many shots, one of which comes out OK.I meet an artist Jools and I bumped into a few weeks ago, and we swap sightings and our experiences of the Olympics; just like meeting old friends, really.
We spend a quiet afternoon sitting in the garden until we get too hot before coming inside to cool down. In the evening we head to the Blue Lantern for dinner, as I forgot to get dinner out of the freezer in time, but only to find they were out for the night too. So, plan B; The Hare and Hound at Northbourne; we drive over the downs along narrow country lanes as the sun sets in a ball of anger and some rain sweeps in to make it clear the hot weather had finished.
We both order roast beef, and have a very pleasant meal indeed, before trying to remember which lane will take us back to Chez Jelltex.
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