It has been another somewhat mixed weekend as we both battled to sake of what is left of our respective illnesses, I cough still from time to time, and on occasion get dizzy when my sinuses get blocked. Although it doesn’t always feel like it, I am getting better, but just a little bit each day. Jools’ voice is nearly back at full volume, and I suppose we don’t feel too rotten. I know I shouldn’t complain, but that it has been dragging on for so long now, I just want to feel better, you know?
Our original plan was to head to Rye on Saturday for their torchlight parade. It was an ambitious plan which would have involved standing outside for four maybe five hours. But we thought we should try at least.
So, we headed to Tesco early on Saturday morning: I say that now, but I realise now that I dropped Jools off at Tesco whilst I headed to the butcher in Preston to stock up and to place our Christmas order. It really is only six weeks away now.
*panics*
Not really. We have our two Christmas cakes made, 78 pints of porter made, chutney and jellies made too. That should see us sorted.
Anyway, I drove across the countryside to Preston, the early morning sunshine making a mockery of the heavy drizzle the BBC promised. Just wish I had my camera with me, but then it would have taken me even longer to get back to Jools waiting outside Tesco. Back home for more coffee and croissants, and then just chill listening to Danny Baker on the radio before it was time to head off and drop Jools of in Folkestone for her beading class.
I went down onto the prom and sat in the car park listening to Fighting Talk until the rain stopped. Once it did I drove round to the harbour, parked up and headed off to the beach as I knew there was an interesting shot to be had. See, even I realise my life revolves round the last shot and the next shot. And when it doesn’t I’m on Flckr messing around with yet more photography. Anyway, I get the shot under the arches of the flood defences.
I walk back and up the hill to a fine old pub I snapped in the past, this time I thought I would sample their ales. And to take a shot of the bar too. Once my thirst had been quenched, I headed back to the car and to head to Shorncliffe to wait for Jools.
We had decided to have something out for lunch, and decided on our favourite pub, the Woolpack in Brookland. We got a table in the 14th century bar and ordered the food. When it came in less than 5 monutes, and mine was steak and ale pie, we knew there was a catch. And the catch was that a new landlord had taken the place over and the food had gone very downmarket quality-wise. My pie was not cooked, and so I returned it, and declined a replacement. They were nice about it, I wasn’t charged and they apologised, but we shall not be going back.
The rain still fell outside, and the thought of waiting five hours whilst we still were not feeling 100% did not appeal; so we decided to head home and maybe come back next year, and book into a hotel for the duration. As we drove home, darkness began to fall, and the football on the radio kept us awake.
Sunday morning dawned clear and bright, so after breakfast we went on a walk around our neighbourhood, along the muddy paths and lanes. We saw a little wildlife; birds and the occasional fungi. We got as far as Windy Ridge, before we decided it was time to head home for more coffee and prepare for the labours of the afternoon. Jools’ Dad and Jen were away for the weekend and we were to look after Nan and Betty. Both deaf as a post and in their 90s, but it wasn’t too bad. I cooked roast beef and the trimmings, all washed down with a bottle of the elderberry wine from last year. It was delicious even if I say so myself.
But the weekend was already slipping away, and soon enough it was time for ed, and the alarm seemed to be ringing just 5 minutes later. Jools dropped me off at the station and the high speed train deposited me at the now Olympic-free Stratford station. I switched to the DLR and headed to the City Airport. I had already checked in online, so leaving my bag I went through security and found somewhere to have breakfast.
We are now allowed to fly direct to Denmark again, not stopover in Frankfurt or Amsterdam now. And just after lunch we arrived in Billund, my car reservation was good and was soon driving to Randers, a trip of about 70 minutes. And with the weather alternating between golden autumnal sunshine and heavy downpours, it was an interesting trip, made easier by the sat nav who did not get lost.
And here we are, knackered but in the hotel and about ready for beer o’clock. Shaggy asked me to bring over Bovril and Marmite, so before we got to the station this morning we were searching all the early-opening shops for supplies. Job carried out, satis.
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