If anything, Sunday was an even better day that Saturday was, well, as far as weather was concerned. When I went out in my dressing gown to put the birdseed out, there was no hint of a chill in the morning. Jools even sat outside to eat her breakfast, although I messed about online with my computer.
Jools was heading to Ashford for a bead fair, and my intention had been to wander round Ashford snapping whilst she went a bead huntin’. In the end, I changed my mind and thought I might like to walk back from Folkestone to Dover. And this was the plan. I did realise that although I might like to try to walk all the way home, that might be very ambitious indeed. And as it turned out, the walk from Capel to Aycliffe was just about perfect, especially after the walk on Friday, my legs were already tight when I began.
Jools dropped me off just beyond the roundabout on the Capel road, and I walked to the beginning of the track heading up to the cycle route and the cliffs. There was no clouds in the sky, and barely a breath of wind moved the air, so I wore my old Red Sox cap to keep the sun out of my eyes and to mop up any sweat I may well produce. That turned out to be a wise choice.
The view when I got to the cliffs was stunning, the sweep of Wear Bay stretched from beneath my feet all the way round to Folkestone Harbour. I snapped the scene several times, especially as way down below an Electrostar wound its way along past the Warren. I tightened the straps on my old camera bag, and set off.
The first stretch was along the cycle path, which in turn was an old war access road, which must have run along the cliffs to the various lookout and gun positions. I went past the old sound mirror which is now standing at an alarming angle, but at least the cliff edge is several decades of erosion away still. I followed the path down to Capel range, the butts now standing empty, except when a motocross rider uses the bank for practice runs. It would have been a wonderfully quiet morning, but two kids on their bikes made it sound like a swarm of angry hornets was abroad. As I walked on at least their volume decreased.
My plan was to stop at my favourite overlook above the portal to Shakespeare Tunnel, but as I checked my watch I knew that a Javelin would be due out heading London-bound at about ten to the hour. So I sat down , got out my container of squash and had a good 15 minutes rest as I waited to snap it. In the end when it appeared, the train was hardly moving giving me ample time to snap it as the train emerged.
I walked on and did stop where I intended to wait for another Javelin coming from Folkestone, dwarfed as it was by the cliffs on the right side, and looking like a toy way down below. That having been snapped, all that was left was to begin the final stretch along the top of Shakespeare Cliff and then down into Dover. The view are amazing , as it feels like you are walking along the edge of a wave, and on one side the ground drops away several hundred feet to the beach far below.
At the end of the cliff you are greeted with a grand panorama of Dover harbour with the breakwater on one side, the town on the other with the castle above and then the line of cliffs at Langdon Bay in the distance. I waited for the Javalin to come back on its return trip to London and begin my descent.
Jools called saying she was at Ayecliffe, which was only 10 minutes away. I told her that would be fine. I walked past a few folks heading the other way, so they would be climbing Shakespeare in the heat of midday, never a good idea. And like that, I came to the underpass, and there was Jools. We headed home going over the top of Western Heights, down into town, along past the town hall and then up Connaught Hill past the castle and then along to St Margaret’s and home.
We had scotch eggs for lunch, and I popped open a bottle of Bittburger to wash it down with, with the result that I felt sleepy almost straight away. I took the radio into the back garden and so lay on the grass in the warm sunshine listening to the Man Utd/Liverpool game. A 3-0 win for Liverpool seemed the right result to me, and the cats who had followed me out and snoozed around me in the shade of a bush or the hedge.
After dinner, I sat down to watch the nightmare that was the previous night’s MOTD, and to wait for the start of the badger parade, and was rewarded by the appearance of three if not four of them.
There was just enough time at the end of the day for a mouse to run up the leg of Jools’ trousers. As they do.
I was watching a recording on the previous night’s MOTD, and so I wasn’t really concentrating on what was happening in the room. Jools was typing away at the computer whilst outside a badge was hovering up the peanuts in the front garden.
The was a scream. Ten another scream.
“ooh, ooh oooh” Jools screamed whilst hopping from one foot to the other. She then proceeded try to take her trousers off. Her slippers went in opposite directions, whilst she went red in the face. Meanwhile Scully watched entranced. Apparently, Scully had brought in a mouse, dropped it on the floor, where it had run across Jools; foot and up her trouser leg up past her knee.
The mouse ran the other way and onto the floor where Scully scooped it up again. Then dropped it. The mouse ran along the skirting board a few times before finding shelter under the record rack. This meant I could just about et my hand underneath, and after a little struggle pulled the mouse out by the tail and then carrying it out into the porch then out of the main door. Scully looked on eyes a-sparkle.
After that things returned to normal, or what counts as normal in our house.
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