And not just the weekend, but the first of, count 'em, 8 days at home with no travel to Denmark until next Sunday. Now, I may feel different about that come next weekend, but for now I have put my case away in the wadrobe, and my work bag is somewhere in the utility room.
And Jools had done the shopping, so we had nothing to get up early for. And indeed, it was well past seven before we did wake up and stir ourselves. Jools had bought bacon, and so on with the grill and soon the hosue was filled with the wonderful sweet sweet of cured streaky crisping up. Lovely.
Right, ready to face the day outside, and first up a quick trip to Dover to run some chores: Jools to the bank and me to get some mushrooms and take some shots. The town was already crowded at half nine, so we rush round getting the jobs done so we can get back to the house. Once back indie, we have another cuppa, then put on our walking boots for a stomp around the neighbourhood and maybe up to the cliffs.
It was a glorious bright morning, hardly a cloud in the sky, and just a trace of mist in the valley that lays between the house and the rest of the village. It is so good to get out, stretch your legs and for me, snap some shots. The track at the bottom of the dip was boggy to say the least, but the path round it was dry, and I can confirm the hill the other side is as steep as it ever was. But, we do make it, and are rewarded with views back over to the house.
We turn and walk on towards Kingsdown, turning off to take the path over the fields. It looks bleak, but there is new growth to be seen, sheep are grazing other fields. There is still barely a breath of wind, and it is not cold, I would go as far to say it is very nearly warm. So warm that by the time we get to the cliffs, it seemed warm enough to sit on the bench having taken our coats off. It was like a September morning, rather than one at the end of November.
We turn round and head from home, through the village, son the quiet lanes that cling to the edge and top of the cliffs. It would be nice to live in one of these houses, but lets not dream, anyway, we love our house, even if does not have a sea view. Pastt he pound, the Red Lion, down the hill and back up again, getting back home in time for the football on the radio. But it is still warm enough to be able to sit on the patio and sip our cuppas. The sun shines down, but already it is getting low in the sky, the year is getting old.
I listen to the football on the radio, whilst following City via Twitter. It is a grim afternoon with City throwing away a 1-0 lead to go down 2-1, with the mood at The Carra very black indeed. The fizz of the day went flat. I switched Twitter off to avoid the namecalling by the old keep-the-faithers and those who want Neyal to go. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Night settles around the house, we close the curtains, I make a batch of shortcakes, including two big ones for tea, which will do us right until the morning. TV is a dead loss, so we play music until the wooden hill calls.
Good night.
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