Monday 5th January 2015

Sunday.

Last day of Christmas.

On the last day of Christmas, my true love sent to me, the last of the sausage rolls and a small slice of cake.

Indeed.

We woke to find the house and whole village shrouded in fog, all was wonderfully quiet. What to do with the day? Well, the plan had been to go to London to visit St Magnus the Martyr, but their website made clear that normal opening hours would not resume until the 9th, so it could be a wasted trip, and would be the 4th time I had tried to get into the church, and at £86 on the train for us both, best not to risk it.



We celebrate saving the money by having an extra cup of coffee, then go out in the car to snap some misty sunshiny scenes. I am delighted to find that sunshiny is a word, or one Chrome does not underline in red. Yay.

First up we drive along reach road, with the bank of fog out in the Channel lapping over the tops of the cliffs like waves made of candy floss. But the view was not that good, and indeed as we drove into Dover, it cleared, but between the castle and Western Heights there was more mist. I dash up Military Road to St Martin's Battery. Looking back towards the castle, whisps of mist roll into the harbour. In fact the castle looks like it is sitting on the mist, which makes it looks like it is a castle from a fairy tale. Out in the Channel, another thick bank of fog hides France from our view.



We drive on to Capel, and we stop off at one of the overlooks and the view is amazing; the sun had broken through, but the light was still golden in colour, as if from the sunrise. I take a couple of snaps and we drive along Crete Road heading to Castle Hill so we could have a walk whilst having views over the Tunnel entrance, the terminal and Folkestone. I had brought the work boots I wore on my last two stomps around the village, what they were though is a little worn: their treads got clogged with mud very quickly, whoch made walking on anything other than a level surface something of a lottery. Which meant that walking around a Saxon hill top fort was going to be anything other than level. And what with the rain of Saturday, it was muddier, wetter and slipperier than ever.



We managed it up the fort, but then had to get back down again, but before then we could look down to the terminal below, and as we walked around the fort, views over Folestone and the downs opened up.



We think we found a slightly better way down from the fort, so taking tiny steps we slither down, looking like Bambis on ice as we go, but we do it. We walk back along the road to the car, laugh at the mud splattered up the legs of our jeans. We change into our shoes, and drive via the Alkham Valley to Whitfield. I had wanted to go this way as Dover were at home in the cup, and had drawn Crystal Palace, so i was wondering how busy it would be around Crabble. Truth was it was still two hours before kick off, but already Palace fans had arrived, and cars were already being abandoned.

Last port of all was up at Whitfield where we had to fix Dad's tablet again: the internet won't work! That's because you switched on the aircraft mode. We sorted out a few other things before leaving so we could have lunch at home: stinky cheese, crackers and wine, all whilst listening to the Dover game on the radio. Sadly, Palace scored in the first ten minutes, became settled and Dover were not really in it. They lost 4-0.

We took the Christmas tree down, packed up all the tinsel and decorations, before putting all the boxes and bags in the attic. Somehow the afternoon whiled away, darkness fell outside.

And like that the holidays were over, thoughts turn to work and all the upcoming problems I am going to have. Just as well we watched Bill Bailey on TV, as laughter really is the best medicine. Next week, two days working from home, a trip to Denmark and its the weekend again.