And after the bright sunshine, well for the most part, seen in Holland this week, on the first day of rest we have thick fog and blustery wind. A combination that is pretty rare, but then anything is possible up on the cliffs here in St Maggies.
We need a few things, so decide, in a break from the norm to head to Deal and go to Sainsbury's rather than the usual Tesco at Whitfield. The drive was interesting in the fog, with the usual eejits driving with no lights on, partly explained by only a thin mist once we descended into Walmer. But still, how bad does it have to get before fog registers in their tiny minds?
Sainsbury's is fairly empty, and not a place to be rushed round because of the crowds and feral children. No you rush round in case you see any more nice things that might just fall into your basket. A couple of pints of Hopdaemon does, and two packs of nice sounding bacon. We escape some £46 lighter and non the wiser.
Back home I cook the bacon for breakfast, and am amazed at the rashers that filled the pan, shrunk to less than half their length. Just as well there were seven each then! Breakfast done, and with the weather being the way it was, it would have been easy to sit inside all day, listening to the radio, messing around on the computer and the such.
No, not when there is orchid progress to check up on. Oh no.
Down Jubilee Way, along Townwall Street, mixing it with the port traffic, which for some reason is once again stacked up all the way to Aycliffe. All this means we will find another way back home.
Anyway, up the road out of town, past Shakespeare Cliffe and down the tunnel to Samphire Hoe. And to our surprise it was foggy here too. We put on our thick coats, I get the camera with the macro lens, and I walk beside the railway and Jools takes the path to the seawall as she thinks this orchid thing is becoming an obsession. Really?
A few hundred yards along, I find the first of the rosettes, some even beginning to put up small spikes. But in truth it has not been that warm these past two weeks, and any hope of March flowering spikes has been dashed, indeed it might be two weeks before we see an open orchid here. I walk back to the car where Jools has already had enough fresh air and is waiting.
Now for the main business of the day; we are going to look at some cars. A major step, and more of what you might like to call ordinary behaviour. Jools likes to compare it to the opening lines of Trainspotting, "Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got orchids".
So, on the way back down the Alkham Valley towards the Seat dealer, there is the garden centre. We call in, wander round and spend another forty quid. A few plants, a shrub and a small tree. All very normal. And I am enjoying it. At the Seat dealer, we wander round the lines of second hand cars, all looking OK, but there is the danger with the unknown previous owners, how hard were the cars driven. A young lady in tight fitting yoga pants comes out to ask us if we need help. I say we are just looking, thanks.
A quick drive up to Whitfield brings us to the Vauxhall dealer. Now, I have driven many different makes of cars over the past three months, and gone are the days when Vauxhalls were rust buckets. We know what we need, something the same size as the Polo, something with the same engine size, a Corsa in other words. We look round the used car lot, some are OK, they all look OK. Then the salesman spots us, we are like antelope on the savanah, being stalked by lions. He circles us, now panicking us.
Are you looking for a used or new car, he began. He had caught us.
We say we might be interested in a new one, if the deal was right.
Come inside he says, inviting us into his lair. Would like, coffee, cake?
What would we like, can we have your details? We are handed over to a young lady, Amy. They offer us nearly two grand for our car, knock some money off one they have in stock, gives us the price per month. And it is doable. We say yes, then begins the form filling, detail giving. And waiting. They have a TV in the showroom, which is playing Jeremy Kyle to no one, least of all, us. Then Murder she wrote, comes on, in which Angela goes back in time to sort a murder from the civil war, or something. I don't think I was on drugs, but then I have had a lot of coffee.
The news comes, all has been approved, but the final part is on hold as the service department have locked the registration documents or something. So, can we come back on Sunday? I believe we can.
Imagine our surprise to find nearly 3 hours have passed, we have a car full of plants and we are going to take delivery of a shiny new motor before Easter.
We have yet more coffee, then Jools does a tip run, goes to visit Nan, and I put the plants in, stamp then in, water them. Looks good.
I make sausage rolls for dinner, with the last of the sausage meat from Christmas. It is chestnut flavoured, and is without doubt the best. That hits the spot.
Day light fades, the mist thickens to fog, and as we watch TV a small badger cleans up the bird food outside, make only the occasional glance as us, as all peanuts and seeds are hoovered up.
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