I am so tired. I mean so tired. So shattered. A two day trip to a suburb of Copenhagen to attend a four hour meeting and come back, coupled with poor sleep, long hour in the departure lounge. An arrival back at home about ten past eleven. I wake up at five in the morning with seagulls cawing on the roof, other birds tweeting demanding for food, cats using me a walkway between the window and the door. Heck, I am awake now, should I feed you guys?
Meow.
Outside it is blowing a gale, I thought about the possibility that in this wind macro shots of lovely orchids might be a challenge. Impossible you say? I will at least try, dammit!
I make coffee, after feeding the cats. The birds are lining up out in the garden, so put food out for them, and in their excitement with the food, they make yet more noise.
I edit some shot, listen to the radio, write a blog post. And by ten in the morning, I am getting itchy feet. Now, by this time I should have been waiting outside Charing Cross station, waiting for a tour of some of the abandoned platforms, as a few weeks back I managed to secure tickets. Only, as previously stated, I was shattered. And I am pig sick. No, completely pissed off with travelling, even up to London to go on what would have been a great tour. But the thought of getting up at the crack of down, or half six, going to the station, going up to London, traveling on The Tube, queuing up and then coming back, well I decided the night before, on the drive home, to give it a miss. That and the £88 we would have spent on tickets, then more on food, travel across the City and so on and so on.
So, we stayed at home. Or I did. Until I got a little bored. I mean with the exception of the shots taken on the lost camera, I had not taken a photo in what, three whole days! Jools was beading, so I go up to ask her, would you like to go to PGD to check on the musk orchids, whilst fluttering my eyelashes.
She declined! I mean can you believe that?
Go on without me she said. So I did.
I load the car and drive to Barham then down the Elham Valley road before cutting to the down. I have the site to myself, and at first I see no orchids nor any cattle, it seems they were sleeping off their latest orchid based meal. They are keeping vegetation down, but one of the paddocks, where they have total access, is devoid of all but the most hardest plants, and no orchids. In the second paddock, however, there was a haze of pink where the Common Spotted and Chalk Fragrants were growing.
I walk over and find a perfect Fragrant, so I get the shop I want. There are the remains of the Monkeys too. I get more and more shots. In the third paddock, I find yet more Commons, including in the midst of a large clump, a pure white orchid. Now, with the true orchid families, they are all variable, and most are more than capable of producing a pure white one. So, was this a Common Spotted, Fragrant or a Heath Spotted? That question would be answered when I get home. So for now I took shots of the remains of the Greater Butterflies, now going over along with the Monkey.
I look at my watch: half twelve. LUNCHTIME. That put pay to my trip to Brham, so instead I drive home for lunch with Jools, expecting her to either have eaten already, or be hungry. She was asleep on the bed, surrounded by sleeping cats. I make lunch, boil the kettle for a brew. She carries on sleeping. I try to make more noise, and she sleeps on. I have lunch, and in half an hour, Jools wakes up and then eats her lunch. I got sleepy she said. Which is a good reason for a good snooze than almost anything else.
As the BBC predicted, the clouds cleared and the wind died a little, so I,must.go.and.take.more.shots.of.orchds. I am going to Sandwich Bay I say. OK, bye, says Jools.
However, before I go I make good on the promise to mow the back garden of our neigbours, who are away. It is like a jungle in there, and the thick grass, two and a half feet in places, was more than a match for our mower. But, making the mower do a wheelie, I trimmed it, then cut again, and in about an hour we had the lace looking presentable. Phew, and even better was that I sat down for a pint of squash rather than a beer afterwards.
Sandwich Bay is private land, and at most times during daylight, the owner charges £7 to enter in a car. Now, the socialist in me rails against this, and yet such access limitations and security means the orchids here are the most secure in the county. So, what should I think? Remember the orchids, Ian.
So, I drive through Deal and then out to Sandwich, thus foregoing the coast road, dodging the mad cyclists, or rather leaving the coast road to those on two wheels who just want a quiet drive. And why not?
I arrive just before seven, and I now realise the security guard was about to go off duty, and waiting 5 minutes would have saved me seven quid, but remember the orchids, Ian.
Down on The Strand, in fact before there, in the lawns of the rich and Porsche owners, the orchids are there, already beginning to open. Imagine having a rare orchid on your lawn? I say, we could charge the plebs to see them, what?
I park in the dunes, and take lots and lots of pictures of the orchids. They are wonderfully mad, all frilly stringy bits, and smelling of goats wee, I am reliably informed. In the breeze, photography was trick, but I manage it, and I get some good shots.
Once back home, Jools has prepared Insalata Caprese, which was ready for eating.
We end the day with a recording of the final episode of Springwatch, and we saw #Si'sFry !
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