Saturday 18th July 2015

Saturday

And so the final two days off. The sun is shining, so should be perfect for some more orchid chasing. Just to let you know the season ends at the end of August, at the latest, with just two more to see now, so, should be back to the usual church and football subjects by then. Talking of which, one of the projects for the winter is a guide to Kentish Orchids which will be published on Blogspot too. A brave plan and something that might not happen, we shall see.

Anyway, after breakfast, a second cup of coffee, we get in the car to drive out to the first site. All was well until we approached the Duke of York roundabout: there was a long queue of traffic, and we could traffic on the A2 was also solid.

We had to go into town to get some bird seed, which now resulted in us turning round, driving back to St Margaret’s, and then along Reach Road past the castle and so into town.

Traffic in town was very light, probably because most folks could not get into town! So, with a few bags of bird food, we try to get out of the town. I look at the fuel gauge, and see we are running on fumes. Even if we get out, we’ll have to get some petrol, and with most stations now only part of supermarkets, it looked bleak. Driving out along the A2, traffic was queued up beyond Shepherdswell and getting worse.

There was the station at Barham, we could fill up there. But even by the time we got there, we had already decided to drive round to Deal and go back home, hopefully avoiding all the traffic and being safe at home with the cats.

And that is what we did, and although it took half an hour, we met little traffic and turned off the main road before we hit the stacked up traffic.

At least the cats were pleased to see us. Or that’s what we told ourselves.

Instead of orchids, I satisfied myself with a walk to the cliffs. Its been a while since I did that, what with being away and all. So, I put on my boots and set off. It is high summer, and the growth of spring has now slowed as water is short, and the ground underfeet is like a dustbowl.

Along the path at the end of the street, between two fields of broad beans, now heavy with full pods. All around there were butterflies: Red Admiral, Painted Lady, Small Tortoiseshell, Ringlet, Small Heath, Wall Brown, Marbled White, Small Skipper, Comma but no blues. I snap some, others I am happy to see flittering about.

The piglets were sound asleep in the corrugated iron shed deep in the copse, and the horses in the field beside the path leading down the dip, turned their back on me and carried on eating nettles. I had no carrots with me anyway.

And after going down the dip, of course I had to climb back up the other side. More butterflies were about, but clearly the wind was getting up, so soon the butterflies would be hunkering down, so no snaps.

Across the downs, through fields of wheat and long grass to butterfly alley, which as it was now gone midday, was partly in shade, and so had few of them about.

Up the final slope to the monument, and the cliffs. And after seeing no one else for half an hour, to see dozens of folks walking up and down the cliff path was if not a surprise, then unwelcome. I went to the edge to snap the cliffs, clooking down on the waves lapping at the feet of the cliffs: high tide, then?

And then down the path, trying to snap a Marbled White, and the plan was to get to Kingsdown Leas to try to snap a Chalkhill Blue or three. But the wind was getting stronger, the Whites were being buffeted, and I knew the Chalkhills would be deep undercover clinging to grass stems. So, I gave up halfway to Kingsdown and turned for home.

At three I got back, and realised I had missed lunch somehow, so it was then declared brunch o’clock. And as it was cold left over breaded aubergine and pasta salad, it took less than 5 minutes to prepare and be sat down eating.

Now, although we like to think ourselves as social people, to be invited to a wedding reception where we knew only the groom was always going to result in the two of us sitting in a quiet corner of the event. But first we had to find the location.

Not helped by the invitation having the wrong postcode on, so after driving to Faversham, and down the main road through the town, we came to where the postcode said there was a golf course: there was just a school. No golf.

A hundred yards further along, I see a sign pointing down a lane to a golf course. Could be it. So we went down the lane. Then along a bit, round a corner, left at a junction, up a hill, down again, took a left fork, along a mile. And there was the golf club. Or A golf club. Not the golf club.

I re-programmed the sat nav, and apparently we were still 15 minutes away. So, back we went, back through Faversham, back down the A2, took the next exit, along a bit and there was THE golf club. And there was sounds of a party.

Indeed it was the wedding, so we parked and went in, dropping the card in the ‘wedding postbox’, I saw Will, the groom, so we went over, shook hands whilst he got ready for the traditional first dance.

That first dance is all important: for Jools and I it was Barry White, for my friends Jason and Cheryl it was Blister in the Sun. I did not recognise the one they had, something modern, poppy and autotuned. They seemed happy.

We went outside to find an empty table, and watch the bridesmaids and whatever boy groomsmaids are called, pay rounders. It passed the time, until we thought we had been there long enough so we could leave again without causing offence.

We did say goodbye, then walked back to the car, whilst some guests staggered around smoking a roll up; four weddings this wasn’t, but then, what is?

We drove back in the gathering gloom of a July evening, even the traffic had vanished, so we arrived home, sat outside on the patio looking at the stars and passing planes overhead, whilst three cats kept their collective eyes on us.