Monday 3rd August 2015

I suppose, like many others, I used to go about my life without little thought of the natual passage of time: the moon would wax and wane, and unless I was out, I would not know. Certainly I could not know if tomorrow there would be less or more of it to see. I would see birds, butterflies and not think if there were earlier than last year, or later, of that was a rare migrant. And to seasons and years passed, and I barely remarked or noticed it.

And then when we both lived in the flat in Crabble, we had a great view of the western half of the sky, and so we would notice the phases of the moon or a storm lighting it up. But it was the trip to Indonesian Papua that really swung it. When there was a new moon, or the week either side of it, the milky way was so clearly visible. But once the moon got to a quarter full, it bleached out so many of the stars. We actually marked on our calendars when the next new moon was, so we could go to the deck at midnight and just look at the sky.

Now we are in the house in St Maggies, little escapes our notice: the phases of the moon, where it rises and sets, plants and insects emerging, flowering. Its as though we are in tune with what is around us, sounds corny, but true. I write this because over the weekend we had the second full moon of the month, and we went hunting for a butterfly that I just know is on the wing now, and won't be in a few days. So, we just know.

As we walk the lanes, highways and byways, we see the autumnal fruit ripening, ready for gathering and making in to jam or other preserves, all ways of keeping the summer alive. And as the year turns here towards the end of high simmer, on the other side of the world, there must be hints of the forthcoming spring too.

Sunday.

With the orchid season winding down now, and just one species left to see, it does free up free time for other stuff. That there is other stuff will come as a surprise. But then this extra free time is coming along at the start of the football season which begins on Saturday! One of the butterfly species we have here is the Chalkhill Blue, and it loves the tops of the cliffs and the chalk downs that surrounds Dover. So, I thought that we could go out early on Sunday to snap the flighty buggers before the day got too warm and they might still be basking in the morning sunshine. Thing is, I forgot that quite early in the morning, our shadows would be very long, making sneaking up on the butterflies almost impossible to do.

It is a short drive to the National Trust's place on the cliffs, along Reach Road, which was very quiet now that the main roads are clear of queuing trucks, at least for one day at least. We go to the top overflow car park, and from there it is a short walk to Fox Hill Down, the very top, which overlooks the Castle and the town. A fine spot.

I see the bright blue butterflies either flying or basking, but as soon as I get close, they see my shadow and are off. I soon lose interest, so take shots of the harbour instead, and we walk back down to the car after a half hour's wandering about.

Back home we have breakfast, then think about how to fill the rest of the day. The truth we already know; trimming the hedges. We live high on the chalk downs, and it is windy here, almost always. Therefore, each house either has tall fences or hedges to buffer the wind. Thing with hedges is that they grow, and have to be kept under control. So, after some girding of loins, we get the electric shears out and begin trimming.

And after a few minutes, it is hot. After clearing a section, we stop to collect the clippings and bag them up. After an hour we had done half of one hedge running the length of the back garden. It is too hot to carry on. So, we stop and have iced squash whilst sitting inside sheltering from the sun.

After lunch we go back outside, and by three o'clock finish the hedge down one side of the garden. Phew. We have now filled all our plastic bags with clippings, and we don't want to use our lovely shiny new car to transport garden waste, what will we do? Will the other hedge get done?

At three, there is football to listen to, at least the Charity Shield, or whatever they're calling it this year. Arse v Chelski, its not going to be exciting, but I can lay on the sofa and rest my eyes. Yes, rest my eyes.

Zzzzzz.

Arse win. And Wenger and the Special One fail to shake hands and, well, this becomes the main story rather than the game. And so is the modern way. I switch of the radio before either of the mangers, old enough to know better, are given the chance to defend their actions.

We have pasta salad and cold aubergine for dinner. It is quick and easy to prepare, and there seems still enough for another meal tomorrow. How clever we are.