Monday 23rd November 2015

Sunday

It is some pleasure in not have to prepare for yet another trip to Denmark this weekend. I mean, as much fun and high living I might do, and meeting with friends and colleagues, it is tiresome, and by the end of last week, after three weeks on the bounce with being away, I was shattered. I wish I could have a real long lay in, so to feel rested. But most of the time I am awake before six. But these two weeks at home should give me a chance to recharge my batteries.

Saying that, we both laid in to quarter to eight on Sunday morning. The cats had long given up trying to rouse us and we just sleeping on the stairs waiting for us. Jools shook me awake, telling me I had already missed 20 minutes of MOTD and so missed the first game of the show, Liverpool thumping Citeh. But with the interwebs, there were already plenty of versions on You Tube. So I settled down to watch the rest of the games, Jools made me a coffee and fed the cats. All the important stuff.

The dreary weather last week meant we did not walk along the harbour. So, with bright sunshine forecast this Sunday, and the fact I needed to buy a birthday card for Jools, we returned.

Calling in at the Battle of Britain memorial, as their new centre has been opened; however, at half ten in the morning it seemed still locked, so somewhere else to return to.

We parked down by the harbour, and along the old fish market, the welk and winkle stalls were doing a steady trade, although their wares smell too fishy to me, especially before eleven on a Sunday morning.

Over the summer, the authorities had opened the old Harbour Arm for people to walk along, and I was hoping this would still be the case, but once we had walked past the old station and across the huge new car park, I could see the gates leading to the arm were locked fast.

Back round the harbour and up the Old High Street and up the main shopping street to find a card shop. Inside the shop I find a good card, then also get Christmas cards for Jools and Mum, meaning I won't forget until the last minute like last year. Waiting in line for the queue, I am quizzed by a kit in a pushchair with his Gran. Why did I have a camera? Why did I not have change.? His Nan said I had spent it all on coffee. And whisky I added, and the kid burst into laughter.

I go to find Jools, and together we walk back down the Old High Street to the car, then back along the old main road to Dover and to home. Time then for lunch, lunch of hand raised pork pies and a saffron bun each. Perfect.

We listen to the radio, Jools does some beading and I do some stuff with photographs. Football burbles away on the radio as I make a pot of chili; something I have not made for over a year now, and so with the old grey matter trying to remember my recipe. In the end, it came out OK, not too hot, which shows some wisdom as I grow older. Long gone are the days when I make it as hot as possible.

We decide to have a quiet night, away from any Scandinavian murders, at least for a week or so, and somehow we fritter the evening away, until it is time for bed, and as ever, the weekend has slipped through our fingers.