Sunday 30th July 2016

Kent is blessed to being the home of over half the native orchid species of Britain; indeed some only grow here. Some species are large, of showy, or blousey or all of the three. Or none of the three. Whilst each of us orchidphiles might have a favourite, for whatever reason, it is hard to imagine that anyone really is in love with the Green Flowered Helleborine.

It is a medium size orchid, has green flowers (as its name suggests) but as it self-pollinates, these flowers rarely open at all. IN the several visits I have been to the one public site in Kent, I have never seen a flower open. But hope springs eternal, and so we set off yesterday with hope in our hearts. Or at least mine.

We had already eaten breakfast, had two coffees, which wasn't such a good idea. As well as checked the traffic on the interwebs. I even remembered my camera, and so we were all set.

The decision on the second coffee was proven to be a bad one as we had to stop at maidstone services before pressing on to Swanley, then turning back south and into the Darent Valley.

The orchids live on a short section of chalk bank, about ten metres by one, either side of a lay by on a busy trunk road. In one of those quirks of fate, opposite the site is the lodge of a house once owned by one of the Victorian era's greatest orchid hunters; coincidence? Maybe.

Anyway, there were about thirty spikes, all had flowers but none were open, as ever. So I take a few shots, I'm sure getting odd look from people driving past. As last year I tell myself that this would be the last time I, or we, make this journey, a 130 mile round trip to see such disappointing orchids. But then, there's always next year.

It was a short drive down the main road to the next port of call; a church.

Shoreham shares it's name with a seaside resort in Sussex, but this Shoreham in Kent is a small village on the banks of the River Darent, spanned by an ancient two arch bridge. It's roads and streets were narrow and lined with parked cars, so we had to drove right through it before Jools could drop me off and I walk back to the church, armed with cameras and lenses. Well, camera now.

Approach to Ss. Peter and Paul is along a narrow fir tree lined path which went right past the porch. I turned left and through the gap in the trees, into the porch and through into the church beyond.

I was here as Shoreham church has an almost complete rood screen and loft, with the stars complete with doors also in place and could be used, it is a window into the dim and distant past when just about every church before the puritans would have had something very similar. The screen is six and a half feet wide at the top, and is finely carved, and worth the trip up on its own.

The wardens and other volunteers are doing the weekly clear, making new flower arrangements, so it is all looking and sounding busy. I take my shots, and once done and spoken to each of the people, I take my leave as Jools was due to be at the lych gate at twenty past ten.

She drives up, with our one car blocking the road, I throw my bag in the boot, climb in and we drive away.

The plan had been to go to Hever castle; but with the poor weather, much worse than expected, and the fact that in researching the place that morning, jOols found that there was an international jousting competition one, and therefore could be crowded. We decided not to go to Hever after all, and save that for later in the summer.

We programmed the sat nav for home, but soon decided we should maybe find a place for lunch. It was way too early round here, but by the time we drive to east Kent, and up Stone Street, we might reach Lower Hardres at midday, just in time for lunch in the village pub. Yes, that sounded like a very good idea.

Traffic on the motorway was mad, as you would expect on the second Saturday of the school holidays, but then we were in no hurry, so cruised down to Ashford before turning up Stone Street before we reached Folkestone. A 20 minute drive through the countryside brought us to The Granville Arms, where we hoped to have a ploughman's or something nice and light. They had no ploughman's on, but sid a good line in salads; so a Waldorf for Jools and a Greek one for me, and we were set.

Once back outside, it looked brighter, so I asked if Jools wouldn't mind a short walk to look for some orchids... Ahem. She didn't mind, and the place I had in mind was only a ten minute drive away. And from there a twenty minute walk along a woodland path.

Thing is, we usually are only here in spring, so to come in high summer was strange; the trees on either side had formed a roof with their leaves, and what was once a well lit woodland floor was now lost in darkness and shade. The wide track, wide enough for a lorry, was now so overgrown it was just wide enough for one person to pass in places. And it was quiet.

No sound, other than our breathing and footsteps could be heard.

We saw plenty of insects feeding on the summer plants; bees, wasps and butterflies; Green Veined Whites, Speckled Woods, Marbeled Whites, Gatekeepers and so on. Many of which I snapped.

We reached the bank, and after some searching we found some spikes, but only two in flower, it seems this is a very late season indeed, compared to other years. I took shots, but the less friendly insects had started to bite and feed. We decided to beat a quick retreat back to the car, and then go home.

Thankfully, the traffic was lighter than last week, and so we were able to use the main road back to Whitfield then back home, arriving home just in time for an ice cream, and sit in the back garden looking at our little piece of England.

Later in the evning I cook steak and ale pie, using the left over gravy from last week's beef. Needless to say, it is lovely, steamed vegetables and roast potatoes.

For some reason, we were shattered, and struggled to stay awake through a documentary of Tutankhamen.

Phew, rock and roll.