Saturday 22nd October 2016

Dawn rises over Chez Jelltex revealing three sleeping figures all accompanied by cats; seems like Scully thought that Steve should have a purring hot water bottle during the night and somehow managed to open the door and take position at his feet. He didn't seem to mind though.

Outside it is a bright if cool day, and we have a day of football and photography to look forward to. I cook bacon butties for us all, and that sweeps away the last traces of sleep and the bacon cooks. With our appetites attended to, it was time to get ready so Steve and I could go out to snap trans traveling over the new viaduct. For me it is the final stage of the project to snap the progress of the works on the sea wall, and for Steve the chance to see the panorama of the town and harbour for the cliffs.

I know the times by hear now, so I allow us 20 minutes to drive to Aycliffe and to climb the cliff path to be in place for the first of the two Javeins, this one coming from London, so there would be no warning until we could see it far below.

Work is still ongoing to replace the rock armour against the remains of the sea wall, and protect what is left of the beach. Still, the footbridge has not been replaced, I suspect the final thing to be done once public access to the beach is allowed once all the heavy plant has gone.

We stay to watch the up service round the corner from Dover Town, then accelerate towards us before vanishing under our feet into Shakespeare Tunnel.

We walk back to his car, and from Aycliffe I direct him to Folkestone Harbour so we can have a look at the old station and branch line; he was last there on a tour just before the line closed.

We park at the bottom of the OLd High Street, and walking over to the viaduct, I am nearly run over by some tattooed fuckwit driving an old Corsa, I don't say anything, but hold my hands up to indicate "what the heck?" "Fuck off" he shouts out of the wind, oh why don't you I shout back. He stops thinking with his two braincells whether he should come over and thump me. He decides against it as Steve and I have walked on. We don't see him again.

It is low tide, and the whole fishing fleet is beached, or mudded, high and dry, with fishermen getting their craft ready for the next tide and one hardy soul is digging for lugworms, apparently by spreading mud up his waterproofs, or that's how it looks as he is so muddy.

We walk to the station and find that it has received a coat of paint in places; little has been cleared and with the old footbridge now gone, it looks open, and derelict, but not quite as bad as before. Works from the various triennials are still in place, which make a nice counterpoint to the decay around. At the far end of the station a footpath has been made to join up with the harbour arm, and on that, huge amount of work had been done in renovating much of the infrastructure. Under the rusty awning I saw last time, the gaps between the clumns had been filled in, and a cafe and seafood bar have been built, they have yet to open, but there is the smell of fresh seafood in the air.

At the far end of the pier, under the shadow of the lighthouse, a champagne bar had been set up, decorated with nautical bric-a-brac, although closed, I am sure it did great business in the summer and through the warm September we had. Chairs and tables were all about and would be nice to sip champers here on a warm summer evening.

We walk back to the car and then drive back to Dover to stop at St Martins for the panoramas over Dover Harbour. It is warm here too, high up on the chalk cliffs, and we can survey the work Dover Harbour Board is doing in wiping out the last traces of the hoverport in creating a new freight termonal they may no longer have funding from Europe for. A jackhammer is thumping away, giving the day a 30bpm kind of soundtrack.

Back home we have lunch and listen to the first half of the early game before Jools takes us to Crabble for the game. We arrive at ten past two, and after a steep climb from the road to the ground, we pay £15 each to get in, and inside a neat little ground with a new stand almost complete is revealed. As is the sloping pitch, sloping from right to left at about 5%, would make things interesting.

Over a thousand are inside the ground at kick off, and once the direction of play is decided, we swap ends, walking at the foot of the main stand to the far end, so we can cheer on Braintree in attack.

Braintree take the lead after ten minutes of "hoofball". The fans celebrate like they have won the cup. After which is one of the most remarkable half hours I have seen for some time, as Braintree seem to have a brainfreeze at the back, and manage to gift Dover 5 goals before half time, either from defensive or goalkeeping mistakes. Every chance goes in, and the fans around me are in a state of shock as each goal goes in.

It seems likely there will be double figures, especially after halftime, when we have all walked to the other end of the ground: Dover score a sixth and heads really have dropped. But Dover took their foot of the gas pedal, and Braintree come back into it, getting close on half a dozen occasions, but fail to find the net. 6-1 is the final score, and all from Essex are shellshocked. Dusk is falling as we file out of the ground, but the Braintree manager comes to the corner of the ground to appologise to all the Braintree fans he can reach. A nice touch.

We walk up Crabble Hill, round the bend and to where our old flat was by the traffic lights. Its still there and seems a lifetime ago we left there. We wait down the hill outside the Three cups, a pub I only have set foot inside on our wedding day as Mike and I waited for the limousine. No time to go back in, so we wait outside and a guy walking past asks us the score. He also informs me that Norwich had managed to lose 1-0 to Preston at home, making the football day complete.

She drives us home, and once inside I get cracking making dinner. I have been ambitious. A few weeks back when I went to the butchers, they had a rack of lamb, I bought it in anticipation that Mike and Jane would come round. They didn't, so OI thought I would do it for us. Earlier in the day I had basted the outside of both racks with spiced oil I made myself, then left them to marinate over the afternoon. Once in the oven I make the bejeweled stuffing, with I cook separately. Some steamed vegetables and finally some flavoured cous cous to round it off.

Now, even if I say so myself, this was a stunning meal, worthy of being in a restaurant, wonderful flavours which went together well, and the meat cooked to a turn. Oh man, that was mighty fine.

We are stuffed, fit for sitting on the sofa watching the final Gardener's World of the year. We keep our eyes open, just. But steve drops off during the football on 5 from nine. He is snoring well by ten, so it is an easy choice to head to bed at that point.