Sunday 9th October 2016

We woke up to the sound of rain falling, around us, three cats snoozed waiting for breakfast. Apart from the rain and gentle purring of the cats, there was silence.

Once we were up, the sun rose away in the south east, a gap in the clouds allowed its red light flood the land with rose-coloured light before the clouds snuffed it out. In the garden, plants and flowers aere turning brown, at least at the edges of their leaves as the year gets ever older.

There was no football to watch, so I was free, free to listen to the radio, edit shots, or talk to Jools. Jools was upstairs, gathering our souvenirs from Japan, the wrapping paper, tickets, menus and all the other tiny things, so wonderfully designed that we collected around Japan. I took the menus and updated the blogs again, all coming together nicely.

The weather was supposed to get out, so a little before nine we set out for Barham, to the wood we like, not that I expected to see a Ghost, too late and almost certainly not in Kent. But just to be out and about, maybe see some fungi, some wildlife, just to be out.

We put on our walking boots at the parking place; with dark clouds gathering over head, we set off. Up the bridleway, slipping and sliding in the mud caused by the recent rain. Sunlight fell through the treetops, dappling the ground, now covered with freshly fallen leaves.

As we reached the top of the down, the clouds broke, and we could hear rain hitting the tops of the trees far above, but on the forest floor, we stayed dry.

At the edge of the wood, the clouds break and sunlight falls through the sheets of falling rain; a glorious sight. I go to take a shot, but nothing can do that light and colours justice.

I see a few fungi, but not much. I snap a few, we walk back to the car, then drive home, back along the A2, back in time for tea and short cakes. Which is about as good as a lunch as you can get.

I am given the task of finding accommodation for us on next year's trip to Wyoming. Its a tough job as most places are full. But I get us cabins in Yellowstone and Big Horn National Forest, which means there are just three nights to book now, and we're all set.

At two we drive into town to visit Trish at the Rack of Ale. There was promise of green beer, made with fresh hops. But Ripple say its a bit lively and can't be moved, so its next week now. Anyway, I have a pint of brown ale, then a pint of Pale Ale. This is a fine Sunday.

Jools takes us home, back along the cliff road and its fine views over the Channel to France.

Its odd with no football on the radio, I write, edit some shots, then prepare dinner. Breaded chicken and fried jacket spuds. Always a winner. ANd it all comes out perfect, the potatoes so darned crispy on the outside, yet light and fluffy inside. I coat them in Dutch mayo and am in frit heaven.

The day is done, the sun sets and I have to field a call from Mum. Highlight of the week was her smoke detector was changed. We talk for four minutes and 25 seconds. Task over for another week.

And tomorrow, I travel again; back to Denmark. Its all go.