Since beginning the church project in 2009, some local churches have become something of a challenge to get into. Betteshanger I managed to get into last September and now it was the turn of Preston, leaving just Whitfield of the East Kent parish churches to have evaded my lens.
Having all but given up with the church being open during the Heritage Weekend or Ride and Stride, I resorted to e mail via the CofE website, a "A Church Near You" and much to my surprise I got a rely, and after a couple of days of mails going back and forward, the time of midday on Thursday was agreed. I just had to hope that Nigel would remember to come. As it was, the Lady of the Manor house, opposite, was eyeing me with suspicion, and clearly the harder I tried to act like I should be there, the more suspicious I became.
The day had begun with Jools getting ready for work, and me faffing around, but in time also getting ready to pick up the hire car at ten. I had hoped that the guys would arrive to work early so they could drop me off down the docks, a few minutes drive away, but by half nine they had not arrived, leaving me no option but to call for a taxi. Needless to say once the cab was on its way, they turned up demanding tea.
The taxi came and took me down the hill to the docks. I signed so many pieces of paperwork, but in the process booked the car not just for the weekend but for the trip over to Belgium next week too.
I drive myself back home, load the car and say goodbye to the boys and the cats.
But before heading north to the past, I had that date in Preston. So, back over the marshes and then down the dead end lane to Preston Manor, and a wait. In order to make sure I did get the key, I was early. Very early. But there was the radio to listen to, and me just hope that Nigel would come.
He arrived at quarter to midday, and after exchanging some pleasantries, he gave me the key, and I was free to go inside. Was it worth the wait? Probably not, but it has enough unusual features to keep me interested and to take 70 or so shots.
Once I was done, I had to take the key to Ash to post it in Nigel's house, which was the least I could do, really. Then from there it was a short drive to the main road to Sandwich and then up to Manston and onto the Thanet Way again. But this time, I was going to stay on it all the way to the M25 at Dartford.
I cruised up, not going too fast, just enjoying the open road, even when the traffic got heavier at Ebbsfleet. Most of us manouvered to get onto the M25, then down into the tunnel beneath the river. NO worries at all. Along to the A12 junction, at which point all was going well until some Oriental woman (no racist reason for remarking on this, just that she was), in a soupled up Mini, in the wrong lane, turning at the last moment without indication, causing all other cars to scatter out the way.
After that, it was calm again as I headed north into deepest Essex, but all the time in bright sunshine making it very pleasant, and with the digital radio on to Radcliffe and Maconie, the trip whizzed by.
Over the border into Suffolk, round Ipswich and over the Orwell Bridge and then into the boodocks of rural Suffolk. Even on the A12, the train of vehicles I was in snaked along at 40mph.
I had had no lunch, no coffee and so was parched, so I thought maybe I might be able to visit the church in Saxmundaham which was locked when I last tried, and surely there would be somewhere to eat? Not only that, Saxmundham has a Waitrose, and a large branch of Costa, both of which were a minute walk from the church.I saw the church on a slight rise above me, catching the last of the rays of the afternoon sun. It looked pretty as a picture, so I rushed over to snap it before the light failed. I was standing in middle of the wide path leading to the church, snapping the scene when I became aware of something behind me. It was the vicar in his car. But he smiled as I moved out of the way. He then met me at the porch and advised me to go inside quickly to see the afternoon light in the south and west side windows.
He was right, the light was magical, and the shots of the glass came out well indeed. Once I had snapped the church from all angles, I walk back down to Costa to have a very late lunch, pigs in blankets panini, a mince pie and a large amoretto latte with an extra shot. My goodness that was good.
Darkness was by now not far away, so best to press on to Oulton Broad and the hotel.
I arrived at half four, it was just about dark, and the traffic was heavy, but was moving and was able to turn off at the mini roundabout after the locks and park up. I last stayed here many, many years ago to spend my first wedding night. Now I was hoping for the fine views of the Broad and railway bridge I had then, but found I had an attic room, but with a double bed and a skylight that if I stood on tippytoes I could see over the rooftops to the railway bridge.
I listened to the radio, relaxing the only way you can when you have deliberatly left behind the laptop and mobile phone behind, to have three days off the grid. Although at times time would weigh heavy on me, but then there was always a pub!
At half seven, I go down to see what was on offer in the hotel, and I find a fine looking carvery. But, some of the vegetables looked a little dried out. Even still, roast beef and all the trimmings and a pint of Woodforde's too.
Lovely.
I retire to my room and find Family Guy doing Star Wars was on. That'll do, pig.
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