Friday 10th February 2017

Jools works until just two on a Friday, thus to get through all the tasks I wanted to do, I would have to work quickly. That including not sleeping through the alarm, getting up to make sure Jools made the train for work. That done, I could go back home to have coffee, a bowl of Bran Flakes and wait for the time to go to Tesco came round. In the end rather than wait until eight so I could scan, I thought I would just it over with, so mixed in with the early rush hour traffic, and that coming from the port.

I whizz round Tesco, scooping stuff from the aisles, including ingredients for a meal I was going to cook that night, but more about that in a minute. I fond an almost empty till out of the two (!) that were open, pack and pay for the shopping.

Once home, I put all the shopping away, and get down to make some tomato sauce. Yes, you read that right too. See, through December we had caught the re-runs of Rick Stein's Long Weekend series, and were taken with many of the recipes, so we bought the book, and I planned to make the one that leapt out of me; baked pasta with beef and pork ragu. I decided to only have one sort of meat in the end, but the rest would be as per the book. First of all was to make the tomato sauce which is the base for many Italian recipes. Two tins of chopped tomatoes, some garlic and olive oil. Cook for half an hour, whizz with the blender, and it was done. And even if I say so myself, it looked great. And the smell of the frying garlic cloves filled the house.

But no time to stop to savour that, I must get going. At half nine I am out of the house, driving to Dover to try to get a haircut. Once in thew chair, no waiting needed, I find that the new barber, a lady, if also an amatuer photographer. So we spend a very pleasant half an hour chatting about cameras and exposure modes. Much better than the blokes who were chatting about violent video games.

I pay and then drive to Priory Hill, a place I had not been to before. But I had heard that workmen had cleared undergrowth, meaning that the station below was visible from there once again, something that had been hidden for over 20 years. Dover is built in a steep valley, and near the centre the rows of terrace houses cling to the hillside, sometimes twisting and turning, with modern life meaning that parked cars almost block the narrow streets. It is for this reason, partly, that we moved from the flat at Crabble, to have a drive we could park on, as much for being in the countryside and peace and quiet.

Anyway, I find a place to park, get the camera out, get my shot and am back in the car in under two minutes, then have to try and find my way out of the labyrinth maze of dead end streets and courtyards. In the end I retrace my steps back down to Ladywell, and take the London Road to Crabble, past the old flat to Kearsney and finally onto the Alkham Valley road to Folkestone.

All is brown once again, spring seems so close, and yet far away, especially on such a grey and gloomy day. Onto the motorway before turning off into what will soon be orchid country. On Thursday I had missed a church out from my list, so decide to go there and see if it was open. In the county A-Z, it seemed to be another place at a bend in a lane, less than a village really, and one expects there to be a tiny chapel of ease or small church for a community so small.

The narrow lane takes me on a rollercoaster of a ride, down hills at 15%, back up the other side, past farms and hamlets, I take the final turn towards the village, and despite there being no village, just a farm, there is the church, one of the largest in Kent, set back from the road built of flint and ragstone. It has a triple gabled east end, with the chancel in the middle of course. A classic example how the basic Normal two cell church had been expanded over the years.

Much to my delight, the church is open, and the bank of light switches easy to find. So I light up the church, and gegin to snap away, with it being domminated by memorials to the local landed family, of course. It was them that created at least one of the side chapels I suppose.

I take near on a 100 shots, and I am happy with that. I make a circle of the outside of the church, checking for blocked windows and doors, before gong back to the car, shivering in the chilly keen east wind. THere was promise of snow in the afternoon, and it was easy to believe, it felt cold enough.

Into the car and driving along the valley, I soon come to a familiar area, Yocklett's bank. I take a turn up the down back to the main road, passing by the layby where soon I will be using in order to hunt the early Fly Orchids. I take the road back to the motorway, then across driving into the coastal town of Hythe, as I was to collect Jools at two. It was now just after half twelve, enough time for one more church. I park at one end of the town, then begin the long climb up streets too steep to have cars, to the church sitting high on a bluff overlooking the town.

I had been here before, to visit the ossuary under the chancel, but inside the church a wedding was under way. So, this was one I had not visited or photographed.

Up and up I go, huffing and puffing. Even when I got to the church gate, there were two more flights into the porch and another into the church itself. Phew. The church itself is massive, and it must have been quite a task to create a fairly level space on the side of the hill for the church. The chancel is accessed by climbing yet more steps. But is worth the effort. A heavily Victorianised church, but with plenty of pleasing architecture to keep you interested.

I get back to the car at ten past one, just time to pop into Waitrose for a couple of things I had forgotten from Tesco. It is an expensive place, filled with wonderful and tempting things. I keep my eye on just the butter and yoghurt we needed, paid for them and escaped without being lured into buying otter's noses or something.

To the factory, arriving just after half one, 30 minutes to wait, but with Radcliffe and Maconie on the radio. I find myself bopping my head along to Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, Arcade Fire and The New York Dolls. The half hour soon passes, Jools comes out and the weekend can begin.

We drive home back along the motorway, then along the Alkham Valley to home, arriving home just before three, and just as the first snow flurries began to fall.

After making coffee, there is the rest of the recipe to make. Fry onions, more garlic, add the meat, wine and then the tomato sauce, let simmer for half an hour or so. Boil the pasta, mix in the saucepan with the ragu, pour into a pan lines with breadcrumbs and grated Italian cheese. Pat down, sprinkle with more breadcrumbs and cheese, pop into the oven and bake for 45 minutes or until brown and crispy.

I dish up, and it is marvelous. I mean really now too tomatoey at all, just bloody lovely.

There is TOTP from 1983, all Bananarama, Bonnie Tyler, jazz funk, Bucks Fizz and The Style Council. Finally, there is a fab documentary on Chrissie Hynde which reminds us not only how great a musician she is, but what a wonderful person she is too.

Outside, the snow carries on falling, and looks like it is settling too. As I watch the Chrissie Hynde doc, there is a fox sitting in the garden about ten feet away from me, eating peanuts left by the birds and keeping an eye on me. He seemed happy with the situation, he is there for about ten minutes before fading away into the night. In fact, this is the third time this has happened this week, maybe he just likes to watch TV through the front window.........