Saturday 25th March 2017

Yes, the weekend comes round. And this weekend, yes, this weekend, the sun was going to shine both Saturday and Sunday, and due to Jools going to that London with Jen, I was home alone from about half ten in the morning util the evening.

And there was another reason to celebrate this day, as it felt like the last day of winter, as that night clocks would go forward one hour, making it lighter in the evenings, darker in the mornings, and a sure sign that those long dark nights of winter were behind us.

But for now, the sun rose in an almost clear blue sky, soon banishing the reds and pinks from the sky.

I am away in Belgium all week, which means I need a car, and to ensure a quick getaway on Monday morning, I am collecting the car at eight. Jools drops me off, and then goes to Tesco, meaning two chores done at the same time. Everything is pre-booked, so should just go in and sign, but the green card has been forgotten again. And the new bug behind the desk had only written one once before. He calls someone up to talk him through it, which isn't so bad, as I can look around at those who are waiting for the next sailing to Calais. They are waiting because they are foot passengers, and need the port bus to take them to the dock. They are a mixed bunch, not that I am judging people, but I am sure there is a good reason to go by foot; that there is a super rail service the other side being one I guess. As I wait they are called to the bus, and the waiting area, and Costa Coffee are empty, ready for their next influx in a couple of hours.

I am given a VW Golf, nothing special, but it is higher spec than our old Polo, and once I had checked and driven it out of the port, it pulled well up Jubilee Way, passing a line of trucks whilst still in third gear. I leave it outside the house, and wait for Jools to come back with the shopping so we can have breakfast, then she get ready for the trip to London. I am to pick up Jen, then drop them at Martin Mill, and then collect them some ten hours later. What high jinx can I get up to in ten hours?

At ten Jools and I get in the car, drive to Whitfield to collect Jen. Tony wasn't home, so there was very little small chat before we could all get back in the car and drive back to Martin. At least it was a fine day, so I was able to drop them off so they could try to print off their tickets from the machine, and then sit in the sunshine on the platform. Only, I had forgotten my mobile, or the work mobile, so if there had been problems, they could not have contacted me.

Instead of going back to the Deal road, I take the back road way through West Langdon, taking my time going down the narrow lanes that ducked and dived through the landscape, comin in time to the bridge over the Sandwich road, and into Waldershare.

Waldershare has a small church, which is under the care of the Church Conservation Trust; it is worth a visit on its own. But the church yard has a dazzling display of snowdrops earlier in the year, and if you walk through the churchyard, you find a footpath leading over an avenue of trees, then on into an ancient wood.

All along the footpath, there was signs of new life, green growth, meaning trees and shrubs were also coming back to life, not just the spring bulbs and flowers. Just over the avenue of trees, the ground was covered in a carpet of wood anemones; small woodland flowers, easily overlooked, but glorious if you look closely at a single flower. But where there are hundreds together, they make a wonderful sight. I mean, I say this about o so many flowers and orchids, but I do mean it.

I get down onto the ground to get really close to them, and to get a shot as they merge into a white line before the darkness of the woods stops them.

Further on, the wood closes round, and once you go down a gentle slope, the plants on the ground change, and the pungent smell in the air gives their identity away, but I knew they were here anyway. Ramsoms, or Wild Garlic, grows untamed in the wood, growing so thick it looks like a crop under the trees, which is what it could be, harvested I mean. But there is just a narrow path through leading to another old avenue, made when the nearby grand house was new, now the avenue is overgrown and the view at the end hidden by fallen trees and overgrown vegetation.

I try a couple of the leaves to get a garlic hit. It is really intense, especially the first one, coming so soon after cleaning my teeth after breakfast. I take many shots, most won't be used, but it feels right to take them anyway. In a month or so, they will flower, and the green carpet will turn white. Another sight to go back to see. And photograph.

I go back to the car, and think what to do next. A friend of mine on Flickr has been posting shots of churchyards in the north of the county, filled with daffodils and other spring flowers. So, I thought I would go to a few in the local area. Taking the road down to Eythorne, I turn west to go to Coldred, thinking if the churchyard didn't have any bulbs, then the village green would. I was to be disappointed, as the churchyard is dominated by a hedge-lined path, and the green, although had daffodils, just a few scattered clumps. I stop to take a snap of the avenue of trees, each with a island of daffs at their feet, before crossing the A2 to Lydden.

Lydden church was standing smartly, apparently its churchyard having just been cleared of vegetation, and looking like a well kept garden. But no daffs!. I went on.

Just up the hill is an nature reserve, and in one part there are orchids growing. Too early to see a flowering spike, but there is a campaign to photograph each species all through their lifecycle, so I thought I would check on the Man Orchids. I park in the central reservation, not really allowed, but the road is quiet enough, and after grabbing my camera, I walk over to the fence and climb over the stile.

After some looking around, I see a small emerging rosette, more than I was expecting, so I snap that.

And yet a few feet further along, there was a much larger rosette with a spike starting to form. I was more than happy to get that. A bus passes by, and I am looked at from the passengers, probably wondering what I was doing on a chalk bank looking like the same back that ran for a mile on either side of where I was, only this one has orchids on. But the bus was gone, leaving just a cloud of fumes.

I have all afternoon to myself, but I have things to do back home, so I think I should go and get some lunch. So, I brave the chaos that is Tesco at lunchtime. I have the scanner so can go in get what I want and be out, but it is packed, like Christmas Eve, and all are standing around talking, leaving their trolleys abandoned so others can't get past. I am in and out in ten minutes, laden with rolls, cheese and tomatoes, as I have dinner as well.

Back home I make two rolls for lunch, filled with pastrami, boil the kettle for a huge brew, and so can have lunch and review the shots from the morning at the same time.

A few months ago, my friend in New Zealand met two round the world cyclists who hailed from Kent. And since seeing the shots he took, I had been following The Tandem Men as they made their world to central America then to Africa on their last leg home, arriving in Europe last week, then coming through France and Spain before landing in Portsmouth on Friday. Anyway, I said if I was free I would go and welcome them home, and as it had been several months since I had been in Canterbury, decided to go.

Also there was the gardens beside the Stour at Westgate which I thought should be worth a photo or two. Only problem would be finding a place to park, but I hoped I could find somewhere near St Augustine's, then walk to the city centre. Which is what I did, I got the last space in the car park, and for four pounds twenty, would be OK until after six.

From there I walked down Monastery Street, past the two ancient gatehouses to get some shots, and to walk a different into the city.

The old College is now an annex to the public school, but is good to look at, especially with a large tree in blossom contrasting to the red bricks and peg tiles.

In the city centre, it is packed, as was to be expected, but it really was jammed with people, even more so when I went down the old High Street, now pedestrianised, but rammed with people, so think it wasn't pleasant. But down here i could see Westgate over the heads of the crowds, and beside that would be the gardens.

I find a new record shop to look in, but with pay day not until Monday, best not linger.

Under Westgate and out the other side, and the Stour really was a picture, shallow and fast flowing, but weeds had turned the water looking green, and two enterprising people had set up a punting business, and were taking folks down the river at a leisurely pace. Made for a mighty fine picture, or so I hoped.

I walk back to the Buttercross to see if there were any preparations. I take an indirect route, and find time to call into a pub for a pint. In truth, a disappointing place for a drink, opposite the new Marlowe Theatre. It really caters for the theatre crowd. And soon enough, the pub which I had had to myself, was full of voices as people vied to get served, and looking out at the theatre, I saw dozens of people puffing on real and electric cigarettes. Must have been interval in a matinee performance.

Ten minutes later they had all gone, and silence returned. I drained my glass and left myself.

Back at the Buttercross, I found no preparations, but a few furtive people with plastic flags and banners. I listened in on their conversation, and realised they were the cyclist's family.

As time went on, more people arrived, and soon there must have been a hundred of us. One of their Mums said we should form two lines so they could cycle between us. And then we waited, other people going about their business wondered what we were doing, blocking one of the main streets in the city.

People tried to find where the boys were, there seemed to be no news. A phone call revealed them to be in Blean, maybe ten or so minutes away.

We waited. Five came and went. Quarter past five also passed. Half past crept by, ten more minutes was the shout. By this time, the shoppers and tourists had thinned, but in the distance we could see a group of cyclists. Was this their escort.

Then they were spotted, riding along, bouncing over the cobbles, and then they were on us, cheers went up, Mums burst into tears, and they went past and into the Cathedral precinct. 18500 miles done and dusted. Friends and family followed them, and I took my leave, needing to get back to the car before I collected a ticket.

I drove home, a pleasure to be out in the golden hour, making my way home.

I feed the cats, put the radio on and prepare dinner; insalata caprese and two cheese twists breads. I popped open another bottle of Belgian beer and sat down to eat, outside the light failed and the sky turned red.

At twenty to seven, Jools calls, they would be back at eight, yes, I would pick them up. So, I was waiting at the station in the dark as the train glided in, and a few minutes later Jools and Jen emerged from the underpass, climbed itno the car. Yes, they had a good day. Stomp was good, and the Japanese Restaurant at Crossrail Place was good, but they had no idea what they ate.

I take Jen home, then Jools and i back home, going back via KFC as they had not eaten since lunch, so I joined her in a messy Louisiana sandwich, which looked wonderful in the picture. Once home and I got it out of the carton, it looked a mess, like all the other sandwiches they do. Oh well, and the thought is never as good as the experience.