Wednesday 17th May 2017

I am writing this on Wednesday evening. Outside it is pouring with rain, and in the living room Tony is trying to rent a car for two more weeks in Scotland once out stay at the cottage is over. This is my last night at home for nine days, as tomorrow Tony and I are staying in London, and then on Friday we are sleeping on a train before arriving on Scotland and making our way to the cottage on Skye.

It is the end of another fine spring day here in east Kent, we have done some great things, details of which to follow.

Asking Tony what he might like to do, he said he would like to go to Dover Castle, and as it several years since I went, seemed like a mighty fine idea to me. And with an opening time of ten, it meant a slow start to the day before the short drive into town to the entrance.

As we have breakfast, and Tony hangs the clothes out to dry and I make pasta salad for dinner, the clouds begin to clear and weak sunshine begins to break through. The cats have made themselves scarce, so it is quiet in the house, except for the sound of fingers banging on keyboards as we both upload shots to various social media sites.

So, at ten to ten we set off, driving to the Duke of Yorks then along to the castle, joining the short line of cars waiting to enter, then the set of lights that allowed four cars a time to cross the drawbridge. We drive over and round two hairpin bends to the car park. It is now a glorious day, twenty five degrees and with barely a cloud in the sky.

We go to the entrance, I get to go in free as I'm a member of English Heritage, Tony has to pay, and they offer him extended membership for a month, which he refuses. But then they do this to every visitor, I knw that as the day goes on I will hear their patter, all said with a smile.

Tiny and I split up, as I have a list of things to snap, most important is St Mary in Castro and the Roman lighthouse next door. I climb up the steep path through an ancient gateway, taking the path that continues to climb until I come huffing and puffing to the church door. It is open, and I am first one here, so I can go round getting the shots I want, detailing the mosaics on the wall, and great details.

More people come in, but I am done, so I can leave and get out back into the sunshine, so I can walk along the upper battlement walls, to get the views over to the National Trust place, and Reach Road. I was alone up there, and was wonderful, but I could hear the noise of a group of schoolchildren approaching behind me, so I keep ahead of them and make my way down to the Admiral Ramsey statue, where i can sit on a picnic bench and look out over the great views of the town and promenade.

I walk up to the great tower, to take more shots inside, making for the spiral staircase that I san snap with the wide angle lens. The King's chambers are dark, but I take shots and they come out fine, or as much as I can tell in reviewing them.

I take refuge in the cafe, and have a bottle of old fashioned lemonade and a muffin, joining people only a few years older than me who are complaining about the tea.

Back outside, French students are shouting down insults from the top of the keep, and an American makes a Holy Grail reference, so I mutter, and your Mother smelt of elderberries, which he laughed at.

It was midday, and I had an hour to kill before Tony was due to meet me back at the car, so I sit near the entrance and watch people come and go, and the staff sell them enhanced memberships.

Tony arrives dead on time, but it turns out he spent most of his time queuing for the tunnel tours, and had seen nothing of the keep or tower. I felt bad.

We go back home for lunch of fruit smoothie and to check our shots. And then we go out to Deal for an encore visit to the narrow lanes leading off Middle Street.But before then we go for a walk along the pier, and I insist we get an ice cream for that whole "British seaside experience". Only, instead of Mr Whippy, we have handmade artisan ice cream in waffle cones. THen we can walk along the pier, taking in the fine afternoon, and hardly a breeze to ruffle out hair. At the end, Tny walks round the cafe twice, so to confuse his online keep fit tracker.

We back to shore, then to Middle Street walking along so Tony can take some snaps.

Finally we walk down to where the fishing boats had been dragged onto shore, and now wildflowers grow between the machinery, and yet this is still a working, well, harbour. I sit and do some more people watching, especially the road rage of someone driving the wrong way up a one way street, and swearing long and loudly whenever anyone tells the young lady what she was doing was wrong.

The walk over, we go home and I make plans with Jools to drop the hire car off, and her pick me up to take me home.

These salad days are coming to an end, and tomorrow we head to the bright lights and hard streets of London town. Tony helps me egg and breadcrumb the sliced aubergine, then I shallow fry them, so by seven we have a fine feast, along with several bottles of silly strong Belgian beer. As is the way.

And Tony is still trying to hire the car, and has now resorted to phoning up.

News when we get it.