Sunday 30th July 2017

We realise that we have one more weekend before, you know, the trip, so with time running out to get stuff done, we, er, go to a chili fair. Now, I'm not sure why its called the chili fair, other than on the fair's Faceache page, it suggested the purchasing of many different chili sauces could be made.

At it did not begin until ten, or that's when the gates opened, we have something like 3 hours to kill before we set out on the 15 minute drive to Coldred.

So, coffee, bacon and music on the i player. And outside the sun shone. Or did, once the clouds cleared and became almost summery. Is that a word? Apparently it is.

Bacon from the butchers, fresh brews and lazing about. I think, Jools wan't that thrilled with going to the fair, can't see why not; vintage cars, vintage tractors and stalls selling tat; sounded a wonderful. I mean it was at least 5 years since I last went, enough for the memory of that visit to fade, so we left light of heart and high in expectations. Much to my surprise was that there was no extra traffic about; maybe we were early, or it wouldn't be that popular.

Anyway, we arrive at Coldred, park in what was once a grassy field opposite, but now was turning to mud thanks to the rain the day before. We park and slither to the road, cross over and then wait in line behind a few folks for the gates to open at ten.

We paid our eight quid each, am allowed inside, and then, wander round.

First up was the line up of vintage cars, among which was a mk V Cortina, the very same model I owned twice as a young bloke. Is that what will happen now, things I remember now becoming "vintage"? It was bad enough to see bomb disposal landrovers at the museum at Manston, I had been driving those 5 years previously, but a lovely Cortina? Anyway, the Cortina Crusader was a lovely motor, Ghia trim and four forward gears and one reverse. It was in great condition, as were all the cars to be honest.

We walk pass some mini traction engines that were being fired up. Not sure what the point of them were for, either real working engines, or facsimiles of the full sized ones. Or both. People had brought caravans to the site along with their engines, camping it up, as it were. And they looked happy enough, many of them sipping brews as the steam pressure built.

A "Wall of Death", every hour on the hour, first show at eleven: check watches, 55 minutes away, unlikely we shall still be on site we think.

People are walking to a row of tractors, ranging from monster to little more than sit on mowers. We find out they were, in fact, sit on mowers, with no blades. Many had been polished, and looked fine in the sun, engines were started, or handles cranked, and one by one they trundled into the display arena.

We stop to watch the leaders do a circuit, then one by one they line up in the middle and the MC interviews each of the drivers, including the guy on the sit on mower with no blade.

More cars, motorcycles, stalls selling flags, some trucks and we were round the site. We try to find something to buy, but we were OK for flags and flat caps, nor did we want to be photographed with a plastic dinosaur. So, we were the first people to leave the site as most people were still arriving. It was five to eleven, and would have caught the wall of death, but decided to leave.

We go home via Tesco to get the stuff I missed; yoghurt, cheese and cottage cheese.

And then back home for brunch made of free cakes supplied to us by Mark at the butcher(!), and then some relaxing before we tucked into cheese and biscuits and a beer (or cider) for lunch. Some nice English cheeses also from the butcher, and all very nice I have to say, just need to have a snooze.

But no, we are to go out walking, seems that Yellowstone is at, its lowest point, 4,000 feet above sea level, our camp site is 6,700 feet above sea level, and our camp site at Little Big Horn is over 8,000 feet. We are beginning to worry about altitude. I'm sure it'll be OK, but worth thinking about. I think we have left it too late now, so maybe sleeping the first two nights there will help acclimatising? We hope so.

Anyway, on with the boots and over the field, pushing our way through massively overgrown shrubs and bushes, which gently sway in the breeze, to the butterfly copse to look for a small blue butterfly, which is not blue but brown. The Brown Argus is quite common, but finding a place to find them can be tricky, so the copse is a good place, near to home, and also home to many other species this time of the year.

As soon as I stooped to look at the first butterfly, I saw it was an Argus, got the shot, then saw many other butterflies, snapping a few.

We walk on to the pig's copse, and find the trailer in place, so the pigs can get used to it before being herded into it for the last trip they will make. Yeah, not nice, but that's what happens the world over and where bacon comes from. Or some of it.

One look down the hill to the top of the dip, the track already dusty and dry, despite the inch or so of rain we had the day before, but at the bottom I could see the ruts overflowing with muddy water. Situation normal.

We turn from home, and I find yet more butterflies; Common Blue and Holly Blue as well as a fleeting glimpse of an Adonis Blue flitting by. As well as the usual Red Admirals, Gatekeepers, Peacocks and Large Whites.

A glorious end to the day; lengthening shadows in the garden, and me cutting tomatoes and cheese for the insalata for dinner. As is usual on a Sunday, we listen to Desert Island Discs, and are moved to tears of love and loss.

I manage to spend the evening watching England in the European Women's cup, or something like that. And England beat France by a single goal.