Saturday 3rd February 2018

I wrote over Christmas, that a friend of mine, ian, had his partner being sick. She went from living a normal life at the beginning of October, to being unable to work or go to Norwich games any more due to a bad back. An initial scan was followed by a follow up, and the verdict was inoperable cancer of the spine.

I did not know for many week, but I guessed. I wrote to Ian on Christmas Day, saying I was thinking of him and hoping I was wrong. But I wasn't. Ian said Michelle was ill, and the cancer aggressive, he guessed two months tops. Michelle was 52, the same age I am.

I saw updates though January, Michelle being taken out, now in a wheelchair, and looking not like the person I knew.

Monday, the cancer won out. Michelle went to rest. Michelle was the supporter of Norwich that I wish I could be. She had just watched 908 consecutive games, home and away, ending with the match at Portacabin Road. When I met Ian upon posting to Coltishall, I caught their passion of the game, and regained my love for the club and just watching football because I loved it. I owe I and Michelle so much, not just their friendship, but their passion, some of which rubbed off on me.

Micelle not only watched Norwich home and away, decades on end, but she volunteered to sell Golden Goal tickets for the club, and was everything a community based club is about.

In the days between Ian announcing her death, the club rallied round, as di friends and other fans. Her picture was displayed before the game, and on the 52nd minute, the whole stadium stood and clapped her for a minute. I posted shots of her I had on Twitter, and the hashtag, #RIPMichelle trended.

The club lost a loyal supporter, we lost a friend.

Rest in peace, Michelle.

We woke up at about seven, with three ravenous cats waiting for breakfast.

We feed them, have coffee then drive to Tesco for the usual hunter/gathering thing. Not much to get this week, just the usual bacon, bread, croissants mix. Back home in time for more coffee, then both of us do a session on the cross trainer, shower and have breakfast before we have to take Molly again for her final weekly B12 shot.

Molly is the picture of health. I means she is putting on weight, is lithe, flexible and happy. In other words, very much the cat she was last summer, and so different from the poor thing she was in the autumn and over Christmas. The diet of high meat content food, chicken breast and prawns is doing her well. We capture her and put her in the box. Chris, who did the operation at the beginning of the year is astonished at her progress. He can't explain it, but is happy, and stories like this balances out the bad ones.

Molly has gone from 3.22 to 3.44 Kg in a week, and is looking fabulous.

We book an appointment for a month hence, and take her home. As soon as the car has stopped on the drive, I get her box out and open the door to the box, she escapes and is happy to be home again, checking her domain.

I go inside and collect the camera stuff, as I have an idea to visit some more churches.

First up is Bridge, another town on the Nailbourne, and named, I guess as there is indeed a bridge over that stream. Almost impossible to see from the road, but there is a low wall you can look over to the dried stream bed. St Peter sits on the main road out, the old A2, towards Dover. Is a flint and ragstone built church, and partially hidden by mature trees. It is open, as I expected, and I go round redoing my shots and seeing many new features, which was the idea of coming.

There is fine glass, a trimpium in the cancel wall, fine monuments and tiles.

He other side of Aylsham is Goodnestone; a grand manor house in its day, and the church faced with superb square cut flint bricks. I remember it better than I fond it this time, I see it now as heavily Victorianised, and I struggle to see the history of the building. But there is enough, just. I am now using the macro to record distant detail and of tiles and carvings, so have to go back to the car after one round of shots to get it, but the effort is worth it.

I look at my map and see CHillenden is on the way to Temple Ewell, and I am sure I have been to the church, but have no recollection of it. I fond it opposite the village pub, and is a tiny church, a timber framed tower only slightly larger than the naive and chancel. Not much to photograph again, but I do my best and see new details as I always do.

Temple Ewell was once under the control of the Knights Templar, and separate from Dover or even closer River. The high road to London passes through it, but the church is on the other side of the river, which also rises here. Turns out I had been to the church many, many years ago, before the church project had begun. I took four random shots of it, and that was all. I was here as I had read that it has some of the finest Flemmish glass in the country, and I find that there are two find windows filled with several panels of said glass.

To get to the church, I walk down the steep narrow street, past the Fox, past rhe old mill and over the young river and up the hill the other side past the school. The church is unspectacular, other than the glass, but it is good to come here and record it.

On the way out I see some hazel and snap the male and tiny female flowers, before walking back to the car and driving home.

It was already gone one, time to make lunch, I bread some chicken fillets and fry them, to make chicken sandwiches fit for a king and queen, or for Jools and I anyway.

I look at my shots, begin to edit them, and listen to the radio, as there is always football. Norwich win, 1-0, against Middlesborough, and the game is laced with tributes to Michelle.

Come seven we are off out to Jen's again, picking up John on the way for an evening of Meld and Queenie. We take some sausage rolls and other stuff to cook in the oven to have as a snack at about nine. We all end up about even, I mean we just play for pennies, so no worries about losing our home. But it is fun, and I think is the 5th Saturday night in a row we have spent doing this. As I am travelling lots in the next few weeks, next week's event is cancelled, so Jools and I can spend time with the cats.

We arrive home at just before midnight, my brain is wide awake and I lay staring into the blackness of the ceiling for ages whilst Scully snores gently beside me.