Monday 28th May 2018

Something like the 18th day off work. And the last.

And as we played cards last night, it was a late start this morning with throbbing heads as the sun streamed in when it should have been cloudy.

The plan had been to drive to the Medway Valley to see the Early marsh, but truth is, could not be bothered to get myself into gear.

I had tomorrow's flight to check in for, bacon to cook for breakfast, and all the other things that is needed to be done. And anyway, I told myself, the roads would be jammed, best relax today, take things easy and go next weekend.

I knew from friend's shots the orchid I wanted to see wasn't yet out yet. So, listen to the radio, Jools sat outside crocheting drinking her first coffee of the day, and I mess around online until I feel that it is breakfast time.

But bacon is the cure all for hangovers and slow starts to the day. And as soon as we have eaten, and cleared up, bang on the dot of half ten, its time to decide what to do. I think I should go to PGD to check on the Musk Orchids.

Yes, its a tad early for them, but I have found evidence of them at least a week earlier in previous years, so why not?

Why not indeed.

Jools said it was already too warm to go out, so I drive by myself to Barham, then across the down to the top of the Elham Valley and down before turning off. I meet my old friend, John VdP as he is leaving. We swap news, and he is way, way behind. He takes people round sites at about £50 a pop, I do this for free. But I help him as thats the kind of guy I am.

I take him to where the musk can be found, we look and look, but only find half dozen spikes showing, and no in flower. So a bit of a waste.

I go to check on the other orchids on site; Fragrant, CSO, Fly, EPO, Lady, GBO and Monkey. all bar the EPO are looking good. I snap all bar the early urples, and some of the Fly are still impressive. The Monkey is well, mad as ever, most at their peak, but some already showing a violet hue meaning their time too, is coming to an end.

But it is hot. Too hot to stay too long, and with there being no Musk out, my job here is done, and I walk back to the car, then drive back torhough Barham to home, in time for lunch of insalata and a bottle if IPA.

And from now on it is a battle against time to get chores done before time runs out and it is time for bed.

I write, edit shots and make brews which we have with ice creams.

The day gets ever warmer and more humid. Jools paints the shed again, and I write more. Amazing how much time this takes.

Coventry are promoted from league 2, and I am battling getting tasks done. Dinner is prepared and cooked; mini rack of lamb and the usual vegetables. And somehow the day is fading fast.

I must go no to pack and be ready for the morning.

See you on Friday, after two day's team building and my annual assessment.

Wish me luck.

Sunday 27th May 2018

Mum's birthday

Whitsun

Day of rest.

For the past three days I have walked up and down and back on Lydden down, and although my calves were not so achey the third time, they were still letting me know how unhappy they were about the amount of down action this past week.

The plan was to have a quiet day, but then I realised I had promised a friend living the other side of the Dip that I would take him to see the Lesser Butterfly. At least with Facebook, it is easy to message someone and arrange a time when he would call round. Meaning that once agreed, I have 90 minutes in which to wake up, make breakfast and get ready before Tony came round.

We feast on warmed up croissants and fresh coffees, and so was ready.

Driving around on a Bank Holiday is not usually a good idea, but traffic was light enough meaning we got to Barham without serious incident, I was directing him down the narrow lanes to the parking place. And again the weather was defying the forecast, as the sun shone down from a clear blue sky, and hopefully that meant that those delights on the woodland floor would be showing well.

It di mean tackling the sheer face of the bridleway again, and my calves were getting their excuses in early, so we had to stop a couple of times on the way up until we came to the right place, but of the flattened spike of the lesser Butterfly there was no trace, but further in the single spike was showing well, almost fully in flower and looking majestic.

From there we went over the other side of the road to look in wonder at the white lady orchids. Everyone's reaction to the wood is the same, they expect a few spikes, not the hundreds that come into view as you enter the semi-darkness. Spikes everywhere, and of impressive size and great variation. Half an hour is not long enough to do the site justice, really.

Final call is on the Birds Nest just up the hill, parking a way away, we enter the wood and straight away I make for the var chlorantha White Helleborine, to find it had been partly stood on, but was also in flowr, with the flower's lips partly open too! Nearby a very tall spike had a flower fully open, revealing to me for the first time, it's helleborine family heritage.

Over the other side of the wood, just three spikes of Birds Nest were showing, but two were in sunlight, making photography really rewarding, and again showing that it is a true orchid, albeit one with a different food source from others.

And that was it, apart from a slight detour to show me another tiny colony of man Orchids, we headed home as lunch called.

Whilst I had been out ochiding again, Jools had been busy painting the shed, the 4th side facing towards the hedge, and when I said I was thinking of going to go to look at the Greater Butterflies near Ashford, she bailed as she correctly pointed out, it would be too hot.

But I am focussed, obsessed, and after wolfing down some left over aubergine from last week, I am back in the car and driving along the M20, swearing under my breath about my obsession and photography in general.

And Jools was right, hot and humid as heck, but at least walking down from the pub, where I parked, no drink consumed, it was fine. Over the field and into the wood, down the slope into the dell and along the bottom, where recent rain had made the path be like a helter skelter track. I get down safe, walk through or around mud pools and clamber over the style into the meadow.

Before me I could see the partially open spikes of dozens of Butterfly orchids, not totally open, that would take another week, but an incredible sight for what are rare orchids in Kent. I snap a few, then just wander from spike to spike marvelling at their diversity.

I walk to the far side of the meadow, climb to the next level and walk through the husks of the EPO looking for Fly, and I find a few of those too. Common Spotted are beginning to show as well as what looked like a Southern Marsh x CSO hybrid. Will be keeping an eye on that one!

By now I was hot, and had the long steep climb back to the car ahead, so I sigh and climb back over the style, and go up the side of the dell, slithering and swearing as I go.

I want to go for a beer. I really did, and I had money, but I decide to have some water from a bottle in the back and drive home. I open both side windows so that there is a gale blowing in when I drive at 70 once back on the motorway.

I get back home and Joos presents me with a pint of iced squash, which goes down a treat. And after a shower we have pizza and a beer seeing as we have an evening of card actions planned.

We collect John at seven, then once at Jen's settle down for some serious gambling, and late in the eving, Jools and I scoop both pots in the same hand of Queenie, nearly clearing Jen and John out.

It was nearly midnight, the nearly full moon hung in the sky, and for a change I was sober enough to drive us back home. Jools usually has that task!

From the outside, looking in

Wherever in the world you read my words, I hope that if you like outside UK my posts will bring some understanding as to where and how things are going in this once highly respected country.

I hope that you see a country that has lost its mind, ignores fact, and brands those who are not Brexit evangelists as traitors or worse.

There is no rational debate here, anyone railing against Brexit must battle against the "will of the people" line. Then "talking down the country".

In normal times, a major political party pursuing a policy that will cause great harm to business and the economy and general would be called out by the press and those who care for the country and those who live in it. But these are not normal times, there is no debate, facts are ignored or dismissed as irrelevant, and the call is for harder, faster Brexit. Breaking all international treaties and agreements we are part of, and signed when we were a country of our word.

Nothing is really said of how the rest of the world sees Brexit, unless it is the 75 year old man baby currently occupying 1500 Pennsylvania Avenue saying he'll do a great deal with the UK.

Putting our economic future into the hands of Trump should alarm everyone, as he is someone who can't keep his word on anything. The art of the deal is always to break the deal to drive better terms from the other side.

Don't way you were not warned.

The BBC hosts shows and interviews with the leading Brexiteers and their reporters either support Brexit, apparently, or do not have the understanding in how trade and economics work to enable the lies to be pinned down.

But instead the fog of lies, half truths and waffle wins the day, every day.

The Brexiteers don't stand a chance, not with the EU nor with any other country in trade negotiations, as they think we should have a deal that is beneficial to the UK because we speak English or some other suck load of tosh. As for the EU; Either there will be trade borders on the NO?irish Border or between Ireland and Britain. Either way will be a disaster for Britain, and will end the Government. One of those WILL happen, as May's red lines and the Brexiteers and DUP's stance make it obvious, as obvious as their foot on the accelerator pushing the UK economy towards the cliff edge.

That cliff edge is coming either on March 30th next year, or January 1st 2021. Sooner or later the day of reckoning, the day when the Brexit hangover will kick in, and as a country we look at our xenophobic red eyes in the bathroom mirror and realise what we have done. To ourselves.

And we did this to ourselves. We were told what would happen, but did not choose to listen.

Saturday 26th May 2018

About a month ago, I mooted the possibility of a Burnt Tip Orchid hunt, yes we're still still talking about that, and some people said they could make it on a mid-week, and others said they could only make weekends. So, in order to make everyone happy, I said I would have two hunts. I say hunts, as never in my wildest dreams thought that would actually go and find one.

So, come Thursday evening, I was getting lots of messages asking where the little fiery topped spike could be found, I began to worry about what would happen in 30 or more people turned up. Or more?

Looking at the event I had created on FB, only three had confirmed, a forth confirmed that morning, so maybe not too busy. But still, more could turn up, there could be quite a crowd walking up the down, making it obvious where we were going.

No time to back out now, just turn up and see who came.

And with the outrageously late night on Friday, we laid in bed until seven, or just after, meaning I had an hour to get ready, but before then we had to sort out the hire car, as when Jools dropped it off the day before, but Jools had forgotten to refill it. We got a call, if we didn't return to fill the car, we would have to pay for them to do it, and they charged £2.50 a litre. So, we had to be at the docks at eight, Jools would then take the car to refill, and I would wait for her to come back, then run her back to the office so we were not billed.

THe port was busy, so after Jools had driven off, I watched the cars and lorries were arriving to depart for France. A constant stream of traffic was arriving, always something to look at, not least the six charity bike riders waiting for their support vehicle to arrive. They were getting excited as each Ford Transit pulled into the port, but it wasn't theirs.

Jools came back just as their van arrived, which probably meant a change of clothes.

We went to the office, dropped the keys off, and we were free. We went straight to Temple Ewell where two people were already waiting with more than half an hour before the "hunt" was due to start.

In the next half an hour more came until we had about ten people, not as bad as I had feared. I gave the "we have a great responsibility" speech in regard to ensure that the orchid gets to set seed and maybe create a new generation. They all nodded along.

Just after nine once the last person who said they were coming, had arrived, we set off up the first set of steps into the wood. For the next half hour it was uphill all the way.

The sun was breaking through, and all around us butterflies were waking up and basking, and starting the serious business of finding a lady butterfly to spend a few minutes with.

We trod on.

Up and up we went, the village below us getting lost on the mist. Trains rattled by, and all the time we talked orchids.

And once we reached the top of the down, it was a gentle slope down to the spike.

Are we there yet?

I was asked after five more minutes, 50 yards to go I says. And after surveying the slope I pointed to the tiny spike and said, there it is.

I can imagine the effect was something similar to those who go on pilgrimages, as there was a gasp, and one by one, the others knelt down and extended arms and hands, clutching cameras, to take a record shot of the moment. Then one by one they get their moment with the orchid, shots taken from a distance, close up and inbetween.

I wait some distance away, then other recall where they had seen similar spikes, nearby and some much further afield. So, if nothing else i now have four different locations to scour each spring, not just this one, and any one of them could come up trumps.

We look at some of the places nearer, then one by one people drift away, as I do. I have an hour to get back to the car park where Jools would pick me up at half eleven, but on Thursday we had found two new colonies of Early Spider, and I had to snap those.

I was on my own agan, walking down the slope beside a fence line, and about 50 yards down I came upon two spikes, one with a faded flower, possibly a var/ flavecens. I was the only one to see this, so I take a shot, and walk back down where Jools was waiting, and she had bought sausage rolls and strawberry milkshake for me to feast on, as in my panic that morning I had not had breakfast.

I wave goodbye to those orchidists still there just loading up their cars. And we tore off home, my poor legs were aching, but I had done it, walked up and down the downs three days in a row, and this time the aches were less than on Thursday.

We go home and warm sausage rolls and Cornish pasties in the oven. I way Cornish, they were steak and ale, not a traditional recipe for sure, but tasted wonderful.

It was something of a given that even without taking any booze passed between my lips, my brain told me to lay on the sofa, and I dozed on and off until about three, when I made brews so Jools and I could have those with ice cream out in the garden.

That's living alright.

The rest of the day was given over to football: first of all listening to the Championship Play Off Final between Fulham and Villa. Not a bad game, but just the one goal that saw Fulham promoted back to the Prem. At the same time I was cooking chorizo hash too, and I had just about remembered to put a bottle of the pink fizz in the fridge so we could toast our good fortune before we ate.

Then at half seven, on wth youtube to watch the BY Sports feed of the Champion's League Final. Ended in a 3-1 for Real over Liverpool, and all I am going to say is that Liverpool still don't have a decent goalkeeper.

Friday 25th May 2018

I suppose I had better point out how important yesterday's discovery was. The Burnt (Tip) Orchid is critically endangered, and si only seen in a few counties where there is chalk downland that is properly managed. It has not been officially recorded for five years, when this same plant, probably, last flowered.

Efforts are being made to ensure it is pollinated and will last long enough to set seed, so hopefully the population will increase.

Which is why when I released information that we had found a spike, that one of the county recorders was none too happy, or so it seemed. There is a balancing act in trying to preserve something so rare, and yet let the public know that it is out there. The spike had been discovered last Saturday, and was being hand pollinated each day. News of its discovery had been kept from the other two recorders, but would have been made known later in the year.

I know my friend, mark, has been looking at the site for 8 years, and although it seems dramatic to say so, when news broke we all got a little emotional. Several other orchidphiles have described this species as the Holy Grail of Kent Orchids, one drove down Thursday evening to see it in case something bad happened, and as he had been waiting a decade to see one in the county, decided he could not wait any longer.

Mark had contacted me the previous night to ask if I could take hom Friday to see the Burnt Orchid, we also decided to try to find the Green Fly Orchid again, this time we thought we had better directions.

As Jools and I had to be in Chatham that evening, the day of orchiding would have to be swift and targeted, with me being at Mark's door at half seven, ready for the off and to beat the rush hour traffic in Faversham.

The day was cool and misty, dew falling of branches and flowers in our garden, and no better once I had left home and was driving to the Duke of Yorks. And despite the fog, many did not have lights on or just side lights, clearly, driving by braille.

I took my time along the A2, as the fog was in patches, and already I thought how tricky photography would be in these conditions.

Mark was having breakfast, rushing around to be out so to see the two orchid rarities before going on a family holiday, meaning it was now or never.

We drove out of town and back down the A2, past Canterbury where most of the traffic was going, and then onto quiet country lanes, where we could slow down and catch up on news whilst we neared the first stop to try to find the Green Fly.

Sorry, some more orchid stuff:

All orchids can be variable, many have what you would call a standard form, colour, lip shape, spike density, etc, but all are variable. Many species have a pure white, var. alba variant to complicate matters, and ophrys species can also have a white variant, which lacks chlorophyll, meaning the plant appears green. These latter ones are very rare, "Var. ochroleuca is a distinct variety with differing shape and colour where the sepals are a greyish-green, and the main part of the flower pale green apart from a white 'head' (speculum). This form has a longer and narrower 'body'." so now you know.

We had rough directions, partly clarified by another person the night before, so after parking the car, we plunge into the undergrowth back where Danny and I had been the day before, to see where we had gone wrong.

After half an hour, Mark was about 50m away when he called out that he found them, so I made my way round a thicket, found another badger trail, the marker that I had been told about, and on the right several Fly spikes, but two of this odd shade of green, one of which had been broken, possibly by a badger, but also possibly by a careless photographer.

The mist had not lifted, and it was like dusk in the undergrowth, we both tried to get shots, Mark with a hand cranked torch to illuminate the spike, and me trying all sorts of settings, but having to manually focus as it was just to dim for the auto to work. I got a couple of useable shots, as did Mark, which was all we needed really.

We walk back to the car, then drove the half hour back to Dover, down Stone Street then along the motorway, parking at Temple Ewell. The mist had lifted some, but it was grey and flat light, and yet cool for the climb up the down. My legs already aching from the previous day's climb. But, once we had parked, we walked to the first set of steps, and off we went, through the woods, then up across a meadow, up another wooded path then across two more meadows, and climbing all the time.

It was still gloomy, the village just visible below, and the light up on the downs, very flat indeed.

In time we came to the spot, and as I tried to fix myself and where the orchid was, Mark spotted it. It was quite emotional. What he really wanted was sunshine, but it seemed hours away. He took was shots he could, and so after an hour we turned for the car park. But as we climbed back to the top of the down, looking back we saw bright sunlight, fleeting, but it was enough for Mark to decide to stay, we parted with a hug, knowing that years of searching had come to an end.

I walked back down to the car then drove home, and having enough time for a shower, write a blog and have lunch.

At half one I leave for Hythe to pick up Jools, we had tickets to see Danny Baker in Chatham, so the plan was to drive up to Chatham, wander round, have dinner, see the show. Perfect.

Apart from an argument with a lady car driver who seemed not to understand that she could also pull over where there were parked cars, I arrived in time, and waited for Jools to leave work at two.

Once she was out, we made our way to the motorway, then up to Maidstone before taking the road over the downs to Chatham, then down into the town, being guided by the sat nav, which was a real bonus. We park at the back of the theatre, and had four hours to kill before show time. Surely we could find something interesting?

Well, Chatham was a town defined by the Naval dockyards, those closed a couple of decades ago, and it seems to have had the shit kicked out of it since then, leaving a shell of a high street, lined with bargain shops, with many unoccupied.

We walked along it, then through the shopping mall, also filled with discount shops, and not doing much trade either. We stop for coffee and cake in a cafe, which was OK. Outside, there was a park near to the riverside, so we walk to an empty bench, sit and watch the world go by, mainly a group of teens behind us talking loudly about six, which was eyebrow raising to say the least!

The other side of the river wall was an expanse of mud, littered with debris that people had tossed over the wall rather than put in a bin. Away to the right I could see what looked like a pub, so we shuffle over and I go to get drinks, which we sit outside in the hot sunshine in picnic benches outside, whilst piped soul music burbles for our entertainment.

A second pint wasn't a good idea, so we leave the pub and walk back into town, along the high street then along a road leading into the delights of Gillingham. The street was lined with nail salons, vape shops and other such establishments.

And having got into Gillingham, we turn round and walk back to Chatham and decide on an Italian restaurant. Due to an error, they have no alcohol licence, so we have to have sfot drinks, which is probably for the best with a late night drive back home after the show.

Once we had paid, we walk down to the theatre, go in and after a short wait, take our seat.

As we wait, the theatre fills up, mst of the audience were of a similar age to ourselves. So, who is Danny baker? Well, he is a the son of a London Docker, worked in a record shop in the early 70s frequented by Rocks great and golden, was instrumental in the writing of the punk fanzine, sniffing glue, became a journalist at the NME, moved into TV, then became a writer, and has written for just about everyone, including the royal family. He also featured in a decade of ads for Daz. He has a gift of the gab, but also a talent, apparently, for upsetting the generation of media middle managers, and despite having an encyclopedia knowledge of music, cannot get a show on radio.

He also can speak, non stop for four hours, unscripted about his life. And this is the second show he has done, so that's eight hours, and then every show is different as other memories get brought up. He dies not take questions, just plunges on, taking 10 minutes to recap what we might have missed if we did not see the first show, that ten minutes went into 90 minutes.

At half eleven he finished with a song, and that was it.

We walked back to the car, backed out and made our way out of town to the motorway, all the time through heavy mist that turned into fog as we neared Faversham. I took my time, and so we arrived home safe and sound at half twelve, with the feline welcoming committee in great voice.

Brexit catch up

Dominic Cummings, the billionaire it is OK to back a side in the Brexit debate this week railed against those remainers who did not plan and fall back on "will of the people rhetoric", ruining his pure Brexit. Those comments aimed at May, Gove, Johnson, Fix et al, who still cannot agree among themselves, and Boris is still running his own campaign contrary to that of the Government, but still has not been sacked.

Gove stated, without irony, that since the referendum Britain is more unified and inclusive. That must have escaped the Windrush Generation, the 3 million EU citizens, and 6000 professionals who the Home Office denied visa for despite there being jobs for them.

Parts of the Cabinet are still pushing for the technological solution the the NI/Irish Border, despite it being estimated to cost UK businesses in relation to the UK side along to cost in the region of £20 Billion. Junior ministers said that HMRC's figures were too pessimistic, but it would involve costs for businesses, but without revealing her sources, if there were any.

The Government is pushing for something called "Customs regulatory alignment period", it's initials do not inspire confidence of course.....

It has emerged that the government is thinking of using prisoners to plug employment shortfalls post-Brexit, as that is what everyone voted for, clearly.

Ireland has said it has yet to receive anything in black and white as to what the solution to the border issue might be, until then there is nothing to negotiate.

Britain is still making threats that without commitment from the EU shared security might be at risk. As I always say, Its Britain that is leaving, therefore up to use to get solutions. Also UK is trying to get Australia to join in an independant GPS system now that the EU might force UK out, what with Brexit meaning Brexit, unless May can come up with anything other than soundbites.

And I suppose the best definition of the UK's present and future position has been: currently UK is in the EU with opt-outs, but wants to be out but with opt ins.

Of course, many of those opt ins are not available to those outside the EU, even the UK, as a third party has the same rights as all other third countries.

Lots has to be decided before the end of June, so expect things to get ever more fraught.

Thursday 24th May 2018

For the past five years, Jools and myself, along with my friend, Mark, have been searching the downs above Dover for a species of orchid that was last seen in 2013. To be honest, I think I had given up in ever seeing the orchid there, so much so a few years ago, Jools and I went to Sussex and a down above Brighton to see a large colony of Burnt Tips there, so low did we rate the chances of seeing them back home.

Last year, Mark and I spent a morning scouring where the orchid was last seen, looking at every flash of red and white we could see, doubly difficult as a common plant, Milkwort, can look very similar, or seems to after hours of searching. No luck that year either.

I run a group dedicated to Kentish Orchids on Faceache, and so I thought it would be really good to have a group meeting and orchid search up there; I mooted the idea and it turned out that some could not make weekends and others could only make weekends, so I arrange one meet for Thursday and another on Saturday. Not in my wildest dreams did I think we would actually find the orchid.

All during the week, the forecast for Thursday was grim, with steady rain expected all day, but as the day drew nearer, it got better and so I did not cancel, although I was tempted.

At half eight I dragged myself away from the computer and drove to Temple Ewell, and went to the car park, where there was no one waiting. Oh well. As there was another smaller car park down next to the road, I went there, and was met by a guy in a car, he wound the window down and I showed him the orchid book I was carrying, and he smiled and gave me the thumbs up.

As we were preparing to set off, another car pulled up and Terry jumped out as asked if he was too late. As we introduced ourselves, turned out that both Danny and Terry has seen the Burnt Tip up on the downs here before, so I had gone from being the leader to the follower.

From the car park it is a long hard climb for half an hour, for me, to the top of the down. But we took regular breaks as my lungs threatened to explode, and we started to see dozens of butterflies; COmmon Blues, Adonis Blues, Brown Arguses, Small Heaths and so on. And on top of that, both keen botanists, and Terry a birder too, so they showed me common and rare plants as we climbed, and Terry tried to teach me the difference between a Willow Warbler's call and that of a Chaffinch.

We reached the top of the down and Terry thought he had seen his Burnt Tip down the fence line, so we search both sides, but only succeed in finding another new colony of Early Spiders, much darker than the ones on the coast.

We walk back to the path and along before dropping down and Terry thinks that this is where he saw the orchids last time. We find yet more Early Spiders here too. This is also where I was told the orchid was last found, so from now on we were in Danny's hands. He took us on to another part of the down, and we began to search.

I was now sure it was a fool's errand, but we had seen and photographed much, and as we always say, a walk is never wasted.

We had slit up, and Danny gives a shout, I walk over to join him and Terry, and they are saying, here it is!

And just sitting there, three or four inches tall is a single spike, clearly a Burnt Tip, and to make the moment perfect, the sun chose that moment to come out.

Perfect.

And with that we were happy, but checked on the way back too, incase another had emerged, but we found none.

News had reached me of an unusual Fly Orchid, I had rough instructions, so it seemed right to go to look. Danny said he wanted come come along, so we drove in convoy to the site, parked in a grassy bank outside and went in.

Thing is, one badger trail looks pretty much like any other badger trail, so we went round and round in circles, having seen many, many Fly Orchids, and impressive ones, but on the green one we were hunting.

After an hour it became clear we had run out of locations, so we binned it for the day. Donny however was quizzing me about Lesser Butterfly and the white Lady.

Rather than try to explain sites he had never been to, I took him myself, and for the 4th time this week found myself climbing the bridleway, huffing and puffing. And I wish I could say I was doing better than at the start of the season, but no.

He sees the single Lesser Butterfly, snaps it from all angles, of course, so then we could walk on to see the Lady in the beech wood.

Stillness hung over the wood, and in the shadows no orchid could be seen, at least from a distance. We go in, and soon he sees the spikes, the number and variation. I plough on looking for the two white Lady, calling Donny over when I had done so.

I suspect I would still be there had his phone battery died and so he was unable to take any more shots.

We had just found the third and final white lady, and to be honest, I was pooped. So I went home for a brew and a rest, but mostly to review the shots and post them online.

Most people were thrilled, others wanted to know where they are. I did the proper thing and reported them to the county recorders, two were happy, the third not so, as he knew and was hoping it be undiscovered, other than by him, so it could set seed.

So I delete the shots of Twitter, but it makes me feel a little angry that for the best of reasons this discovery was going to be kept secret.

I cook dinner, and a friend is on the phone; he is on the down, looking at grass, can I talk him in closer to the orchid. He should be sleeping after a shift at work, but is out orchiding instead. He finds them and posts a shot of he and his partner, both grinning. Spreading happiness is what we try to do.

Wednesday 23rd May 2018

I like a beer, that I cannot deny. And I also like a wine every now and again, mostly with meals, but I'm not choosy. I also like a wee dram from time time, but that's by the by. I say this, as since my project in Belgium ended a year back, I have rather missed the beers I used to get. Tesco do sell delerium for £2.50 a bottle, and the shop in Folkestone sells my favourite, Karmeliet, at £4 a bottle. Tiny 300ml bottles.

In Belgium, such bottles are about 6 for less than €6, and call me tight, I don't like to pay quadruple that I know you can buy them for over there. Wine, although cheap as chips in Calais, I know I can buy a serviceable box of Italian plonk for £12, which does the job.

So a trip to Belgium, if one comes up will be for buying silly strong beer, not wine. Just to make that clear. As English beer is like lemonade now.

So, a few weeks back during one of our card nights, after pushing Jen to find out when she was going over, we agreed that a trip would happen when I was on my holibobs. And the date of 23rd May was the day picked.

I had to be at Jen's at quarter to nine, so we could pick up Jon and we get to the port in time for the ten fifteen sailing.

I left home at half eight, then spending most of the next 15 minutes stuck in traffic at the roundabouts either end of the A2, then once we were loaded, we had to get back out through the traffic to the bottom of Whitfield Hill to pick up John, then through the town to Townwall Street and then to the port.

We sailed through the two sets of immigration, checked in at the ferry company's hut, only to find that the sailing we were booked onto was the ten past eleven. We went back to check, and somehow, Jen had managed to reserve a place on a freight only sailing, which they said we could not get on. So we had a 90 minute wait before the sailing.

So we sat in the waiting lane for an hour. I read a magazine, finished that, and looking up I saw the ferry arriving. It had to be unloaded, secured before we were let on. We sailed just before midday, nearly two hours late, and with the time difference the other side, we would have just three hours to do our stuff before we had to catch the sailing back.

Before then, we had 90 minutes on the ferry, and more than enough time to get a few hands of meld in.

We found a table with three chairs, and the first hand was dealt. The engines powered up, and we slipped out of the moorings, and then out of the harbour and into the Channel. The boat rocked and we carried on playing, until with about twenty minutes before arriving in France, John went out for a gasper, so I joined him with the dirty tabbers in the driving rain. They suffer for their addiction.

We are told to go back to the cars down on the deck below, where we climb in and wait as the ship docks and we can drive out. Somehow we are one of the last out, so have now less than 3 hours before we have to be back here, and in between a hour and 20 minute drive to and back from Adinkerke.

As least the road is good, Jen hammers the Galaxy up the road at 130 kmh, past familiar landmarks, for me until we cross the border and pull into the town where the streets are lined with baccy shops.

Inside I find my favourite beer for £1.10 a bottle, and two full crates were just crying out to be taken away. So I do. Jen buys ten months supply of gaspers, as does John. And once back outside, we load the car and pause for sandwiches that John had made; cheese and onion, went down well.

Back on the motorway south, we stop at junction 44 so I could buy more wine and some pink fizz there, before a final dash to the port, queue to get through French customs, British customs (only one office open out of ten!, so huge queues), and then to the ferry companies desk, where we got out slot and we could drive to the waiting lane.

I read the second magazine I had brought, and finished just in time to see the ferry pull in. So we wait for it to be unloaded, then some more waiting, then we can drive on via the slide at the front, and we are on board.

Phew.

Back upstairs where we claim a table and begin playing cards again, whilst people around us stocked up on cans of Stella and wine seem to be competing in a drinking competition as we cross back over to Blighty. And the language used! Oh my.

We arrive in Dover to the fine sight of sunshine and golden light playing on the harbour and castle above.

We go back down to the car and wait to be let off, but at least all we have to do is get pt of the port, go up Jubilee Way and go to Jens to unload the car, so I could go home.

I get back at seven, and am too shattered to unload the car, so I go inside for a huge brew and dinner, which as Jools had already eaten, s I have a plateful of cheesy beans on toast, and it does the job. That used to be my Dad's Saturday night supper back in the 80s.

I was just awake enough to write a couple of blog posts, but come just after nine we call it a day.

Who knew that having time off could be so tiring.

Tuesday 22nd May 2018

Another day in paradise. Or Kent as we call it.

I am flagging if you must know, going out at the crack of eight in the morning, climbing downs, woods, chalky banks crawling around in the undergrowth, looking for orchids. All fun stuff, and keeping me away from doing constructive.

Tuesday morning I was meeting another orchidist, this time from nearer home, Maidstone, as he wanted to see some of the stuff I have been posting. We planned to meet at half ten, so before then there is the usual waking up, breakfast, coffee, more coffee, and somehow without trying, it was ten and time to go out.

We meat outside Barham church, Chris was already waiting, so after introductions he followed me to the wood with the Birds Nest in, and they looked as fabulous as ever, even if numbers were well down on previous years.

I found three mores spikes, making six in total, but in what would come a pattern, one had been trampled.

Moving on to see the Lesser Butterfly, and one that was growing at the edge of the bridleway had been mown down either by a bike or horse, and so did not flower, and was now laying in the mud. A second had been munched by a rabbit, as all rabbits in the wood seem to have developed a taste for orchid.

So the only other spike left was in flower, more than half out, and looked sensational, swaying in the wind.

Chris too lots of pictures, as this was the first time he had seen Kentish Lesser Butterfly, and many years since seeing Birds Nest.

In the other wood, with the sun peeking through the tree canopy, the woodland floor looked calm and peaceful, and as you looked you could see the spikes of the Lady, showing dull pink and mauve in the subdued light. I went ahead to search for the var. alba ones, finding them just up the slope.

It seems every spike, every plant, is different, and you want to photograph every one, but with here and the other sites there are thousands, tens of thousands of spikes, and that is just impossible. So we walk among them, sniffing out interestings shapes, patterns or colours, circling the whole down before seeing the 3rd pure white one, a couple of elusive Fly and the colony of Herb Paris.

We were done, so I bid Chris farewell as he went to look for Late Spiders, and I drove back to Dover, stopping off to check on the Man orchids at Lydden.

They are at peak right now, and the colony is thriving and expanding; good news after the dreadfully low numbers last year.

And that was it, back home for two in the afternoon, going via Tesco to pick up some rolls and a box of wine.

I review pictures, write and listen to the radio, and somehow another afternoon slips by.

I had made pasta salad earlier, which means that it was breaded aubergine for dinner, bad traffic meant Jools took an hour to get home, and once I had fried the aubergine, we had eaten and washed up, it was half seven, and the day almost over.

Watering to be done, check on the plants, and news that one of the wisteria bought last year has at least on flower forming.

Post Brexit post facts

Today, HMRC revealed that one of the Government's two schemes to facilitate trade after Brexit, both of which have been rejected by the EU, would cost £20 billion to the country, some £7 billion more than we pay to the EU now, and then it would not be ready for two to five years after the end of the transition deal, if there is one, at the end of 2020.

This is just one part of our relationship with the EU that has to be unpicked and replicated. All of this will cost more and more money.

Not that the Brexiteers believe a word of it, although John Redwood did say if this was the cost then another way would have to be found.

Another way that would satisfy the EU, Ireland and the WTO. And stop smuggling, of alcohol, tobacco and, in Ireland, weapons.

Reality is really close, and you can see the fear in the Brexiteers eyes.

Johnson attacked the Chancellor, whilst Fleet Street dwelled on the post wedding glow, although the Mail did lead on screaming headlines that the HoL needed to be reformed. But the Tories already blew that. And reformed for what? Doing their job, and that for the Commons, of scrutiny. A sad day when our rights are being safeguarded by unelected peers and bishops.

But another day in Brexitlalaland.

Monday 21st May 2018

Sometimes I can't tell you what I visit as they are being used by for for a game on Flickr called GWUK, Guess Where UK, but on occasion, by the time I write the blog, the GWIKs have been guessed and the embargo is over.

Which is what happened yesterday.

Day whatever into my 18 days off. I know the days of wine and roses and orchids and butterflies and churches are coming to and end, but for now, I am living day to day with a huge smile on my face. Just doing what I feel like, enjoying the moment and not thinking about work At all.

Which is nice. Very nice.

I had no plan, other than to be out of the house by about eight, first of all checking on the Late Spiders at Wye.

I now know the back roads of East Kent, and without really thinking I can get to most of the major orchid sites, rattling down narrow hedge-lined lanes that cut through chalk downs or tumble down valleys, through woods.

I do forget that others sometimes have lives to lead, jobs to get to, and as I amble down the narrow lanes, people are stacked up behind me, wanting to get to school with their darlings, or to Ashford for work. I guess. I was heading to a fold in the landscape, where, if I was lucky one of the country's rarest plants would be in flower.

I park and climb over the stile, and see a sea of yellow. Crosswort, a plant i had been searching for a couple of weeks, but here in such great numbers it turned the ground yellow.

I take a few shots then head up the bank to search for the Late Spiders. Orchids, of course.

But no matter how hard I look, how long I search, I see none. Not a spike, not a rosette. Only a hole where I think one has been dug up. Possibly.

I give up, and decide to go to Hothfield, the other side of Ashford to look for another orchid, the Heath Spotted. Common enough in Britain, but only able to be seen in one place; here.

I park on the edge of the heath and walk through the wood onto the heath itself. It was cloudy and getting darker, but thought nothing of it. And then it started to rain.

There was no wind, or little, so the downpour carried on with little sign of easing, for twenty minutes. I sheltered under an oak tree, spending my time watching raindrops falling down the leaves in front of me.

But it stopped, and I could walk over to the bog, around which the orchids should be. But first, I walked over the trestle bridge to look for the tiny sundew. And was rewarded with a tiny plant beside the bridge, enabling me to get shots of the amazing plants.

Back on land, I find some spotted rosettes, Heath Spotted, with spikes forming, but at week or two away from flowering.

So I walk back to the car, dodging out of control dogs that were worrying the wild horses that keep the grass down. Is it me who notices these selfish owners giving no thought to what is around them?

I get back to the car, and I think that the parish church is just down the road, should I try to see if the keyholder was in? Of course I should.

The church is next to a former country house, now converted to houses in a exclusive and expensive way; the former brewery and bakery are now cottages, and look wonderful.

I park the car, try the church door and find it locked. As expected. A sign directed me to a cottage over a cobbled square, and to a fine looking place, home to at least a yappy dog who announced my presence. The owner came.

Can I have the key to the church?

Why do you want to go in there?

To take photos.

Who are you with?

I'm with myself.

I showed him my driving license, and he seemed happy enough to trust me with the key.

Once inside the church, your attention is taken by a huge and ornate tomb with two recumbent figures on tip, and the base lines with children in mourning. I snap that an everything esle, going round and round, hoping that I would not have to go through the palaver of getting the key.

I put the key back in their letter box, on the gate, and make good my escape, with the feeling of many eyes watching me as I leave.

A friend of mine found a rare orchid last year, one that was unknown in Kent for 25 years, and I thought I would go to find it. I program the postcode of a nearby farm, and drive down a dizzying maze of lanes, passing through villages and woods, until I arrive at a familiar chalk bank.

I searched and searched, found several huge White Helleborines, but no Sword Leaved.

Sadly.

Next location was nearer to home, to look on the Birds Nests and var. chloriatha White Helleborine. The latter was still there, but I could find no more of the former that I had seen the previous week.

Nothing exciting to report, so needing to be lifted, I drove to Folkestone to see the Late Spiders there.

The day had got out to be a warm and sunny afternoon, and after abandoning the car in a field entrance, I walk to the stile, climb over and down to the orchid bank.

The electric fence had been put back up, with one spike being outside to allow for photographs, so I get down to snap that, and I guess as I edged nearer, my temple must have come into contact with one of the fence wires. It was like being knocked out, I dropped my camera, and felt odd for a few minutes afterwards.

And that was that, back home for lunch, arriving home at half two, hungry enough to make a strawberry jam sandwich, laced with salt and vinegar crisps and a huge brew disappear.

I know how to live.

There is the garden to water, cats to feed and photos to review and edit, and before i know it, its six and Jools is back, I make insalata again, finish off the loaf of grainy bread, washed down with a glass of ten of vin rouge.

And that was another day done. The sky turned red, and the houses on the other side of the dip reflected the colours of the setting sun.

Phew.

Last stand of the Brexiteers

As HMS Brexit struggles on despite being holed. The Brexiteers turn on each other, blaming each other for failures.

This is true of the Member of Parliament for 1786, JRM, who this evening has launched a blistering attack on the PM and her handling of Brexit.

No plan he says. And in that, he's right. There was never a plan for Brexit, not a staring point, not an ending point, nor any agreement in Cabinet.

Sniping from the outside is typical of Brexiteers like JRM and Farrage, who are never trusted with high office, as they don't have a clue about details. JRM wants Britain to withhold payments from the EU post-Brexit. This is money UK has already promised to pay, this is not payment for a deal, but in terms JRM might understand, the remaining membership fees of a London club perhaps. You might not want to still go in, but you promised to pay x amount of time, so you must pay. Breaking such an agreement just at the time when you have to do trade negotiations with half the world, with other countries knowing our word is no long our bond would be disastrous.

As would threatening and really walking away from talks. Which would be disastrous for UK businesses.

There is talk that JRM and his pals in the ERG will bring down the government rather than let the fudge go ahead. That would mean an election, and the possibility of Labour under Corbyn embracing remain. Its a risky strategy from JRM, but once, or if, UK leaves the EU, and say remains part of a SM and CU, then the referendum would have been carried out, and then the dust settles, and probably not much would change, and no one would really understand their gripes about vassel states and to such when we have mostly the jobs and wide screen TVs we have now.

Although the Governor of the Bank of England stated today that Brexit so far has cost each and every one of us £800, and we haven't left yet.

Finally, rumours in Westminster that both main parties are going to announce major shifts in Brexit policy. Strange days.

Sunday 20th May 2018

Sunday.

Day of rest.

And so it came to pass, that after nine straight days of orchiding, by legs were all achey breaky and so I rested.

We chilled first thing, drinking coffee and listening to Huey on the i player. I made bacon butties, we made them disappear, and got dressed, cleared up.

It was to be a quiet day, so some stuff in the garden; weeding mainly. Jools sharpened the hoe, and I dug up all the poppies, apparently.

And then for the big task; netting the gooseberries.

For the last three years, we have had a great crop of them until just before they're ripe, and they all vanish. It is easy to blame slugs and snails, but an internet search revealed the culprits likely to be pigeons.

So, we had bought a net a few weeks back, and with the berries forming, we tough it high time to cover the. It probably took two hours, and not cobered at the top, but with pots balanced in canes and the nets graped from this, and pinned at the bottom, should do a turn.

We stop for lunch, fresh asparagus fried i butter, fresh bread and a Belgian wheat beer.

More gentle gardening in the afternoon, then another coffee and a bowl of strawberries and cream, whilst sitting in the shelter in the late afternoon sun.

I cook herb crusted lamb, fresh baby Jersey Royals and more pan fried asparagus for dinner, which is very nice indeed.

We settle to watch TV, and that's when Martin called.

Martin lives over the road, next to Bob and Diane. I had seen him earlier as Bb is back in hospital, and I asked to be informed if he heard anything.

He had.

Bob had been ill for something like three years. We first noticed it when the three balloons launched at the back of the house, he and Diane came down, but the effort of walking up the hill made him cough and cough. I think, he had been coughing for months, on and off, but that made it public.

So began an endless series of tests, hospital visits, whilst all the time his quality of life got worse.

He could do less and less, went onto oxygen, moved less and less, coughed more and more, and his condition got worse and worse

He had something wrong with his lungs, and the coughing made it worse, created scarring, and it could not be stopped. He was on more and more drugs, and nothing worked, or affected his other drugs and made Bob worse.

Bob went downhill the last few weeks, his salt levels dropped, which we now know is a very bad sign. He did not want to eat or drink, and became listless, just coughing and breathing oxygen.

He left home in an ambulance for the last time last Wednesday, and things went downhill quickly. Their daughter came over on Friday and said they had been told to expect the worse. And that happened at just before six yesterday. Bob was at peace and not coughing.

His last three years, and that of his wife, Diane, have been hell.