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.