Sunday 28th April 2019

The morning after the night before.

I had three beers on Saturday night. What with those and being tired, I slept well.

I woke up at twenty seven! Oh hello sleepy head.

Time for a coffee, look at the interwebs, then we decide to go out without having breakfast, not even a bacon butty!

Radical.

It is the start of peak orchid, or the peak early season peak orchid. So, even now with just six species in flower in the county, there already isn't enough time, and the main season has yet to hit us.

The first port of call was down on the Hoe, where the Early Spiders should be at, or close to, their peak. And going early means not getting vexed when dog walkers or families walk through the nicest group of spikes seen this side of the Channel; it happened, and you have to explain people about orchids, and becasue the wardens seem more concerned with it being a place of recreation than a nature reserve.

Oh well.

At least as eight there are just the twitchers, the orchidists and wardens about. So I can fuss around the spikes like crazy.

Which is what I do.

There are perhaps a few hundred spikes. Or it could be I am being optimistic. I mean a few years back, there was 25,000 spikes. Not that many this year, but better than last year.

I walk to the end of the metalised path, and back again. Spikes are everywhere on either side of the track. So many orchids.

And then I need a haircut. So in order not to be sitting in a barbers half the day, we leave the Hoe at half nine, arrive and park in Folkestone, and I am sitting in the chair at five past ten, telling the guy I want to be not quite bald, but close.

He sharpens his scissors, and away he goes.

Did I imagine it, or did Norwich get promoted the night before? I think we did.

Haircut done, I pay the man, and we return to the car and drive up the Elham Valley to Barham to the old dependable site to check on the orchids.

First I walk up the brideway to look in on the EPOs, and there was no pure white spikes, but a few dark pinky purple ones, as well as a couple of nice bi--colour ones. I snap them all.

The down the down, over the road to the large wood, where the Lady were stirring, but no yet in bloom, but close. In fact, just a few Twayblade were showing, but it will be a good year here, and despite the tons of wood and branches laying about.

And we were done. I mean it feels like its the peak season, and yet except in bright sunshine, nothing open. But it is close.

We drive home, arriving back just before one. And after a brew I make roast leg of lamb with stir fry and new potatoes.

Shouldn't work, but does.

And as I had bought a week of televised football, I watch football the rest of the afternoon, to half six.

Leeds failed to win, so Sheffield Utd were promoted with Norwich.

Which is nice.

We were supposed to go to see the Unthanks in concert in the evening, but truth be told, I were shattered, so I allow Jools to beat me at Uckers, and somehow it was half eight. And another week had slipped by.

How did that happen?