Norwich were locked in a 3 way death battle with two Yorkshire teams, Leeds and Sheffield United. And Leeds were the media and pundit's favourites, because: leedsleedsleeds.
Whichever one of the three would be on top, we all knew that at any point our team could suffer a loss of form, and never recover. So, none of us could relax, even if we were a point of three ahead at any point, well, until the last ball of the season was kicked.
November began with Norwich playing away at Sheffield Wednesday, a ground that had seen City fold several seasons in the past, so an impressive 4-0 away win, looking for all the world like potential champions, Pukki scored, we cheered.
But next week, well, words fail us.
A home game against already struggling Millwall should have been easy, but with the scores at 1-1 with ten minutes to go, nothing suggested this would be one of the great games the old ground witnessed. Norwich took the lead, then in three minutes, Millwall scored twice.
3-2 down and heading into injury time.
A ball through to Jordan Rhodes and a deft touch made it 3-3 after 92 minutes. Then with time almost up, a ball threaded through into the box, and Pukki or the defender beat the keeper, and the ball ended up in the net.
Chaos, a huge roar went up, and City ended the day top of the league.
Crazy day.
That was followed by another huge away win, a 4-1 triumph at Swansea, so City still were top.
That was followed by the last 0-0 draw in City's season, home against Hull.
And into December, whose seven games could make or break anyone's season, but coming after a huge November, a month in which City had not won in before 2018 for some years, and who knows what could happen?
Well, I was at Carrow Road on the 1st for the visit of Rotherham, and it could have been so different. Rotherham took an early lead, and struck the inside of a post soon after, had that gone on, well, City might not have come back.
As it was, they levelled soon, and in the 2nd half, scored two fine goals, using such vision from City's youth players, I have not seen such things on the hallowed turf before. I ended the day hugging the guy next to me, before meeting my friends in the city for an evening or beer, more beer and some added beers.
Still top.
Another late show followed, when Norwich played Bolton, cruised to a 2-0 lead, then relaxed to allow Bolton back in to 2-2, and ended in injury time again with Pukki pouncing on a lose ball to last into the back of the net.
Still top.
A 2-2 draw away at Bristol City followed, and then a 1-0 win at at Blackburn, but Leeds ended up being top at Christmas, and every team top at Christmas has gone onto be promoted. But then you can prove anything with facts.....
And then came Boxing Day, a 3-3 draw with Forest, after City were 3-0 with ten minutes to go. But then a single goal pulled back. And then another in the 94th from Rhodes, and finally, Hernandez slamming the equalizer in in the 98th minute.
Were you not entertained?
We were.
But the good run came to an end in the next game, the final match, a home one against Derby. City one down, but fought back to lead 2-1 when the floodlights went out. The match was suspended, but when the teams came out, Derby scored twice and for once, there was no barnstorming comeback.
That was the end of the year, 26 games down, twenty to go. And a huge month in which City were to play both Sheffield Utd and Leeds, and with the season in the balance, who knows what the new year would bring.
It would bring just one more defeat, but we didn't know that at the time, otherwise we could have really enjoyed the game.
Friday, 31 May 2019
Thursday 30th May 2019
I am no longer a quality manager. Maybe a bad quality manager, but I am to be replaced, which is what I requested to happen, and is.
So, as the days go by, I will take more and more of a back seat with the project whilst Glen takes over. I feel bad, but I have no desire to carry on. I am washed, out, wrung out, hung out to dry.
But it will lead to a quieter life. Which would be nice. I look forward to some restful sleep.
But I am in Denmark for eight days, keeping my pre-holiday promise to support the project, even if with each hour that passes, I am less and less relevant.
But that's OK.
I woke up at six, got up, had a shower and got dressed. I would be ahead of expected time in the office. I meet a colleague in the breakfast room, and he said, you expecting to drive into the office?
Yes.
Well, the car park's been taped off by the police. Indeed, from the lobby I could be the tank-proof plastic tape flapping in the breeze, and two squad cars parked outside and the feds milled around.
No idea what has happened, I heard some nose during the night, but nothing that bad.
We had to call the office for someone to come and collect us, with us hoping we could get our cars that evening; just as well that I didn't have to get to the airport, as would have to next Thursday morning.
And work carries on as normal. Or close to normal. There is panic on everyone's faces.
I plod on, I have a new spreadsheet to populate, and I can make that last all day. So I do that on and off most of the day, as it was too wet to go outside and do some blade inspections.
After lunchtime, or as I did not eat, after noon, I go out to watch other people inspect blades.
We did not go it all day, as in the morning it was pissing down, and staying warm and dry was more important. Apparently. I didn't argue.
At half six, I grab a lift with Tim in his new Audi, which, apparently, instead of an accelerator, has an on/off switch, so we lurch between hard accelerating and hard braking to the other side of town where our favorite steak restaurant, Butchers, is.
And the boss pays with her company credit card, I feel like a beer, but have a diet Coke keeping in the spirit of things.
Oh well.
Steak is good, even if it took some time to come, but which point it was half eight, nearly nine by the time I walked back to my hotel, and blogs to write and all that.
I call Jools and realise in the fog of work, I had failed to call the hos;ital to see how Mum was.
So, as the days go by, I will take more and more of a back seat with the project whilst Glen takes over. I feel bad, but I have no desire to carry on. I am washed, out, wrung out, hung out to dry.
But it will lead to a quieter life. Which would be nice. I look forward to some restful sleep.
But I am in Denmark for eight days, keeping my pre-holiday promise to support the project, even if with each hour that passes, I am less and less relevant.
But that's OK.
I woke up at six, got up, had a shower and got dressed. I would be ahead of expected time in the office. I meet a colleague in the breakfast room, and he said, you expecting to drive into the office?
Yes.
Well, the car park's been taped off by the police. Indeed, from the lobby I could be the tank-proof plastic tape flapping in the breeze, and two squad cars parked outside and the feds milled around.
No idea what has happened, I heard some nose during the night, but nothing that bad.We had to call the office for someone to come and collect us, with us hoping we could get our cars that evening; just as well that I didn't have to get to the airport, as would have to next Thursday morning.
And work carries on as normal. Or close to normal. There is panic on everyone's faces.
I plod on, I have a new spreadsheet to populate, and I can make that last all day. So I do that on and off most of the day, as it was too wet to go outside and do some blade inspections.
After lunchtime, or as I did not eat, after noon, I go out to watch other people inspect blades.
We did not go it all day, as in the morning it was pissing down, and staying warm and dry was more important. Apparently. I didn't argue.
At half six, I grab a lift with Tim in his new Audi, which, apparently, instead of an accelerator, has an on/off switch, so we lurch between hard accelerating and hard braking to the other side of town where our favorite steak restaurant, Butchers, is.
And the boss pays with her company credit card, I feel like a beer, but have a diet Coke keeping in the spirit of things.
Oh well.
Steak is good, even if it took some time to come, but which point it was half eight, nearly nine by the time I walked back to my hotel, and blogs to write and all that.
I call Jools and realise in the fog of work, I had failed to call the hos;ital to see how Mum was.
Some reality
The next two months will be taken up largely by the Tory leadership contest, where 12, or is it 13, contenders will mostly try to out-lie each other as to how they would out-negotiate the EU and get the backstop binned whilst curing cancer and finding the money tree in the Number 10 garden.
In laying out how tough each will be to the EU, and how much they will get the WA and backstop changed is the only way they will get the aging Conservative membership to vote for them. Anyone who is honest and pragmatic really doesn't stand a chance.
There is zero chance the WA will be re-opened and the backstop changed, mainly because not asking it to be reopened was one of the EU's preconditions to the UK when getting the UK Government to agree to it. And, secondly, the EU is breaking up it's Brexit negotiating team, as the matter is now considered closed: there is an agreed WA, just needs the UK to ratify it.
Or not.
So, PM Johnson, Raab or whoever, might travel to Brussels claiming to have a mandate from the Conservative Party for this or that, and there will be no one to talk to, just the EU saying, the matter is closed, what are you going to do, ratify the WA< no deal or no Brexit? The choice will be the UK's.
This will allow the new PM to paint the EU as the side to blame, but the reality is different. It is the UK to blame, for allowing the shysters to sell their snake oil and convince enough of the country to believe them, backed by the press and some of the media.
Reality has always destroyed Brexit, and each time the two touch, it is Brexit that is damaged. Reality is not going to change, and whoever is PM will face the same scenario and outcome. And be blamed for failure.
But enough of the population and electorate believe in Brexit enough to blindly push for it, happy to blame the EU, foreigners, immigrants, the left, the judiciary and whoever else for their failure. And just stopping Brexit will not shut them up, they will always be there, poisoning politics for a generation or more.
Brexit has already smothered all other policies, which doesn't mean there are huge other problems in the UK, there just isn't time in Parliament to debate and address them. Brexit eats everything.
And will always.
Brexit will blame everything else on someone else, without taking the blame for itself. Same goes for Brexiteers.
The leading Brexiteer, Nigel, offers no solutions, no plans, just more cries of betrayal, when the betrayal comes from himself, and the lies he peddled for money from the US or Russia. Or both.
In laying out how tough each will be to the EU, and how much they will get the WA and backstop changed is the only way they will get the aging Conservative membership to vote for them. Anyone who is honest and pragmatic really doesn't stand a chance.
There is zero chance the WA will be re-opened and the backstop changed, mainly because not asking it to be reopened was one of the EU's preconditions to the UK when getting the UK Government to agree to it. And, secondly, the EU is breaking up it's Brexit negotiating team, as the matter is now considered closed: there is an agreed WA, just needs the UK to ratify it.
Or not.
So, PM Johnson, Raab or whoever, might travel to Brussels claiming to have a mandate from the Conservative Party for this or that, and there will be no one to talk to, just the EU saying, the matter is closed, what are you going to do, ratify the WA< no deal or no Brexit? The choice will be the UK's.
This will allow the new PM to paint the EU as the side to blame, but the reality is different. It is the UK to blame, for allowing the shysters to sell their snake oil and convince enough of the country to believe them, backed by the press and some of the media.
Reality has always destroyed Brexit, and each time the two touch, it is Brexit that is damaged. Reality is not going to change, and whoever is PM will face the same scenario and outcome. And be blamed for failure.
But enough of the population and electorate believe in Brexit enough to blindly push for it, happy to blame the EU, foreigners, immigrants, the left, the judiciary and whoever else for their failure. And just stopping Brexit will not shut them up, they will always be there, poisoning politics for a generation or more.
Brexit has already smothered all other policies, which doesn't mean there are huge other problems in the UK, there just isn't time in Parliament to debate and address them. Brexit eats everything.
And will always.
Brexit will blame everything else on someone else, without taking the blame for itself. Same goes for Brexiteers.
The leading Brexiteer, Nigel, offers no solutions, no plans, just more cries of betrayal, when the betrayal comes from himself, and the lies he peddled for money from the US or Russia. Or both.
Thursday, 30 May 2019
Wednesday 29th May 2019
Back to work.
Commute to Denmark.
And face the consequences regarding my mini-breakdown on the day I went on holiday.
Before then, I had a one our train journey, two hours in the airport, a 90 minute flight, then an hour's drive to the office.
Then I would face the music.
Jools' alarm went off at half four, and we stumbled around, making coffee and getting ready. I really wasn't ready for this, but bills have to be paid.
She drops me off at the station, a fine and cold morning, with the nesting crows making all sorts of noise and a fuss.
I slip into my seat once the train arrives, which fills up despite it being the Whitsun holidays.
I catch the DLR to the airport, which wasn't that crowded, and the check in desk for BA was nice and empty, so I was up to security in a few minutes.
Inside the departure hall, I buy my first camera magazine for over 5 years, as I could find no book that grabbed me. I also bought Private Eye, and not the least surprised to find those pushing a hard or no deal Brexit have the most to gain financially from it.
It is a good, but depressing read.
I have breakfast of eggs royale with an extra sausage. And two coffees, just to make sure I don't sleep on the plane.
And soon enough, it was time to board the plane, and settle down for the 90 minute flight, cruising above the clouds, crossing over the North Sea, Holland and onto Denmark.
And in Denmark, it was like it was still February, barely ten degrees, a cold breeze blowing, but at least partly sunny.
I am given a Mercedes B class, and I am off on the last leg of the trip, travelling down toad still lined with waving crowds of thrift, looking wonderful in the sunshine.
At the office I am given hugs, and I apologise for letting the team down, there are tears, and we forge a way forward.
At ix, we all leave for our hotels, I am in a different one from the rest of the team, and with it being a holiday, all bars and restaurants were rammed. I end up eating at the hotel after checking in, feasting on a huge burger and fries washed down by a large diet Coke and then a small beer.
Back to my room, where I can settle down on the bed to watch the Europa League Final, played in Baku and contested between Chelsea and Arsenal, who took less than 6,000 fans between them due to the convoluted travel needed and huge costs. Chelsea won out 4-1, which, meh.
Commute to Denmark.
And face the consequences regarding my mini-breakdown on the day I went on holiday.
Before then, I had a one our train journey, two hours in the airport, a 90 minute flight, then an hour's drive to the office.
Then I would face the music.
Jools' alarm went off at half four, and we stumbled around, making coffee and getting ready. I really wasn't ready for this, but bills have to be paid.
She drops me off at the station, a fine and cold morning, with the nesting crows making all sorts of noise and a fuss.
I slip into my seat once the train arrives, which fills up despite it being the Whitsun holidays.
I catch the DLR to the airport, which wasn't that crowded, and the check in desk for BA was nice and empty, so I was up to security in a few minutes.
Inside the departure hall, I buy my first camera magazine for over 5 years, as I could find no book that grabbed me. I also bought Private Eye, and not the least surprised to find those pushing a hard or no deal Brexit have the most to gain financially from it.
It is a good, but depressing read.
I have breakfast of eggs royale with an extra sausage. And two coffees, just to make sure I don't sleep on the plane.And soon enough, it was time to board the plane, and settle down for the 90 minute flight, cruising above the clouds, crossing over the North Sea, Holland and onto Denmark.
And in Denmark, it was like it was still February, barely ten degrees, a cold breeze blowing, but at least partly sunny.I am given a Mercedes B class, and I am off on the last leg of the trip, travelling down toad still lined with waving crowds of thrift, looking wonderful in the sunshine.
At the office I am given hugs, and I apologise for letting the team down, there are tears, and we forge a way forward.
At ix, we all leave for our hotels, I am in a different one from the rest of the team, and with it being a holiday, all bars and restaurants were rammed. I end up eating at the hotel after checking in, feasting on a huge burger and fries washed down by a large diet Coke and then a small beer.
Back to my room, where I can settle down on the bed to watch the Europa League Final, played in Baku and contested between Chelsea and Arsenal, who took less than 6,000 fans between them due to the convoluted travel needed and huge costs. Chelsea won out 4-1, which, meh.
Thursday Brexit
I had to think what day of the week it was, could have been Tuesday. But as it is, it will be six and a half days before I am home.
Bah.
Anyway, not much on the Brexit scanner today, other than our old friend, IDS, complaining that there are too many candidates for Tory leader, and would be better if MPs could thin the field out a bit. Sounds very much like what Labour MPs were thinking a few years back.
Likely rules will be changed.
May announced her resignation a week ago, and now she is hardly mentioned on the news at all, depsite the fact she might be PM until the late summer, or beyond.
As the winner of the Tory leadership thingy is not guaranteed to become PM, they have to prove they would command a majority in the House, and that might be a long way off.
That's another crisis to save for when the days are getting shorter?
Corbyn has backtracked on a 2nd referendum. Again. And no one is really surprised.
And we're another day nearer 31st October.....
Bah.
Anyway, not much on the Brexit scanner today, other than our old friend, IDS, complaining that there are too many candidates for Tory leader, and would be better if MPs could thin the field out a bit. Sounds very much like what Labour MPs were thinking a few years back.
Likely rules will be changed.
May announced her resignation a week ago, and now she is hardly mentioned on the news at all, depsite the fact she might be PM until the late summer, or beyond.
As the winner of the Tory leadership thingy is not guaranteed to become PM, they have to prove they would command a majority in the House, and that might be a long way off.
That's another crisis to save for when the days are getting shorter?
Corbyn has backtracked on a 2nd referendum. Again. And no one is really surprised.
And we're another day nearer 31st October.....
Wednesday, 29 May 2019
Tuesday 28th May 2019
Mum still in hospital.
So begins the daily trial of getting through the the ward and getting some actual news.
Sigh.
And last day of the holiday.
Double sigh.
One of the things that the internet and this love and passion of orchids does, is allow us to share the passion and knowledge with other like-minded people. And on Monday, someone said they had never seen a white helleborine, he lived in Folkestone, could anyone give him directions? I did better than that, I said I would take him to see some. So a time was made to meet on Tuesday morning, early-ish because rain was expected later.
I had to take Jools to work, of course, getting her there early to avoid the traffic, dropping her off some way from the factory so she could get some exercise walking beside the sea on the sea wall.
Afterwards, I drove up the Elham Valley to Park Gate to look for the Musk Orchids.
Musks are the smallest orchids in Kent, and on a good day take some searching. Usually, I find them after twenty minutes or so of searching, the lime green of the spike giving the tiny plants away.
But I couldn't find one, no matter how hard I looked.
I was joined by a couple from Cumbria, hoping to find a Late Spider on the down. Now, I know they have been found here, but not by me. So they helped me search for the Musk, then I told them where to go to be certain of seeing the LSO. I got a message later saying they had found them, and were so happy.
Its what I do!
I met Burt at nine, up the valley in Barham. We drove in convoy to the small wood, parked up and walked up the lane to the wood, and just inside the canopy were the first of dozen spikes.
He was so happy. He took shots, then we looked for the Birds Nest, he snapped that. And then I found a second spike.
I was happy!
We parted our ways, and I drove back to Pegwell Bay hoping to find a Bee in flower.
I had low hopes.
But after seeing the Yellow Man Orchids, I went to the front of the site, and there was a flowering spike!
Yay.
I found two more, and was very happy, until it began to rain.
hard.
I stumbled back to the car, back up the steps and past the viking ship. To the car, when the rain then stopped. But I was soaked.
And I had things to do.
So, I went back home to have lunch, book my seats for the flight the next day, and scan receipts for travel expenses.
It rained on and off outside, so I worked away, listened to some music and worked.
At quarter past four I went to pick JOols back up.
And on the way back we stop off in Dover as she had a yoga class, so instead of going home then coming back out, I wander round the sea front, the new eastern docks, then go to Cullins Yard for a couple of beers.
Which was nice.
I was waiting outside when Jools finished, we rush home, feed the cats and make dinner. Even then it was half eight by the time we were all cleaned up,a nd my 12 days off had come to an end.
Time to pack, have a shower.
And to bed.....
So begins the daily trial of getting through the the ward and getting some actual news.
Sigh.
And last day of the holiday.
Double sigh.
One of the things that the internet and this love and passion of orchids does, is allow us to share the passion and knowledge with other like-minded people. And on Monday, someone said they had never seen a white helleborine, he lived in Folkestone, could anyone give him directions? I did better than that, I said I would take him to see some. So a time was made to meet on Tuesday morning, early-ish because rain was expected later.
I had to take Jools to work, of course, getting her there early to avoid the traffic, dropping her off some way from the factory so she could get some exercise walking beside the sea on the sea wall.
Afterwards, I drove up the Elham Valley to Park Gate to look for the Musk Orchids.
Musks are the smallest orchids in Kent, and on a good day take some searching. Usually, I find them after twenty minutes or so of searching, the lime green of the spike giving the tiny plants away.
But I couldn't find one, no matter how hard I looked.
I was joined by a couple from Cumbria, hoping to find a Late Spider on the down. Now, I know they have been found here, but not by me. So they helped me search for the Musk, then I told them where to go to be certain of seeing the LSO. I got a message later saying they had found them, and were so happy.
Its what I do!
I met Burt at nine, up the valley in Barham. We drove in convoy to the small wood, parked up and walked up the lane to the wood, and just inside the canopy were the first of dozen spikes.
He was so happy. He took shots, then we looked for the Birds Nest, he snapped that. And then I found a second spike.
I was happy!
We parted our ways, and I drove back to Pegwell Bay hoping to find a Bee in flower.
I had low hopes.
But after seeing the Yellow Man Orchids, I went to the front of the site, and there was a flowering spike!Yay.
I found two more, and was very happy, until it began to rain.
hard.I stumbled back to the car, back up the steps and past the viking ship. To the car, when the rain then stopped. But I was soaked.
And I had things to do.So, I went back home to have lunch, book my seats for the flight the next day, and scan receipts for travel expenses.
It rained on and off outside, so I worked away, listened to some music and worked.
At quarter past four I went to pick JOols back up.
And on the way back we stop off in Dover as she had a yoga class, so instead of going home then coming back out, I wander round the sea front, the new eastern docks, then go to Cullins Yard for a couple of beers.
Which was nice.
I was waiting outside when Jools finished, we rush home, feed the cats and make dinner. Even then it was half eight by the time we were all cleaned up,a nd my 12 days off had come to an end.
Time to pack, have a shower.
And to bed.....
BOJO sued
I hate to use his nicknames, Boris, Bojo, that tousled haired burk. And so on, but Boris de Piffel Johnson has had a private prosecution brought against his for misconduct in a public office.
I mean, which of his many, nay legion offences could have been chosen?
The £350 million a week for the NHS one.
Oh that again?
Well, yes.
Thing is, proving he knew it was bollocks is going to be harder than you think, and there will probably many way is which his legal team can strangle and frustrate the case.
But it is embarrassing, just as he was about to launch a leadership bid.
Might sway some into not backing him. Couldn't happen to a nicer bloke.
I mean, which of his many, nay legion offences could have been chosen?
The £350 million a week for the NHS one.
Oh that again?
Well, yes.
Thing is, proving he knew it was bollocks is going to be harder than you think, and there will probably many way is which his legal team can strangle and frustrate the case.
But it is embarrassing, just as he was about to launch a leadership bid.
Might sway some into not backing him. Couldn't happen to a nicer bloke.
Tuesday, 28 May 2019
Scammed
So, Jools yesterday was checking our accounts online yesterday, and found out that someone had tried to transfer £2600 from my credit card.
I had not authorised such a transfer. I have no idea how sch a transfer could be arranged.
Anyway, the transaction was stopped, when they could not contact me through my works monile.
Credit cards have been cancelled, and new ones will be issued.
In the meantime, I have had another scam, trying to tell me that my ISP will terminate my connection unless I press #1 on the keypad.
Not falling for that.
So, now i have no credit cards, at least for 10 working days.
But not liable for the cost, £2600, which is good, right?
I had not authorised such a transfer. I have no idea how sch a transfer could be arranged.
Anyway, the transaction was stopped, when they could not contact me through my works monile.
Credit cards have been cancelled, and new ones will be issued.
In the meantime, I have had another scam, trying to tell me that my ISP will terminate my connection unless I press #1 on the keypad.
Not falling for that.
So, now i have no credit cards, at least for 10 working days.
But not liable for the cost, £2600, which is good, right?
Mum.....
Mum is back in hospital.
We got a call at ten past ten yesterday from the duty A&E nurse saying Mum was under her care.
Found out later she had suffered four fall in ten days, three which she was unable to get up from.
This time she badly cut her left arm, which is why she was admitted.
We now believe that she is past the point of no return, that even if she wanted to change, it is too late.
She now has to decide whether to move from the family home which she has lived in since 1964 and go into a nursing home.
She is just 75 years old, and old before her time.
And this is a result of her life choices, so I have no sympathy. At all.
I feel sorry for her, but will not go running.
I am supposed to go to Denmark tomorrow for eight days, but still unsure whether to go.
Meanwhile she tries to get her cleaner, who she pays four hours work a week, to do stuff for her and visit.
Madness.
We got a call at ten past ten yesterday from the duty A&E nurse saying Mum was under her care.
Found out later she had suffered four fall in ten days, three which she was unable to get up from.
This time she badly cut her left arm, which is why she was admitted.
We now believe that she is past the point of no return, that even if she wanted to change, it is too late.
She now has to decide whether to move from the family home which she has lived in since 1964 and go into a nursing home.
She is just 75 years old, and old before her time.
And this is a result of her life choices, so I have no sympathy. At all.
I feel sorry for her, but will not go running.
I am supposed to go to Denmark tomorrow for eight days, but still unsure whether to go.
Meanwhile she tries to get her cleaner, who she pays four hours work a week, to do stuff for her and visit.
Madness.
Monday 27th May 2019
Mum's 75th birthday.
Mum in hospital.
Otherwise, situation normal.
And with the weather forecasted to be much better, I hatch a plan to visit two prime orchid sites before lunch, so we can get back home for the Championship play off game.
And it was back up the M2, to the Medway Valley for a visit to the last remaining fresh water-meadow in the county, where, if we were lucky, the county-rae Early Marsh Orchid would be found.
In fact, this is the only site this species can be found in Kent.
The reserve is the other side of the railway, behind an industial estate, and you get to the entrance through a narrow tunnel, then climb over a gate. And before us was an expanse of cut grass and reeds, piles of rotting vegetation lay in piles.
It did not look good.
And at first, no orchids could be seen. But once onto the path, I could see purples dotted around, now not competing with tall grass and reeds, they looked in fine condition.
I looked at each spike in turn, seeing if they displayed Early Marsh characteristics, but the first few didn't. A little further along, one did pique my interest, as the lips on the flowers were thrust backwards, very much in an Early Marsh kind of way, but the colour and patterns were of a Southern Marsh.
Then, from ten metres away, I see a pale pink spike.
No doubt about it, Early Marsh, and a good sized one too.
A little further along I find two smaller ones, so three in total, up from last year's single spike.
I snap them all, then the other orchids, not sure if any are pure blooded or just hybrids.
I will sort them out later once I review the shots. Or just call all of them Marsh Orchids.
Simples.
We walk back to the car, have burritos for breakfast. Again, then drive to the M20 for the short drive down the Leeds then down the A20 to Lenham, where we turn off and climb the downs to Stalisfield, as we were to visit the orchid meadow for the first, and probably only time, this year.
Anyway.
It wasn't yet ten, and here we were, walking over the fields to the woods, slithering down through the trees, then out the other side, once we had clambered over the fence, into the meadow, thick with dozens of Greater Butterfly spikes.
On other sites there are Greater spikes, but only one or two. Yet here there are dozens, maybe not as many as last year, but lots. More than enough to visit a few and find a partially open spike, get a few shots.
Then walk up the down, find some more Fly, snap those, and a Common Blue butterfly.
And we're done.
Phew.
We just have to climb back through the wood to the car, then find our way back to Dover.
And arriving back before midday, jobs done.
When's lunch?
What do you want?
Lets have the lamb.
I cook the small rack of lamb, finishing it off in the oven. Boil some Jersey Royals, do some stir fry and poach two bundles of asparagus in butter.
Serve with two glasses of pink fizz.
Job done.
I just have to be able to stay awake until and through the football from three.
Villa v Derby: a good game, but with so much at stake, not that exciting, but compelling. Villa cruise to a 2-0 lead, and look in control, but Deby get a goal back, so a feisty last ten minutes, but Derby come up short. And I had stayed awake.
Which was nice.
Jools let me beat her at uckers.
And that was the weekend, and just about my holiday, just one day left, and the real world is sneaking back up.
Mum in hospital.
Otherwise, situation normal.
And with the weather forecasted to be much better, I hatch a plan to visit two prime orchid sites before lunch, so we can get back home for the Championship play off game.
And it was back up the M2, to the Medway Valley for a visit to the last remaining fresh water-meadow in the county, where, if we were lucky, the county-rae Early Marsh Orchid would be found.
In fact, this is the only site this species can be found in Kent.The reserve is the other side of the railway, behind an industial estate, and you get to the entrance through a narrow tunnel, then climb over a gate. And before us was an expanse of cut grass and reeds, piles of rotting vegetation lay in piles.
It did not look good.And at first, no orchids could be seen. But once onto the path, I could see purples dotted around, now not competing with tall grass and reeds, they looked in fine condition.
I looked at each spike in turn, seeing if they displayed Early Marsh characteristics, but the first few didn't. A little further along, one did pique my interest, as the lips on the flowers were thrust backwards, very much in an Early Marsh kind of way, but the colour and patterns were of a Southern Marsh.
Then, from ten metres away, I see a pale pink spike.No doubt about it, Early Marsh, and a good sized one too.
A little further along I find two smaller ones, so three in total, up from last year's single spike.
I snap them all, then the other orchids, not sure if any are pure blooded or just hybrids.
I will sort them out later once I review the shots. Or just call all of them Marsh Orchids.
Simples.
We walk back to the car, have burritos for breakfast. Again, then drive to the M20 for the short drive down the Leeds then down the A20 to Lenham, where we turn off and climb the downs to Stalisfield, as we were to visit the orchid meadow for the first, and probably only time, this year.
Anyway.
It wasn't yet ten, and here we were, walking over the fields to the woods, slithering down through the trees, then out the other side, once we had clambered over the fence, into the meadow, thick with dozens of Greater Butterfly spikes.
On other sites there are Greater spikes, but only one or two. Yet here there are dozens, maybe not as many as last year, but lots. More than enough to visit a few and find a partially open spike, get a few shots.
Then walk up the down, find some more Fly, snap those, and a Common Blue butterfly.
And we're done.
Phew.
We just have to climb back through the wood to the car, then find our way back to Dover.
And arriving back before midday, jobs done.
When's lunch?
What do you want?
Lets have the lamb.
I cook the small rack of lamb, finishing it off in the oven. Boil some Jersey Royals, do some stir fry and poach two bundles of asparagus in butter.
Serve with two glasses of pink fizz.Job done.
I just have to be able to stay awake until and through the football from three.
Villa v Derby: a good game, but with so much at stake, not that exciting, but compelling. Villa cruise to a 2-0 lead, and look in control, but Deby get a goal back, so a feisty last ten minutes, but Derby come up short. And I had stayed awake.
Which was nice.
Jools let me beat her at uckers.
And that was the weekend, and just about my holiday, just one day left, and the real world is sneaking back up.
When is a party not a party?
The Brexit Party has no members.
The Brexit Party has no manifesto.
The Brexit Party has no policies.
The Brexit Party is registered as an actual company.
The Brexit Party has murky funding streams that apparently allows people to fund it, through Pay Pal, against UK political funding rules.
In an interview with Channel 4, Nigel said he was frustrated in Brexit that members could shape policy and even force him, the leader, out.
That cannot happen with the Brexit Party.
He is the Brexit Party.
So, people have voted for a party with no policies, manifesto, or a way of removing the leader or shaping policy, once they decide to have some policies.
Being unable to remove the leader is a sign of fascism.
Nigel wants to be leader of the Conservative Party.
Be worried. Be very worried.
The Brexit Party has no manifesto.
The Brexit Party has no policies.
The Brexit Party is registered as an actual company.
The Brexit Party has murky funding streams that apparently allows people to fund it, through Pay Pal, against UK political funding rules.
In an interview with Channel 4, Nigel said he was frustrated in Brexit that members could shape policy and even force him, the leader, out.
That cannot happen with the Brexit Party.
He is the Brexit Party.
So, people have voted for a party with no policies, manifesto, or a way of removing the leader or shaping policy, once they decide to have some policies.
Being unable to remove the leader is a sign of fascism.
Nigel wants to be leader of the Conservative Party.
Be worried. Be very worried.
Monday, 27 May 2019
The season in review (part 1)
Football blog alert.
I know, just warning you before you read too far.
Like many Norwich fans, I have spent the last month getting my head round the fact we got promoted. As champions, and are now, well, Premier League.
How did this happen?
It was, a combination of things, and without one of them happening, the result would not have been the same. And yet, things were done right, for some years, and the club believed in what it was doing, and ignored calls for change, even when at the start of the season, the results did not improve.
I think I am right in saying that Daniel Farke only won the Manager of the month award once, and failed to win either of the two main Championship Manager of the Season awards. Is it because we're no Leeds and Farke isn't English? Or Frank Lampard.
So, despite scoring more goals than any other team, winning more games than any other team, losing just six games all season, it seems that isn't enough for the national media, or the game in general But for us fans, our local newspaper and media companies, we're word famous.
Highlights include Michael Bailey's video reports at the end of each game, as he tried, without notes, to make sense of the fact Norwich were playing like Brazil on a regular basis. He won a national award for being the best digital reporter in the county. Well deserved. His first two years in the job have been spent following the development of the Webberlution and Farkeball. He'll never see a season like this again.
Two Twitter accounts were behind a scheme to improve the atmosphere at home grounds, selling t shirts, badges and stickers raised money for @alongcamenodge and the Barclay End Project buy more and more flags and banners, to be waved and raised before games to build the buzz before games.
It worked.
Nor will we.
And to think it all began, on a hot Saturday at the end of July with a pre-season friendly at the Valley, home of Charlton Athletic, who also ended up being promoted this season, and despite being dreadfully run by its owner.
It was a poor game, little to suggest of the wonderful season awaiting both teams that would come. Just a lot of huffing and puffing, and City lost to a deflected goal. It didn't seem a good start to the season But then I have seen two away friendlies, and both seasons that followed saw Norwich promoted. As champions. So, better go to a game every season.
No team wins the title or promotion in August, and no team is ever relegated either. And yet, by the end of the first month of the season, Norwich had lost three games already and were 17th in the table. Leeds were top, unbeaten, WBA were free scoring, and Frank Lampard's Derby County well, were just that.
Little did we know that Norwich would lost just one more away game all season, and just two more home games.
At the start of September, Norwich went to Portman Road, and scraped a late equaliser. It seemed two poor teams, both facing a season of struggle. One would go on to be promoted, the other would get relegated, though at the tame hard to tell which.
I have always said that it is easy to be enthused by the season in August and September, when the sun is still warm, and games end in daylight. Noriwch began to win, but at such an early stage, two wins can lift you up 12 places, which is what happened.
Just before the second international break, City lost another home game, to Stoke, 1-0, but played well. City would lose just two more games all season, but me, reading the result in a tiny room in New York, it felt like every other season, one which promised something, but failed to deliver. I won't say promised much, as few had any hopes of anything other than a moderate improvement on last season. Yet a few points could have lifted us into the top ten, but two wins in the last 13 games mean City ended up below Ipswich. This season, City would go the last 14 games of the season unbeaten, winning ten and drawing 4.
So it goes, so it goes.
October ended with Norwich winning away at Nottingham Forest, home to Aston Villa and to Brentford, so in a good place.
Little did we know that City and the craziness had only just began.
I know, just warning you before you read too far.
Like many Norwich fans, I have spent the last month getting my head round the fact we got promoted. As champions, and are now, well, Premier League.
How did this happen?
It was, a combination of things, and without one of them happening, the result would not have been the same. And yet, things were done right, for some years, and the club believed in what it was doing, and ignored calls for change, even when at the start of the season, the results did not improve.
I think I am right in saying that Daniel Farke only won the Manager of the month award once, and failed to win either of the two main Championship Manager of the Season awards. Is it because we're no Leeds and Farke isn't English? Or Frank Lampard.
So, despite scoring more goals than any other team, winning more games than any other team, losing just six games all season, it seems that isn't enough for the national media, or the game in general But for us fans, our local newspaper and media companies, we're word famous.
Highlights include Michael Bailey's video reports at the end of each game, as he tried, without notes, to make sense of the fact Norwich were playing like Brazil on a regular basis. He won a national award for being the best digital reporter in the county. Well deserved. His first two years in the job have been spent following the development of the Webberlution and Farkeball. He'll never see a season like this again.
Two Twitter accounts were behind a scheme to improve the atmosphere at home grounds, selling t shirts, badges and stickers raised money for @alongcamenodge and the Barclay End Project buy more and more flags and banners, to be waved and raised before games to build the buzz before games.
It worked.
Nor will we.
And to think it all began, on a hot Saturday at the end of July with a pre-season friendly at the Valley, home of Charlton Athletic, who also ended up being promoted this season, and despite being dreadfully run by its owner.
It was a poor game, little to suggest of the wonderful season awaiting both teams that would come. Just a lot of huffing and puffing, and City lost to a deflected goal. It didn't seem a good start to the season But then I have seen two away friendlies, and both seasons that followed saw Norwich promoted. As champions. So, better go to a game every season.
No team wins the title or promotion in August, and no team is ever relegated either. And yet, by the end of the first month of the season, Norwich had lost three games already and were 17th in the table. Leeds were top, unbeaten, WBA were free scoring, and Frank Lampard's Derby County well, were just that.
Little did we know that Norwich would lost just one more away game all season, and just two more home games.
At the start of September, Norwich went to Portman Road, and scraped a late equaliser. It seemed two poor teams, both facing a season of struggle. One would go on to be promoted, the other would get relegated, though at the tame hard to tell which.
I have always said that it is easy to be enthused by the season in August and September, when the sun is still warm, and games end in daylight. Noriwch began to win, but at such an early stage, two wins can lift you up 12 places, which is what happened.
Just before the second international break, City lost another home game, to Stoke, 1-0, but played well. City would lose just two more games all season, but me, reading the result in a tiny room in New York, it felt like every other season, one which promised something, but failed to deliver. I won't say promised much, as few had any hopes of anything other than a moderate improvement on last season. Yet a few points could have lifted us into the top ten, but two wins in the last 13 games mean City ended up below Ipswich. This season, City would go the last 14 games of the season unbeaten, winning ten and drawing 4.
So it goes, so it goes.
October ended with Norwich winning away at Nottingham Forest, home to Aston Villa and to Brentford, so in a good place.
Little did we know that City and the craziness had only just began.
Sunday 26th May 2019
Sunday.
Whit Sunday.
In the height of the Orchid Season.
And yet, the weather forecast wasn't too good, so what to do?
In the end, my tousled locks meant that I plumped for a haircut, and a brief visit to Folkestone, before the main event of the afternoon: more play off football.
Not chasing orchids meant a quiet and easy morning, before climbing in the car at half nine for the short drive through Dover, up the cliffs then through Capel into Folkestone.
I usually have no trouble walking straight into a chair there, but yesterday, I had a half hour wait as the place was packed, before the shy young Armenian invited me to site down, so he could work his magic.
Half an hour later, I was half a stone lighter, and ready for another shorn month of few hairwashes.
On the way home, we drive north to the small wood with the White Helleboines and the single spike of Birds Nest Orchid. I had visited two days previously, but managed to mess up the shots. As you do.
Anyway, we parked in the village and walked to the wood, and on the far side was the single Birds Nest spike, so I snapped it from all angles, checking each shot for perfect this time.
All good.
We go home, and I cook lamb burgers with noodles, stir fry and a huge amount of fresh Kentish asparagus. And a beer.
Meaning that come three when the football began, I was struggling to stay awake. Jools had no such problem, as I heard her gentle snoring soon after she went to lie on the bed to read some more of Terry Pratchet.
Charlton edged the game, so went up with the last kick of the game, meaning our neighbour, Steve (a Sunderland fan) will be very disappointed. But it was the right result.
At six, we do to play cards, and to be honest, the first half was fun, but as Jen and John drank more and more gin, being sober whilst they giggled and smoked began to pale.
Losing heavily didn't help, of course. And laughing boy John won big. And we had to put up with his good mood when we dropped him off.
Whit Sunday.
In the height of the Orchid Season.
And yet, the weather forecast wasn't too good, so what to do?
In the end, my tousled locks meant that I plumped for a haircut, and a brief visit to Folkestone, before the main event of the afternoon: more play off football.
Not chasing orchids meant a quiet and easy morning, before climbing in the car at half nine for the short drive through Dover, up the cliffs then through Capel into Folkestone.
I usually have no trouble walking straight into a chair there, but yesterday, I had a half hour wait as the place was packed, before the shy young Armenian invited me to site down, so he could work his magic.
Half an hour later, I was half a stone lighter, and ready for another shorn month of few hairwashes.
On the way home, we drive north to the small wood with the White Helleboines and the single spike of Birds Nest Orchid. I had visited two days previously, but managed to mess up the shots. As you do.
Anyway, we parked in the village and walked to the wood, and on the far side was the single Birds Nest spike, so I snapped it from all angles, checking each shot for perfect this time.
All good.We go home, and I cook lamb burgers with noodles, stir fry and a huge amount of fresh Kentish asparagus. And a beer.
Meaning that come three when the football began, I was struggling to stay awake. Jools had no such problem, as I heard her gentle snoring soon after she went to lie on the bed to read some more of Terry Pratchet.
Charlton edged the game, so went up with the last kick of the game, meaning our neighbour, Steve (a Sunderland fan) will be very disappointed. But it was the right result.
At six, we do to play cards, and to be honest, the first half was fun, but as Jen and John drank more and more gin, being sober whilst they giggled and smoked began to pale.
Losing heavily didn't help, of course. And laughing boy John won big. And we had to put up with his good mood when we dropped him off.
EU election results: what does it mean?
Well, depends.
Of course.
But, despite what Fleet Street and BBC says, this was not a massive swing towards Leave. The percentage of votes that UKIP (under leader Nigel) compared to the Brexit Party (under leader Nigel), shows a very modest rise indeed.
What we can say, is that parties that said, without doubt, whether they were leave or remain did well.
Brexit Party did well for Leave, but LibDems, Change, The Greens, and the Welsh and Scottish Nationalists polled, combines a good five points ahead of the combined Brexit/UKIP vote.
So, what does it mean?
Well, as the Conservatives were thrashed, I have not seen what their total vote share was, but I heard predictions of less than 10%, and Labour hemoraging votes to the Brexit Party in the north and the Lib Dems in the south, picking a policy and sticking to it might help.
If the Conservatives see the result that driving for a harder, quicker Brexit, then they are missing on how many votes they lost to the Remain Parties, and for Labour, only being vague on a second referendum, even to confirm no deal or no Brexit was a major mistake.
Britain is as divided as before, and despite predictions of a heavy vote, it was less than in several previous EU elections
It fixes or proves nothing, only for those clutching at straws.
You are welcome.
Of course.
But, despite what Fleet Street and BBC says, this was not a massive swing towards Leave. The percentage of votes that UKIP (under leader Nigel) compared to the Brexit Party (under leader Nigel), shows a very modest rise indeed.
What we can say, is that parties that said, without doubt, whether they were leave or remain did well.
Brexit Party did well for Leave, but LibDems, Change, The Greens, and the Welsh and Scottish Nationalists polled, combines a good five points ahead of the combined Brexit/UKIP vote.
So, what does it mean?
Well, as the Conservatives were thrashed, I have not seen what their total vote share was, but I heard predictions of less than 10%, and Labour hemoraging votes to the Brexit Party in the north and the Lib Dems in the south, picking a policy and sticking to it might help.
If the Conservatives see the result that driving for a harder, quicker Brexit, then they are missing on how many votes they lost to the Remain Parties, and for Labour, only being vague on a second referendum, even to confirm no deal or no Brexit was a major mistake.
Britain is as divided as before, and despite predictions of a heavy vote, it was less than in several previous EU elections
It fixes or proves nothing, only for those clutching at straws.
You are welcome.
Sunday, 26 May 2019
Saturday 25th May 2019
Bank Holiday weekend.
Mega-orchid hunt planned.
And with the shopping down the day before, we could have breakfast, then go out straight away, and, well, do whatever we, or me being the orchid hunter, wanted.
I have been hearing about a place called Ranscombe Farm, so thought we might visit there, as there were said to be orchids. And being dumb, I didn't check on the place before hand, thinking we could just stumble on orchids as we went, I mean, how large could the farm be?
I'll spoil it here and say that it is huge. The circular walk is four and a half miles.
But first, there was a single spike of a rare orchid, the Lesser Butterfly, at Stockbury. A site I know well, so again, how hard could it be?
Being bank holiday, we were out quite early, but not too early as the plan was to visit a church afterwards, and that did not open until two. So we did not want to be sitting around outside for it to be open.
We needn't have worried, the walk took over four hours.
Anyway, we go to Stockbury, just missing the massive traffic jams heading for the garden show at the showground. Just how I'd like to spend my Saturday, shuffling round looking at pot plants with tens of thousands of others. Such places would be fine if it were not for other people.
We park in the wood, and wander round the reserve, I was worrying I wouldn't be able to find the orchid, but i told myself, its white, over twelve inches high, of course you'll see it.
I began to doubt myself when it wasn't where expected, but further along, I saw a spike, topped with angel shaped white flowers.
Bingo, bango bongo.
So, as the gentle rain, unforecasted rain, falls, I get my shots, taken them from all angles, and we go back to the car for the short drive over the Medway.
Ranscombe Farm is on the top of the Medway Valley, near to Rochester, you get to it from a small car park. But first, there were trains to snap, as the nearby main road had great views down the line and the viaduct that carried HS1.
We waited 20 minutes for one of the new Eurostars to come flying along, from France of Belgium. And once I had snapped that, we walked back to the car, where I changed cameras and lenses, and we carried on into the reserve.
Jools grabbed a leaflet which told us which way to go, and what we might see.
The path took us up the down, into a wood and along a while. We saw a couple of Early Purple spikes, but that was it for a while.
The walk went on, and after an hour, as we stood on the edge of a large field, we talked about going back or going all the way round. We were about 40% round.
Best carry on I sighed.
Damn these orchids and butterflies.
So we did walk on, and having forgotten water or any refreshments, we were hot, bothered and hungry.
We walked down from the highest point to the Garden Meadow, which the leaflet said was one of the best wildflower meadows in England. That might be true, but in May, they were still growing out of the bone dry ground.
Sigh.
We walk on, up the other side of the meadow, through a gate, ad to the crest of a hill, and the Medway Valley opened out before us, a mis of fields and wooded areas, all covered in dappled shade caused by the clouds, creating an almost infinite number of shades of green.
We sit down to admire the view.
My legs and back ache, but there was only thing we could do; press on.
So into the wood, where Jools spots a singe White Helleborines spike in flower, then we see more and more, all in a small stretch of woodland.
A woman comes over and asks us if we're ween the Fly Orchid? I saw it nine years ago and its not there now.
Indeed.
The final stretch is along the bottom of a dry field, littered with flints. It was hard going, but we could now see the Medway bridges, so knew we were near to the car park.
We arrived back and drowned the emergency water in the boot, though it was warm having been baking in the car for several hours.
Down the valley towards Maidstone, we stop off at a garage to fill up and get some food. We eat burritos and drink iced tea in the car, with the gentle breeze blwoing through the open windows.
Time to go home, then.
We drive home, back to the M2 and east to Dover, traffic getting lighter all the time, arriving back so I could watch extra time in the first play off; yes, football is back!
So later we could dine on a selection of party food, even though there was no party.
Mega-orchid hunt planned.
And with the shopping down the day before, we could have breakfast, then go out straight away, and, well, do whatever we, or me being the orchid hunter, wanted.
I have been hearing about a place called Ranscombe Farm, so thought we might visit there, as there were said to be orchids. And being dumb, I didn't check on the place before hand, thinking we could just stumble on orchids as we went, I mean, how large could the farm be?
I'll spoil it here and say that it is huge. The circular walk is four and a half miles.
But first, there was a single spike of a rare orchid, the Lesser Butterfly, at Stockbury. A site I know well, so again, how hard could it be?
Being bank holiday, we were out quite early, but not too early as the plan was to visit a church afterwards, and that did not open until two. So we did not want to be sitting around outside for it to be open.
We needn't have worried, the walk took over four hours.
Anyway, we go to Stockbury, just missing the massive traffic jams heading for the garden show at the showground. Just how I'd like to spend my Saturday, shuffling round looking at pot plants with tens of thousands of others. Such places would be fine if it were not for other people.
We park in the wood, and wander round the reserve, I was worrying I wouldn't be able to find the orchid, but i told myself, its white, over twelve inches high, of course you'll see it.
I began to doubt myself when it wasn't where expected, but further along, I saw a spike, topped with angel shaped white flowers.
Bingo, bango bongo.So, as the gentle rain, unforecasted rain, falls, I get my shots, taken them from all angles, and we go back to the car for the short drive over the Medway.
Ranscombe Farm is on the top of the Medway Valley, near to Rochester, you get to it from a small car park. But first, there were trains to snap, as the nearby main road had great views down the line and the viaduct that carried HS1.
We waited 20 minutes for one of the new Eurostars to come flying along, from France of Belgium. And once I had snapped that, we walked back to the car, where I changed cameras and lenses, and we carried on into the reserve.Jools grabbed a leaflet which told us which way to go, and what we might see.
The path took us up the down, into a wood and along a while. We saw a couple of Early Purple spikes, but that was it for a while.
The walk went on, and after an hour, as we stood on the edge of a large field, we talked about going back or going all the way round. We were about 40% round.
Best carry on I sighed.Damn these orchids and butterflies.
So we did walk on, and having forgotten water or any refreshments, we were hot, bothered and hungry.We walked down from the highest point to the Garden Meadow, which the leaflet said was one of the best wildflower meadows in England. That might be true, but in May, they were still growing out of the bone dry ground.
Sigh.
We walk on, up the other side of the meadow, through a gate, ad to the crest of a hill, and the Medway Valley opened out before us, a mis of fields and wooded areas, all covered in dappled shade caused by the clouds, creating an almost infinite number of shades of green.We sit down to admire the view.
My legs and back ache, but there was only thing we could do; press on.
So into the wood, where Jools spots a singe White Helleborines spike in flower, then we see more and more, all in a small stretch of woodland.
A woman comes over and asks us if we're ween the Fly Orchid? I saw it nine years ago and its not there now.
Indeed.
The final stretch is along the bottom of a dry field, littered with flints. It was hard going, but we could now see the Medway bridges, so knew we were near to the car park.
We arrived back and drowned the emergency water in the boot, though it was warm having been baking in the car for several hours.
Down the valley towards Maidstone, we stop off at a garage to fill up and get some food. We eat burritos and drink iced tea in the car, with the gentle breeze blwoing through the open windows.
Time to go home, then.
We drive home, back to the M2 and east to Dover, traffic getting lighter all the time, arriving back so I could watch extra time in the first play off; yes, football is back!
So later we could dine on a selection of party food, even though there was no party.
Let Battle Royale begin
There are now some eight MPs who have said they want to be Tory leader, latest two are Rom Raab, a man, who as Minister for Brexit expressed surprise that so much of UK's trade relied on trade crossing the Channel between Dover and Calais
I mean, who knew we were an island?
Lately, he has suggested that in the event of a no deal there would still be a transition.
And he is a leading contender.
Michael Gove is married to a columnist on the Daily Mail, so already has the backing of Lord Rothermere, and his ear too. And he has already scuppered one Johnson leadership bid, and probably would sink another. The one thing most of the contenders agree on is that Johnson is a wanker.
That nearly 3 years after the referendum, leading members of the Conservative Party, and actual Ministers for Brexit, has such poor understanding of the issues involved, I mean we should be shocked and horrified, but in reality, we're not.
If you thought it was painful and embarrassing thus far, you have seen nothing yet, and the liklihood of a no deal gets closer as they don't understand, or want to understand, what it would mean.
Raab is already talking about more tax cuts for the wealthy, though unable to say where the money would come from, other than efficiencies.
What could possibly go wrong?
I mean, who knew we were an island?
Lately, he has suggested that in the event of a no deal there would still be a transition.
And he is a leading contender.
Michael Gove is married to a columnist on the Daily Mail, so already has the backing of Lord Rothermere, and his ear too. And he has already scuppered one Johnson leadership bid, and probably would sink another. The one thing most of the contenders agree on is that Johnson is a wanker.
That nearly 3 years after the referendum, leading members of the Conservative Party, and actual Ministers for Brexit, has such poor understanding of the issues involved, I mean we should be shocked and horrified, but in reality, we're not.
If you thought it was painful and embarrassing thus far, you have seen nothing yet, and the liklihood of a no deal gets closer as they don't understand, or want to understand, what it would mean.
Raab is already talking about more tax cuts for the wealthy, though unable to say where the money would come from, other than efficiencies.
What could possibly go wrong?
Saturday, 25 May 2019
Friday 24th May 2019
End of the week. Only when you're on your holibobs, every day feels like a Friday. Tjough these days of wine and roses are coming to an end, and I have to face work again, with the consequences that such a return will bring.
We shall see.
But for now there is orchids. There are butterflies.
And for now, I will fly free like a bird and let my heart sing with joy. I like being happy, it brings me joy.
For the day, I have to take Jools for a very early yoga session down in DOver, and that began at half six, meaning we had to be out of the house at ten past six, and what was there keeping me, as Flickr was as unusable as ever, so I shut the laptop down, and we walk out the door.
Just behind the promenade, I park the car and Jools runs off carrying her mat and foamy thing, the use of which I have no idea. And I have an hour to kill.
I walk back to the new pier, the new bridge and the ongoing work on the old Prince of Wales Pier, which is still out of bounds, but the clock tower still stands, though surrounded by cones and fenced off areas.
People are put walking and exercising, taking in the fine morning.
I return to the car to listen to the radio, and be ready for when Jools returns, as we had just 30 minutes to get to Hythe before she was due to start work once the class finished, and I would get her there on time!
She comes out, I have the enge fired up, and as soon as she gets in, we're off, onto Townwall Street and up and out of the town on the A20.
In the end I get her there with 5 minutes to spare, she had changed on route, like in a movie. I did wonder what was going on when she took her trousers off!
Anyway, I now had six hours in which to fit in some orchid chasing, and maybe some shopping.
First port of call was Wye Down, where in a hollow is a little known colony of one of the UK's rarest orchids, and a little bird told me that there were beginning to open.
So, parking on the road, I clamber over the stile, walk through the meadow of bright yellow Crosswort, go up the bank, and there are a dozen or so cages.
So I go from one to one, inspect what is inside, and photograph those that are in flower.
They are all Late Spiders, but all are different, only the upturned lower lip gives the species away.
As always, I have the place to myself, which is always nice.
From there I go to Stelling Minis for breakfast of a cold pasty, some Guinness flavoured crisps and a banana milk shake. As you do.
That done, I drive the short distance to PGD, where I was to look over the Monkey again, hunt for the Musk and snap the open Greater Butterfly.
The monkey I did. I mean they are having a great year, out in huge numbers and more to come. I snap so many, including a group of five, which is unheard of.
Of the Musk, there was no sign. I was on limited time, but I'm sure if they were there, I would have seen them. Always next week. I suppose.
And as for the Butterfly: well, none of the spikes were out, despite being in open downland.
Two quick calls on the way back, one to check on the Birds Nest, just two flowers out, but I mess the shots up, as I do of the White Helleborines too.
But closer to Dover, I snap the colony of Man Orchids, now spreading over the flatter areas, and in ever increasing numbers.
Back home, then grab the shopping bags, the list and off to Tesco to race round throwing things in the trolley, before going back home to thwo it all in the fridge, to be in time to leave the house at half one to collect Jools at two
Phew.
Once back home, we were going to go for a walk into Deal, but my back wasn't doing well, so Jools says she will walk herslef, and I will meet her at The Green Berry at half five.
Which sounded fine to me.
I find things t do round the house, some of which was productive, watering the garden for example, before I leave for Deal. Or, strictly speaking, Walmer.
Traffic is heavy, but made worse by some roadworks on the Deal Road, meaning I arrive 5 minutes late, finding Jools already halfway through a glass of cider, her first for four months. I have a porter, and we sit in the beer garden, under the tumbling tresses of an ancient wisteria, whose scent was heady.
After just ONE beer, we drive into Deal, park at the bottom of the pier, and go to the fish and chip restaurant. No Skate, so I say I'll have cod. Large or small?
I was hungry, so said, large.
It came on a fish shaped plate, filling it.
It was magnificent. Golden crispy batter, with steamed white flakes of fresh fish inside.
I eat it all.
I was hungry no more.
We walk to the car and drive home.
I have a shower, then we retire to the sofa to watch Monty at the Chelsea flower festival. It is packed, looks like hell. We're happy watching it on TV to be honest.
We shall see.
But for now there is orchids. There are butterflies.
And for now, I will fly free like a bird and let my heart sing with joy. I like being happy, it brings me joy.For the day, I have to take Jools for a very early yoga session down in DOver, and that began at half six, meaning we had to be out of the house at ten past six, and what was there keeping me, as Flickr was as unusable as ever, so I shut the laptop down, and we walk out the door.
Just behind the promenade, I park the car and Jools runs off carrying her mat and foamy thing, the use of which I have no idea. And I have an hour to kill. I walk back to the new pier, the new bridge and the ongoing work on the old Prince of Wales Pier, which is still out of bounds, but the clock tower still stands, though surrounded by cones and fenced off areas.
People are put walking and exercising, taking in the fine morning.
I return to the car to listen to the radio, and be ready for when Jools returns, as we had just 30 minutes to get to Hythe before she was due to start work once the class finished, and I would get her there on time!
She comes out, I have the enge fired up, and as soon as she gets in, we're off, onto Townwall Street and up and out of the town on the A20.
In the end I get her there with 5 minutes to spare, she had changed on route, like in a movie. I did wonder what was going on when she took her trousers off!
Anyway, I now had six hours in which to fit in some orchid chasing, and maybe some shopping.
First port of call was Wye Down, where in a hollow is a little known colony of one of the UK's rarest orchids, and a little bird told me that there were beginning to open.
So, parking on the road, I clamber over the stile, walk through the meadow of bright yellow Crosswort, go up the bank, and there are a dozen or so cages.So I go from one to one, inspect what is inside, and photograph those that are in flower.
They are all Late Spiders, but all are different, only the upturned lower lip gives the species away.
As always, I have the place to myself, which is always nice.
From there I go to Stelling Minis for breakfast of a cold pasty, some Guinness flavoured crisps and a banana milk shake. As you do.
That done, I drive the short distance to PGD, where I was to look over the Monkey again, hunt for the Musk and snap the open Greater Butterfly.
The monkey I did. I mean they are having a great year, out in huge numbers and more to come. I snap so many, including a group of five, which is unheard of.
Of the Musk, there was no sign. I was on limited time, but I'm sure if they were there, I would have seen them. Always next week. I suppose.
And as for the Butterfly: well, none of the spikes were out, despite being in open downland.
Two quick calls on the way back, one to check on the Birds Nest, just two flowers out, but I mess the shots up, as I do of the White Helleborines too.
But closer to Dover, I snap the colony of Man Orchids, now spreading over the flatter areas, and in ever increasing numbers.
Back home, then grab the shopping bags, the list and off to Tesco to race round throwing things in the trolley, before going back home to thwo it all in the fridge, to be in time to leave the house at half one to collect Jools at two
Phew.
Once back home, we were going to go for a walk into Deal, but my back wasn't doing well, so Jools says she will walk herslef, and I will meet her at The Green Berry at half five.
Which sounded fine to me.
I find things t do round the house, some of which was productive, watering the garden for example, before I leave for Deal. Or, strictly speaking, Walmer.
Traffic is heavy, but made worse by some roadworks on the Deal Road, meaning I arrive 5 minutes late, finding Jools already halfway through a glass of cider, her first for four months. I have a porter, and we sit in the beer garden, under the tumbling tresses of an ancient wisteria, whose scent was heady.
After just ONE beer, we drive into Deal, park at the bottom of the pier, and go to the fish and chip restaurant. No Skate, so I say I'll have cod. Large or small?
I was hungry, so said, large.
It came on a fish shaped plate, filling it.
It was magnificent. Golden crispy batter, with steamed white flakes of fresh fish inside.
I eat it all.
I was hungry no more.
We walk to the car and drive home.
I have a shower, then we retire to the sofa to watch Monty at the Chelsea flower festival. It is packed, looks like hell. We're happy watching it on TV to be honest.
Friday, 24 May 2019
No sympathy for May
Let's get this straight, in her resignation speech, May showed more humanity than she did in the previous two and three quarter years.
Facing up to the fact you have not done well enough to have the support of your party and colleagues is tough.
But not as tough as May has been on immigration. Irrationally so.
The "hostile environment" was her idea. It lead to hundreds, if not thousands of those of the Windrush Generation, and their families, all UK citizens, to be deported. A clearly illegal act.
She sent vans round cities threatening arrest to anyone thought of not being in the country legally.
This is the effect of the hostile environment, friends turning friends in, people living in fear.
She then put the end of free movement, one of the for freedoms that is the pillars of the EU single market to be the single most important thing, and everything would be sacrificed to ensure freedom of movement would end. That includes UK industry, jobs, the NHS. Everything.
And now the disenfranchisement of EU citizens in the UK, and UK citizens in the EU form being able to exercise their right to vote on the EU elections. They really don't care. May really does not care.
On top of this, tens of thousands of foreign students falsely accused of cheating on their university course and deported with little evidence, the NAO report is damning.
May has lied and lied her way through Brexit, it failure is her failure. Brexit was always going to be shit, but they way she handled it ensured it would be very shit indeed. Her red lines, created with little thought of what their effects would be, thus locking out any sensible compromise.
After Cameron, she is is the worst PM of all time, though when you look at who is in line to follow, that already low bar will be several notches lower.
God help us all.
Facing up to the fact you have not done well enough to have the support of your party and colleagues is tough.
But not as tough as May has been on immigration. Irrationally so.
The "hostile environment" was her idea. It lead to hundreds, if not thousands of those of the Windrush Generation, and their families, all UK citizens, to be deported. A clearly illegal act.
She sent vans round cities threatening arrest to anyone thought of not being in the country legally.
This is the effect of the hostile environment, friends turning friends in, people living in fear.
She then put the end of free movement, one of the for freedoms that is the pillars of the EU single market to be the single most important thing, and everything would be sacrificed to ensure freedom of movement would end. That includes UK industry, jobs, the NHS. Everything.
And now the disenfranchisement of EU citizens in the UK, and UK citizens in the EU form being able to exercise their right to vote on the EU elections. They really don't care. May really does not care.
On top of this, tens of thousands of foreign students falsely accused of cheating on their university course and deported with little evidence, the NAO report is damning.
May has lied and lied her way through Brexit, it failure is her failure. Brexit was always going to be shit, but they way she handled it ensured it would be very shit indeed. Her red lines, created with little thought of what their effects would be, thus locking out any sensible compromise.
After Cameron, she is is the worst PM of all time, though when you look at who is in line to follow, that already low bar will be several notches lower.
God help us all.
Thursday 23rd May 2019
Thursday.
EU Elections day!! (who saw that coming? ME!!!)
My holiday is running out, just six days to go now, and thoughts turn to what will happen next week. At least long works allow me to think things through.
We shall see.
Jools had a medical appointment, so she took the car again, so I dossed around the house for a while, well, several hours, writing, editing, then having a shower so I looked and smelt lovely.
After watching the birds in the garden for a while, I take me and the camera for a walk, down the hill on Station Road, and up the other side, looking at the wild flowers growing on the verge, and enjoying the warm sunshine.
I stride up the hill the other side, then take the path of Westcliffe Road, past the old military storage buildings, now hidden behind trees and a magnet for the St Maggies graffiti posse. And into the field beyond, filled as it was with tall sways grass, soon to be harvested for silage.
It didn't have a lot of wild flowers, but did offer fine views to Westcliffe church and beyond to where Chez Jelltex snuggled on the side of the down.
Back down to the rad, then into the village to the town hall to do my democratic duty in electing those unelected Eurocrats Nigel is always complaining about. There was a lot of people voting, more than for the local elections two weeks ago, and far, far more than at any of the previous EU elections I have taken part it.
I could have voted for Nigel himself, as he represents SE England apparently. Though not very well, clearly.
And back outside, take a shot of the door, and back home via the village shop where I don't buy an ice cream, just a bottle of squash and some naans.
Then back home down the hill and back up the other side.
I spend the day doing some gardening, and waiting to see if Flickr was ever going to work again. Well, 24 hours later and it still isn't, so no pictures again today, I suspect.
I while away the afternoon, and Jools comes back at five with news that she has no issues after all. So good news.
When's dinner, she asks. You hungry? Yes.
I'll cook now.
We have sweet maple syrup marinated chicken, with sweetcorn and couscous. Which is darned good I have to say.
Again, we spend the evening quietly. I listen to the radio and Jools watches something on her laptop.
It gets dark, we get sleepy. And go to bed.
EU Elections day!! (who saw that coming? ME!!!)
My holiday is running out, just six days to go now, and thoughts turn to what will happen next week. At least long works allow me to think things through.
We shall see.
Jools had a medical appointment, so she took the car again, so I dossed around the house for a while, well, several hours, writing, editing, then having a shower so I looked and smelt lovely.
After watching the birds in the garden for a while, I take me and the camera for a walk, down the hill on Station Road, and up the other side, looking at the wild flowers growing on the verge, and enjoying the warm sunshine.
I stride up the hill the other side, then take the path of Westcliffe Road, past the old military storage buildings, now hidden behind trees and a magnet for the St Maggies graffiti posse. And into the field beyond, filled as it was with tall sways grass, soon to be harvested for silage.
It didn't have a lot of wild flowers, but did offer fine views to Westcliffe church and beyond to where Chez Jelltex snuggled on the side of the down.Back down to the rad, then into the village to the town hall to do my democratic duty in electing those unelected Eurocrats Nigel is always complaining about. There was a lot of people voting, more than for the local elections two weeks ago, and far, far more than at any of the previous EU elections I have taken part it.
I could have voted for Nigel himself, as he represents SE England apparently. Though not very well, clearly.And back outside, take a shot of the door, and back home via the village shop where I don't buy an ice cream, just a bottle of squash and some naans.
Then back home down the hill and back up the other side.
I spend the day doing some gardening, and waiting to see if Flickr was ever going to work again. Well, 24 hours later and it still isn't, so no pictures again today, I suspect.
I while away the afternoon, and Jools comes back at five with news that she has no issues after all. So good news.
When's dinner, she asks. You hungry? Yes.
I'll cook now.
We have sweet maple syrup marinated chicken, with sweetcorn and couscous. Which is darned good I have to say.
Again, we spend the evening quietly. I listen to the radio and Jools watches something on her laptop.
It gets dark, we get sleepy. And go to bed.
Gone but not gone
So, this morning May announced she was standing down.
Hustings begin for her successor on 19th June, but she will stay in place until there is a suitable replacement.
And that is the rub.
As the eventual winner of the Conservative Party leadership contest will not be automatically become the new PM. To be PM it has to be clear that the winner could command a majority in the House.
And until the winner can command such a majority, May will remain as PM, as there has to be a PM. So, we could have a new Tory leader and a different, May, PM.
Strange times.
All contenders, including Brady, the chairman of the 1922 committee are throwing their hats into the ring, and each when they speak, will not be for the consumption of the EU, the rest of UK or Parliament, but to the few thousand members of the party who will vote.
So, there will be strong talk, very strong talk, raising expectations of some kind of miracle in which the EU sees Boris, or some other new PM, and caves in. In reality the EU will be polite, let Boris speak, and make his pitch and say "non".
Boris has said today that the UK will leave the EU on 31st October deal or no deal, which kind of nails his colours to the mast
Reality will not change. No deal will be a disaster, and all know it, though not all acknowledge it, and whoever is PM when they take us over the cliff will carry the can. Will Boris want that? Will one of the multitude of skeletons in his cupboards be brought out to wreck his leadership bid, or would it be better just to let him bluster his way into Number 10.
What doesn't change is the numbers in the House and Lords, meaning that it is impossible to see how no deal could be allowed through, but who knows.
It will be interesting, bumpy, but will be pretty expensive to the national wealth.
Hustings begin for her successor on 19th June, but she will stay in place until there is a suitable replacement.
And that is the rub.
As the eventual winner of the Conservative Party leadership contest will not be automatically become the new PM. To be PM it has to be clear that the winner could command a majority in the House.
And until the winner can command such a majority, May will remain as PM, as there has to be a PM. So, we could have a new Tory leader and a different, May, PM.
Strange times.
All contenders, including Brady, the chairman of the 1922 committee are throwing their hats into the ring, and each when they speak, will not be for the consumption of the EU, the rest of UK or Parliament, but to the few thousand members of the party who will vote.
So, there will be strong talk, very strong talk, raising expectations of some kind of miracle in which the EU sees Boris, or some other new PM, and caves in. In reality the EU will be polite, let Boris speak, and make his pitch and say "non".
Boris has said today that the UK will leave the EU on 31st October deal or no deal, which kind of nails his colours to the mast
Reality will not change. No deal will be a disaster, and all know it, though not all acknowledge it, and whoever is PM when they take us over the cliff will carry the can. Will Boris want that? Will one of the multitude of skeletons in his cupboards be brought out to wreck his leadership bid, or would it be better just to let him bluster his way into Number 10.
What doesn't change is the numbers in the House and Lords, meaning that it is impossible to see how no deal could be allowed through, but who knows.
It will be interesting, bumpy, but will be pretty expensive to the national wealth.
Thursday, 23 May 2019
End of May. Again.
May is expected to resign before midday tomorrow, before the 1922 Committee meets, so they don't have to go through the process of changing their rules to make another vote of no confidence.
It is understood that electioneering will begin in early June.
It is expected to take between 2 and eight weeks.
Two weeks if there is no contest.
Eight weeks if there is a full blown election with a handful of candidates.
That will take us to the summer recess.
Then it will be conference season.
So the first proper take the new leader will have is to request a further extension to A50.
Don't wast the time, the UK was told. But we were already running towards the beach.
It is understood that electioneering will begin in early June.
It is expected to take between 2 and eight weeks.
Two weeks if there is no contest.
Eight weeks if there is a full blown election with a handful of candidates.
That will take us to the summer recess.
Then it will be conference season.
So the first proper take the new leader will have is to request a further extension to A50.
Don't wast the time, the UK was told. But we were already running towards the beach.
Wednesday 22nd May 2019
So far today, (Thursday) Flickr has been down for maintenance for 16 hours, and no sign of it coming back, so no pictures on this post for now.
I am now sleeping well, so going to sleep just after nine and sleeping through to half five means eight hours, which is enough.
I decided that I did not need the car, so Jools could drive to work alone, and I would do "stuff" at home.
Write, listen to the radio and edit shots. I am taking a lot of shots at the moment, you will not be surprised to hear, so many I can't post them all on Flickr. Butterflies, orchids go on FB, and other wildflowers go on Twitter. But I shoot an incredible number of shots, especially at this time of the year, with it being peak orchid season. Even when I'm not shooting orchids, there's something else to shoot.
But when it got to eleven, I thought I had better put some trousers on and go for a walk.
Back in the day, knowing where to go, when to go, where to look for plants, butterflies and so on, used to be called fieldcraft. Knowing where to go to see just what you want to see is stuff you learn over a number of years.
I guessed, correctly as it turned out, that by now Common Blues and Adonis Blues should be out at Kingsdown Leas. If I was lucky I might see one or the other, or both,. But in the end I saw more than I hoped to.
I carried my camera with macro lens and ring flash attached. It weighs quite a bit, and so had to move it all the time not to put strain on my back. But it was good.
Along the street where two new houses are being built where just one used to stand. The new owners had better be good friends, as the tw houses will be next to each other, and there is very limited garden space.
Oh well.
Over the fields to Fleet House, where a new brood of spotted piglets have arrived, and squeal their delight at a stranger coming by. He might have food! Or not. I scratch one's nose and walk on, the piglets go back to drinking from their metal trough.
I turn down Norway Drove, down towards the Dip, which when I get to the bottom is bone dry, just mud set like concrete. But there are butterflies everywhere. I snap a Brown Argus that is perching on the end of a grass stalk, it looks stunning.
A good start.
Not so good was the Common Blue I chased for 5 minutes that never quite settled.
Of course, from the bottom of the Dip, it is quite a climb up the other side to the road, but I do it well enough, stopping foe shots now and again.
Along the top road, stopping to feed the two horses looking mournful with some fresh grass, then up the path towards the Monument. And along the side of the path I see what I recognise to be a Fumitory (a plant), so I stop to snap that before turning down the little used path towards Kingsdown.
Once through the gate into Kingsdown, where there had been a large cliff fall meaning the path now has to be further inland, the strip of National Trust owned land now getting narrower and narrower.
Further along, the fences end, and that's where the butterflies should be.
I see none.
And then I see some blue.
A vibrant blue. An Adonis Blue.
And it settled. Man, there is no other blue in the sunshine, the blue looks un-natural.
I snap that male and a couple of others, but a sooty blue blur goes by and settles, a tine Small Blue was basking, so I snap him too.
Two great shots and butterfly species in 30 seconds!
Further along I see another blue, a Common Blue, which I also snap.
In twenty minutes I had got what I came for, so turned for home, in the now midday sun.
More like early afternoon sun, but you get the picture. It was hot, and I was thirsty.
But I pressed on. From half a mile away I could hear a loud group of walkers, and they were heading down the path where I was standing. How could these ruin my lovely peaceful walk. As I walked over the brow of the hill, I could hear them laughing and shouting, getting nearer. So I tried to walk quicker, back to the top of Norway Drove, then down. They wouldn't follow me down, will they?
Yes they would.
But by then I was down the bottom and climbing up the other side, past Fleet house and back along the track to the fields and home.
I really could do with a beer, but make a tea instead.
Phew, that was good, but also my legs stiffened up when I sit on the sofa to watch a TV show about botany.
As you do.
Soon it is time to prepare dinner; make a batch of facaccia bread to go with the caprese, and I don't care about the calories, I'll have wine, goddamit.
Jools comes home, we are reunited and the bread is ready, cooling down and crispy, all covered in freshly milled salt and olive oil. Goes so well with the tomatoes and cheese.
And wine.
Did I mention the wine?
And that left us with the radio to listen to for the rest of the evening.
Phew, rock and roll.
I am now sleeping well, so going to sleep just after nine and sleeping through to half five means eight hours, which is enough.
I decided that I did not need the car, so Jools could drive to work alone, and I would do "stuff" at home.
Write, listen to the radio and edit shots. I am taking a lot of shots at the moment, you will not be surprised to hear, so many I can't post them all on Flickr. Butterflies, orchids go on FB, and other wildflowers go on Twitter. But I shoot an incredible number of shots, especially at this time of the year, with it being peak orchid season. Even when I'm not shooting orchids, there's something else to shoot.
But when it got to eleven, I thought I had better put some trousers on and go for a walk.
Back in the day, knowing where to go, when to go, where to look for plants, butterflies and so on, used to be called fieldcraft. Knowing where to go to see just what you want to see is stuff you learn over a number of years.
I guessed, correctly as it turned out, that by now Common Blues and Adonis Blues should be out at Kingsdown Leas. If I was lucky I might see one or the other, or both,. But in the end I saw more than I hoped to.
I carried my camera with macro lens and ring flash attached. It weighs quite a bit, and so had to move it all the time not to put strain on my back. But it was good.Along the street where two new houses are being built where just one used to stand. The new owners had better be good friends, as the tw houses will be next to each other, and there is very limited garden space.
Oh well.Over the fields to Fleet House, where a new brood of spotted piglets have arrived, and squeal their delight at a stranger coming by. He might have food! Or not. I scratch one's nose and walk on, the piglets go back to drinking from their metal trough.
I turn down Norway Drove, down towards the Dip, which when I get to the bottom is bone dry, just mud set like concrete. But there are butterflies everywhere. I snap a Brown Argus that is perching on the end of a grass stalk, it looks stunning.
A good start.Not so good was the Common Blue I chased for 5 minutes that never quite settled.
Of course, from the bottom of the Dip, it is quite a climb up the other side to the road, but I do it well enough, stopping foe shots now and again.Along the top road, stopping to feed the two horses looking mournful with some fresh grass, then up the path towards the Monument. And along the side of the path I see what I recognise to be a Fumitory (a plant), so I stop to snap that before turning down the little used path towards Kingsdown.
Once through the gate into Kingsdown, where there had been a large cliff fall meaning the path now has to be further inland, the strip of National Trust owned land now getting narrower and narrower.Further along, the fences end, and that's where the butterflies should be.
I see none.
And then I see some blue.A vibrant blue. An Adonis Blue.
And it settled. Man, there is no other blue in the sunshine, the blue looks un-natural.
I snap that male and a couple of others, but a sooty blue blur goes by and settles, a tine Small Blue was basking, so I snap him too.
Two great shots and butterfly species in 30 seconds!
Further along I see another blue, a Common Blue, which I also snap.
In twenty minutes I had got what I came for, so turned for home, in the now midday sun.
More like early afternoon sun, but you get the picture. It was hot, and I was thirsty.
But I pressed on. From half a mile away I could hear a loud group of walkers, and they were heading down the path where I was standing. How could these ruin my lovely peaceful walk. As I walked over the brow of the hill, I could hear them laughing and shouting, getting nearer. So I tried to walk quicker, back to the top of Norway Drove, then down. They wouldn't follow me down, will they?
Yes they would.
But by then I was down the bottom and climbing up the other side, past Fleet house and back along the track to the fields and home.
I really could do with a beer, but make a tea instead.
Phew, that was good, but also my legs stiffened up when I sit on the sofa to watch a TV show about botany.
As you do.
Soon it is time to prepare dinner; make a batch of facaccia bread to go with the caprese, and I don't care about the calories, I'll have wine, goddamit.
Jools comes home, we are reunited and the bread is ready, cooling down and crispy, all covered in freshly milled salt and olive oil. Goes so well with the tomatoes and cheese.
And wine.
Did I mention the wine?
And that left us with the radio to listen to for the rest of the evening.
Phew, rock and roll.
Today
Today would have been Dad's 80th birthday.
He only made it to 57, just four years older than I am now.
Which is worrying.
There will be a point in the not too distant future in which he has been gone longer than I knew him. My memories of him are sketchy now, I can't really remember his voice, what he sounded like. But I do remember his laugh. He liked to laugh.
And wind people up. Start arguments and walk off. Apparently. His friends at work called him the aggrovator.
He is now just a faded memory, as we all will be one day, faces in faded photos, a name in a newspaper clipping remarking that we had passed, and his family missed him.
Now his widow sits 24 hours a day in her armchair, smoking, eating shortbread and doing crosswords.
We are just waiting for our time to be up, really. It how we use that time, really that sets us apart.
Death will drag me kicking and screaming.
He only made it to 57, just four years older than I am now.
Which is worrying.
There will be a point in the not too distant future in which he has been gone longer than I knew him. My memories of him are sketchy now, I can't really remember his voice, what he sounded like. But I do remember his laugh. He liked to laugh.
And wind people up. Start arguments and walk off. Apparently. His friends at work called him the aggrovator.
He is now just a faded memory, as we all will be one day, faces in faded photos, a name in a newspaper clipping remarking that we had passed, and his family missed him.
Now his widow sits 24 hours a day in her armchair, smoking, eating shortbread and doing crosswords.
We are just waiting for our time to be up, really. It how we use that time, really that sets us apart.
Death will drag me kicking and screaming.
Wednesday, 22 May 2019
In other Brexit news
Project Fear continues apace with what is left of British Steel, after it was sold for a pound a few years back, is now insolvent, and looks likely to crash. 5,000 jobs there and up to 20,000 in the supply chain are at risk.
Brexiteers will tell you this has nothing to do with Brexit.
Of course.
The PM was hiding behind locked doors in Downing Street, because, how can you hear people calling for your resignation if you refuse to see them?
Simples.
And Nigel Farrage was trapped on a bus in Rochester, Kent, surround by a few people armed with milkshakes.
Use the time well, the UK was told.
Brexiteers will tell you this has nothing to do with Brexit.
Of course.
The PM was hiding behind locked doors in Downing Street, because, how can you hear people calling for your resignation if you refuse to see them?
Simples.
And Nigel Farrage was trapped on a bus in Rochester, Kent, surround by a few people armed with milkshakes.
Use the time well, the UK was told.
Not the end of May after all
So, in the end, May refused to meet any more unhappy ministers last night, and the 1922 committee had their vote, then put the votng slips into an envelope, sealed it, saying we will open this on Friday and count the votes if May hasn't agreed to go.
Later on Thursday evening, Andrea Leadsome, the Leader of the House, whose job it is to plan and steer legislation through Parliament, resigned in protest at May's "new deal" plan.
Six years ago Leadsome was a remainer saying how bad Brexit (though it wasn't called it then) would be, to turn into an arch Brexiteer by 2017.
A woman so concomitant that she scuppered her own drive to become Tory party leader in 2016 after stating she would be a better leader (than May) as Leadsome had been a Mother. This was in her first newspaper interview. She pulled out of the race later that day, giving May a clear road to become PM.
Leadsome as PM would, and will be, much worse than what the country has endured under May. A female Johnson, someone who care about personal advancement over the good of the country, and it more concerned with politically dogmatic policies rather than whether those policies are actually harmful.
Leadsome is now positioning herself for the leadership contest, which will in all probability begin Friday morning when the scale of the Conservative's heaviest defeats in today's EU elections.
If not Leadsome, then Johnson. If not Leadsome or Johnson, then Gove. If not Leadsome, Johnson, Gove, then Williamson. And the list of snakeoil salesmen and shysters continue.
The Conservatives have already aped UKIP policies for the last three years, and after today, will move towards Nigel's Brexit Party position. It is mad.
So, May is isolated. Time has run out for her, and from tomorrow she can go back to running through fields. Only she can't, as a PM cannot just resign, someone has to take her place, meaning that she will stay on for several weeks as PM, though she will not be leader of the Conservative Party.
Later on Thursday evening, Andrea Leadsome, the Leader of the House, whose job it is to plan and steer legislation through Parliament, resigned in protest at May's "new deal" plan.
Six years ago Leadsome was a remainer saying how bad Brexit (though it wasn't called it then) would be, to turn into an arch Brexiteer by 2017.
A woman so concomitant that she scuppered her own drive to become Tory party leader in 2016 after stating she would be a better leader (than May) as Leadsome had been a Mother. This was in her first newspaper interview. She pulled out of the race later that day, giving May a clear road to become PM.
Leadsome as PM would, and will be, much worse than what the country has endured under May. A female Johnson, someone who care about personal advancement over the good of the country, and it more concerned with politically dogmatic policies rather than whether those policies are actually harmful.
Leadsome is now positioning herself for the leadership contest, which will in all probability begin Friday morning when the scale of the Conservative's heaviest defeats in today's EU elections.
If not Leadsome, then Johnson. If not Leadsome or Johnson, then Gove. If not Leadsome, Johnson, Gove, then Williamson. And the list of snakeoil salesmen and shysters continue.
The Conservatives have already aped UKIP policies for the last three years, and after today, will move towards Nigel's Brexit Party position. It is mad.
So, May is isolated. Time has run out for her, and from tomorrow she can go back to running through fields. Only she can't, as a PM cannot just resign, someone has to take her place, meaning that she will stay on for several weeks as PM, though she will not be leader of the Conservative Party.
May 21st: the end of May
On the eve of the Euro elections, the Conservative Party has decided it can no longer back the PM.
Minister after Minister requested one to one talks with her this afternoon, off the record briefings spoke of a bunker mentality, with May cancelling further meetings today, and with no political reporting tomorrow, and then the Whitsun recess, hoping she can ride out the crisis.
But the game is up. Always was.
Thing is, she's the best the Tory front bench has, what does that say about the rest? They're crap and all backstabbing bastards.
This will not end well.
For anyone.
Hold on, this ride's gonna be rough.
Minister after Minister requested one to one talks with her this afternoon, off the record briefings spoke of a bunker mentality, with May cancelling further meetings today, and with no political reporting tomorrow, and then the Whitsun recess, hoping she can ride out the crisis.
But the game is up. Always was.
Thing is, she's the best the Tory front bench has, what does that say about the rest? They're crap and all backstabbing bastards.
This will not end well.
For anyone.
Hold on, this ride's gonna be rough.
Tuesday 21st May 2019
Being the moderator in two orchid groups on social media means, that from time to time, you get asked to show where a particular species is.
As was the case on Tuesday when a member of the FB group asked about the Late Spider and Birds Nest Orchids.
A time was arranged and a place. So it was all set.
I just have to drop Jools off and while my time away until it was nine and time indeed for the meeting. I went to the National Trust place after dropping Jools off. It was to look for Early Spider orchids, but also for the views to the harbour.
The day was going to be glorious, and as the case when I'm out, early so that there was nobody else around.
I found no orchid spikes, but the world went out its business, either loading or leaving one of the three ferries at the docks. It looked too much like hard work. Over to the right, The sea in front of the promenade was so still, it reflected the town like a mirror.
I went home for breakfast, then got my stuff together ready to go back out.
Again.
Pauline was waiting for me at the dogwalkers car park. Their owners drive, not the dogs. Just to be clear.
A short drive along was another parking space, and from there, a short walk to the fenced off area where the Kent orchid speciality, the Late Spider lives.
The single spike outside the fence now has two flowers, so is looking fab. I did my usual trick, ask her if she can see it yet, and she looked round up and down wondering where it was. Turns out she is nervous with strangers. When I admitted Bishop Brian Jones wasn't my real name really cool the air. She found the orchid as was thrilled.
Which was nice.
From there we drive north to find the Birds Nest. After parking in the village, we walk to the wood, which has dozens of White Helleborines scattered on the woodland floor. Over the far side of the wood, I find the single orchid spike, so do my, can you see it yet? And she does see it, and is even more thrilled.
But she is suffering from a bad back, so can't do much more, but for me the day was yet young, so I say goodbye and take myself over the fields, along narrow byways to Thanet and to Pegwell Bay where I sensed there might just be a Bee showing.
The old hoverport crumbles a little more each year, but on the sites of the demolished buildings, and forcing through the old tarmac, plants are reclaiming the land as theirs.
Down the steps and into a semi-wild landscape as plants and trees have reclaimed the land as theirs.
The ground has more moisture than last year, but it might be too late to save the Bees, as I find no rosettes at all, sadly.
But nearby the colony of yellow Man are in fine form, with some spikes nearly a metre tall.
Lovely.
Also, no Southern Marsh showing either, but they will come in a week or three.
On the way out I look hard for broomrapes, an orchid-like parasitic plant, and after half an hour, I find two spikes with possibly more showing.
Yay.
Finally, I drive over to Monkton to the nature reserve, as I have been sending folks over there to look for Man Orchids, I was last there some six years ago, and I have better check they still had them.
I got a warm welcome, I think they hope I might volunteer, maybe I will when I retire.
After getting away from the friendly fol, I go on a tour of the site, set in a former chalk pit, and there was many good plants to see, dragonflies fluttering over the pond, and further round, I finally find the steps to the top of the cliffs, where I was told there might be orchids.
Might be.
Orchids.
The grassed area felt like it should be full of orchids, but there is none. Into the woodland area and I tell myself there will be no Man orchids here.
I congratulate myself when I see a single Butterfly Orchid. No Man orchid though, is it?
In front of me there was a huge Twayblade spike, very impressive. Not as impressive as the Man Orchid beside it.
What?
Oh yes, Man Orchid.
Then I realise what I thought were Twayblades were mostly Man Orchids, most yellow, or yellow with green hoods.
How lovely.
I walk back down to the visitor centre and then to the car. Three o'clock, I was hot and bothered. Lets go home, I say to no one.
I am home for an hour, time to write, look at the pictures, then it is time to collect Jools from work.
I time it well enough so I have less than ten minutes to wait, but Jools has stuff to sort out, so is twenty minutes late coming out.
Oh well.
Back home I cook Jamaican Jerk chicken, which in truth I had got ready spiced from the butcher. But with chili stir fry and curried rice is bang full of flavour.
No football on TV or radio again, so we listen to music and chill out. Another good day.
As was the case on Tuesday when a member of the FB group asked about the Late Spider and Birds Nest Orchids.
A time was arranged and a place. So it was all set.
I just have to drop Jools off and while my time away until it was nine and time indeed for the meeting. I went to the National Trust place after dropping Jools off. It was to look for Early Spider orchids, but also for the views to the harbour.
The day was going to be glorious, and as the case when I'm out, early so that there was nobody else around.I found no orchid spikes, but the world went out its business, either loading or leaving one of the three ferries at the docks. It looked too much like hard work. Over to the right, The sea in front of the promenade was so still, it reflected the town like a mirror.
I went home for breakfast, then got my stuff together ready to go back out.Again.
Pauline was waiting for me at the dogwalkers car park. Their owners drive, not the dogs. Just to be clear.
A short drive along was another parking space, and from there, a short walk to the fenced off area where the Kent orchid speciality, the Late Spider lives.The single spike outside the fence now has two flowers, so is looking fab. I did my usual trick, ask her if she can see it yet, and she looked round up and down wondering where it was. Turns out she is nervous with strangers. When I admitted Bishop Brian Jones wasn't my real name really cool the air. She found the orchid as was thrilled.
Which was nice.From there we drive north to find the Birds Nest. After parking in the village, we walk to the wood, which has dozens of White Helleborines scattered on the woodland floor. Over the far side of the wood, I find the single orchid spike, so do my, can you see it yet? And she does see it, and is even more thrilled.
But she is suffering from a bad back, so can't do much more, but for me the day was yet young, so I say goodbye and take myself over the fields, along narrow byways to Thanet and to Pegwell Bay where I sensed there might just be a Bee showing.
The old hoverport crumbles a little more each year, but on the sites of the demolished buildings, and forcing through the old tarmac, plants are reclaiming the land as theirs.
Down the steps and into a semi-wild landscape as plants and trees have reclaimed the land as theirs.
The ground has more moisture than last year, but it might be too late to save the Bees, as I find no rosettes at all, sadly.
But nearby the colony of yellow Man are in fine form, with some spikes nearly a metre tall.
Lovely.Also, no Southern Marsh showing either, but they will come in a week or three.
On the way out I look hard for broomrapes, an orchid-like parasitic plant, and after half an hour, I find two spikes with possibly more showing.
Yay.
Finally, I drive over to Monkton to the nature reserve, as I have been sending folks over there to look for Man Orchids, I was last there some six years ago, and I have better check they still had them.
I got a warm welcome, I think they hope I might volunteer, maybe I will when I retire.
After getting away from the friendly fol, I go on a tour of the site, set in a former chalk pit, and there was many good plants to see, dragonflies fluttering over the pond, and further round, I finally find the steps to the top of the cliffs, where I was told there might be orchids.
Might be.
Orchids.
The grassed area felt like it should be full of orchids, but there is none. Into the woodland area and I tell myself there will be no Man orchids here.
I congratulate myself when I see a single Butterfly Orchid. No Man orchid though, is it?
In front of me there was a huge Twayblade spike, very impressive. Not as impressive as the Man Orchid beside it.
What?
Oh yes, Man Orchid.
Then I realise what I thought were Twayblades were mostly Man Orchids, most yellow, or yellow with green hoods.
How lovely.
I walk back down to the visitor centre and then to the car. Three o'clock, I was hot and bothered. Lets go home, I say to no one.
I am home for an hour, time to write, look at the pictures, then it is time to collect Jools from work.
I time it well enough so I have less than ten minutes to wait, but Jools has stuff to sort out, so is twenty minutes late coming out.
Oh well.
Back home I cook Jamaican Jerk chicken, which in truth I had got ready spiced from the butcher. But with chili stir fry and curried rice is bang full of flavour.
No football on TV or radio again, so we listen to music and chill out. Another good day.
Met the new deal, same as the old deal
Events move quickly in politics, and as I write this it has emerged the 1922 committee will change their rules to allow another vote f no confidence in the PM, and such a vote could happen tonight. On the eve of the EU elections.
Conservative MPs are saying, also today, the Conservative voters should not vote for that party, but vote for Nigel instead.
This is mad, and yet normal in Brexitlalaland.
Yesterday, the PM had a press conference, not made a speech at the dispatch box, in whch she tried to outline a "new deal" in which she tried to satisfy everyone, and instead annoyed them.
Showing she has learned nothing.
At all.
In three years of being PM.
May, once again, as she has done for 6 years, and the Brexiteers around her, tried to make stupidly hight promises that simply cannot be met. Be met by the Eu and relaity.
In not managing expectations, May ensures that each time reality crushes her promises, that it makes her seem to blame, or the EU. Maybe that's the point, if there were no one to negotiate with, with their own demands and needs, then Brexit would be easy. But painting Brexit as a purely UK thing ignores that it is also crucial for the EU, Ireland, Japan and so on.
May suggested anything was possible yesterday, including a 2nd referendum, if MPs voted for it, but those who did not listen to her exact words thought they heard her say that what she was promising, was going to be Government policy.
I am bored with writing this stuff now, but any change to the backstop will have to be conducted with the EU, you can change domestic law as much as you want, make the backstop illegal, but it is a matter of international law, and it is going no where, even in no deal it will be top of the list of pre-requisites for talks starting between the EU and UK. So, get used to it.
But that would be too easy, rather pretend that changing UK law will have any effect on the EU. May is shit. Has always been shit, and will continue being shit until she is replaced, which might be tonight. Each time, given the opportunity to be honest, she lies some more, piles up expectations that reality could never deliver.
Conservative MPs are saying, also today, the Conservative voters should not vote for that party, but vote for Nigel instead.
This is mad, and yet normal in Brexitlalaland.
Yesterday, the PM had a press conference, not made a speech at the dispatch box, in whch she tried to outline a "new deal" in which she tried to satisfy everyone, and instead annoyed them.
Showing she has learned nothing.
At all.
In three years of being PM.
May, once again, as she has done for 6 years, and the Brexiteers around her, tried to make stupidly hight promises that simply cannot be met. Be met by the Eu and relaity.
In not managing expectations, May ensures that each time reality crushes her promises, that it makes her seem to blame, or the EU. Maybe that's the point, if there were no one to negotiate with, with their own demands and needs, then Brexit would be easy. But painting Brexit as a purely UK thing ignores that it is also crucial for the EU, Ireland, Japan and so on.
May suggested anything was possible yesterday, including a 2nd referendum, if MPs voted for it, but those who did not listen to her exact words thought they heard her say that what she was promising, was going to be Government policy.
I am bored with writing this stuff now, but any change to the backstop will have to be conducted with the EU, you can change domestic law as much as you want, make the backstop illegal, but it is a matter of international law, and it is going no where, even in no deal it will be top of the list of pre-requisites for talks starting between the EU and UK. So, get used to it.
But that would be too easy, rather pretend that changing UK law will have any effect on the EU. May is shit. Has always been shit, and will continue being shit until she is replaced, which might be tonight. Each time, given the opportunity to be honest, she lies some more, piles up expectations that reality could never deliver.
Tuesday, 21 May 2019
Monday 20th May 2019
It is not often now I will have the chance to see a new UK orchid species, however, over the border and over the border after that, in West Sussex, there is a place where they have two very rare species, seeded, but a wild UK orchid. Well, the Greater Tongue is not a native orchid, but there has now been four confirmed records of them growing in the UK, these being one of them. But the second species, the Loose-Flowerd Orchid, is only found in the Channel Islands, and here.
So, better go and prostrate myself at their lips. As it were.
There is a quick way, via the motorway, or the lazy way, taking the coast road. And as I planned to do two or three stops on the way, I would take the coast road.
Once I had dropped Jools off at work first.
Have you got your phone? Jools asked. Hell no. How will I know if anything goes wrong? You won't, but it'll be fine.
He hoped.
After coffee, we load up the car with work bag and cameras, and off into the bright dawn, or an hour after dawn, and onto the almost empty roads to Hythe.
Having dropped Jools off, I drive out of Hythe and out onto the Romney Marsh. The road meanders over ditches and the railway line, I make good time, getting to Rye just before eight.
Last year I saw a Tweet saying a rare plant was found in, what I thought was, Rye. Growing on the church wall.
No matter, I had not been there for ages, and wandering around it cobbled streets, looking at its wonderful ancient buildings is all the more enjoyable when you're the only one ding it, and with a soundtrack of the dawn chorus.
I check all the wall s of the churchyard, and find many plants growing on or out of the wall, but not what I was looking for.
Maybe, I thought, I meant they were in Winchelsea?
Maybe indeed. Anyway, Winchelsea is just a ten minute drive away, another ancinet town, this time set on a hill with the main road up from the marsh passing through a huge stone gate.
And the town itself is set on a grid system, and some would have you believe that this was the system New York was based on. I don't know, but it aint no Manhattan.
I park beside the church, walk in and look for the plant with round shaped leaves. None found. I then go to check on the church, and about eight feet up was a single plant.
I was so excited. So excited, I told a guy from English Heritage that I had found a rare plant. Oh really, what's it called? Wall Pennywort says I. Oh that grows everywhere in this town I was told.
I deflated, slightly.
And indeed I find it everywhere I looked. Anywhere made of stone, anyways.
I go back to the car and set sail to Eastbourne, in the west.
To get there I would have to pass through, ahem; Hastings, Bexhill then Eastbourne, then St Leonards.
The road meanders through towns, up and down downs, it takes a long time to get a little distance. Hastings is jammed with traffic due to a collapsed sewer. Pooey.
But further along, it is the endless traffic lights and roundabouts.
West of Eastbourne is Beachy Head. Not a beach. It is a high chalk cliff, which then goes on to make up part of the Severn Sisters, a line of undulating chalk cliffs.
I was there as I seem to remember being told, many years ago, of a hybrid Orchid growing near there, so after what might have been six years since being told, I was following up. And directions were very sketchy to say the least
I park in the main car park, but unlike everyone else, I walk away from the cliffs to the edge of a field, to scour the hedgerow and see if any pikes could be found.
I look and look, but see nothing orchid-like.
Drat.
But I do see butterflies. Lots of butterflies, including a pair of Wall Browns who land at my feet, mid-courtship, so I was able to snap them. There was also Brown Argus and a Common Blue, though the latter was flighty and I got no shot.
Back to the car, program the sat nav and I find I still had an hour and ten minutes to go. Best get a move on.
Sussex is a smarter and posher county than Kent, I pass my gated mansions, prep schools and villages I could not afford to look at let alone live.
As I drove, the sky clouded over, meaning my plan for top shots was being ruined.
Wakehurst is a National Trust property, but the gardens are maintained by Kew, it is where they have a lot of their wild plants. And in a quiet corner there was a small collection of orchids.
He hoped.
I pulled up at midday, and I realised i had not eaten; not a problem, but with it raining, best take a break, have lunch, and hopefully the weather would get better.
Being hungry, I order a panini, a sausage roll, and get a bowl of salad with the meal too. I had a lot of food.
Anyway, I sit down to eat and hope the weather blows over.
Which it does. Kinda. It at least isn't raining.
The kind staff had given me a map, and ringed the bank where the orchids were. So, I just had to find it.
I wander through beds of Korean, Chinese then Japanese plants, before finding a small dip, down that and up a grass track, and behind some simple low fencing was a small group of orchids.
I had found them.
So, I lay down, got my shots, then wandered round the grounds, down an ornamental valley, all overflowing with highly scented rhododendrons, all marvellous stuff.
But I was worried about getting back. So, I made my way back to the car, through the shop without buying anything.
The sat nav said one hour twenty minutes. Seemed short. I decided not to believe it, so drove out of the car park and towards the motorway at warp factor nine.
But it is true: just six miles to Gatwick, then six more to the M25, 15 to Kent then down the M20 towards Hythe. I was back in east Kent before three, meaning I had two hours to kill.
That morning , driving along the coast I had seen a signpost to St Mary in the Mash, and I realised it is many years since I had been, So it was there I headed to, also because the village pub had social media ads popping up on my Facebook page all the time.
The Romney Marsh is like a bit of Norfolk dropped on the edge of Kent. All a maze of dykes and drainage ditches, criss-crossed by narrow lanes and isolated villages existing to serve the once florising wool industry that had a specific Romney breed of sheep.
St Mary in the Marsh is a house, a pub and a church.
It must be hard making the pub pay, but I got a warm welcome from the landlord, but the locals eyes me with suspicion when I said I was photographing churches.
I have a pint of Harvey;s Best, as had been in Sussex, and went out to the beer garden to sup my ale while I looked at the church beyond.
I went to the church and rattled a few shots off, nothing spectacular, but the church is best know for the final resting place of EM Nesbit.
Snaps done, I drive back to Hythe, but find I have 50 minutes to wait, which I spend watching other folks work As you do.
Jools comes out at five, we zip home so she could drop me off and go to yoga.
Phew, what a day. And now hundreds of pictures to review and post.
Lovely.
When Jools comes back, we have dinner, a plateful of party food, with flatbread and home made (by Jools) humus.
Lovely. Again.
The garden is a picture, just wish i had time to sit and enjoy it; maybe later in the week?
And that was your day. Or mine.
So, better go and prostrate myself at their lips. As it were.
There is a quick way, via the motorway, or the lazy way, taking the coast road. And as I planned to do two or three stops on the way, I would take the coast road.
Once I had dropped Jools off at work first.
Have you got your phone? Jools asked. Hell no. How will I know if anything goes wrong? You won't, but it'll be fine.
He hoped.After coffee, we load up the car with work bag and cameras, and off into the bright dawn, or an hour after dawn, and onto the almost empty roads to Hythe.
Having dropped Jools off, I drive out of Hythe and out onto the Romney Marsh. The road meanders over ditches and the railway line, I make good time, getting to Rye just before eight.
Last year I saw a Tweet saying a rare plant was found in, what I thought was, Rye. Growing on the church wall.
No matter, I had not been there for ages, and wandering around it cobbled streets, looking at its wonderful ancient buildings is all the more enjoyable when you're the only one ding it, and with a soundtrack of the dawn chorus.
I check all the wall s of the churchyard, and find many plants growing on or out of the wall, but not what I was looking for.
Maybe, I thought, I meant they were in Winchelsea?Maybe indeed. Anyway, Winchelsea is just a ten minute drive away, another ancinet town, this time set on a hill with the main road up from the marsh passing through a huge stone gate.
And the town itself is set on a grid system, and some would have you believe that this was the system New York was based on. I don't know, but it aint no Manhattan.
I park beside the church, walk in and look for the plant with round shaped leaves. None found. I then go to check on the church, and about eight feet up was a single plant.I was so excited. So excited, I told a guy from English Heritage that I had found a rare plant. Oh really, what's it called? Wall Pennywort says I. Oh that grows everywhere in this town I was told.
I deflated, slightly.And indeed I find it everywhere I looked. Anywhere made of stone, anyways.
I go back to the car and set sail to Eastbourne, in the west.
To get there I would have to pass through, ahem; Hastings, Bexhill then Eastbourne, then St Leonards.
The road meanders through towns, up and down downs, it takes a long time to get a little distance. Hastings is jammed with traffic due to a collapsed sewer. Pooey.
But further along, it is the endless traffic lights and roundabouts.
West of Eastbourne is Beachy Head. Not a beach. It is a high chalk cliff, which then goes on to make up part of the Severn Sisters, a line of undulating chalk cliffs.
I was there as I seem to remember being told, many years ago, of a hybrid Orchid growing near there, so after what might have been six years since being told, I was following up. And directions were very sketchy to say the least
I park in the main car park, but unlike everyone else, I walk away from the cliffs to the edge of a field, to scour the hedgerow and see if any pikes could be found.
I look and look, but see nothing orchid-like. Drat.
But I do see butterflies. Lots of butterflies, including a pair of Wall Browns who land at my feet, mid-courtship, so I was able to snap them. There was also Brown Argus and a Common Blue, though the latter was flighty and I got no shot.
Back to the car, program the sat nav and I find I still had an hour and ten minutes to go. Best get a move on.
Sussex is a smarter and posher county than Kent, I pass my gated mansions, prep schools and villages I could not afford to look at let alone live.
As I drove, the sky clouded over, meaning my plan for top shots was being ruined.Wakehurst is a National Trust property, but the gardens are maintained by Kew, it is where they have a lot of their wild plants. And in a quiet corner there was a small collection of orchids.
He hoped.I pulled up at midday, and I realised i had not eaten; not a problem, but with it raining, best take a break, have lunch, and hopefully the weather would get better.
Being hungry, I order a panini, a sausage roll, and get a bowl of salad with the meal too. I had a lot of food.
Anyway, I sit down to eat and hope the weather blows over.Which it does. Kinda. It at least isn't raining.
The kind staff had given me a map, and ringed the bank where the orchids were. So, I just had to find it.
I wander through beds of Korean, Chinese then Japanese plants, before finding a small dip, down that and up a grass track, and behind some simple low fencing was a small group of orchids.
I had found them.So, I lay down, got my shots, then wandered round the grounds, down an ornamental valley, all overflowing with highly scented rhododendrons, all marvellous stuff.
But I was worried about getting back. So, I made my way back to the car, through the shop without buying anything.The sat nav said one hour twenty minutes. Seemed short. I decided not to believe it, so drove out of the car park and towards the motorway at warp factor nine.
But it is true: just six miles to Gatwick, then six more to the M25, 15 to Kent then down the M20 towards Hythe. I was back in east Kent before three, meaning I had two hours to kill.
That morning , driving along the coast I had seen a signpost to St Mary in the Mash, and I realised it is many years since I had been, So it was there I headed to, also because the village pub had social media ads popping up on my Facebook page all the time.
The Romney Marsh is like a bit of Norfolk dropped on the edge of Kent. All a maze of dykes and drainage ditches, criss-crossed by narrow lanes and isolated villages existing to serve the once florising wool industry that had a specific Romney breed of sheep.
St Mary in the Marsh is a house, a pub and a church.
It must be hard making the pub pay, but I got a warm welcome from the landlord, but the locals eyes me with suspicion when I said I was photographing churches.
I have a pint of Harvey;s Best, as had been in Sussex, and went out to the beer garden to sup my ale while I looked at the church beyond.
I went to the church and rattled a few shots off, nothing spectacular, but the church is best know for the final resting place of EM Nesbit.
Snaps done, I drive back to Hythe, but find I have 50 minutes to wait, which I spend watching other folks work As you do.
Jools comes out at five, we zip home so she could drop me off and go to yoga.
Phew, what a day. And now hundreds of pictures to review and post.
Lovely.
When Jools comes back, we have dinner, a plateful of party food, with flatbread and home made (by Jools) humus.
Lovely. Again.
The garden is a picture, just wish i had time to sit and enjoy it; maybe later in the week?
And that was your day. Or mine.
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