Thursday 16th May 2019

This was the day I had been looking forward to for months. Under the circumstances of the previous few days and weeks, not quite the way I would like to have started a vacation, but there you go.

I was awake early, but then nothing to think about I just lay in bed with Scully purring quietly at my side.

I had been planning on doing some orchid chasing, and offered a couple of people to come along if they wanted, with one lady, Francesca, taking me up on the offer, and after discussing with Jools how best to manage the day, she said I should have the car.

So, all was set.

After coffee, take Jools to work in Hythe, then kill half an hour before picking up my fellow orchidist from Dover at eight.

In the end, I had to fill the car up, so bought a pasty and a bottle of milkshake to have for breakfast, and those I consumed from the viewpoint of St Martins Battery, overlooking the new Eastern Docks works, and the passing of trains on the sharp curve below past Dover Harbour station.

So, leaning on the railings, looking out at the work going on below, I eat the cold pasty while the rays of the morning sun warm me up.

I drive down to the station, and she was waiting, and in the car to the first stop recounted that she was a little apprehensive about meeting a stranger. Just as well that it was the good Bishop Brian Jones then, though that name took some explaining!

First stop was Lydden, as the Burnt (Tip) had been photographed the day before, so I had offered my new friend the chance to see it.

Francesca is recovering from a road accident, so movement was painful, but the lure of the orchid is strong, and with the climb up the down from the car park, then down the other was going to be tough, but she was going to do it.

We took our time up the woodland path, then into the clear downland, up through two paddocks to the top gate. Nearly at the top now!

We stop many time to check on the scenery, which allowed a figure to catch us up.

"Are you here to see the Burnt Tip" he asked?

He had spotted my camera.

Yes, we saw it last year. Turns out the dashing looking chap was one of the county recorders I had been chatting to last year upon the discovery, and he had found the spike first.

So, he walked with us, and he and I talked orchids.

As you do.

And I learned much about this and other sites.

At the bottom of the path, we pause. He looks, checks his markers, and waves us over. There in a clump of long grass was a single spike, the same plant as last year, but not quite open.

But even better news was the second spike nearby. Very small, but a 100% increase on last year, and meaning the two spikes could be cross pollinated and increasing the chances of both spikes putting out seed.

He stayed to look for more spikes, but we were happy in finding our quarry, and the day was yet young!

Back up the down, we find two more colonies of Early Spiders, always great so see the tiny spikes in the grazed grass, just looking like tiny jewels in the morning sunshine.

After snapping them, we walk back down to the car park, not after taking time to check out the other meadow for butterflies, but no Adonis or Common blues found. Maybe a few days too early.

Always next week.

We take the Alkham valley road to Folkestone, for the next lifer for Francesca, the Late Spider. At least this visit would by much quicker, as there was just a two minute walk from the car park to the banks, where hidden behind an electric fence, the tiny spikes were beginning to show.

And right at the front, was a single flowering spike, its square shaped flower and extended yellow lip was showing well.

So easy to miss.

And yet so perfect.

Back tot he car and an half hour drive to see the Birds Nest.

Or to look for them. The small wood where they show so well, had numbers so far down last year, just four spikes flowered, and just one set seed, so there was a chance we would find none.

We walked from the village centre to the wood, looking all the time we walked once inside the wood. The usual places were orchid free, but deep in last year's leaves and fresh ivy leaves.

I had given up hope, and doubted my orchid eyes, when at the last place I looked, right at the back was a single pale brown spike showing.

Aha, I shouted in my best Alan Partridge voice.

And there it was. Not much now, not yet open, but in a week would look fabulous. If that's your thing.

Another tick in the box.

Last port of call was Barham, to search for the Lesser Butterfly.

This was going to be the most problematic. I mean I knew were to look, but as I had been the week before and seen just two rosettes,m and no spikes, I wasn't in high hopes.

And so it turned out, up the bridleway, and into the wood, I found two rosettes, but no spikes. And further into the wood, no spikes or rosettes at all.

We made up for that with going to the other side of the road to look at the host of fabulous Lady spikes just about all open now, though some not fully open yet.

It is odd being there alone, as I usually am, such a wonderful place an no one else about.

The green/white spike has a little colour about it, but is still fabulous, if not a pure var alba.

Francesca's back had given out, so I run her back to Dover station, then I drive myself back home for a late lunch and to review the shots I had taken.

I manage to while away two hours, until it was time to go to collect Jools. She is on holiday too from 5, though just for two days, and is not staying with me, but taking the night sleeper that evening to Inverness.

I drive to Hythe, wait outside her offices, then dead on five we make good our escape, back up the hill to Folkestone, on the motorway to Dover and to home. She had less than an hour to get ready, before I dropped her off at Priory, meaning I had 48 hours home alone.

Jools is worried about my state of mind, which is fair, but in 24 hours, the pain and worry is fading.

For now.

I go back home to have dinner, feed the cats and get ready for the evening's football.

Always football, though the season is nearing its end.

Sunderland were playing Portsmouth to see who would get promotion from League 1, or the play off to see who would get into the final. You know.

It was a poor game, ended 0-0, Sunderland going through with their first leg single goal.

And then the phone rang.

It was a paramedic: Mum had fallen and could not get up, she was being put into an ambulance.

Oh great.

Nothing I could do about it then, but the morning it would be back to the old routine of calling the ward, getting updates, and planning a trip to Norfolk.

Sigh.

But it was to be slightly different to that, and yet the same as it always was.