Saturday 24th August 2019

You may have noticed that on Friday I published the 668th post of the year, which means this year has produced more posts than any other year since the start of the blog in 2008.

And it is still August.

So, will there be a thousand posts this year?

We might come close.

Or not.

Depends how batshit Brexit gets, of course. But don't say you weren't warned.

It is a bank holiday weekend, but the banks are actually open. Saying that, the sun is shining from a clear blue sky, and will do for all of the weekend, with only on Monday will temperatures begin to tail off.

So, what better way to spend the day than sitting in the car driving to West Kent to snap some churches? Not as bad as it might sound, but given that I am already planning the route for the Heritage Weekend in September, where I have 33 churches lined up to visit. But not today, I had six churches, and depending on how warm it gets, might do less.

Jools was not feeling up to coming out in the car, so I go on me todd, and with the bank holiday not bringing a surge in port traffic, it was easy enough to get through town and up the A20 the other side to Folkestone and onto the motorway.

From Ashford, still a complete building site, I took the road over the marshed to Ham Street, then west towards Tenterden. And once off the main road, traffic was light, so I open the windows, turn up Huey on the radio, and just cruise along just above 40, enjoying the feeling of a fine day to be out, churchcrawling.

First stop was to be Ebony.

Yes, Ebony.

Ebony is a real place, and was once an island in the marsh that used to exist in west Kent before the storms that silted up the harbour at Winchelsea. The church used to stand on an island, but by the turn of the 19th century was in a ruinous state. So, the church was taken down, and moved to Reading Street and reassembled into a slighly different shaped church.

But nice enough.

I arrived just as the vicar was locking the door after showing a handyman out; seems like the roof is in a poor way and work needs doing.

"Can I look round and take some pictures"? I ask. The vicar smiles and says yes, though I am sure she would rather not, but being a small church, it wasn't going to take long.

So, I nip round, camera whirring away.

I say thanks and she is hustling me up the path out of the churchyard, not really wanting me to stop to take a shot of the outside. So I make do with one from the low wall on the main road.

One down.

My main target was Smallhythe.

Smallhythe is a tiny village, best known for having been home to famous 19th century singer, Ellen Terry, her house is now under the care of the National Trust.

Next to it is a fine Tudor brick built church. On our four previous visits, it was locked, but on a day in the summer when the house is open, the church should be too.

And it was.

Another smallish church and done in ten minutes.

Next call was Benenden.

I had no idea what the church or village was like, just I had never been.

So, I set the sat nav and off I went, music blaring away.

I drive into the village and find it a fabulous place, the main street lines with fine half timber houses and mansions. The church itself sits on a rise at the top of a huge village green, large enough to have a cricket pitch on it.

The church as a good half dozen cars parked outside it, boding well for it to be open.

And it was.

As I finished the half our photo-session, a warden asked me what I thought, and should the church be re-ordered?

I siad that may task is to record what is there, if the parish decides to change the fabric, it is up to them with the oversight of English Hritage. Should they replace the old oak door with a glass one?

I said other that have done that, like Wye, have created more light and is a welcoming sign. Its easy on a hot summer's day with the door open to see inside.

I did point out that some who look at my shots marvel that in some cases church doors and fittings can be several centuries older than their countries, like the US. Its they who have to live with the church, they must decide.

Seems they have a progressive new vicar who has already moved out several rows of wooden pews. Now, I like a good pew, but does create space.

Anyway, I leave the wardens to their churchyard clearances, and take to the car.

It was half eleven, mighty hot, and I was churched out.

And with Norwich on TV at half twelve, I decide to get home to watch it, if I could, and anyway, visiting the other three churches could be done in a couple of weeks when we could tie that in with a visit to Sissinghurst Castle.

Yes, that sounded a good idea.

I drive back to Ashford, through the urban sprawl of the new town, and onto the motorway and then back to Dover.

I am back at just gone half twelve, but checking on the TV, the game is not on my package, so have to listen to it on the radio.

And City were already 1-0 down.

But soon level.

And lose another goal.

And Pukki scores again.

In the second half, Chelsea dominate and score a third. Oh well.

That we are a little disappointed not to have got at least a point, shows how far the club have come in two years.

With it so hot outside, it was easy to sit inside and listen to the three o'clock kick-offs, and with no pressure as we had already played.

At six, we go to Whitfield for our usual night of cards, though we were going to have a Chinese meal delivered this time, and I took a huge bottle of tripel with me to wash it all down with.

The food cam just after seven, all in a huge bag, more than enough four us to have two platefulls and have much for leftovers later in the week.

And the beer was smooth, with a capital smooth.

And Jools and I won heavy too. So, we ended up the evening in good spirits with full belies, even if Jools' pain in her side flared up, to the point she was almost in tears.

Back home she could hardly bend to get into bed, so went to sleep having taken painkillers.

In the morning we might have to go to the hospital......