Sunday 8th September 2019

Sunday.

Again.

I love weekends. Oh yes I do. Though, there is a sense of urgency as we leave our summer years that we should not waste time laying in bed. No, Jools decides she wants to go swimming, I will walk along the cliffs to do some botanising.

So, after coffee, Jools drives me to the monument where find that despite being told of the nationally rare and protected orchids grow there, should not be mowed at this time of year. It has been mowed.

Bastards.

I will chase them next year, but for now, just three spikes are showing.

Heartbreaking really. But I know down the coast there are thousands. Still would ne good if the bloody council got their workers not to work so hard.

Have a cuppa.

Anyway, the sun is rising in the south east, casting a warm light on the cliffs, so I get a shot before waddling off down the coast path, happy as a pig in much doing the stuff I want to.

Again.

I wander out of St Maggies into Kingsdown, where the noise of club whistling through the air fills my ear. And swearing as the little ball goes somewhere different as to what was intended.

I had come down here to check on a rare butterfly, the Long Tailed Blue, which had been reported there the week before. But it was cool, breezy and I saw no butterflies at all. Let alone a LTB.

So I walk back, into the breeze, before taking the path beside the golf course do collect sloes.

Sloes are small plums that are too butter to eat, but add them with some sugar to gin, and with time makes a fine drop o booze. But it was thin pickings there, and along the path round the corner, where the bushes grow so tall they meet in the middle, forming a tunnel, only a few there too.

But I am happy in my toil. I say toil, not hard work, is it?

Once back onto the main path, I turn for home, to the top of the town the to the top of Otty Bottom Road, then walk to the dop of Norway Drove and walk down the Dip.

It is bone dry at the bottom, just mud baked as hard as concrete.

Back home Jools brings me a brew and breakfast.

Which was really nice.

Now the sun was out, as were the butterflies in the garden.

Buggers.

Anyway.

Now, to be honest, not sure what we did between eleven and four, but it took all our time to do it. Oh, we did have an ice cream, sitting in the garden.

We have listened to music.

It is possible.

And at four I cooked dinner; steak and sauteed potatoes.

And pink fizz.

Yay.

It was splendid, though not the huge meal it used to be, just what normal people eat. Still good.

And after washing up, it was off to Whitfield for another evening of cards.

And very well it went too. I won both games of Meld, had a slice of cherry pie and custard too. But by nine Jools and I were pooped, so we said we would finish there.

I laugjhed like a drain as I packed my winnings of 80p away.

Last of the high rollers.

And that was it, back home along deserted roads, back to the cats who had left us a mouse as a welcome home treat. Bless.