Sunday 10th November 2019

Remembrance Sunday.

During the week there had been much publicity of a poppy drop planned for above the Battle of Britain Monument at Capel. I thought it might be interesting, but soon forgot about it.

On their drive to Heathrow on Saturday, Jen mentioned it to Jools, Jools mentioned it to me later, and so a plan, of sorts, was hatched in that we all go to watch.

Being well prepared, I began to monitor traffic, and so once Jools had come back from swimming and we had eaten the bacon butties, I said, tell Jen we will be there in ten minutes, they need to be ready.

It was twenty to ten.

When you plan to watch a planned military planned operation, you need to plan it like a military operation: who knew?

We arrived in Whitfied to find John had arrived, he was needed as he had a disabled badge, Jen's son, Scott, was dressed up for the beach in Oz, and Slyv and Jen were putting coats on. We'd be going in Jen's bus.

I'll drive.

I'll drive!

I get given the keys.

So there were six people in the Sharan, and each one had an opinion on which way to go and where in Folkestone of Capel to park for the best views.

Sigh.

I drive on, with the route and destination I thought best. Already the road through Capal was jammed, and would get worse. We ended up driving through Folkestone and parking down on the harbour. This was my plan.

The bit about staying there and watching the fly by and drop was John's, and with the sun behind us, was clever.

I agreed.

This was instead of the twenty minute route march round the harbour then up the cliffs to the Martello Tower as planned.

The others were happy at this.

And the car park had hundreds of spaces, and views over the harbour to the cliffs beyond. We now had 20 minutes to kill.

Why'd we come so bloody early?

And so on.

Should I tell them if I'd have had my way we'd have been down here an hour before? Best not.

The sun shone on the Channel, harbour and cliffs. Lovely. The wind blew a cooling breeze, not so good. John and Scott tried to light their ciggs, with mixed fortunes.

More people arrived, until at five past eleven, the Dakota and two Spitfires could be seen. Soon we could hear their engines.

My camera went whirrrrrrrr, as I took 50 shots.

And again.

And again.

The planes flew past, then the Dakota turned and did a solo run, dropping the red poppy petals over the cliffs. They were bio-degradable.

As it turned agan, I snapped it head on as it dropped more poppies on the town. For a moment the sky turned red under the plane, then the wind dispersed the petals.

The planes formed up one last time, did a fly by and headed north towards Dover and out of sight.

We walked back to the car, queued to get out of the car park, then Jools drove us back to Whitfield, where we got out of Jen's car and into ours and drove home.

All done.

We have caprese for lunch, lots of garlic bread. And wine.

After looking at the shots and then writing, there is an afternoon of football, ending with Liverpool v Citeh.

I just about stayed awake. and enjoyed the main game.

We then ate again, mini pies (!) mash and baked beans from the US.

And then the weekend had slipped through our hands, again.