Sunday 24th November 2019

I have been doing the Kent church project, as I like to call it, (*checks notes) May 2009, and over the years some churches have been very difficult to see inside of. Thanks to the internet, many of those have been now covered and recorded.

The most recent tricky one was Bicknor.

Bicknor is a hamlet near to the Medway towns, up on the downs, among woods and orchards. Being remote, it has become a target for vandals and thieves, so is now kept very locked. Lat time I tired to see inside was during the recent Heritage Weekend, and the Ride and Stride list assured us that it would be manned at least.

A half hour trip out of my route brought me to the usual situation of the church locked up tight.

And then a couple of weeks back, the warden at Milstead told me there was to be a Christmas Fayre at Bicknor on the 24th. A plan was set.

But come half six on a Sunday morning, my enthusiasm was at a low ebb, and it would not have taken much for me not to go.

Whatever the outcome, there was coffee to drink, football to watch and bacon to cook first.

Jools went swimming, and I watched the football, not from behind the sofa as Norwich not only won but played very well indeed. A pleasant change from recent weeks, and hopefully the start of a charge up the table.

At nine, the football was watched, Jools came home and I cooked bacon.

All good.

And I decided we would go to Bicknor after all, and a good job we did, as we saved the fayre, partly.

Bicknor is a 45 minute drive away, and in dull and drizzly conditions, it wasn't a pleasant drive, but with the radio on and traffic not too bad, could have been worse. From the A249 junction, it was a ten minute drive along the narrow lanes leading to the top of the downs, then along the ridge to Bicknor, where outside the church people were putting up stalls ready for the 11 o'clock start.

We parked under a tree at the edge of the graveyard, I got my cameras and we went to see if the church was open. The front door wasn't, bu the vestry door was, and once through there, the nave and chancel was a scene of chaos. The lady running the event had a million things to do, chase up were three quarters of the stalls had got to, dress as a fairy and find Father Christmas his suit.

Not sure whether the suit was ever found!

We were free to take pictures, but it was clear that much work needed to be done. I was asked to light the dozens of candles round the church, I was assisted by Jools. We did the three chandeliers, and around the corbel line at just about head height.

I took more shots.

We took the step ladders out, moved the pews. And just when it looked like all was set, three mayors of neighbouring villages arrived. A forth was on his way, has car needed space to get into the small car park. All car owners were asked to move their cars. This gave us an opportunity to leave, so we said farewell to the stressed lady, and I got a kiss on the cheek!

Before we left, I take the role of official photographer and snap the three mayors, and we are gone.

Back home down the narrow lanes and down to Maidstone before turning east on the motorway to Ashford and home, listening to Desert Island Discs whilst we drove.

We got back home, had a brew, then I put the selection of party food in the oven to warm though. Heck, it is nearly Christmas! I also open a bottle of Tripel to wash it all down with, which was certain to help me nod off during the football later.

After lunch, Jools went out to meet an old friend for a walk and long chat, leaving me home to tidy up and get ready to watch the Sheffield Uts v Man Utd game on TV. As expected my eyelids became very heavy, but I did watch it all, and trilling it was too.

Outside the day faded, as the thick cloud brought dusk an hour early. The Utds share six goals and I then go to prepare and cook chorizo hash, so to warm the cockles of our hearts. And stomachs.

We also have pink fizz, because Sunday.

And again, by the time we tidy up and make a post meal coffee, it is eight in the evening and the day is gone.