Saturday 22nd February 2020

And just like that, the weekend arrives. And with it, the age old question on how best to spend it.

Well, with yet another weekend of storms due, we didn't think it a good idea to travel much. And Paul at the butchers had dropped not very subtle hints that they would like an alternative supply of wild garlic leaves, and had plied with much free stuff last weekend, so we thought we had better follow through.

Our nearest site for ramsons is Waldershare, so we could go there first, then onto Preston and then to Chislet for some church crawling.

Perfect.

I took the day off from phys, and once up and about I make coffee and warm up some cheap croissants for breakfast.

It would have been easy to come up with some excuse not to go out. But we really shouldn't stay in the house all day. So, we put on our trapsing boots, loaded the car with camera gear and plastic bags, and drove the ten minutes to waldershare and the redundant church at the end of the muddy lane, where people go now to flytip their houshold waste, as it seems the council failed to realise charging people for this would make people break the law.

Who knew?

The churchyard is very overgrown now, with drifts ofsnowdrops visble through the brambles that now rampage between the gravemarkers. I could get to some, but the weather too gloomy for macro work, really. So we carry and walk to the footpath beyond.

Down the path where I hope that it was weather that had pushed the fenceposts over, and not just wanton vandalism or an offroad motorcyclist. I'll never know.

But over the road and into the wood, soon the woodland floor is covered in lush green growth of wild garlic. And just to stand on one leaf releases their pungent aroma. Let alone thousands of them all doing the same.

We are both armed with kitchen scissors, and we set about cutting the fresh new growth and bagging it. I do manage to cut off the top of one finger. I am not knife trained. What can I say, I am a doofus, and there are drops of blood everywhere. So I have to stop gathering to stew the flow of red stuff.

Once we had gathered a bagful, we walk back to the car, and I drive to Preston trying to hold a wad of bloody tissue to strop the bleeding. That makes it sound worse than it was, but if anyone could get injured harvesting leaves with a simple pair of scissors, I'm your man.

We reach Preston with the bleeding having been stopped. The guys are happy and ply us with more free stuff, some Portuguese egg custard things, which are wonderful, we shall have them with afternoon coffee we say.

We drive through Sarre, past Dickens' favourite pub, and towards Canterbury before turning right and up the down to Chislet.

Would the church be open?

No.

So, I snap it with the compact from outside, then walk back to the car where Jools was waiting.

A short detour home is Sturry where there is another church I have yet to snap inside. I find a place to park in the village and walk down to the church laden with camera gear, only to find the church locked, despite all the welcome to our church and mind the step when you enter signs.

And that is it, most of East Kent has now been snapped, church-wise, so there is little to do than drive home along the valley of the Nailbourne which is now in full flow, and some fords closed due to it being too deep for cars to cross.

From Bridge we join the A2 then drive back to Dover and then to home, arriving back at half eleven, time to put the coffee pot on and have the egg custards.

There is football on the radio, all afternoon, of course. So, with there being blogs to write, photos to edit, I get down to work and somehow the afternoon passes. At least Norwich did not lose, as we are not playing until Sunday. THough as I write this are two down already and its not half time.

Sigh,

Being Saturday, it is cards night, and I find it hard to summon up the enthusiasm, so long it seems since we had a proper winning night.

Needless to say, this was the day when our luck returned. Winning a hand of meld, then Jools and I netting for car runs in three consecutive games of Queenie. When I try to bring the evening to a halt wafter my 5 card run in the first game John and Jen say no, it was too early.

Jools then got a run in the second, and me in the third.

There was no arguing then, we scoop our winnings and try to get John out of the door before he started on another one of his stories.

A run in Queenie is rare, we have played for two or more hours on some nights without any of us getting one, so three in a row is very unusual.

And that is it for Saturday. Just time to drive home, drop John off home, and back to Chez Jelltex for a celebration slow gin.