Tuesday 17th March 2020.

St Paddy's Day (cancelled).

These are strange times, and likely to get stranger. Ireland closed all its pubs and clubs two days before St Patrick's Day, it's that serious.

Meanwhile, in England, schools are still open. Someone got it wrong.

And for me, the first day off of the year. Nearly didn't happen, but it is on.

An old friend, John Vigar, was doing a tour of East Kent churches, and I thought I would toddle along to meet him, and also have the chance to visit two hard to access churches, Holy Trinity Ramsgate and St John the Baptist Margate.

I planned the day off, and now we have two cars, there was no need to take Jools to the factory in the morning. Instead I could chill the heck out as I had physed for four days, and so Tuesday was declared a "rest day". But spent mostly outside.

Now, I suppose I should point out that meeting a group of up to 20 strangers in the middle of a pandemic wasn't perhaps the brightest thing, but for now it seemed more important to get out of the house and enjoy the day, as Tuesday was wonderfully bright, filled with if not warm, but bright sunshine.

Jools left the house, I had breakfast and another coffee, which I would regret the rest of the morning, but what the heck, and so at quarter past eight I left the house to join the rush hour traffic.

Only there was no traffic. I might have caught a quiet period, but no traffic on the Deal road, of quiet enough for me to pull onto it, then along to Whitfield and back down the road to Sandwich.

Instead of going out near ten, I had decided to visit a nature reserve, Stodmarsh, in the hope of seeing some nature and do some leg stretching.

In fact, Stodmarsh is just the other side of Preston, so I drive to the butchers, then out over the marshes, over the Little Stour, which was flowing well, still, and over the fields to Stodmarsh, past the tiny church and down to the reserve car park.

Above was a clear blue sky, and to the horizon was either woods or reed beds. Just like being back in Norfolk.

I was hoping to see some marsh wildlife, like a bittern or a kingfisher, and hopefully get a shot or two. But as it happened, it was a garden bird, a robin that came down to have a close look at me as I walked along the woodland path. Then it opened its beak and let rip with the sweetest song, singing for his breakfast.

The sweetest song until in a nearby tree, a Wren chirped up, its song filling the woods and tree tops. I could have stood and listened all day. I saw where it was perched and grabbed a short or seven.

Along to the dyke, and out to the raised hide. A couple of dog walkers go past me, as I was ambling along, and I saw a blue flash in front of them showing where a surprised kingfisher had been disturbed. Neither of them saw the blue flash. I stood for ages looking, but it was gone.

I had to be in Ramsgate at eleven, so I cut short the visit at ten, walk back to the car and drove onto Thanet and found a place to park next to the church.

The door was open, so I went int and met the priest in full robed up splendour, having just said mass. As this was one of the highest churches in the area, high on Anglo-Catholic tradition. They all prey to the same bloke on clouds, so I wonder why its all so different. But he is very nice, giving me a potted history of his postings, is that the right word? Two churches in Lincolnshire, the Assumption at Ufford, a 150 year old church in Upstate New York and a 70s place in California.

John and his depleted audience arrive, and the priest and then John describes the church, early 19th century, and not very special, really. But the point of the trip was to show how, as Ramsgate expanded in the 19th century, the old parish church of St Lawrence was too far away from the harbour and where most people lived. So a new church, Holy Trinity was built, then, later, St George was built too nearby.

I speak with John and he tells me that the warden at Margate had changed her mind about opening the church, so that was off the plan for the day, and as I had done St Geoerge and St Lawrence recently, I bid John farwell and headed back to the car.

My plan was to go back to Stodmarsh to walk to the other side of the reserve, but as I neared the village, workman had dug up the only road in or out of Stodmarsh. I wasn't going to get there.

Instead, I went to Challock to check on the Toothwort.

Toothwort is a parasitic plant, and is fairly common, but very localised, and the only site I know for it is just outside the churchyard at Challock. Until they cut the bloody wood down, and no matter how hard I looked two weeks ago and again yesterday, there was no toothwort.

So, with the clock ticking towards three, I drove home back down the M20, through Folkestone to Dover, and then up Jubilee Way, where it was all very quiet.

Back home the cats remind me I hadn't fed them for several hours, but then they didn't bring me any birds or voles. And the afternoon, or what was left of it, slipped through my fingers.

Soon I barely had time to prune the budlia before it was time to prepare dinner, courgette fritters, as Jools was going to be lake due to yoga. Courgettes were streeded, squeezed to get rid of excess water, the batter made, then once Jools returned, I start to cook.

We sit down to eat just before eight, the whole day gone in a flash. What made it so enjoyable really was being semi-disconnected from Twitter so the madness wasn't followed, if only for a day.