Friday 8th May 2020

VE Day (Europe)

Flag waving and conga day (England)

If there is one thing to be said of the lockdown, it stopped street parties from happening again. Now, if people want to celebrate, that's fine by me, but there is the neighbourhood police checking as to who has and who hasn't been clapping for care workers on Thursdays: imagine what it would have been like with a freaking street party.

As I wrote previously, my Grandfather served and survived the war. He came home to a country with a social care service that looked after him until he died.

We have had peace in Europe, for the most part, trade and prosperity has thrived. And now that has been thrown on the Brexit pyre, thus forgetting why the EU was seen to be needed by Churchill in the first place. So, we would not have joined in the street party, nor did we join in with the community singing of "We'll Meet Again".

The rest of Europe had a Europe Day, we had social distance breaking street parties and garden parties, with nearly 32,000 official dead. What a crazy fucked up country this is.

But it seems fawning over Royalty is back in fashion, so the newspapers writing about what the Queen would say.

We had a street party for the Queen's Silver Jubilee. Tables laid end to end all down Hadleigh Drive, each house had to make some kind of food or two. I remember pouring Coke over my ice cream, running about then being sick. Seems like I was a critic even then.

We went out.

Seems like this is a tad political. Well, with the Financial Times suggesting as many as 56,000 are dead so far from the virus, and many of those dead in the age group that fought or remembered the war, it seems a bit odd to conga down the street as the mass graves are been prepped. But maybe that's just me.

And the mixed messages coming from Government about what can and cannot be done under the regulations relating Public Health. Could we drive to a reserve, walk and take shots, or not? Some police say you can, some say no. I follow many legal commentators on Twitter, and it seems that as long as the exercise is longer than the drive to get to where you walk, then travel is OK.

With several major orchid-rich reserves within our radar, it was a choice of which one to pick. And with these reserves, there are few houses nearby, and little chance of meeting the occasional dog-walker or other orchid nut.

So, after Jools had her yoga session, and we had coffee and croissants, we load the car with camera and tripod, each weighing the same as a small child. In future I will look into hiring sherpas.

We drive to Folkestone, then to the next junction to head north into the orchid fields off Stone Street.

It's been a while. And I was actually excited. I mean, really.

We park in the small laybay at one side of the reserve, reversing in.

We're here. I could not wait to get out and get snapping. I had even brought a spare camera battery lest I took s many pictures. I had formatted the memory car too, so pace for over 2,000 shots: should be OK.

There is the usual walk through the orchid-sparse part, but the path is lined with other plants, mostly still primroses, but then the path climbs, and we go past the Early Purples, bluebells and out to the lower meadow.

It was still cool, too cool for there to be any butterflies about. We pause to take in the scene before plunging down to the mature wood, where there would be Fly Orchids.

Other orchidists had marked some of the larger spikes with sticks, not really necessary to be honest, but there were some fine groups and one spike with six flowers on. I take shots.

Of course.

We see dozens of Fly, and a few Broad Leaved Helleborine spikes showing already. They'll look a picture come July.

Over the road and up the path.

There are a few Greater Butterfly about to open, and Lady and yet more Fly already out. I don't take shots.

By the time we get to the top meadow it is very hot. We sit down on an orchid-free piece of grass, and survey the scene, with Lady, Fly and Early Purple all within a couple of steps.

I take shots of some of the Lady, as there are in open sunshine and the lips sparkle. I could snap them all to be honest. I could snap every Lady Orchid, it would mean not doing anything for the rest of the day. So, after snapping two of the Fly Orchid spikes also in the sunshine, we walk on to the bluebell wood on the northern slopes.

And already bluebell season has come and gone. Most have gone to seed, and the woodland floor has a hint of blue, but photographs wouldn't have shown that much.

So we walk on.

And down to the lower path, through the glade that has been opened up over several years, where there are dozen more Lady Orchid, a few Fly Orchid spikes, many Yellow Archangel and two huge False Oxlips.

All plants by the way.

We make a diversion into the undergrowth, past two standing fingers of rock, whisper the pass word, and we find ourselves in the presence of the very rare Green Fly (orchid).

Two tiny spikes rose from the leaves, so small you could easily miss it. But Jools spots one, and I find the other.

I take some shots using the tripod, which made the carrying of it worthwhile.

We walked along the lower path, that turned into a magical woodland walk, with golden sunlight falling on lush grass mixed with yet more Fly.

We walk back to the lower meadow, have another sit down and watch for butterflies. A couple of Orange Tips are about, a male and female, but no Brimstone and no Green Hairstreak, so after five minutes we get back to the car.

We drive through Stelling Minis, out the other side and down the narrow lane, and via two sharp turns end up at Park Gate, so as we're here, why not check on the Monkey Orchids?

I had seen some shots of the Faversham colony out, so I was hopeful. But, after climbing up the down, weaving our way through a dozen dumped bags of god poo, we find a few spikes, but none open. Won't be long though.

We walk to the far paddock to look for yet more Fly and see if the Greater Butterfly were out; the Butterfly weren't, but we did find three small Fly spikes out. I snap two of them.

And we were done, so we walk back to the car and then to home. Roads much, much quieter than normal, meaning the usual lottery on the Whitfield roundabout was very straightforward and involved no sounding of the horn from me. For once.

Back home we have a refreshing brew.

It is a hot day. Too hot for this guy to sit in the sun for too long, so I mess aroud on the computer, listen to the radio and so on while the afternoon fades.

We have Scotch eggs for our tea, and I make some potato bread to go with them, making quite a large meal, and one with little fibre too. But it is good, and takes little time to prepare.

Potato bread is pretty darn good normally, but adding bacon lardons takes it to another level; who knew?

I was in such a good mood I agree to play Uckers and again run out as winner, though it was close.

Finally, an our of Monty on TV, and somehow we were all so tired so we go to bed at half nine.

And we still have the whole weekend to go!