Thursday 7th May 2020

Thursday is the new Friday.

Which is good.

Meaning that this is the last day of the week, and already mind is on orchids. Always the orchids.

But there is the day to get through. After getting up, and drinking coffee, I am on the cross trainer just after ten past six, meaning I was done nearly an hour before the daily meeting. Meaning I had an hour to do chores: take the rubbish out, fill the bird feeders, prepare breakfast and make another coffee.

I am so far ahead of the plan already!

We have the daily meeting, not much to report, other than we are all healthy and looking forward to when the pubs in our respective countries open.

I'll drink to that.

Once that is done, I spend three hours thinking about the wording on the two final paragraphs of the manual I am writing.

On occasion a particularly hard couple of words demand a fresh, strong brew. Which I down from a pint sized cup. Mug.

As a treat, just after lunch is our monthly department meeting. Four of us turn up, and like auditors do, spend half an hour discussing what a single word means.

And as soon as that was done, I pack the computer away, load the car with my camera, and head to Temple Ewell for a walk.

Traffic was so light, I arrived the other side of Whitfield, parked behind the old George and Dragon, once I got out, tightened my laces and looked up. Temple Ewell is not a mountain. Barely a hill, really. It would be a mountain in Norfolk, mind. But, anyway, from here it was uphill for quite a while, and with it being the hottest part of the day, why not climb every mountain?

Why not indeed.

Up the wood-fronted steps leading into the wood, past the allotments, then up the narrow path up the the style leading out onto the down. It had been uphill all the way, and from the tree line, the path of worn grass lead ever-upward, across the first meadow, then across the second.

There wasn't even a butterfly on the wing to chase, to break the climb. Just stopping every 50m, huffing and puffing and swearing at my back as it screamed at what the heck I thought I was doing.

I reach the top of the second meadow, meaning I was nearly to the top. Just need to walk round a scar in the side of the down, a cattle track now, rutted with dried mud. I could see the gate into the nature reserve, but to get there was one last slope, just a 100m, but it nearly broke me.

With one last weary step, I reach the top, go through the wooden stile, and the path drops away through tussock grass several feet high. I pretend that I won't have to climb back up in half an hour or so.

So, there is just the side of the hill, covered with close cropped grass and downland plants. The land falls away to the main road and railway, the world seemed a million miles away.

The path drops steeply downwards, through another gate, and there I knew on either side was a small colony of Early Spiders. Without looking too hard I find six spikes, in good condition, and most not yet fully opened. I snap a few, then walk down the hill towards where I was hoping to find the rarest Kent orchid, the Burnt (Tip). They had been seen for the last two years, and I was hopeful of it being a hat-trick year.

But no matter how hard I looked, I saw no sign. Not even the tell-tale markings showing where the warden had found them. But nothing.

So, after half an hour, I turned for home and began to long slow and steep walk back up the down.

In fact, my back had given up complaining, so I made good time, and was back in the car in 40 minutes, hot and sweaty and disappointed at now Burnt Orchid, but that's orchiding!

I drive home, with the clock ticking to prepare lunch for Jools' return from work, it was courgette fritters and garlic bread. Each time the mix is different, and so it was this time.

Once Jools gets back, I make the fritters, making a sticky sludge into gold crispy tasty mouthfulls. I was them down with wine.

Why not?

Turns out my legs decided they were too tired for another exercise, so I go for a shower, and slip into something more comfortable.

And that was the day.

We were going up the cliffs to watch the full moon rise, but the sky clouded over a couple of hours before sunset, s we wouldn't have seen that much. So, we sat in the back garden and I drank sloe port, while bats whirled high above us, doing cartwheels in the air, catching bugs.

Summer is here, folks.