Monday 15th June 2020

Another birthday for one of my ex-wives.

And a day off work. First of 5.

Let's fill it will stuff that is unrelated to work.

Jools had planned to do a tip run, as it had been closed for weeks, but due to demand, each house is only allowed one run a month, so now that the rush was over, she thought she would go, and had booked up a slot, booked it up before she knew I would be off.

Would I be happy with doing mundane stuff, or would I have other plans?

I had other plans.

I had heard reports of Lizard Orchids along the cliffs at Capel, so I hatched a plan for Jools to drop me off and I walk to Dover, where she could pick me up once the tip run was done and dusted.

The weather forecast was perfect, a little cloudy at first, but would clear quickly. Or so I thought.

I was dropped off in Capel at seven, just me, my walking boots, two cameras and a bundle of optimism. I walk up the track, the turn up a narrow path to the cliff edge, a 100 yards uphill.

Right to Folkestone, left to Dover.

I turn left, thinking the spikes would be near the sound mirror.

Yes, sound mirror.

Before radar and that electronic stuff, there was sound. And in order to get an early warning of approaching aircraft, huge concrete sound mirrors were built and tested. Pointing at the French coast, thanks to the parabolic dish, would give the listener a couple of minutes warning of an approaching plane, so send a message to scramble fighters.

As planes got faster, the warning was measured in shorter and shorter periods of time, and then along came radar, which enabled an experienced operator to tell what an enemy pilot had eaten for breakfast.

The sound mirrors were so well built, several are still standing, and the one at Capel is the most accessible.

I stride out along the narrow path, very narrow, with views down to the railway hundreds of feet below, separated from the drop only by a sturdy set of railings.

A train emerged from the tunnel below my feet, so I take shots.

With both cameras.

I walk on, emerge from the narrow path to the meadows beyond, and in the distance is the mirror and a nearby gun emplacement. The mirror has some paint on it, but being tall, most of it is still naked concrete, though the microphone and fitting is long gone.

I take pictures then walk on.

I am snapping any interesting flowers and chasing any butterflies. I am distracted by a Tortoiseshell which I hope would be a Large (which are rare) but was a Small.

I pass several clumps of a cultivated form of Iris, and then the native Stinking Iris.

I snap both.

Past the rifle rage butts, and more lookout pots and gun posts on the edge of the cliffs, looking out to sea towards France and an enemy that was defeated 75 years ago.

In several places the once scenic path that used to veer near to the cliff edge is now closed due to erosion, meaning I have to concentrate on botany instead of death-defying views.

I do find a large colony of Common Spotted Orchids, which I photograph. A lot. Light was perfect, and the orchids were at their peak.

The path along the ridge of Shakespeare Cliff was closed. Some people had used it, but signs pointed to a track at the edge of a field, over a fence. I take the safer option.

But it means the spectacular views down onto Shakespeare Beach was lost, the old track was so overgrown I saw, once I reached the gate, I didn't go back up.

Just down the narrow path that hugs the cliff, I meet Pepe.

Pepe was having a picnic brunch, and wanted to chat. So I stopped to talk; we talked about butterflies, the virus, people being rude. Time slipped by.

I looked at my watch, ten past nine. If I didn't hurry Jools would be going to the tip, I try to leave. Pepe carried on talking. So I accepted I would have to wait for Jools to be finished.

In the end, after half an hour, I bid my farewell, and walk down the slope where it levelled out and ran beside the A20, taking the underpass to get to the other side of the road, where I call Jools and she had finished, and would collect me at the garage on Townwall Street.

As I walk into the garage forecourt, Jools arrives, and I take my sore feet and body into the passenger seat, and air-conditioned coolness.

Jools takes me home.

We get home. I have a pint of squash, but oddly, am not hungry. It is too hot to sit outside, so I review my shots, make a coffee, then make a batch of foccacia dough for lunch.

We have insalata caprese, made with rocket from our garden, and was magnificent.

I drink two strong Belgian beers to wash the food down.

The afternoon passed in a blur, and to our disappointment, the ice cream van did not go past. I had my money ready and everything.

After supper, and yet more bears, we play Uckers, and Jools was hoping my tripel overdose would cloud my judgement was unfounded, as I scraped another win.

Yay.