Saturday 13th June 2020

All of a sudden it is high summer.

Days spread out forever, in which to fill with strawberries, cream, Pimms or a cool beer. Ripening crops stretch to the horizon, waving in the gentle breeze, while above, skylarks make fine song.

We have reached the salad days.

And to make them sweeter, whatever the science, lockdown is being eased, and we can go out, meet friends and family, travel a bit further. There are no country pubs to sit outside in a beer garden, nursing a pint of summer ale whilst demolishing a ploughman's lunch.

But that too will come.

And we have 10 days to fill with stuff. Each day will (according to my plans) feature some orchiding or botanising, maybe a butterfly) before other stuff takes over in the afternoon.

Its good to have a plan.

And on my radar on Saturday was Musk Orchids. Musks are the smallest orchid we get in Kent, and can take some finding, but my orchid eyes are well tuned.

Or so I thought.

There were other things to see at PGD, but the Musk was the target.

We were up at five again, not bad for a day off, but that's 15 years on the RAF and early starts for you, our brains are now hotwired to get us up early.

We have coffee and are out at seven, taking the very quiet road to Barham, then down the Elham Valley to, well, Elham. Up and over the down, and we arrive at the reserve, now quite that the Monkey season is over for another year, just leaving us orchidiots to search through the fragrants and CSOs.

We parked in the lay by opposite the gate, I get the camera and ring flash out. As if I wasn't carrying enough weight without it! And I wonder why I knacked my right shoulder.......

I survey the first two paddocks, and indeed the Monkey are all over. I find one spike that was in a reasonable state, but don't take a shot. Elsewhere, there are Common Fragrants of all shapes and sizes and colours, dotting the meadow.

I snap some before moving to the third paddock to look for the Musk.

I know where they should be. And as they are small, they can be hard to find. I look and look, taking small steps as I edge along the faint path.

I see none.

But now they should be 5 or 6cm tall, so easier to spot. But I see none.

I give up for a bit, and go to look for a Greater Butterfly; they seem to have had a bad year in east Kent, a combination of a late frost and dry winds left rosettes looking burned. Most didn't recover. And here were I saw over 30 spikes a couple of years back, there was just one viable was left flowering. And it was just about to go over.

So, I snap it anyway, as the only one I saw in flower was back at the beginning of May at Yockletts, and I had my camera on the wrong settings. So, got that in the bag.

On the way back, I look again for Musk, along the top path, along the bottom path, and back along the middle two.

Nothing.

I admit defeat.

Sadly.

We walk back to the car, meeting a lady walking her dog. She asked what I was looking for, so I explain about the Musk. She is interested, so we talk orchids, and wild flowers. And wild flower gardens, and she explains her wildflowers planted last year had not reappeared. So I explain about Yellow Rattle and the need to weaken lawn grass.

She leaves happier.

Our second and final stop was back in Dover at Temple Ewell. In good years there is a sea of Common Fragrants up there, so it was a short walk to the edge of the treeline, and we might see butterflies.

Or not.

No butterfly action in the lower meadows, and up on top of the downs, a keen breeze was blowing, keeping butterflies hunkered down.

There were orchids, lots of orchids, but short and stunted, but many variations.

The walk up there had the additional benefit of leaving the crazy world down below. Until a family with four screaming kids and two yelping dogs appear.

We decide to head for home for brunch.

We have fruit, coffee and croissants.

And soon feel much refreshed.

I review my shots, write a blog or two, and it is time for lunch.

I mix up a batch of batter for courgette fritters, add plenty of chilli flakes and lemon juice. Half an hour later they are all fried, golden and crispy, which we eat with lashing of garlic aioli.

Yummy.

And it seems our jet set, rock n roll lifestyle caught up with me, as I laid on the sofa listening to modern jazz and fell asleep for an hour or two.

We have to get our skates on, as we have an evening of cards planned, and with further restrictions, we could play inside!

What larks.

We collect John on the way to Whitfield. Jen has given away her chickens as a colony of rats was visiting in the day and sometimes in daylight, nicking food, and Jen had had enough, so they are now living in the country with other hens an a far. While Jen reclaims a third of her garden back.

We have a great evening, with Jools and I winning everything. The last hands, Jen suggested that instead of playing for a pot of pennies, we play for a penny a spot, and whoever wins get the difference from the other three players.

Well, the gambling Gods looked down on me and smiled, as I thrashed them, especially the last three hands as I romped to a mighty win, netting eight quid, though Jools made it clear she wasn't going to pay.

I agree. Which is for the best.