Sunday 9th August 2020

A year ago we travelled to Liverpool so I could watch Norwich play at Anfield and us meet friends the day after for a fine tour round the city and its cathedrals.

Fast forward a year, and we have not been out of Kent since March for me, and maybe all year for Jools.

Strange days.

And Sunday would be little different, as I wanted to check on the orchids at Barham, before going to Folkestone for a haircut and us meet up with our friend, Mary.

We almost didn't go to Braham, the breeze was getting up and I thought macro photography might be difficult to impossible. But after talking about it, we have breakfast and are out at eight, giving just enough time to get to the site, walk from the car, take pictures before getting to Folkestone.

We drove out along the A2, then down the long lane to the site, where there was a guy staring on the other side of the road, he eyed us up.

What you here for, he asked.

We could ask you, we replied.

We are here to photograph orchids, showed him the gear and even a shot from last week.

Baz asked us to look at a tree on the road the other side of the meadow in front of us. I thought there must have been an owl or owlett visible. I searched and searched and saw nothing.

Baz said he'd go over and pointed to an area of the trunk. Can you see it now?

No.

Eyes here, he said pointing to where branches once had been, and this dark line down here?

He saw an elephant.

Above it, he said, he could see a wolf.

I could see neither. But I looked and said I could see an owl, kinda, looking over his shoulder.

Baz had a failed marriage behind him, and is now a videographer and clairvoyant. He talked, sometimes listening, sometime not.

Time passed and Gaz carried on. It was clear there wasn't enough time to get to the orchids. And the sky darned and wind got stronger. No weather for snapping.

But we had to meet Mary, so that gave us an excuse to have to leave.

He meant well.

Back to Barham and down through Hawkinge to Folkestone, down to the harbour where the car parks were already filling up, despite the cloudy conditions.

I leave Jools to wait for Mary and I go to the salon where as I arrive, the door is unlocked and I was shown into a chair. I listen as the petrolhead in the chair next to me recounted his life and chain of short-term girlfriends. He comes to Folkestone from Chatham for a haircut.

The guy cuts my hair: shaves the back, buffs it, then starts on the top, snip, snip, snipping away. More strimming, more cutting, more buffing.

It takes an hour.

But by the end I look fabulous. Or my hair does. I give him twenty quid, seems the least I could do for an hour's work.

I go to meet Jools and Mary, sitting outside the cafe. I join them for a coffee and a chat about things.

But time was against us, we have to leave at half eleven, giving us just enough time to stop at a produce store for some salad and local Kent artisan cheeses.

We head home ready for some good food and a cool drink. We have iced squash, no lunchtime boozing for me, oh no.

And with the day at its hottest, we hunker down in the cool darkness of the house, listen to the radio as the afternoon slipped by.

But at three, the wind died, and because I am mad and orchid obsessed, I go back out to Barham to look at the orchids and take shots.

No Baz there this time, I park up, strap the camera over one shoulder, and carry the tripod on the other. A deep breath, then up the sloping path to where the orchids were.

First of all, the single spike at the edge of the wood was out, I stop to snap it. It look stunning, just perfect.

Up the bank the small group were not yet out, but close. Further in, many spikes were either at their peak or going over, and the flowering spike we saw last week had gone to seed and was drying up.

I am supposed to be bringing a group up here next weekend, and they might all be over.

Eeeek.

I walk back to the car with dozens of shots, drive back to the A2 and turn for home. Just after the end of the dual carriageway, I get stuck behind a tractor, and instead of sitting behind it all the way to Whitfield, I turn down to Coldred to cut across country, and if I was lucky, the Carpenter's Arms would be open.

It was, and there was a parking space.

It is a throwback to how pubs used to be, no frills, just damn fine beer.

I empty the glass in two gulps. Another would be nice, but I am driving.

I cut along to Eythorne, then to Whitfield to call in on Jen and see how her Mother is doing. Not so well as it happenes. She has relapsed and is not drinking again, and needs a feeding tube.

There is nothing Jen can do, not even visit.

I go back home and am parking as Steve next door. Steve likes a beer, would he like to come round for some man-sized tripel?

He would. So for two hours we make beers vanish as we sat in the evening sunshine in the bottom shelter, talking football, music and gigs we have been too.

All very enjoyable too.

He has to be up at half four, and leaves at eight.

We have yet to have supper.

Somehow the day is gone, I have a shower and play with the kittens as they come out of their shell, their energy is endless, unlike mine. The kittens come alive as darkness falls. We have no ping pong balls, so we roll pieces of paper and they chase and chase them all over the living room floor.

Only downside is Cleo deciding she doesn't like the litter tray, so we have to step carefully in case we find her little "gifts".