Boaty McBoatface

The UK Government is stumping up £200 mllion to get a new yacht to sail the seas as the UK emerges as a buccaneering trading nation, post-Brexit.

Notice its not called a "Royal" Yacht, as Buckingham Palace wasn't impressed with a leak of plans for the yacht being named after Prince Philip without being asked first.

Awkward.

That having a boat, a yacht, will not make one jot of difference in getting trade deals from even the most impressionable of nations.

COnservatives like to make out that Socialists like to spend taxpayer's money, but this shows that Tories like to spaff it about.

Two hundred million for a pointless boat, but only 1% for doctors and nurses, and from June 1st they will have to pay for parking again at hospitals. So, that a big "FUCK YOU" to the NHS from the Government.

Like it was ever going to be any different.

If only the left wing of the Labour Party could stop undermining Starmer and fight the real enemy, then we are royally screwed.

Sunday 30th May 2021

My spring holiday is drawing to an end. On Tuesday I go back, well, power up the other laptop, and have three days of data analysis to deal with.

But before then, more sites to get round, and it is a surprise, if I'm honest, that I am not going back to Bonsai, but this is due to the number of Lady Orchids greatly down this year and having snapped a Duke in Gloucestershire earluier this week.

Which meant we go head north to a water meadow in the Medway Valley for some Early Marsh action.

I arranged to meet a couple of the more active group members, Terry and another Ian, so all was set. Only I forgot to arrange the weather, as it dawned dull and cloudy, and if anything, got murkier as we travelled north until we reached the bridge over the Medway and it was downright misty.

Sigh.

The forecast was for sunny intervals by mid-morning, and endless sunshine after lunch, by which time I planned to be home.

We parked in the houses beside the main road and I waited for Ian and his wife, Anna, to arrive, meanwhile Jools went to find Terry.

After five minutes they arrived, and we walked over the main road to the tunnel under the railway where Jools and Terry were waiting, and after some elbow bumping, we go through and climb the gate into the reserve.

And as expected, it was very dampl, mud up to the ankles in some places, and a little overgrown after the severe cutting it received last year, so the orchids took some finding. And if I'm honest, I wasn't sure about the Early Marsh spikes we found; right colour, but for me wrong lip shape, but I would hold fire on being sure until I asked some others once home what they thought.

And as it turned out, they were all Early Marsh after all, so no worries, but this family of orchids always gives me headaches, as the main species can all interbreed and hybridise with all the others, making definitive IDs tricky. I have learned to just admire their beauty.

We walk on and see many other orchid spikes; a single CSO, lots of Southern Marsh, and then there were those which I suspected to be a little of two or more species. One clump was huge, darly spotted leaves and of a mighty size, I though a mix of SMO and CSO, but more likely EMO and SMO. But then, who know?

And to see those, a second gate had to be climbed, the others got over fine and went off to explore, I climbed up, swung my leg over and went to step down, but the step went on forever, and when I did touch ground, I put my weight on it and tipped back, and sideways, I reached out with my right hand on the only thing to stop me falling: barbed wire, and slashed three fingers. I fell sideways onto a log, the camera and lens making a crasing sound as they hit the log too. I ended up looking up at the sky through stalks of tall grass, my fingers pumped out bright red blood, and my only thoughts were for my camera gear.

Thankfully, both were OK, and I sicked at the scratches and slowly they blood stopped leaking out.

No one had missed me thanks to the wonderful orchids.

We went back, climbing back over the stile, using the bottom bar of the gate as a step and so much easier to get up and over.

We walk back to the car, and say our goodbyes as we scatter to different corners of Kent. Jools and I drive back to the M2, then head east to Faversham and Canterbury, or try to, but find the motorway bloked by a jam. We turn down the A249, but that is jammed too, so we take to the hills. Or down, driving through Hucking, then down to Hollingbourne, via a series of narrower lanes that went up, over and down various downs, past farms and the occasional country pub.

It wasn't unpleasant.

We reached Leeds (the non-dirty one), and took two right turns to get onto the motorway and then it was up to cruising speed and plain sailing until we reached Hythe, and then we looked for ways to strike out across the empty hinterland to reach Barham and a woodland full of Lady Orchids. We program the sat nav and it takes us down a long narrow and green valley, up the other side until the woodland looked familiar.

Here we are, I said to Jools, and indeed, just along was the hard standing where we park.

I get the camera gear out and off we set through thicker tangles of branmbles than last year, and the open canopy from the felling two years ago has allowed other vegetation to grow taller, but here and there a magestic spike of six rose into the still air, all almost fully out.

Perfect.

I go round, but pay special attention to the single almost pure white spike, which has grown from the edge of a small flint quarry.

I stumble back to the car where I meet Jools. I have managed not to have another accident for several hours.

Which is nice.

One last call to Woolage to check if the Birds Nest Spike was open. Bad news, it wasn't, but the good news is that we found three more spikes between us, including one having just broken ground through the leaf litter.

And that was that.

Back to the car one final time, and a lazy drive down the familiar lanes abck home via Barfrestone, Eythorne, West and then East Langdon and to St Maggies. I parked the car at ten past two, meaning I had 50 minutes to make a brew and review shots before the latest play off game; Lincoln v Blackpool.

It was a good game, Lincoln took the lead through an own goal, but that was as good as it got for them, Blackpool pulling level before half time, then scoring a deserved winner in the 2nd.

All done.

Dinner is to be steak, fried potatoes and garlic mushrooms. I have more beer to wash it down.

Beer is good again, but I haven't really missed it.

We tidy up, and somehow its nearly seven, and I have dozens of pictures for #wildflowerhour to upload.

The day is gone, meaning just one more day left, a bank holiday, and the sun will shine.

Saturday 29th May 2021

After five fun and orchid packed days with lots of travelling up and down the country, with the weather to be grey at least to start with, and with my foot throbbing somehwat, I thought it best to take it easy, for 24 hours at least.

So, we had a quiet day.

We got up at half five for some reason. I laid in bed and listened to the noises that the house makes as it warms up as the sun rises.

Jools was up, she had made coffee, and the house was filled with cats, keeping to their own spaces.

Breakfast was croissants, and another coffee.

Outside the sun began to shine, Jools went to work in the garden, and I spent time listening to the radio, writing and then making a loaf of sourdough bread to have with lunch. There is something wonderful about turning some basic ingredients into a wonderful light, fluffy and tasty loaf of bread, and with care addition of a pinch more yeast, it is possible to make a bread monster.

It is baked by midday, and after it cooled down I trimmed the asparagus, grated some cheese and butter some thich slices of bread, and so we could sit down to have a fine lunch.

In a strange turn of events, the roofers came, and finished up, then spent two hours clearing up around the house and taking all the scrap tiles away. This they did by piling the thick tiles in the back of their van. I can tell you that a roof-full of 1930s tiles weigh quite a bit, and thei tyres on their van were almost flat. I'll be quite honest, it didn't look safe, but they seemed happy enough. There was so much weight, the subframe of the van had twisted and the back doors of the van wouldn't lock.

Eeeek.

Jools went swimming in the afternoon, and I sat down to watch the Championship Play Off Fine, between Brentford and Swansea. Always exciting matches, if only for what is at stake, but that there was a crown of 12,000 cheering both teams on. Brentford scored two goals in the opening 20 minutes, and although Swansea huffed and puffed, but could not socre.

Brenford join Norwich and Watford in the Prem.

We had dinner once Jools came back, and an ice cream as she had come via Tesco. Which was nice.

And the evening was taken with the Champions League, played by two clubs that wanted to destroy this very competition. Citeh v Chelski, played in Porto, and was a agme of high drama, but Citeh really didn't really trouble the Chelsea defence, so the single Chelsea goal won it. Pep is disappointed again. I would have banned both teams from taking part and given the trophy to PSG as the only one of the four not to have taken part in the Super Duper League. I wanted nether team to win, just be entertained.

Don't steal our summer

Science does not deal in absolute truths. Religion does.

Science is based on facts and data, and data changes.

Even when something is accepted, its called a theory as there might need to be fine tuning, or get it totally wrong. Or something inbetween.

Johnson promised a full unlocking by 21st June, and that is what we all want. But his Government has left in 1,500,000 people into the country when the citizens of the UK were in a harsh lockdown. We did not let in the Indian variant.

Johnson did.

And now with positive tests now 4,000 a day again, and 75% of them of the Indian variant, a delay might be needed, to safeguard the nation's health. But papers like the Daily Mail want their summer holidays.

Don't steal our summer its front page screamed yesterday. What's more important; going to your holiday chalet or saving tens of thousands of lives here?

I want a normal life, to be able to travel, go to the pub have a meal out or whatever, but I care for the people of our country, as one death is one death too many.

Is that too hard to understand?

Friday 28th May 2021

Why was I driving 70 miles into deepest, darkest west Kent with just a postcode to guide me, and from there just a grid reference.

And in all honesty, I can't say.

I mean, it really is a secret.

But believe me, if I could, I would, and had I found what I was looking for, you would be the firsts to know about it. Probably.

And in good Douglas Adams tradition, let me remove any tension in this post by revealing that I did not find what I was looking for.

Sounds like a song title, I might call Mr Bono and let him know.

So, I was looking for something, in west Kent.

Kent is big, I mean as far as English counties go, that you can travel 70 miles drive for over 70 minutes and not leave it, is remarkable. But then again, its no Texas, or Wyoming. And to get to West Kent meant braving the madness that is the traffic in and around Maidstone.

So, I gave myself 90 minutes, and once Jools had gone to yoga, I put the bird seeds out, put the bins out and loaded the car, punched in the post code into the sat nav, and I was away.

Not much to tell of the trip; it was the Friday before a three day weekend, traffic was pretty heavy, lots of trucks on the M20, though the contraflow is long gone. Above, it was cloudy, but bright with the promise, despite the forecast, of sunshine later. Maybe even quite soon.

I turn off the motorway, and travel west along dual carriageways, round big roundabouts, still very little traffic about. Which was nice.

And then down ever smaller lanes until I came to the village, I turn down a side street, past some nice houses that overlooked fields, at the end I park up and send a text message to my "contact".

He arrives five minutes later, we bump elbows and swap news. What he, or rather his brother had found, was now gone.

Hmmmm.

But he seemed genuine, and who am I to judge?

We walk back to the end of the street, then over the main road, down a lane lined with cow parsley, which looked quite picturesque.

Through a farmyard, then along poorly marked footpaths round the edge of fields, over two ditches until we came to a path that disappeared into some scrub woodland.

Hmmmm.

I had little experience of what we were looking for, but this didn't feel right. Nor did the mud.

But still, who knows?

We walk on and look on either side, there was nothing like what we were looking for.

I do find some related things, which I guess strengthened the case, but of what was supposed to be there just three days previously, even if there had been some clearance, there should have been some remains, something identifiable.

But there was nothing.

We do some more exploring, and find some drier areas, and was delighted to find many dragonflies, rather damselflies, which I try to snap. We both chase a Small Copper, and are further distracted by other more flighty butterflies.

But after two hours, we give up. There should have been something, but there was nothing.

We walk back to the village, and I finish up by saying I'll be back in a few weeks.

I was hot and footsore.

And thirsty, which isn't good.

I had noticed a greasy spoon just before the motorway, so drove there and stopped for brunch, and two drinks. Not enough for sure, but will help.

I eat the sausage and bacon stick as I drove along the motorway, spraying crumbs all over the car, but felt much better.

What to do now> Well, PGD is best avoided at weekends, so I go there to check on the Cheeky Monkeys. Orchids.

Along to Hythe, then up Stone Street. Again. Turning off down narrow lanes and find that half of Kent were at the site, and I get the last remaining parking space left.

I walk up to the gate, then past the old quarry, but the spike that had been on the edge seemed to have vanished.

Sigh.

I do find two spikes a way in, in good condition, almost all out, but the flowering spike had not yet got the roundness it does when the orchid is fully in flower.

I speak to a couple of couples, one lady had left her lens bag near the entrance, so i tell her and her husband goes to pick it up.

I walk through them and to the second then third paddock, only a few more spikes were seen, though I didn't look too hard, most were a week away from opening.

Up along the top path, looking down the slope for Fly Orchids. I look and look and see none. I had gone three quarters to the end of the paddick, and then, just behind some long grass, I saw the familiar shaped spike.

I go down to snap it, and one of the couples came up: what have you seen? she asked excitedly.

Fly Orchid.

Where?

There, pointing at the orchid.

Oh yes.

And there's another. And another.

A bright one over there, I say having got my eye in.

I also show them the Greater Butterflies just about to burst into flower. They were very pleased with what I had shown them.

By the end there were three couples in a group following me as I walked slowly down the slope edging back to the car.

One last call: to Folkestone to check on the Late Spiders.

I cut across country, down yet more narrow lanes until I come out near to Hawkinge on the main road, I turn south to Folkestone before turning off and getting the second and final parking spot on the lane.

No one else was there, but I had seen that someone had climbed over the fence to snap some of the other spikes closely. The fence is not to keep animals out, but photographers and orchidists.

Another sigh.

Jools calls, she was going to be another half hour, so I say I'll go home to have a drink and some crisps and another drink and another drink.

I go back onto the A20, drive to Dover then up to St maggies and home.

The feline welcoming committee was out in force, well Mulder and Scully, so I give them some crunchies. Which I do.

I go to collect Jools from Cath's, we have borrowed her car for the last two weeks so I could go out in our car out every day and Jools could go to work, but now we returned it, so are back down to a single car household once again.

I was too pooped to cook, so instead we had spring rolls and prawn toast and more squash for dinner, as well as two bacon rolls.

After sitting for half an hour, I got up and found my legs has seized up, I walk like an old man, which is what I am getting to, I guess.

I write, take part in the music quiz and I get a second 10th place, so have doubled my points total to a grand total of two now!

EEEK.

Brexit

Brexit continues, still with denails from the Government about its effects on business.

But, Liz Truss has said she wants to see the border checks as detailed in the WA, NIP and TCA done away with; does this means she is disowning the deal the PM negotiated?

SMEs have all but given up on exporting, due to the complexity of the process. Its time consuming and therefore, costly. It is putting up barriers to trade with our closest customers.

No trade agreement, free or not, with Australia will replace the the amount lost with the EU, and in the scramble to get a deal, any deal, farmers will be thrown under the big red bus.

But Boris promised.....

Indeed.

Things have settled down in Kent; the lorry park on the M20 is gone and the facility in Ashford is up and running, though the one in Dover is still mostly green fields, and when I went past on Thursday no work was going on. Traffic levels into Kent across the Channel is high, but that is because there are no incoming customs checks as of yet. So shops are well stcked and many are still furloughed, so life goes on.

But a report this week showed that many exporters are chosing to pay tariffs rather than plough through the lengthy paperwork and Rules of Origin (RoO) requirements to qualify.

Such reuirements were know, but brished aside to get a day, any deal with the EU.

Such actions have concequences.

Thursday 27th May 2021

Would have been Mum's 77th birthday.

Home from my travels, the question for the day would be how long until I got itchy feet?

I had two blogs to write, two podcasts to listen to, breakfast to eat.

Its a cloudy day, but is supposed to get brighter.

Jools had gone to work, I laze around, have a shower until I decide its time to do something. And that something was yet more orchids.

Shock.

I get in the car and drive to Cliffsend to visit the old hoverport to see the yellow Man Orchids, as they should have been at their peak.

It is near normal, the snack kiosk is open, cars are parked nearby and people are eating bacon butties and ice creams. I park on the road, grab the camera and walk down past the Viking ship, to the top of the steps, and down into the drowned world below.

Not really drowned, a bourne tinkles down the bottom two steps making a puddle on the ground, I splish splash through that and walk to the second road, then down to the marker, where, a few feet in front were the orchids.

I even counted them, 92 spikes in total, some tiny, but some large, and most densly packed with overlapping man-shaped lips.

I take shots, like many I have taken over the years, but still, orchids.

And that was that.

I searched the area for Bee Orchids and find a single rosette with spike emerging, there used to be dozens here, if not hundreds, but the dry years have done for them, I think. One last check for broomrapes, but I saw none of those, there used to be several spikes of COmmon Broomrpae, but none showing now.

I walk back to the car, turn round and drive back to Dover and to Whitfield as it was my turn to do the shopping. So, into Tesco, and I know some of you are big fans of this branch. I whisk round, getting stuff we mostly need, and one or two things we don't: wine for instance.

I must be feeling better.

Then I try to pay.

I have to have a trolley check.

Passed that.

Then the scanner wouldn't accept my voucher.

And then it had to be made certain I was over 25 to buy the wine.

Phew,

Back home, and it was two in the afternoon.

I have bought a sandwich and some crisps for a late lunch.

I eat, make a brew, mess around and somehow it was half four in the afternoon, and I had fritters to make.

Outside, the garden lawnmeadow looks stunning: all buttercups at the top end, and ox eye daisies at the bottom, and inbetween them all is lots of Yellow Rattle.

I took a shot.

Or two.

Then to make the fritter batter, grate some courgettes, mix it all up, add oil to a hot pan, and fry spoonfulls at a time.

Jools arrives just as the last batch is cooking, I put them all on a plate in a golden pyramid, carry them to the living room, and we eat with some garlic mayo.

And somehow another day has gone, we close the curtains on another day in paradise.

Wednesday 26th May 2021

I woke up at six fifteen, not enough sleep, but deep and restful.

The original plan was to look round more local sites before heading south, but I was impatient, and the grid references to find the orchids I wanted hadn't arrived by seven, when it was time for breakfast, so instead I decided to head south to visit my friends who visited Kent last week, but live in Gloucestershire. Duncan had promised big.

I packed, checked the room twice, and went downstairs where the landlord showed my the fruit, cereal and coffee, took an order for sausage and bacon butties, while I took some fruit and a coffee.

I eat and drink up, say goodbye to the owner, and remind him again the name of the orchid I had come up to see.

I load the car, program the sat nav, which told me I had 183 miles to go.

I drove out of the car park, up the High Street, then along to the motorway junction, I turned south and engaged most of the horses, the car leapt off, overtaking a truck, and joining the motorway, filled, as it was, with light traffic.

It started out dull and grey, but brightened up, meaning I was even more enthused about some orchiding in a new county.

Down through Preston, round Manchester, bypassing Liverpool and further south until hit the roadworks between Crewe and Stafford, so we crept forward at fifty, the fifteen miles dragging.

Out through the roadworks and onto the clear three carriageways of the M6 Toll Road, driving for the sheer joy of it. I stop at the services for a coffee and a slice of cake, then back onto the road, taking the M42 to the south west, joining an old friend, the M5 towards Gloucester and Cheltenham.

I used to drive this road every week when I was still with wife number 2 and at Cosford on my fitters course, I think we must have travelled on it too when we had a holiday on the Long Mynd maybe 14 or 15 years ago now, but time matters little. Much has changed, and yet, much is the same.

I turn off and head east through Regency Cheltenham, I should have stopped for photos of the Georgian houses, the stonewear four sided bench and the fine pub named The Tivoli. But I had orchids in mind. I arrived at their house, and reveresed into their parking area, Duncan came out, and said he had already put the kettle on.

We have a cuppa, and a Danish pastry, catch up and then it is time. He will drive as I had already done nearly four hours, which was fine, as he also knew where to go. We take endless winding roads, through stunning verdant rolling countryside, climbing all the time, until we made the final climb to Selsley.

Selsly is a Common, but seems to be another name for a chalk down, it seems to have free grazing, and there were a few horses in the distance, as the Common is huge.

We set off across the buttercup covered grassland, until it began to drop away, bringing into view the village at the foot of the down, the land dropping to the River Severn many miles away, then the hills of south Wales rising darkly in the distance. It was breathtaking.

We had to climb halfway down to the village, and in a location looking the same as any other,there was a spike of an orchid, but with flowers of a different shape: this was the spike of a hybrid, a hybrid between the Bee and Fly Orchid, and amazing it looked.

And then the sun came out.

Wow.

There was no one else about.

We both took lots of pictures, then began the climb back to the top, then over to the car.

The next call promised a climb of even steeper slopes.

Eeeek.

Duncan took us down narrow twisty lanes, along the valley and up the other side, past a huge pub to another Common, where we find a parking space, and ebfore we set off, we call in at a place selling what Duncan claimed were the best ice creams in England. A bold claim.

I had stawberry and cream in a snazzy waffle cone, and it passed the QC test, though I might need another to be sure.

The Common was covered again in buttercups and cowslips, we walk on, and the ground began to drop. We walked on.

Below us the sides of the down dropped away to the narrow lane we had come up, it was down there we had to go, there weemed no way of getting down. And remember, we'd have to get back up afterwards!

Duncan said if we took a certain path, and dropped down a gulley, we might get lucky and see some Dukes (of Burgundy).

It was a scramble alright, but once we reached the lower path, there were butterflies all around, including at least three Dukes. I managed to get a distant shot, and then one planded near me, so I managed to sccot closer and get a very acceptable shot.

Happy.

We climb further down, almost to the road, then along some, and ahead, Duncan lets out a cry: here they are!

Sword Leaved Helleborine is extinct in Kent, probably extinct, though I think one was found a few years back, and in Gloucestershore they're pretty rare. There were four plants, two full sized, and two much saller examples.

We were joined by two ladies who had also been looking, we all took shots before it was time to turn round and climb.

Sigh.

All journeies begin with a single step. Followed by a second. And a third. And so on. We make it to the first path, then up, zig-zaggin up and to the right each time, it was hard going, but in a few minutes we had left the two ladies and a rude butterfly chaser far below. There was the remains of a cart track, probably at about 40%, but easier on the feet.

We reached the top after twenty minutes and plenty of pauses for breath and photographs. We walked back to the car, then drive to the motorway and back to Cheltenham to their house. We had an emergency brew, then I climb in my car to follow Duncan for the last call; more orchids.

We drive through the villge, past schools and their roads jammed with Mothers in 4x4s, clogging up traffic, then into the countryside, climbing up through woodland, and turning off down a narrow lane, stopping on the corner of a lane, which looked like hundreds of other scenes.

But jsut along the lane, in the leaf litter, olive green spikes were emerging, many such spimes, each one a new season's orchid, Bird's Nest Orchids, rare, and rarely grow in the same location. Here, over 40 spikes were seen, with more coming. Sadly, none were quite in flower, but they looked impressive.

And that was it, it was nearing five, and I had another 180 miles to do, but this time along the busiest roads in the country.

I had to get to Swindon, then pick up the motorway, and for a while it was easy going, along roads I knew well 25 years ago. Into Swindon, past the huge Honda factory, and then in a long queue to get to final roundabout and get onto the motorway.

I edge on, and cruise at seventy, listening to the radio as I motored through Wiltshire, into Oxforshire and Berkshire, past Windosr Castle, and there was me expecting there to be awful traffic any moment, and yet there wasn't.

Onto the M25, and OK, there was a few delays, but nothing like I was expecting, so made good time, and was on track to get back home before eigt, which was a right result. The sun was sinking fast as I entered Kent and turned off down the M20, traffic light again, but I was being followed. Well, worse than that, tailgated by a van with ladders on the roof, it was about two feet from the back of the car, so when we came to some heavier traffic, I put my foot down and got the heck out of there.

It had followed me like that for several miles, and I could see it as I zoomed off into the distance, trying to keep up, but failing.

I slowed to seventy, and there was no reappearance for the van, so just took my time driving down to Ashford, then to Folkestone and finally, Dover.

I parked the car and as soon as I tried to get out the car, my legs screamed, OW WE HURT.

I know.

I carried my bags into the house, Jools already had the kettle on. We had brews, we talked, then when she went to bed, I had supper and watched the end of the man Utd v Villareal game, which Utd lost 11-10 on penalties. It was ten past 11.

Tuesday 25th May 2021

The birthday of the second Mrs Jelltex.

Sadly, she passed away a couple of years after our divorce. Her story has come up a couple of times in the past few days, a heartbreakingly sad story, and one of her being unable to break the cycle of pain.

All I can do, we can do, is hope she found peace.

But she was the most selfish person I have met, and that is up against my own Mother and the first Mrs Jelltex.

Anyway.

Travel.

Yes, travel, and a night away. In a hotel. Overlooking a railway station, three railway lines and the lst remeaining steam locomotive shed in the UK. But that wasn't even the reason for going.

That was for an orchid.

Yes, I know you're shocked at that news. But to drive six hours each way to see a single plant, or two in this case, next to each other, they would have to be either rare or spectacular. In fact, they were both.

The original plan was to set off just after nine in the morning, but I saw a wasted day, so in the end I rose at ten past four, had a coffee and breakfast, then loaded up the car with bags and cameras I had packed the day before, as well as a piece of paper with postcodes, grid references and so on for the two days I was away.

I put the radio on, but didn't set the sat nav, as I knew where I was going, at least until within half an hour of the site.

I went via the A2/M2/A2 to Dartfird, the radio played in the background, the sun rose away in the east and traffic was very light indeed. In under an hour from leaving home, I was driving under the Thames at Dartford, into Essex, then round to the start of the M11, then up past Standstead to Cambridge, getting there by half six, and before the expected rush hour into that city.

I turned west on the A14, now upgraded into a virtual motorway, cutting a swaithe through the Cambridgeshire countryside like a seeping wound.

At the A1 junction, in a change, I turned north, mainly to avoid the roadworks on the M6 and rush hour in around the towns and cities along its route. Up to Doncaster, the A1 is a four lane road, so I got caught being lorries struggling to overtake, but I had all day, and once I got to Newark, I knew I was well on the way, a road north to Pontefract I have driven up for many years.

Once at Pontefract I turned up the M62, which runs from Hull to Liverpool, but crosses the Pennines, which could be an interesting experience over Saddleworth Moor into Lancashire. It usually rains. Or snows. Or both.

Traffic was heavy, but I pressed on past Heddersfield, and up across the moor. In fact the weather improved, it had been raining up through Essex, but was cloudy but dry. I followed the signs to Preston and places further north.

There be dragons.

Onto the M6, and once past the turning for Blackpool, traffic was very light, the motorway ran beside the West Coast Mainline, but I saw no trains, I was half-concentrating on driving.

At Lancaster Services, I stopepd to program the sat nav: half an hour to go. It was ten fifteen, I would have nearly a full day here.

Eeeek.

I turn off at Carnforth, then follow ever narrower lanes, up into the foothills, through villages with roads barely wider then the car, fields and woodlands lines with moss-covered dry stone walls. There was rain in the air.

I came to the postcode I had programmed; there was a hostel and further on a bridge over the Furness railway.

I turned round and parked on the side of the road, across from me I could see the start of a bridleway into the reserve. It was less than half a mile from my goal.

I got out, stretched, then fitted the ringflash to the camera, put on my coat and walked to the gate and down towards the lake. The path lead me round an aread separated by another dry stone wall. I looked over and could see no orchid, nor no way in.

On the other side I found a gate, which didn't say we couldn't go in. So I went in.

There was a path, so I followed it. There were cowslips, and a few fare Alpine Bird's Eye Primroses, which looked fabulous. I snapped those. But still no orchids.

And then, there it was.

Or, there they were. Two plants, robust, each plant with a single flower. THe flower was spectacular: yellow lip that had curved upwards to make a "slipper", and three burgundy sepals, twisted reaching out at 120 degree angles.

It was an emotional moment.

I took lots of photos.

Most were repeats, but best to be sure.

Behind there was a larger clump, that had been in flower the week before, but were already going over. Their time is very short, I suspect these two plants will be the same be the weekend.

As I leave, a guide with a group of 29 ramblers were being prepared to go and see the orchid, they being another tick in the box on their day's walk. It is good people know, but this is a sensitive site, and 29 people plus a guide, after by mighty plates, creates damage. I hope they srvive here, as these are pretty much the last publicly accessable site for these left.

I walk round the lake, but realise I needed a comfort break, and a place to find something to eat. So I walk back to the car, and drive round looking for a pub in which to eat and refresh.

I find one, but the door is locked. An old guy comes out, asks me what I want. He gives me directions to another local, but he must have got his left and right mixed up, as I don't find one. So, using the sat nav I go from village to village, until I come to a small market town, and there was a parking space next to the public toilets.

Phew.

Once refreshed, I look round and decide I wasn't that hungry anyway, so drove back to the reserve, to the main car pak. I say "main", it had space for five cars.

I walk down the track, it was lined with primroses which held hope for seeing some of the local colony of Duke of Burgundy. I don't see any, but I find there is a protected area of the reserve I fail to make it to.

I come to open meadows, and a path leading off up a hill. I walk over one meadow and halfway across the second where my feet says, we've had enough. So I lay down in the long grass and look at the clouds passing overhead. Birdsong filled the air.

It was half two, I was footsore and hungry.

I walked back to the car, then drove into Carnforth, parking at the station, which was opposite the hotel I was booked into staying.

The hotel's bar wasn't open, so I walk up the main street, and find that the Carnforth Hotel was open. I went in and took a table in the corner. I order aCumberland sausage ring and chips, and order juice and lemonade instead of beer.

The food is simple pub fayre, but hearty stuff, and the landlady was very friendly, and nothing too much trouble.

Once I pay the tenner, I go back down the street to the hotel, check in and take my stuff to the second floor room that had views to the station, the mainline in the foreground, the line to Barrow beyond, and behind those, Steamtown, where a loco was being fired,a nd black smoke weaved into the cloudy sky. Trains hammered by on the main line every now and again, I got a 20m glimpse of the line between the end of the station and the bridge. It was enough.

I put the radio on, make two brews and relax.

I was to meet a fellow orchidist later, and he was to take me to see some more sites. But, easy as it is for me with no family or commute to speak of, to drop things and head out, for Richard who has a young family and commute from Preston, it wasn't until half seven he got free and came to collect me.

He had an Audi, that looked normal, but under the bonnet had 400 plus horses, which he would engage to get past slower cars when it was safe to do so.

He took me to an industrial site where there were dozens of Fly Orchid spikes, but others had been before, some had been trampled, which is always a pain, as the people who trampled the spikes had actually came to see the orchids.

We go to his hometown, or where he lives now, Silverdale. We park on the main street, then walk though a gap in the dry stone wall, to the first of two meadows that lead down to Morcombe Bay, into the second meadow, which was carpeted with thousands of Green Wing and Early Purple orchids, some almost impossible to tell apart.

All the while, Richard is telling me of orchids from all over the UK, Europe and the globe. He knows his orchids, and how the plants "work" in creating variations and hybrids.

We retre to the local pub, he orders us pints. I have a pint of shandy, just in case. It still feels daring, with my gout.

After we had supped, he took me back to the hotel, racing down narrow lanes, and racing a train from Barrow.

I get back at just gone ten, I go to the Co-Op over the road for a sandwich, a drink and some crisps, then walk back to the hotel and up to my room to have supper, and look at the shots I had taken.

I was pooped.

I slimb into bed just before eleven, trains hammered by all night, I heard them not.