Sunday 23rd May 2021

Would have been my Dad'd 83rd birthday, but has been gone a quarter of a century now.

Not wishing to sound all maudlin or anything, but you know, birthdays and all that.

I guess I can't really remember what he sounded like.

Sadly.

I was on a mission this day, I had arranged to meet a fellow orchidist, another Ian, on a hunt for the Kentish Burnt Tip.

Jools said she would sit this one out.

So, she'll miss all the fun. Oh well.

So, after coffee ans a quick breakfast of fruit, I am gone, going the short distance to Whitfield, down the hill and into Temple Ewell, parking behind the old pub, waiting for my partner in crime, Ian, to arrive.

He does, we compare aches and pains, and agree to take it easy up the down. He has every piece of camera equipment ever invented packed into his bag strapped to his back. I have the one camera and lens, and that's it. Not even a flash or mini-tripod.

It is steady going, not hard, really. Up through the meadow, then across the two paddocks, gradually climbing all the time, sometimes quite steep, sometimes no so. And being breezy and cool, there were no butterflies about once again. I have seen so few this year, I was hoping for some blues, but we saw none.

Up through the top gate, and around the wooded ravine. Although that is overcooking this small geographical feature. At least, once past that, its all down hill from that point. Until we have to turn round to get back to the car, of course.

Down into the second reserve, and along the narrow track, making me feel like a mountain goat.

Well, you can't have one, you just had breakfast.

The ground dropped away to the left, all the way to the railway line far below. I suggested some cheese rolling action could be done here, with only a few broken bones the result.

We had no cheese with us, so we don't roll.

We walk down to the right spot, and we split up to scour the down. Up and down we go, side to side we go. All we see is dozens of tiny Milkworts, confusing the avid orchid-hunter.

After half an hour, we give up, go to look for Bee Orchids, which I do find, in the end, and like most orchids are about a week away from flowering.

On the way back, we look for, and find, the last of the Early Spider Orchids, hunkering down on the down in the onslaught of the, once again, freshening westerly. Where shall we go next?

Well, after ESOs, the logical choice is for Late Spiders, which, remember, the books say never flower at the same time as ESOs, so therefore the hybrid between the two is impossible. But no one told the orchids, as the LSOs have been in flower for a week.

We drive down to Folkestone, then along the edge of the down, parking at the "secret" spot, and grabbing cameras, we walk along for about 100 yeards, and there is the penned colony.

Closer inspection revealled there to be about six spikes in flower, and not large ones as the weather has been so cool. Ian gets his first shots of this species I take some too, because, orchids.

And we diecide one final call before the weather brings the fun to an early end.

I had news that the green Fly we saw on Friday was now fully open, and Ian hadn't seen it, so I say we'd go. But driving along Stone Street, the rain began to fell, hammering down in fact. If I was on my own, I would have gven up, but for Ian, I went on.

We parked down the bottom of the hill, the rain had just about stopped, but more was coming for sure.

I take the full gear: camera, lens, ring flash and mini tripod, and we set on up the hill, planning how to act if we saw people next to the secret passage leading to the special orchid. But there was a chap, photographing a Lady Orchid, we risk it and go by hoping he wouldn't see where we went.

He had seen us, and follow us, not in a bad way, but as the guy turned out not to be local, he wondered what we had gone to see.

So, I pointed to the tiny spike with just the one apple green flower: this is what we came to see, please keep the location secret, I says.

He said he would.

We all take shots, and leave it, and a green sibling, unfound, alone once more.

Ian says he would go up the path to see the lady in the top meadow, I had snapped them so often this year, I give them a miss, so walk down the hill in the rain to the car.

I went home, dodging the lycra-clad cyclists who were hell bent on getting in my way.

I arrived back just after one, and find that Jools was putting the finishing touches to lunch: pork pie and quiche salad, quite a mean as it turned out, but I had burned some calories through the morning. I ate well.

Rain began to fall heavier, Jools couldn't work in the garden, so we listen to Desert Island Discs, and I prepare for the main event; the final round of Prem games, the final round that won't feature Norwich.

And it has come to this, that the only point of interest is not who would win the title or be relegated, but who would finish in 3rd, 4th and 5th place, that two of the teams battling for places in the CL next season are two that sought to undermne the competition with the Super league last month, they should be banned.

Leciester had to just beat Spurs to finish in 4th and qualify.

The Foxes were 2-1 up at half time, but lost their last central defender, and then, in the 2nd half, it all went Pete Tong. And rather than Spurs going all Spursy, Leicester did, the conceded three goals, missed a few chances, meaning that they finished 5th, and no in one of the monied slots in the table.

Sigh.

I cook a small rack of lamb, some Domino Dauphinoise, which didn't look like the shot on BBC Food's website, but they tasted good. There was also some chilli stir fry vegetables, and again, no booze to wash it all down.

And once we had washed up and put the stuff away, it was nearly eight, somehow. So, #wildflowerhour and uploading shots, and the evening was done.