Saturday 21st August 2021

Since 2008, Manchester City (Citeh) have outspent Norwich City (City) by £1,300,000,000 on player transfers alone. That's one point three billion of your pounds.

There is no equality in the Prem. Not there ever was in football.

Could Norwich really give Citeh a game on Saturday? In a word: no

Norwich have broken their transfer record twice this summer in reaching total spending of £53,000,000 which is nearly the value to buy Ipswich twice over. But fifty three million quit will only buy you a third of Harry Kane or half a Jack Greleish. City spent that on six players.

It isn't a level playing field, but football never has been, but in the past, good planning and recruitment meant that it was possible to rise up the table, in recent years Leicester actually won the Prem by spending something like twenty million quid. It was part of the reason for attempting the Super League, to stop even remote possibilities happening again.

So, for the first time in 18 months, the Yellow Army took to the road and public transport, back to Manchester and back to the "magic" of the Premier League, and coverage live on Radio 5 Live.

The torture would be beamed into everyone's homes for their enjoyment.

But before then:

Saturday morning, and the weather was to be fine, with some cloud until midday, and with little wind, it would beperfect for some orchid and butterfly chasing up on the downs. I made an informal invite for members of my group to come along, but only one of the admins, Ian, said he would like to come along.

It is now pretty much dark until nearly six, and we laid in bed until half past, not even the cats that bothered by breakfast to try to stir us. I get up first for a change, put some cat food out and make the first drinks of the day. I check the weather in the BBC and make ready to go out, leaving the house at quarter to eight. Jools was to walk along the cliffs to Dover, then catch the bus to Folkestone to buy some crochet patterns from a place on the old High Street.

I passed her striding down Station Road as I drove to meet Ian.

It is the height of holiday season, and yet there is little port traffic on the road. I mean there are trucks, and a few cars with caravans and camper vans, but not in the volume or numbers seen in "normal" years. Maybe we'll never see normal again. I don't know.

It does mean that we locals can get about, leave the house without looking at the traffic radar first, and I could cruise to the Whitfield roundabout, experience no queues or jams, and get in the left hand lane to take the second turning down the hill to Temple Ewell. Along the old A2 and turn off at the old George and Dragon, take the narrow twisty track to the car park in the trees to wait for Ian to arrive.

After five minutes, he drives up, and after a bit of a chinwag, we gather our cameras and walk up the steps through the wood up once checked the first meadow for Adonis Blues, none found, we walk up the remainder of the ath through the woods and out onto the down. The early morning mist had just cleared, but it a hint of autumn mornings to come, just as well we were hunting Autumn Ladies Tresses, then.

Across the first paddock, through the gate and then down searching between the cattle hoof prints for signs of the tiny orchid spikes.

Ian sees the first one after a few minutes, and further down we find more, some partially open. We take shots, and survey more of the down. And then turn our attention to butterflies.

As well as orchids, Temple Ewell is home to Silver Spotted Skippers, a rare-ish butterfly, and it is on the wing, or rather in the grass, from the end of JUly, but like most things, is late this year due to the rain and cool conditions.

We see lots of Chalkhills, basking in the weak sunshine, and a single Brown Argus, and then something different. A small flash of orange, and a skipper is disturbed, we try to see where it lands, and the game is afoot, as we chase this and other skippers all over the down trying to get a shot.

We walked back up to the gate, then ambled down to the car park, some two and a half hours had passed, and passed in a quite delightful way. Being among the fauna and flora, in the morning light, sight and smells lightens the heart. A perfect cure for a week at the dining room table.

We say goodbye, I text Jools to say I was done, and drive back home for a brew and breakfast.

Once home, I go to find a pet each of the four cats, even Cleo was pooped enough not to go and hide. I give Poppy a cuddle, and let her go before she became too spooked.

Jools calls, she is on the bus from Dover to Deal, can I pick her up in Ringwould? Yes, I can.

I do that, then we come home for lunch, and it is time to review shots, and listen to the torture on the radio.

Norwich conceded in less than 5 minutes, and got worse. Five - nil was kind to us, there's no way to butter this up. Sure, the team isn't quite match fit, we have six new players to meld, but even then, basic mistakes, poor passing and an apparent lack of passion. I turn the radio off after the 5th goal.

It didn't make the pain stop.

I think this is right, in the last 12 Premier League games, Norwich have shipped 36 goals and scored just 1.

Ouch.

I don't watch the later game, but I follow it on the BBC and Brighton played Watford off the pitch.

Oh dear.

We live in hope we will get better, and we have played two of the best teams in the world and conceded eight. But unlike most other teams, we only have to play both once more, there will be easier games, we hope.

We listen to more Faces albums in the evening, then put Craig on the wireless to get our fix of funk and soul.

We went