Saturday 20th November 2021

I have been known to change plans.

Often.

Not on purpose, but it has been known.

And the plan on Saturday had been no plans made due to the fact that everyone we knew who had received the booster jab had suffered some ill-effects, usually 24 hour flu, or something similar, so it seemed wise to plan for the worst case.

We ddn't know what we would wake up to find.

As it happened, I was fine. A little woolly headed maybe, but that's pretty normal. Jools was cold, shivering cold, and only warmed up once in the car with jumper and coat on and the heating on.

So, we get up at seven and have breakfast of toast and coffee, and as I was fine, announce that we would be going to Tunbridge Wells.

In fact we had been planng on going there for several weeks, but I had the plan of visiting other churches in the area too, as well as the unusual church in the tow, King Carles the Martyr, names ofter kIng Charles 1, who the roundheads removed the head of. I had visited it over a decade ago, and thought it about time I returned.

I had looked in the week and saw it open from ten, so assumed it would be open on Saturday.

Assumed.

I gave Jools many chances to say no to going out, or if we felt too bad we could turn round at any point. That agreed we set off.

Now, Kent is big. Not as big as Texas, but big enough. It takes and hour to leave the county over the Dartford Crossing, but getting to the north-west corner can take even longer as you have to go through, or round Maidstone and Tonbridge.

What did make it most enjoyable was the fact just about every tree in Kent had turned to gold at the same time, and weak sunshine made it seem that the hills, the downs, were on fire. I just wish I had stopped to take a shot to show you, but you will have to take my word for it.

We drove up the M20, past Maidstone, then turned off, and followed a series of duel carriageways round the town to Tonbridge and round that, past the Hop Farm and it's dozen or so oasts, before finally arriving in Tunbridge Wells 80 minutes after we left home.

We parked in a parking house with the most conusing bay markings, meaning we had to hunt for a while until there was one big enough to park our motor in. But that done, we walked down to street level and along the curving street which I remembered from our last visit, as the houses on the other side had shops in the ground floor, and was of a most pleasing design.

Then down the main street, past the Town Hall, down the hill past the station until we came to the church.

And it was locked.

And apparently only open weekdays.

Bugger.

Anyway, we were hungry, so went back 50 yards to a place we saw with free tables and had breakfast. Or brunch.

I looked at the menu and was going to have a bacon sandwich, but my stomach decided I should have the egg and chorizon skillet. So I did.

It also came with the best coffee I have had out in ages.

The eggs came soft fried, and due to my interollerance, I was worried, but it seems its been months since I had a soft egg, so I ate them with no problems.

From the shop it was a short walk to The Pantiles.

The Pantiles is an area of Georgian shops and bs, built round the old Chalybeate Spring, whose discovery meant the upturn in fortues of the town as a spa. Thoug these days there seems to be no water, and the sources is stained brown in a most unappretising manner.

In the Pantiles area there was a Christmas Fayre, so I had a look round while Jools sat down to read. Also about was a fine gallery showing conic rock photographs, but there were the real deal, very limited edition prints of rock greats by some of the world's best photographers. There was a particulally fine shot of The Clash in Boston, quite the best rock shots I have seen, a snip at two thousand pounds, but it was A2 size, and the original print.

I told JOols to see if I could get it past her, it seems not.

We did go into a cookware shop, and I bought a French earthenware mixing bowl to replace the chipped one at home. Only problem was that we had to lug it up the hill back to the car. We took it in turns, and so managed it.

Back at the car we programed the sat nav in for Goudhurst, the highest point in Kent, where there is a fine church, on the highest point itself. I had been there a decade back when I climbed the tower and took nine shots of the church. I planend to improve on that.

It was a twenty minute drive to Goudhurst, and then a long drive up the hill to the village, along the narrow main street, not wide enough for two cars to pass.

I found a place to park next to the church, and took my cameras inside to snap it good.

Several fine monuments on the walls, as well as two leather sofas in the chancel.

Hmmmmm.

That done, I go back to the car and I tell Jools we would be going home. What daylight there had been was fading, and it was not yet two.

So, we drove out of the village and headed towards Hastings, before turning off and driving into Ashford and onto the motorway.

By some miracle, we had arrived home ten to three, just before kick off, so after making a brew I could sit and listen to how Noriwch and their new manager would fare.

We conceded after two minutes, but levelled five minutes later.

After half time, Norwich played better and scored a winner with 5 minutes to go.

It'll do, and so two wins on the bounce.

Meanwhile Man Utd lost 4-1 at Watford. Oh, how I laughed. The laughed more as Liverpool thrashed Arsenal 4-0.

Quite the day.

At half eight, I was tired, Jools was already asleep, so I joined her in the land of Nod.