Sunday 11th September 2022

It is still the weekend. After the full on nature of the previous day, I wanted this one to begin more slowly. Which it did.

We got up with it already getting light, fed the cats and made drinks, then checked the news and stuff online.

Jools thought she might go swimming, then decided to go for a walk instead. Was I going?

I really should.

So, we went for a quick bimble, mainly to go over the fields to check on the fields of lucerne (alfalfa) either side for butterflies, mainly for Clouded Yells and possibly a Queen or two.

No Queens seen, but two Clouded Yellosw, but with it already warming up, neither stopped to feed or bask, so we walked on.

Not far, just up to Fleet House and then back along Collingwood, me on the lookout for any ornage butterflies that might be a Comma or a Queen, though none seen on the walk. Once did fly though the garden, but failed to settle.

So, we had lunch of a marmalade roll, and then was the main event: church churchcrawling.

I saw Holy Trinity come up on the Heritage Weekend website, so I thought a nice Sunday afternoon out, a drive, an ice cream, and visit a new church.

The passing of HM the Queen changed plans somewhat, but I didn't know that.

It was a pleasant drive up the A2 to Faversham, then up the old high road to Sittingbourne, we draffic crawled through a series of roadworks all behind a lorry doing no more than 20.

Sittingbourne is not a pretty town. It has a main road driven through the middle of it, and the area around the church, not pretty either. Four Ne'er-do-wells were drinking and smoking in the churchyard, and in time would attract the attention of two PCOs.

The blurb talked about visiting the crypt and so on, so I was looking forward to the visit. And upon entering, I was pretty much the only one looking round, in the south aisle a coffee shop had been set up.

A woman came up to me and asked:

"Are you SFM?", which I assume to be Swale FM, the local radio station.

I told her I wasn't. But then I did have my new Tron t shirt on, and and looked like a nerd. The actual nerd came out from behind the organ carrying leads and mics. He was SFM.

I introduced the woman to the guy and got on with my shots.

A voice behind me asked:

"Are you SFM?"

Again, I said I wasn't, but there was a guy around who was.

It seems a service was being broadcast, and they were setting up equipment, and in time members of the choir arrived and people carrying instruments. Either that or it was the mafia.

By then I had my shots, and so we made to leave, as yet more people came into the church, while outside people waited for the service to start.

Opposite was an ice cream parlour, or whatever the modern name for tem it. It was all siny black formica and fake pink leater, but not even such places can mess up an ice cream sundae.

We both ordered a pistachio sundae, and they came post haste, and they were OK. I mean sweet as you would expect, but even this smallest size was too big for either of us to finish.

We left.

The anti-socal drinkers had by now met the PCOs, and were being told to dronk, socially, elsewhere.

We got in the car and left Sittingbourne, avoiding the M2 / A249 junction which is being rebuilt over the next couple of years, instead we went back down the A2 through Teynham, Ospringe, Faversham and onto the rain to Dover at the end of the motorway.

Easy.

Back home, but no football to watch or to listen to as fun stuff is cancelled.

I checked and work on Monday was expected.

Anyway, I had a bunch of shots to review and process, so the evening flew by. Dinner was carbonara and a bottle of red. Or pink.

A good end to a fine weekend.

Back to work, and back to auditing in the morning.