Friday 21st October 2022

Just over a week until the clocks go back, and winter will be here. Dark by five, but light in the mornings, at least for a while.

I had put out the moth trap the night before, and once it was light and I had put out the bins, I went to check, and found another half dozen Feathered Ranunculus looking almost good enough to be the Merveille du Jours I had been hoping for.

As it is now so dark in the mornings, we slept to half six, meaning I had just 15 minutes before work started to wake my brain from its ongoing slumber.

Work is quiet, just chasing up auditors for their agendas and travel plans, and calming nerves of auditees.

Such is life.

I was contacted by a colleague earlier in the week, did I want to meet up to discuss plans for audits and wider issues in Broadstairs, over beers?

Silly question.

So, a plan was set, Jools would drive us to Broadstairs, and while Pete and I talked about work, music and football, she would go for a walk, then take us back home to Whitfield and have the last evening's cards before Jen flies to Oz on Monday.

As it happened, Jools got a puncture on the way to work, and the hole too near the rim to fix, so a new tyre was needed, meaning she would be late home. Would I wait or go by train.

I would go by train.

However, I was nervous. Country roads in east Kent are narrow and have no pavement for pedestrians, and the chalk banks make getting out of the way impossible. The dwnward slope of Station Road to Deal Road is buy, narrow and dangerous. I had promise myself I would not do this again.

But here we are. I work though the morning, defrost some leftover gumbo for lunch, and cook a handful of pasta to go with it. The fierceness of the sauce had not cooled after several months in the fridge. I eat most of it, clear up, and after checking mails for one last time, I lot off and pack work away.

And so, to the walk to the station.

There is huffing and puffing up the hill to the top of the down, I pause to take in the scene of views from Ramsgate to the north and round to Cailais in the east, just visible over the rolling downs leading to the coast.

I take a deep breath and go down the other side by the side of the road, stopping when cars come the other way. Most cars slow down, most pass by leaving much space for me to be safe. Others do not, I am thinking of you Audi Q4 lady, whoch barely passed by without hitting me with wing mirrors.

I reach the Deal road, and its quiet so run over it, and down the other half of Station Road, past the surgery, to the actual station, getting there with 15 minutes to spare. I buy a ticket and walk under the tracks via the foot tunnel to the northbound platforms and wait me two other passengers for the train to Ramsgate.

5 minutes late, the Javelin comes in, lots of seats, so I get one beside a window, and watch as we glide through the countryside to Walmer, Deal and Sandwich. From there it is past the Roman fort at Richborough, and across the marshed past the shell of the old power station, over the east bound site of the triangle at Minster, and into Ramsgate.

A five minute wait for the connecting train to Broadstairs, other passengers mill about until the train pulls in. Again, plenty of seats, so I take a seat and look for evidence of the tunnel entrance to the old Beach Station, but encroaching scrub pretty much hides it from view.

Into Broadstairs, and a short walk down to the street, under the bridge and down the street to Mind the Gap, a railway themed micropub where Pete was waiting. He buys me a pint of plumb porter, and we sit down to chat and discuss issues we see at work.

We walk to another pub, The Royston, where there is more customers, and a family playing board games, all making for a great atmosphere. I have a pint of coffee milk stout, very nice, and we talk more. Much more.

A couple come to sit with us, and we talk about music, the guy tells us he saw The Beatles play in Margate at the Winter Gardens in 1963. His eyes sparkled at the memory of it as he told us about it.

Jools arrived, she has a cider before its time for us to go.

Back to Dover in twilight, through the shopping and urban sprawl of Westwood Cross, before taking the road to Sandwich and then to Whitfield.

Supper was waiting, battered fish bites and chips, which we all make vanish.

And then to cards, where I win at Meld, while we drink more wine. Wine on top of beer for me.

And so, at nine, Jools drives us back home, ready for the weekend now.

Back home, I sleep well.