Wednesday 21st December 2022

At 21:47 GMT, the equinox happened, and so from then on, light is destined to win over darkness. Which meant, of course, that the day before then was the shortest "day", or amount of daylight.

This is the end of the year, the build up and excitement before Christmas, and at the same time, looking back at the year, and what has happened in the previous 50 or so weeks. So, a time of mixed emotions, good and bad, happy and sad.

But I was on vacation, or not going to work.

I am not up to date, but I did all the tasks I was supposed to do, threw a few electronic grenades over the walls, and was now happy not to think of that shit for two whole weeks.

For Jools, however, there was half a day to do, and then her employers paid for all those employed at the factory to go to a fancy place in Folkestone for lunch, drinks at the bar and a bottle of wine between four folks.

It was, in short, a time for celebration. Something I realise has not happened in my job since I left operational quality, to be happy and give thanks to those we work with. And be recognised for the good job we do.

So, I was to take Jools to work, and have the car for the day.

Jools was conscious that my plan for the day involved driving to the far west of Kent, so realised I needed an early start, and not dropping her off in Hythe at seven.

We left after coffee just after six, driving through Dover and Folkestone on the main road and motorway before turning over the downs into Hythe. I dropped her off in the town, so she could get some walking in. She always didn't walk, as waves of showers swept over the town, and me as I drove back home for breakfast and do all the chores before leaving on a mini-churchcrawl.

So, back home for breakfast, more coffee, wash up, do the bird feeders and with postcodes, set out for points in the extreme west. Now, Kent is not a big county, not say, Texas big, but it takes some time to get to some parts of the west of the county. Main roads run mainly from London to the coast, so going cross-country or cross-county would take time.

At first it was as per normal up the A20 then onto the motorway to Ashford then to Maidstone until the junction before the M26 starts. One of the reasons for going later was to avoid rush hours in and around Maidstone, Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells.

As it was, after turning down the A road, things were fine until I got to Mereworth, but from there the road began to twist and turn until it lead me into Tonbridge. Once upon a time, this was a sleepy village or small town. The the railways came and it became a major junction. The road to Penshurt took me though the one way system, then down the wide High Street, over the river Medway and up the hill the other side.

Two more turns took me to my target, through what were once called stockbroker mansions, then down a hill, with the village laid out before me just visible through the trees.

The village was built around the outskirts of Penshurst Place, home to the Sidney family since Tudor times. Just about everything is named the Leicester something, the village having its own Leicester Square, though with no cinemas, and all timber framed houses and painfully picturesque.

The church lays behind the houses, the tower in golden sandstone topped with four spirelets.

I parked the car, and armed with two cameras, several lenses and a photographer's eye, walked to the church.

The reason for coming was I can only remember a little about my previous visit, but the Leicester name thing triggered in my head the thought the memorials and tombs might be worth a revisit.

So there I was.

Gilbert Scott was very busy here, so there is little of anything prior to the 19th century, but the memorials are there. Including one which features the heads of the children of Robert Sidney (d1702) in a cloud. Including the eldest son who died, apparently, so young he wasn't named, and is recorded as being the first born.

This is in the Sidney Chapel where the great and good are buried and remembered, it has a colourful roof, or roof beams, and heraldic shields. It has a 15th century font, which, sadly, has been brightly painted so is gaudy in the extreme.

I go around getting my shots, leave a fiver for the church. Go back to the car and program Speldhurst into the sat nav.

Its just a ten minute drive, but there is no place to park anywhere near the church. I could see from my slow drive-by the porch doors closed, and I convinced myself they were locked and not worth checking out.

I went on to Groombridge, where there is a small chapel with fabulous glass. I had been here before too, but wanted to redo my shots.

It was by now pouring with rain, and as dark as twilight, I missed the church on first pass, went to the mini-roundabout only to discover that it and the other church in the village were in Sussex. I turned round, the church looked dark and was almost certainly locked. I told myself.

I didn't stop here either, so instead of going to the final village church, I went straigh to Tunbridge Wells where there was another church to revisit.

I drove into the town, over the man road and to the car park with no waiting in traffic, how odd, I thought.

It was hard to find a parking space, but high up in the parking house there were finally spaced. I parked near the stairs down, grabbed my cameras and went down.

I guess I could have parked nearer the church, but once done it would be easier to leave the town as the road back home went past the exit.

I ambled down the hill leading to the station, over the bridge and down the narrow streets, all lined with shops. I think its fair to say that it is a richer town than Dover because on one street there were three stores offering beposke designer kitchens.

The church is across the road from the Georgian square known at The Pantiles, but it was the church I was here to visit.

I go in, and there is a service underway. I decide to sit at the back and observe.

And pray.

I did not take communion, though. The only one there who didn't.

About eight elderly parishioners did, though.

I was here to photograph the ceiling, and then the other details I failed to record when we were last here over a decade ago. I was quizzed strongly by a warden as to why I was doing this. I had no answer other than I enjoyed it, and for me that is enough.

After getting my shots, I leave and begin the slog back up to the car, but on the way keeping my promise to a young man selling the Big Issue that I would come back and buy a copy. I did better than that in that I gave him a fiver and didn't take a copy.

He nearly burst into tears. I said, there is kindness in the world, and some of us do keep our promises.

By the time I got to the car park, it was raining hard again. I had two and a half hours to get to Folkestone to pick up Jools after her meal.

Traffic into Tunbridge Wells from this was was crazy, miles and miles of queues, so I was more than happy going the other way.

I get back to the M20, cruise down to Ashford, stopping at Stop 24 services for a coffee and something to eat. I had 90 minutes to kill, so eat, drink and scroll Twitter as I had posted yet more stuff that morning. In other news: nothing changed, sadly.

At quarter past four I went to pick up Jools, stopping outside the restaurant. When she got in she declared she had been drinking piña coladas. Just two, but she was bubby and jabbering away all the way home.

With Jools having eaten out, and with snacks I had, no dinner was needed, so when suppertime came round, we dined on cheese and crackers, followed by a large slice of Christmas cake.

She was now done for Christmas too.