Friday 16th February 2024

Askil was booked on a flight from Southampton at half nine, so to get him there in time we had to be on the six o'clock ferry. And to be on that, we had to be on the road at five to drive to Newport and then back out to East Cowes as the floating bridge does not work at that time.

So, alarm at twenty to five, finish packing, and out to the car to load up, and inching past us on the Solent was a huge cruise ship, like a Vogon Constructor fleet vessel, lit up like a Christmas tree, but the shape of a brutalist concrete block.

I was pretty sure I could find the ferry terminal without the sat nav, so we drove through the empty streets of West Cowes, then on the main drag to Newport past the two illuminated prisons, past the retail park, over the now narrow River Medina, and out of the town towards Cowes.

Not much traffic, but what there was, was in a train behind us, all heading to the ferry terminal.

We arrived at half five, the ferry had just arrived, so we waited in line to be allowed on.

The ferry was not even a quarter full, but there was a rush up the stairs to get to the cafeteria in order to get fresh food.

We joined them and had a child's breakfast, which was four items off the menu, which was two sausages, bacon and hash browns for me.

The ferry glided out of her moorings, down the river and out into open water, with only light winds, it was a pleasant crossing, and near to Southampton dawn's warm light was spreading from the south east. The city itself was only just waking up.

From there it was a fifteen minute blast up to the motorway and along to the airport, dropping Askil and his bags off at the railway station so to avoid the £2 drop-off fee at the airport.

We were not the only ones doing this.

And I was alone again.

I turned the car round, drive back to the motorway, then up the M3 as the first rays of the sun lit the Hampshire countryside.

It was going to be a fine day, and I was heading back home.

I thought it was going to be the drive from hell, getting up the M3 before eight, then along the M25 the following hour. I mean, traffic was going to be awful, right? It always is on the M25, it used to still be mad at midnight when I used to drive back to Lyneham after a weekend at home.

Well, maybe because it was half term, but the traffic on the M3 was light, and lighter still on the M25. Only hold up being the A3 junction where it is being rebuilt, even then just for a few minutes, and clear after that.

I had some time to kill, so wasn't going straight home. I was doing some crawling in west Kent before then.

First up was Westerham, so important it is mention on a junction of the M25.

Off the motorway at the junction before Clacket Lane Services, so still in Surrey. I followed the A25 through Oxted, which I supposed was still in Sussex, though was hoping there be a sign where Kent began.

Indeed, at the midway point between Oxted and Westerham, there was the welcome to Kent sign, so the crawling could begin.

Westerham is a small town, just 4,000 souls live there, and the church it situated near the green. Around which I could find no parking. But opposite, through an arch there was some public parking, so abandoned the car there, grabbed the cameras and walked over to the church, and from the churchyard, the ground fell away steeply, revealing the roofs of the town in the warm spring sunshine.

I took a shot.

The church was open, a voice reading softly in the north chapel turned out to be the Vicar, conducting a service for just himself.

When he finished, he came to speak and told me not to miss the chapel behind the organ.

However, in the tower there is a remarkable survivor, the only known representation of the Royal coat of arms of Edward VI, who ruled after Henry VIII until his death at the young age of only 15, declaring Lady Jane Grey to succeed him.

It did not end well.

A short drive along the A25 is Brasted, the church just down a side street. I parked behind the church, seeing the vicar get out of her car. And at the priest's door, a warden was arranging two urns with fresh flowers.

The west door was locked, so I asked if I could go in. I could, but there was a funeral in just over an hour, so I had to be quick.

The tower is medieval, but the nave and chancel both Victorian, and the roof even more up to date after a major fire in 1989.

I received a warm welcome, but rushed my shots due t the funeral, and as I made my way back tot he car, the first mourners had already arrived.

One last church to visit, and a short drive further east is Sundridge, though it would take 15 minutes to enter it due to roadworks.

St Mary sits at the end of a dead end lane, and the church is glimpsed though the lych gate. I had been promised by the vicar that all benefice churches would be open, and indeed St Mary was.

A bright and airy church, with much of interest and fine glass.

Time was getting on, so I took my shots and made my way back to the car.

It was a short drive back to the motorway, and two junctions down, the turn to get to the M20 and the road home.

Again, not much to tell, little traffic and no queues at Dover, so I was able to get to the car hire place, and get one of the guys there to drive me home, saving Jools and I the job of dropping it off later.

First job when home was to inspect the garden, seeing what had grown or flowered. The air was full of the scent of imperialis, but of a spike, there was no sign. But the garden was warm in the sunshine, warm enough to sit outside.

Then inside for the feline welcome, I had a brew, and a bowl of All Bran, before emptying my case, shorting my washing and putting stuff away.

I then sat on the bench outside, having filled up the feeders, the birds filling the hedge and bush, singing for the joy of it. It might have been only the 16th of February, but felt like it was April.

My knee was aching, but not as bad, so I hope I am over the worse, although I will rest over the weekend just in case.

At four, Jools came home, so I had another brew before getting down to cook: warmed up beef and the trimmings for a midweek roast.

It went down rather well, and was a good idea to save the leftover beef for the meal.

As always, there was football in the evening, so I watched the game with a glass of Irish whiskey, so can't call it a wee dram.

I was home.