Saturday 19th December 2026

Out 18th wedding anniversary. And international speak like a pirate day!

A day packed with stuff!

Almost so packed there wasn't time to write the previous day's blog.

Up at half five for coffee, finish the shopping list so to be ready for the gym at ten to seven.

The port is quiet now we're into the tail end of September, so no traffic on the A2, we arrive at the sports centre as the doors open, with most going to the pool, as usual.

We do 40 minutes, then with time already against us, we leave to drive to Tesco, where the renovation is complete, but many items are had to find.

We're out by half eight. Back home to put the shopping away and have breakfast.

We lollygag a tad to much, so suddenly it was five to ten, and our first appointment of the day.

Dover has had a lot of history. And a lot of military history. Not only is there the Castle, Western Heights, The Citadel, there is another fortress, on the other side of the road form the Castle, Fort Burgoyne.

Once surrounded by an Army camp, that has now been raised, or the buildings have, and now just the flattened land showing where one guardrooms, barracks and messes once were.

Beyond that is another of Palmerstone's Follies: Fort Bergoyne.

The Fort is now closed most of the time, but on heritage weekend, it was open from ten to four, so another part of the town's history will be open for us to explore.

We drive along to the Castle, then turn right up on the Guston Road, and for once, the gates to the former camp were open, and signs pointing to the car park.

We go in.

Up the main drag, and on both sides only hints now where buildings once were, all ripe for construction of yet more homes.

We park, are welcomed, then walk to the bridge over the moat, or defensive ditch.

In front of us is the parade ground, and behind that, rows of semi-circular brick-arched buildings, which was the fort itself, and the officer's mess. Below were the junior rank's accommodation and kitchens, wine cellars and so on.

We take shots along the front of the fort, then explore the passageways through it, before taking the steps to the carponiers.

Its all in pretty good condition, though steps were crumbling in places.

Firing portals have mostly been bricked up, but it would have bristled with guns and artillery, but we were to see, even more so above.

Back to the surface, and up the slope leading to the upper levels.

Like Western Heights, this was designed not to be visible from the sea, all that gives it away are the plethora of chimneys and mounds hiding the heavy gun positions.

A good selection of wildflowers too, but most had gone to seed. I ID some, and snap others.

We had come to the end of the battlements, so down the slope and back to the car.

We had two hours back home to fill before we would be off out again, and thankfully football came to fill it, even if I wouldn't see the end of the Spurs v Villa game, though for two teams that had one goal all season between them, it was an entertaining game with Spurs missing chance after chance, mainly thanks to the Villa keeper.

Then in the second half, Villa sore. Score again. And score again. Spurs had a goal chalked off for offside. Then after we had left the house, Spurs score their first two goals of the season, though not enough to get a point.

We were driving back to the Romney Marsh, as the unique belltower of St Augustine in Brookland was open for just an hour from three.

To Hythe, then Dymchurch, New Romney, before out across the marsh itself almost to the border with Sussex, and the last town in Kent before you reach Rye is Brookland.

OK, its a village. Not a town.

And the church, which has much of interest, also has the triple "candlesnuff" belltower, built of wood beside, so not to sink into the soft ground.

Probably.

I have been here maybe a dozen times, and the tower has never been open, until today.

We park, and see that the door to the tower was open, the doorway, five feet high, had a sign saying to mind you head. Needless to say I hit my head, once inside we find a circle of chairs, and the vicar explaining to half a dozen visitors the history of the tower.

Began as a open-sided structure, with four huge oak columns at each corner, the oldest dates from the mid-13th century. The walls were added, and the roofs of the candle snuffs added too.

Sadly, there is a platform below the bells, so you can't see all the way up to the chamber, but its an impressive space, with ancient wooden beams, some repurposed timbers from ships, criss-crossing to add strength.

I thanked the vicar, and we bid her farewell, walked back to the car for the drive home.

On the radio, Brighton were running rings round Arsenal, and were to score three goals.

We came back the same way, thus avoiding the traffic hellhole that is Ashford.

We got back at ten to five, just time to start cooking.

I rustle up a tagine, boil some rice, and in half an hour went from being behind schedule, to ahead.

I had a beer to celebrate.

Ange and Sean arrived just before six. I opened a bottle of the fancy vintage Burgundy I bought in that France, and we toasted all of us.

After a starter of rolled salami wrapped in cheese, i warmed the tagine, boiled corn, and dished up.

Sean and I drained one bottle of red, then started and finished on the one he brought.

The evening grew old, and the port was opened.

Oh dear.

At some point, Sean was poured into the car, and Ange drove them home.

Time for bed.