Another day in paradise.
However, another day in which I don't see the inside of an airport, which is a good thing, I can tell you.
Outside the sun shines though a cloudy sky, and looking at my Outlook calendar I see I have been invited to a five hour meeting on Skype. Oh this is going to be glorious.
So, once Jools has left for work, I make myself breakfast and a really strong cup of coffee and settle down to join the meeting.
The morning passes.
Lunchtime passes.
The first part of the afternoon passes.
And once that finishes, I go straight into another meeting. Oh lucky me. I mean, its not that I dislike meetings, but a day full of them means that no actual work gets done, or will have to be done later that day, or at some other point.
A day staring at a computer screen, with little or no breaks leaves me washed out, so at half three I have had enough and switch it off, go into the garden and water all the pots, fill up my small pond, and check on how the flowers growing are, and snap some of the most attractive. Yes, this is what all the work in planting the garden was about. Getting the colourful rewards. Talking of rewards, I spy a single red raspberry on the canes, so before the slugs beat me to it, I reach in, pick it and pop it in my mouth, and am overwhelmed by the strong summer flavour. The canes are full of growing berries, plenty enough for us and the rumtopf.
I make breaded chicken for dinner, along with some of Ainsley's lentil dahl, which is just perfect once cooked, Jools is home and so we sit down to eat whilst listening to Radcliffe and Maconie.
Somehow the evening slips through our fingers, and after sitting out on the patio watching the moths flitters in the white valarian, we go to bed as dusk falls, silence envelops the house and we fall to sleep.
Tomorrow we have an early start, as I am on my travels. Again.
Wednesday, 6 July 2016
Tuesday, 5 July 2016
Monday 4th July 2016
Independence Day (USA and Nigel Farage's house)
Back to work, and the usual realisation at how quickly times passes at weekends as opposed to the way it drags during the week, especially during business meetings.
I wake up, once again from a night of fractured sleep as the pummeling i took at the osteopath seems to have failed to repair my shoulder. I feel fragile, but am able to make my way down stairs where there is a large cup of fresh coffee waiting for me. I think this particular morning will require at least another cup, maybe two.
Jools is up and ready for work, the cats have made themselves scarce, and so I am alone waiting for time to start work. I decide to start work as soon as I have had the second coffee, and breakfast. Monday, please be gentle with me.
But alas, I see I have a 5 hour meeting over Skype to endure, listening to people in the meeting room argue. And I just sit here at my table, listening, getting angry.
Some hours later, we are told that they have decoded to work though their lunchtime, I disagree and wander off, make sandwiches, tea and check the mail, come back and it seems I have not been missed or missed anything. Which is just dandy.
And then the meeting ends and a new one begins. FFS.
What have I done to deserve this? I suppose I should not complain, but then meetings are just the things that stop us doing our real work.
At four, I have had enough and wrap up work and decide to take a walk: just a quick one across the fields, check on the piglets, the butterfly glade and the usual.
I grab my camera and walk along the street in the late afternoon sunshine. The crops in the fields are nearing ripening, and over the weekend we saw a field that had been harvested! However, here up on the downs, it seems that harvest is still a few weeks away.
I could see away to Kingsdown, where there was a blue haze marking where the sea was. I wasn't walking that far today.
Over the winter, someone cleared the dead grass from the glade, and so where there used to be dozens of Common Blues and Brown Arguses, there was just a couple of Small Heath flapping around, the butterfly oasis has been just about destroyed. Seeing it so devoid of life on the wing wasn't pleasant. I hope that as the year goes on, some will colonise it again, there is still wild marjoram to feed on.
It is too hot even for the pigs to be out, I see a snout sticking out of the coregated iron house away among the trees, but there is no joyful snort nor the patter of tiny trotters.
I walk down the dip, well, to the iron gate anyway, take some shots and note that despite the recent heavy rain, the bottom is just dried mud.
I walk back, my back grumbling, but still, I tell myself I should get out of the comfort zone once in a while. If not more often.
There are cats waiting for me, telling me its dinner time; they may be right.
I suppose I should say that the de-cluttering is going well. I joined e bay to see some stuff, and managed to sell my collection of Empire Magazines; I could have made a mint with selling them off one at a time, as some are worth forty quid a pop, but in the end, wanting to clear the shelves from the hallway upstairs, and wanting rid of them, I settle for a ton. Finally someone has decided its too good a bargain and bought them; they now have to arrange a courier to come and collect, but in the meantime we pack them all up in 11 boxes. The shelves empty now apart from the Lord of the Rings special editions; they'll have to find a new home.
Back to work, and the usual realisation at how quickly times passes at weekends as opposed to the way it drags during the week, especially during business meetings.
I wake up, once again from a night of fractured sleep as the pummeling i took at the osteopath seems to have failed to repair my shoulder. I feel fragile, but am able to make my way down stairs where there is a large cup of fresh coffee waiting for me. I think this particular morning will require at least another cup, maybe two.
Jools is up and ready for work, the cats have made themselves scarce, and so I am alone waiting for time to start work. I decide to start work as soon as I have had the second coffee, and breakfast. Monday, please be gentle with me.
But alas, I see I have a 5 hour meeting over Skype to endure, listening to people in the meeting room argue. And I just sit here at my table, listening, getting angry.
Some hours later, we are told that they have decoded to work though their lunchtime, I disagree and wander off, make sandwiches, tea and check the mail, come back and it seems I have not been missed or missed anything. Which is just dandy.
And then the meeting ends and a new one begins. FFS.What have I done to deserve this? I suppose I should not complain, but then meetings are just the things that stop us doing our real work.
At four, I have had enough and wrap up work and decide to take a walk: just a quick one across the fields, check on the piglets, the butterfly glade and the usual.
I grab my camera and walk along the street in the late afternoon sunshine. The crops in the fields are nearing ripening, and over the weekend we saw a field that had been harvested! However, here up on the downs, it seems that harvest is still a few weeks away.I could see away to Kingsdown, where there was a blue haze marking where the sea was. I wasn't walking that far today.
Over the winter, someone cleared the dead grass from the glade, and so where there used to be dozens of Common Blues and Brown Arguses, there was just a couple of Small Heath flapping around, the butterfly oasis has been just about destroyed. Seeing it so devoid of life on the wing wasn't pleasant. I hope that as the year goes on, some will colonise it again, there is still wild marjoram to feed on.It is too hot even for the pigs to be out, I see a snout sticking out of the coregated iron house away among the trees, but there is no joyful snort nor the patter of tiny trotters.
I walk down the dip, well, to the iron gate anyway, take some shots and note that despite the recent heavy rain, the bottom is just dried mud. I walk back, my back grumbling, but still, I tell myself I should get out of the comfort zone once in a while. If not more often.
There are cats waiting for me, telling me its dinner time; they may be right.I suppose I should say that the de-cluttering is going well. I joined e bay to see some stuff, and managed to sell my collection of Empire Magazines; I could have made a mint with selling them off one at a time, as some are worth forty quid a pop, but in the end, wanting to clear the shelves from the hallway upstairs, and wanting rid of them, I settle for a ton. Finally someone has decided its too good a bargain and bought them; they now have to arrange a courier to come and collect, but in the meantime we pack them all up in 11 boxes. The shelves empty now apart from the Lord of the Rings special editions; they'll have to find a new home.
Monday, 4 July 2016
The Brexit Soap
I suppose I must ask the question as to why I am writing about this again, or at all? I suppose that is to help people looking into the madness that is overwhelming Britain at the moment, and what to make out of it all. I can't say that I may be of too much help, just to tell the world that don't all want to cut off our financial legs. Some of us can't really understand how people that I consider friends and colleagues could be so mis-informed or be closet racists to actually vote for Leave when all the evidence points to it being total madness.
Well, it seems there is a storm of mis-information out there, and picking out the wheat from the chaff is near impossible, but I will try.
I have helped crowdfund a legal case which is not trying to stop the Article 50 notification, but to clarify how such a notification has to be arrived at; either by the leader of the country or via a new law via both Houses of Parliament. This is not the only such case, another funded by some businesses is also being prepared. The reason is, it seems no one had bothered to look at how the British Constitution would allow such a notification, so instead of wallowing about with half guesses and half truths, why not find out?
THe heart of the matter is whether Parliament needs to be consulted, or not. The heart of our democracy is that Parliament decides, via discussion, debate and law. Anything else isn't on. However, the PM might be able to pass article 50 notification as an executive power. Or not. So, lets find out.
Last week Boris threw in the towel in attempting to go for leadership of the Conservative Party, despite leading the Leave campaign. And today, just 24 hours after having dinner with one Rupert Murdoch, Nigel Farrage also resigned, meaning two of the three leader of the campaign that got us into this shit have walked away from the steaming pile of shit they created, leaving others to tidy up.
The third, Michael Gove, has been turned on by the Tory Red Tops, and his bid seems doom to fail. But he has yet to admit this.
The question really depends on whether the winner of the leadership contest is a pure Brexit or a realist. Andrea Leadsom, someone before this weekend I had not heard of, seems to be tying with Teressa May for leadership, and is the most Brexit friendly. But as we have seen in the very recent past, what someone says in a campaign is very different from the reality of the shit creek we find ourselves after Messers Johnson, Gove and Farrage sold all the paddles to that swarthy European chap.
The fact remains, that if Article 50 was to be notified to the EU it would have been done on the 24th June, and no one, not even the Brexiteers seem to want to do this, and so as each day passes, the idea of such a notification decreases. Unless Ms Leadsom sticks to her guns and does so if elected as the new Mrs T. Or not if she is faced with the relaities of the situation; the pound crashing, the stock market in freefall, foreign investment crashing, economic targets failed to be met, unemployment rising and no trade deals to be had in half a decade, might just decide to call another referendum and take that as binding.
UNless we vote to leave again, in which case, back to square one.
As I said yesterday, Britain, the UK, is still a full member of the EU and will remain so until two years after the Article 50 notification.
Confused?
You will be until the next episode.....
Well, it seems there is a storm of mis-information out there, and picking out the wheat from the chaff is near impossible, but I will try.
I have helped crowdfund a legal case which is not trying to stop the Article 50 notification, but to clarify how such a notification has to be arrived at; either by the leader of the country or via a new law via both Houses of Parliament. This is not the only such case, another funded by some businesses is also being prepared. The reason is, it seems no one had bothered to look at how the British Constitution would allow such a notification, so instead of wallowing about with half guesses and half truths, why not find out?
THe heart of the matter is whether Parliament needs to be consulted, or not. The heart of our democracy is that Parliament decides, via discussion, debate and law. Anything else isn't on. However, the PM might be able to pass article 50 notification as an executive power. Or not. So, lets find out.
Last week Boris threw in the towel in attempting to go for leadership of the Conservative Party, despite leading the Leave campaign. And today, just 24 hours after having dinner with one Rupert Murdoch, Nigel Farrage also resigned, meaning two of the three leader of the campaign that got us into this shit have walked away from the steaming pile of shit they created, leaving others to tidy up.
The third, Michael Gove, has been turned on by the Tory Red Tops, and his bid seems doom to fail. But he has yet to admit this.
The question really depends on whether the winner of the leadership contest is a pure Brexit or a realist. Andrea Leadsom, someone before this weekend I had not heard of, seems to be tying with Teressa May for leadership, and is the most Brexit friendly. But as we have seen in the very recent past, what someone says in a campaign is very different from the reality of the shit creek we find ourselves after Messers Johnson, Gove and Farrage sold all the paddles to that swarthy European chap.
The fact remains, that if Article 50 was to be notified to the EU it would have been done on the 24th June, and no one, not even the Brexiteers seem to want to do this, and so as each day passes, the idea of such a notification decreases. Unless Ms Leadsom sticks to her guns and does so if elected as the new Mrs T. Or not if she is faced with the relaities of the situation; the pound crashing, the stock market in freefall, foreign investment crashing, economic targets failed to be met, unemployment rising and no trade deals to be had in half a decade, might just decide to call another referendum and take that as binding.
UNless we vote to leave again, in which case, back to square one.
As I said yesterday, Britain, the UK, is still a full member of the EU and will remain so until two years after the Article 50 notification.
Confused?
You will be until the next episode.....
Sunday 3rd JUly 2016
At last, a weekend where, on one day, the sun was supposed to shine it not for all the day, then for most of the day. Which would mean that I should be able to get some serious orchid action in. And why not? Well, as we enter July, the season slows down rather, with just the Helleborines and ALT to come, and what is already out begins to fade and turn to brown and go to seed.
However, its not all orchids and orchid chasing in Kent an in hour house; oh no. There are butterflies too. And it just happens one of the best places in the country to see one of Britain's rarest, the Heath Fritillary, which can be found the other side of Canterbury. We had been there to see them before, we knew the way, what could go wrong?
Well, we shall see.
Anyway, after confirming the route, we blasted off to Canterbury up the A2, filling up at Whitfield with unleaded, and shocked to see how fuel was already creeping back up in price, now £1.13 a litre, and likely to rise much further.
Through Canterbury, or at least round the ring road onto the Sturry road before turning off just after we cross the railway, and up into the rolling Kentish countryside. Turning off to East Blean wood, down a narrow and winding lane to the car park. I grab my camera and look to where, two years ago, there were hundreds of Heath Fritillary would fill the air with their fluttering. Only now I saw the area was all overgorwn, and showing no signs of photographer's activity.
I was at a loss to know what to do: so I walked round and round and it became clear that were no butterflies there. We decided to follow the path, and almost staight away Jools spotted a single Fit, flapping away. When it settled I bent down to snap it, it opened it's winds to show off its fine patterns. I snapped away.
Just along the path another was still roosting on a grass stem, so I bend down and take many shots, as the underside of the wings are even lovelier than the upper side. So I snap it, and some do come out fine.
One final Frit was basking on a fern leaf, so I bent down to take shots of that too, when it was joined by a second, which, unusually, did not result in both flying around fighting, but they basked side by side for a few seconds before one thought better of it.
Happy with that, we turn round and walk back to the car, I mean we could have gone for a walk round the wood, but I had orchids on my mind.
Possibly the most attractive of the Kentish Orchids is the Marsh Hellebroine, which can only be found at one location, at Sandwich Bay. And as I had seen some shots of the spikes already open, I had been wanting to get over there as soon as possible. And a visit last week resulted in not being able to go to the site due to bird ringing. So, I was now really, really wanting to see them.
I gentle drive back down to Sturry, then along the main road to Broadstairs before turning off at Grove Ferry, cross the railway again and onto the marsh to Preston before turning to the coast. A trip of 45 minutes I suppose, but not an unpleasant one, as we drove down narrow twisty lanes.
At the estate entrance, we said we were going to the reserve, which in this case was true, so we paid our pound and drive along the paved road to the reserve car park and offices. I asked at the ringing office if we could go to look at the Helleborines, only to be told they were ringing, so that would not be possible. I was disappointed, so they offered a compromise; we could watch them ringing for a few minutes, then was with them thrugh the nets to the orchid site.
Sounded good to me, so we watched as a female Chaffinch was brought into the room in a small bag, measured, feather counted and weighed and finally tagged before being released. Interesting stuff.
So we walk over the road, and we swap news and stories about or hobbies; birds and recording for them, and orchid madness for me.
After walking past the empty nets, Jools and I were allowed to walk on to the orchids, where after a short search, we found the right dune slacks and spotted the orchids, many of which were yet to unfurl and open. But many were opening, or opening to make the trip worthwhile, so I get down to take a few shots. Not many just enough to records this season. Mixed in were many Southern Marsh, already turning brown from the bottom of their spikes. There was a fine group of seven spikes, so I snap that, and it seems that I am done. I mean I could have stayed for ages, but I had the shots I wanted.
So we waited for the ringers, and walked back with them to the road, get back in the car and drive back home for a brew and some gingerbread biscuits. And why not?
It was Jools' niece's birthday; does that make sense? And we were invited to a bbq. So, at half one we go into town to attend it, in Mikes sloping garden, where is hard work in transforming the house is nearly complete. It is good to mix with people, but then Brexit is not far from the surface in most conversations, and I was asked how it might affect my job. I reply that we haven't left the EU yet, or even begin to leave and are unlikely to leave. This annoyed my sister-in-law somewhat, who demanded that the non-binding referendum be honoured with destroying the country, even if it was based on lies. We voted, its only right. Or something. This is like someone deciding to have their leg amputated, a doctor telling the patient its a bad idea, but still demanding their leg be cut off.
Jane stepped in and said politics was banned, a sensible thing, really.
We left just after three, heading to Tesco to buy some toilet rolls and other stuff that we had managed to forget on the two previous trips shopping over the weekend.
Back home in time for a coffee and a pistachio Magnum in the garden in the late afternoon sunshine. Which was rather lovely I have to say.
More football in the evening, the last quarter-final, and France took Iceland apart in the 1st half to lead 4-0 at the break. But Iceland fought back, and scored twice and had three great other chances, but failed to take them, losing 5-2, but not disgraced. What this says about an England side that lost 2-1 to them is another thing of course....
However, its not all orchids and orchid chasing in Kent an in hour house; oh no. There are butterflies too. And it just happens one of the best places in the country to see one of Britain's rarest, the Heath Fritillary, which can be found the other side of Canterbury. We had been there to see them before, we knew the way, what could go wrong?
Well, we shall see.
Anyway, after confirming the route, we blasted off to Canterbury up the A2, filling up at Whitfield with unleaded, and shocked to see how fuel was already creeping back up in price, now £1.13 a litre, and likely to rise much further.
Through Canterbury, or at least round the ring road onto the Sturry road before turning off just after we cross the railway, and up into the rolling Kentish countryside. Turning off to East Blean wood, down a narrow and winding lane to the car park. I grab my camera and look to where, two years ago, there were hundreds of Heath Fritillary would fill the air with their fluttering. Only now I saw the area was all overgorwn, and showing no signs of photographer's activity.
I was at a loss to know what to do: so I walked round and round and it became clear that were no butterflies there. We decided to follow the path, and almost staight away Jools spotted a single Fit, flapping away. When it settled I bent down to snap it, it opened it's winds to show off its fine patterns. I snapped away.
Just along the path another was still roosting on a grass stem, so I bend down and take many shots, as the underside of the wings are even lovelier than the upper side. So I snap it, and some do come out fine.One final Frit was basking on a fern leaf, so I bent down to take shots of that too, when it was joined by a second, which, unusually, did not result in both flying around fighting, but they basked side by side for a few seconds before one thought better of it.
Happy with that, we turn round and walk back to the car, I mean we could have gone for a walk round the wood, but I had orchids on my mind.Possibly the most attractive of the Kentish Orchids is the Marsh Hellebroine, which can only be found at one location, at Sandwich Bay. And as I had seen some shots of the spikes already open, I had been wanting to get over there as soon as possible. And a visit last week resulted in not being able to go to the site due to bird ringing. So, I was now really, really wanting to see them.
I gentle drive back down to Sturry, then along the main road to Broadstairs before turning off at Grove Ferry, cross the railway again and onto the marsh to Preston before turning to the coast. A trip of 45 minutes I suppose, but not an unpleasant one, as we drove down narrow twisty lanes.
At the estate entrance, we said we were going to the reserve, which in this case was true, so we paid our pound and drive along the paved road to the reserve car park and offices. I asked at the ringing office if we could go to look at the Helleborines, only to be told they were ringing, so that would not be possible. I was disappointed, so they offered a compromise; we could watch them ringing for a few minutes, then was with them thrugh the nets to the orchid site.
Sounded good to me, so we watched as a female Chaffinch was brought into the room in a small bag, measured, feather counted and weighed and finally tagged before being released. Interesting stuff.So we walk over the road, and we swap news and stories about or hobbies; birds and recording for them, and orchid madness for me.
After walking past the empty nets, Jools and I were allowed to walk on to the orchids, where after a short search, we found the right dune slacks and spotted the orchids, many of which were yet to unfurl and open. But many were opening, or opening to make the trip worthwhile, so I get down to take a few shots. Not many just enough to records this season. Mixed in were many Southern Marsh, already turning brown from the bottom of their spikes. There was a fine group of seven spikes, so I snap that, and it seems that I am done. I mean I could have stayed for ages, but I had the shots I wanted.
So we waited for the ringers, and walked back with them to the road, get back in the car and drive back home for a brew and some gingerbread biscuits. And why not?It was Jools' niece's birthday; does that make sense? And we were invited to a bbq. So, at half one we go into town to attend it, in Mikes sloping garden, where is hard work in transforming the house is nearly complete. It is good to mix with people, but then Brexit is not far from the surface in most conversations, and I was asked how it might affect my job. I reply that we haven't left the EU yet, or even begin to leave and are unlikely to leave. This annoyed my sister-in-law somewhat, who demanded that the non-binding referendum be honoured with destroying the country, even if it was based on lies. We voted, its only right. Or something. This is like someone deciding to have their leg amputated, a doctor telling the patient its a bad idea, but still demanding their leg be cut off.
Jane stepped in and said politics was banned, a sensible thing, really.
We left just after three, heading to Tesco to buy some toilet rolls and other stuff that we had managed to forget on the two previous trips shopping over the weekend.
Back home in time for a coffee and a pistachio Magnum in the garden in the late afternoon sunshine. Which was rather lovely I have to say.
More football in the evening, the last quarter-final, and France took Iceland apart in the 1st half to lead 4-0 at the break. But Iceland fought back, and scored twice and had three great other chances, but failed to take them, losing 5-2, but not disgraced. What this says about an England side that lost 2-1 to them is another thing of course....
Sunday, 3 July 2016
Saturday 2nd July 2016
Saturday.
Despite having a list of things I want to do, I spend the first half an hour of Saturday, laying in bed with Scully asleep at my feet, listening to the birds in the front garden looking for food and making a fine old racket.
Jools had been shopping on Friday, so there was no hurry to get out, so I stretched out and closed my eyes, and in the quiet, Scully began to purr very loudly apparently happy with her lot in life.
Jools is already up, and I can smell the coffee brewing, so I decide to get up, Scully follows me, so we go downstairs to see what the day has to offer. Well, Jools is to test the water with her handmade beaded jewelry at a fair in town as part of the annual carnival, thus leaving me with about 5 hours free to do whatever I wanted. But the with the good weather only lasting until midday, it did mean deciding what was important.
Needless to say there would be orchids involved, but beyond that, I didn't know.
We had breakfast and another coffee, and did our stuff until it was nine and time to drop Jools off. At least at such a fairly early hour, the roads were empty, so I could driving into town drop her at the Co-Op before driving to my first destination. Which, as it turned out was just up the hill at Western Heights where there was a small colony of Small Blue butterflies and quite a colony of orchids. I have not been there for a couple of years, so, why not?
Why not indeed....
I park in the small area overlooking Elms Vale and the old Folkestone Road area, grab my camera and cross back over the road to the orchid-covered bank leading up the defences. I saw no butterflies, but then it was breezy, but there were orchids. Almost all Common Spotted but in all shapes, sized and patterns. I go round looking for any pure white ones, or those with very dark busy patterns, snapping away.
Crossing back over the road I find another area of orchids, more of the same, but on the level rather than on a 45 degree bank. Once again I go round to check on most of the spikes, snapping those I take a fancy to.
I drive up to the top of the hill where the St Martin's Battery used to be, but still has fine views over the Western Docks and along Townwall Street to the ferry terminal and that part of town with the St James redevelopment as well. So much to see.
The Hoverport is now being used to grind up the top level of the Prince of Wales Pier, which is to be part of the new freight handling part of the port, but which means that for many years the pier will be out of bounds, which is a shame. Two JCBs were busy breaking the concrete up ready for the next stage. I could see the old shelters and benches, soon to be history. Lets hope the Harbour Board know what they're doing.
Looking further along Townwall Street I could see where the old Bulitington Hosue used to stand, and is now just an area of development. It will be some time before we know if this will work in turning the town's fortunes round; I don't think that more shops is the answer, and the bland chain restaurants will threaten the local ones that already do good French and Italian food. But there will be a seven screen cinema, which will save us the drive to either Ashford or Broadstairs.
The final place to go in town was Shakespeare Cliff, as it has been about 8 weeks since I was last up there. A short drive to Aycliffe and then a walk under the main road and up the narrow path to the overview. And I can tell you that much work has been done, the first half of the new viaduct is down, and the concrete setting, the reinforcing steel is in place for the second half and now awaits the cement to be poured. Thoughts that the line may be open at Christmas, if not earlier is a good one, as I am really getting fed up with the buses between Dover and Folkestone now, adding an hour to the trip home.
Anyway, things are progressing, just a shame I missed so much of the work for my photographic record, but hey, life gets in the way, eh?
I decided that I should pay one last visit to Park Gate, to see if I could find more of the Musk Orchids. I mean a drive up the Elham Valley isn't the most unpleasant thing in the world, along the green and pleasant valley, through Etchinghill, Lyminge and Elham before turning off. I have the site to myself, and although I thought of snapping the Fragrants, I dont, and just walk to the third paddock to look for the tiny Musk, and am rewarded with about 20 spikes, one already turning brown for another year.
Sadly, I have my camera on the wrong setting, and so mess up 90% of the shots, but do rescue things when I realise, and capture the biggest, open spike in full sunshine, it looks wonderful.
And that is the season over here; the Fragrants and CSOs are also going over, and so I will not return for another 9 months or so. I don't go to the far end of the site to check on the CSOs, I already have 300 shots from Dover of those.
I walk back to the car, through the overlong grass, there is no other sound other than the wind through the tops of the grass, and my footsteps on the muddy ground.
The final job is to drive to Preston for some meat and football related chat. Just up the valley, over the A2 to Wingham and then along the country road to Preston. The boys are on good form, despite England being so rubbish, and so we discuss how Welsh we might be. I buy steaks, kebabs, stinky cheese and a beef joint.
The morning has come and gone, so I think I had better dash home to see if Jools was done. There was no message on the phone, so I put the meat away, make a brew and use the last of the two rolls from Friday for my lunch.
The agreement was for me to be at the car park at half three, so just after three I drive into town, surprised at the large black cloud over the town. After parking, I am about to walk over the Jools' stall, and the heavens open, lightning and thunder fill the air, and the rain hammers down. I help Jools and her friends take down the tent and pack up their stuff. Needless to say, once we had put everything away, the skies cleared and the sun shone down once again.
Sadlt, Jools sold one thing in the 5 hours she was down there, and that was to someone else on her stall. Seems that people don't want to pay for handmade jewelry. Which is really sad. The only remaining option is to go to a proper craft fair and hope the people there are more receptive.
Back home for a brew and a Tunnock's tea cake each. And the world seems much better.
There is, of course, football. Italy v Germany. Just a game of limited interest then? It is a juicy prospect, but really fails to live up to its billing, as two cagey teams cancel each other out. Germany edges it, but not by much. Germany take the lead with a well worked goal. But Italy pull level with a penalty in the last ten minutes. Extra time comes and goes, with no real chances; so we are left with penalties.
Six of the first ten are missed, then goes into sudden death, with Germany winning in the ten round of kicks, to complete their first victory over Italy.
Germany seems happy....
Despite having a list of things I want to do, I spend the first half an hour of Saturday, laying in bed with Scully asleep at my feet, listening to the birds in the front garden looking for food and making a fine old racket.
Jools had been shopping on Friday, so there was no hurry to get out, so I stretched out and closed my eyes, and in the quiet, Scully began to purr very loudly apparently happy with her lot in life.
Jools is already up, and I can smell the coffee brewing, so I decide to get up, Scully follows me, so we go downstairs to see what the day has to offer. Well, Jools is to test the water with her handmade beaded jewelry at a fair in town as part of the annual carnival, thus leaving me with about 5 hours free to do whatever I wanted. But the with the good weather only lasting until midday, it did mean deciding what was important.
Needless to say there would be orchids involved, but beyond that, I didn't know.We had breakfast and another coffee, and did our stuff until it was nine and time to drop Jools off. At least at such a fairly early hour, the roads were empty, so I could driving into town drop her at the Co-Op before driving to my first destination. Which, as it turned out was just up the hill at Western Heights where there was a small colony of Small Blue butterflies and quite a colony of orchids. I have not been there for a couple of years, so, why not?
Why not indeed....
I park in the small area overlooking Elms Vale and the old Folkestone Road area, grab my camera and cross back over the road to the orchid-covered bank leading up the defences. I saw no butterflies, but then it was breezy, but there were orchids. Almost all Common Spotted but in all shapes, sized and patterns. I go round looking for any pure white ones, or those with very dark busy patterns, snapping away.
Crossing back over the road I find another area of orchids, more of the same, but on the level rather than on a 45 degree bank. Once again I go round to check on most of the spikes, snapping those I take a fancy to.
I drive up to the top of the hill where the St Martin's Battery used to be, but still has fine views over the Western Docks and along Townwall Street to the ferry terminal and that part of town with the St James redevelopment as well. So much to see. The Hoverport is now being used to grind up the top level of the Prince of Wales Pier, which is to be part of the new freight handling part of the port, but which means that for many years the pier will be out of bounds, which is a shame. Two JCBs were busy breaking the concrete up ready for the next stage. I could see the old shelters and benches, soon to be history. Lets hope the Harbour Board know what they're doing.
Looking further along Townwall Street I could see where the old Bulitington Hosue used to stand, and is now just an area of development. It will be some time before we know if this will work in turning the town's fortunes round; I don't think that more shops is the answer, and the bland chain restaurants will threaten the local ones that already do good French and Italian food. But there will be a seven screen cinema, which will save us the drive to either Ashford or Broadstairs.The final place to go in town was Shakespeare Cliff, as it has been about 8 weeks since I was last up there. A short drive to Aycliffe and then a walk under the main road and up the narrow path to the overview. And I can tell you that much work has been done, the first half of the new viaduct is down, and the concrete setting, the reinforcing steel is in place for the second half and now awaits the cement to be poured. Thoughts that the line may be open at Christmas, if not earlier is a good one, as I am really getting fed up with the buses between Dover and Folkestone now, adding an hour to the trip home.
Anyway, things are progressing, just a shame I missed so much of the work for my photographic record, but hey, life gets in the way, eh?I decided that I should pay one last visit to Park Gate, to see if I could find more of the Musk Orchids. I mean a drive up the Elham Valley isn't the most unpleasant thing in the world, along the green and pleasant valley, through Etchinghill, Lyminge and Elham before turning off. I have the site to myself, and although I thought of snapping the Fragrants, I dont, and just walk to the third paddock to look for the tiny Musk, and am rewarded with about 20 spikes, one already turning brown for another year.
Sadly, I have my camera on the wrong setting, and so mess up 90% of the shots, but do rescue things when I realise, and capture the biggest, open spike in full sunshine, it looks wonderful. And that is the season over here; the Fragrants and CSOs are also going over, and so I will not return for another 9 months or so. I don't go to the far end of the site to check on the CSOs, I already have 300 shots from Dover of those.
I walk back to the car, through the overlong grass, there is no other sound other than the wind through the tops of the grass, and my footsteps on the muddy ground.
The final job is to drive to Preston for some meat and football related chat. Just up the valley, over the A2 to Wingham and then along the country road to Preston. The boys are on good form, despite England being so rubbish, and so we discuss how Welsh we might be. I buy steaks, kebabs, stinky cheese and a beef joint.
The morning has come and gone, so I think I had better dash home to see if Jools was done. There was no message on the phone, so I put the meat away, make a brew and use the last of the two rolls from Friday for my lunch.
The agreement was for me to be at the car park at half three, so just after three I drive into town, surprised at the large black cloud over the town. After parking, I am about to walk over the Jools' stall, and the heavens open, lightning and thunder fill the air, and the rain hammers down. I help Jools and her friends take down the tent and pack up their stuff. Needless to say, once we had put everything away, the skies cleared and the sun shone down once again.
Sadlt, Jools sold one thing in the 5 hours she was down there, and that was to someone else on her stall. Seems that people don't want to pay for handmade jewelry. Which is really sad. The only remaining option is to go to a proper craft fair and hope the people there are more receptive.
Back home for a brew and a Tunnock's tea cake each. And the world seems much better.
There is, of course, football. Italy v Germany. Just a game of limited interest then? It is a juicy prospect, but really fails to live up to its billing, as two cagey teams cancel each other out. Germany edges it, but not by much. Germany take the lead with a well worked goal. But Italy pull level with a penalty in the last ten minutes. Extra time comes and goes, with no real chances; so we are left with penalties.
Six of the first ten are missed, then goes into sudden death, with Germany winning in the ten round of kicks, to complete their first victory over Italy.
Germany seems happy....
Saturday, 2 July 2016
Friday 1st July 2016
And yay! We have made it to the beginning of a new month, turned the page over on the calendar, been paid and bought a whole month's cat food. So we can relax in a job well done.
Only we can't. Or I can't, as Friday turned into an absolute omnishambles. There is no other word to describe the cherry on top of a quite dreadful week at work. I mean some stuff went OK< but other stuff, well, I did find myself at one point yesterday with my head in my hands feeling emotional about it all. Yes, it was that bad.
The day began well with coffee. And progressed with more coffee and breakfast. And then work started and the avalanche of shit began. I won't go into details, but then having so many people who I thought could help not returning my calls. I could have screamed. In fact, it might have helped. It might have done more good than the firefighting I tried.
During the morning, I made some bread, and as the morning progressed, it rose, then I made it into rolls, and just before lunch popped them into the oven to cook. They smelt so good, and I was so hungry, I took one off the cooling rack, spit it open and smothered it with butter to have right away. It was wonderful.
By one, I was back in control, as much as I could be. One last meeting, and then at two, I was done. All caught up, hours booked, travel claims completed, and all documents filed. So at two I told myself to take the rest of the afternoon off, lay on the sofa, watch an old Time Team and have a snooze.
Jools comes home at half four with the shopping. We unpack and then make insalata caprese to go with the fresh bread I baked, then sit down to have dinner, toasting ourselves that it is the weekend at last. Should it be this difficult I don't think so.
The evening is filled with football; Wales v Belgium. And a game that should have been straightforward for the waffeleers, but instead, Wales played like Lions, or Dragons, and ran out deserved 3-1 winners, and making England's capitulation all the more worse.
Such is life.
Only we can't. Or I can't, as Friday turned into an absolute omnishambles. There is no other word to describe the cherry on top of a quite dreadful week at work. I mean some stuff went OK< but other stuff, well, I did find myself at one point yesterday with my head in my hands feeling emotional about it all. Yes, it was that bad.
The day began well with coffee. And progressed with more coffee and breakfast. And then work started and the avalanche of shit began. I won't go into details, but then having so many people who I thought could help not returning my calls. I could have screamed. In fact, it might have helped. It might have done more good than the firefighting I tried.
During the morning, I made some bread, and as the morning progressed, it rose, then I made it into rolls, and just before lunch popped them into the oven to cook. They smelt so good, and I was so hungry, I took one off the cooling rack, spit it open and smothered it with butter to have right away. It was wonderful.
By one, I was back in control, as much as I could be. One last meeting, and then at two, I was done. All caught up, hours booked, travel claims completed, and all documents filed. So at two I told myself to take the rest of the afternoon off, lay on the sofa, watch an old Time Team and have a snooze.
Jools comes home at half four with the shopping. We unpack and then make insalata caprese to go with the fresh bread I baked, then sit down to have dinner, toasting ourselves that it is the weekend at last. Should it be this difficult I don't think so.
The evening is filled with football; Wales v Belgium. And a game that should have been straightforward for the waffeleers, but instead, Wales played like Lions, or Dragons, and ran out deserved 3-1 winners, and making England's capitulation all the more worse.
Such is life.
Friday, 1 July 2016
Thursday 30th June 2016
There are days in which you see history being made right in front of you. Or if not in front of you, on your dining room table, then on the interwebs before you. Yesterday was such a day as Team Brexit, or Leave.EU as they were called, ripped each other apart and it was last Gove standing. It was like a car crash, or a really good episode of Dallas; I know, but stay with me.
I suppose, why I wrote the previous post "Political Games" was to show that the whole charade was run for personal political ambition, the desire of media magnates to enlarge their empires, rather than actually caring about the country or, heavens forbid, its people.
It cannot be denied that hanging over us is the referendum result, but now the actual pressing of the button has been delayed until "2017", and the exit two years before would be just before the scheduled election, unless one is called before then. So it would be easy to imagine the enacting of Article 50 being pushed back and back.
One last point is that the EU has said no negotiations will take place until after the 2 year period had expired after the article has been enacted. And today, Gove has since said in a speech this morning that he also would delay A50 until Britain was "good and ready", and as A50 is neither good and Britain is clearly not ready, so, prepare for more delays until "what referendum?".
One can hope at least.
Thursday is bin day, so after coffee, round up the rubbish to put outside, dragging the bin up the drive thus ensuring waking the neighbours. Which was nice. Or not.
Work was an omnishambels, and clearly the worst day at work since Wednesday, as people tried their very hardest to make my life as difficult as possible. Which was also nice. And then it is nearly July which means that most Danes are thinking of little else than the summer holiday, which is the annual Danish practical joke that we never tire off.
But I digress.
After getting through morning, I warm the fried shimp up, amke some flavoures cous cous, whichw as screaming for a glass or two of wine to wash it down with, but I am too much of a professional to do that, of course.
I suppose I had four hours sleep Wednesday night, coupled with the at least two days lack of sleep from the last week meant that come afternoon, and staring at the computer screen for six hours brought on the inevitable migraine. There was little else to do that to switch everything off, lay on the sofa with the curtains closed. The cats slept on, and I lay on the sofa as lights flashed behind my closed eyelids.
By late afternoon the migraine had passed, and Jools was due home. I fed the cats and waited.
Not sure if cheese and crackers was good for recovering from a migraine, but the wine helped, if making me tired. At eight we had rhubarb crumble and cream, a British classic and nothing wuite like it. And, thanks to Twitter, I was reminded that the football was due to start again, with Portugal playing Poland. It was an OK, but once Portugal equalised, then it settled down to a usual stalemate. At full time, I was so tired, I taped the rest of the game and vowed to watch it in the morning.
I suppose, why I wrote the previous post "Political Games" was to show that the whole charade was run for personal political ambition, the desire of media magnates to enlarge their empires, rather than actually caring about the country or, heavens forbid, its people.
It cannot be denied that hanging over us is the referendum result, but now the actual pressing of the button has been delayed until "2017", and the exit two years before would be just before the scheduled election, unless one is called before then. So it would be easy to imagine the enacting of Article 50 being pushed back and back.
One last point is that the EU has said no negotiations will take place until after the 2 year period had expired after the article has been enacted. And today, Gove has since said in a speech this morning that he also would delay A50 until Britain was "good and ready", and as A50 is neither good and Britain is clearly not ready, so, prepare for more delays until "what referendum?".
One can hope at least.
Thursday is bin day, so after coffee, round up the rubbish to put outside, dragging the bin up the drive thus ensuring waking the neighbours. Which was nice. Or not.
Work was an omnishambels, and clearly the worst day at work since Wednesday, as people tried their very hardest to make my life as difficult as possible. Which was also nice. And then it is nearly July which means that most Danes are thinking of little else than the summer holiday, which is the annual Danish practical joke that we never tire off.
But I digress.
After getting through morning, I warm the fried shimp up, amke some flavoures cous cous, whichw as screaming for a glass or two of wine to wash it down with, but I am too much of a professional to do that, of course.
I suppose I had four hours sleep Wednesday night, coupled with the at least two days lack of sleep from the last week meant that come afternoon, and staring at the computer screen for six hours brought on the inevitable migraine. There was little else to do that to switch everything off, lay on the sofa with the curtains closed. The cats slept on, and I lay on the sofa as lights flashed behind my closed eyelids.
By late afternoon the migraine had passed, and Jools was due home. I fed the cats and waited.
Not sure if cheese and crackers was good for recovering from a migraine, but the wine helped, if making me tired. At eight we had rhubarb crumble and cream, a British classic and nothing wuite like it. And, thanks to Twitter, I was reminded that the football was due to start again, with Portugal playing Poland. It was an OK, but once Portugal equalised, then it settled down to a usual stalemate. At full time, I was so tired, I taped the rest of the game and vowed to watch it in the morning.
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