Tuesday 20th June 2017

Another hot and humid summer day, and one for which I am glad I do not have to go out in, as I have to work, and Tony is to go to Dover castle in a taxi, thus relieving me of going out with him. In fact, nothing would have given me more pleasure than to wander round the castle all day, but I am sure my boss and manager would have something to say about it.

There is plenty for me to do, mainly start to compile an Excel spreadsheet with all the stuff I need for the new project.

Sadly, it was the hottest most humid night of the year, and I woke at half two, covered in sweat, and unable to stay in bed. I say to Jools I will go and lie on the sofa to try to get cool. Molly also thinks this is a spiffing idea, and joins me. I guess I might have dozed for an hour, but I am awake at four to see dawn creep over the land, causing the streetlight outside the house to blink off, and in the south the increasing light causing the sliver of old moon to fade.

I make a coffee and once made, go and sit on the patio to take in the coolness of the morning. All I can hear is birdsong, and all around our borders are full of bees and butterflies, already going about their business. Especially bside me, small grey bees are going crazy on the lavender bush we planted in a bot, going from tiny flower to tiny flower making sure there was no more nectar.

Jools gets up at half five and joins me outside, having breakfast and sipping coffee. She tells me the air on in her office is great, which is just as well.

I have a shower and almost feel human, but I know that by lunch I would be fighting the migraines off. Tony comes down just as I start work, so he does his morning chores, sorting through shots from the prevuous day, posting more and reading comments online.

Come hal nine, Tony has his taxi booked, gather the tools of his trade; phones to record the day and to trace his every step, and then is gone. Work carries on.

Indeed at lunchtime, my eyes can't focus and the flashing lights appear in my vision. I am done. I set an out of office message and head to bed, putting in earplugs to block out the noise of the outside world, and I think I got a good hour. But as the sun tacks westwards, its rays hit the windows in our bedroom, and I can feel it heat up. No more sleep at least until evening.

I have a huge glass of squash, and sit on the sofa with my eyes closed.

As it is Tony's last night with us, I said I would cook roast chicken with all the trimmings. I should have rethought that really, but at quarter past four I am putting the bird in the over, peeling the potatoes and the rest of the vegetables. It doesn't get hot until both ovens are going, and three of the rings, that pushes the temperature through the roof.

Tony comes back at quarter past five, Jools at quarter to six, and dinner is nearly done. I dish up along with the fresh Yorkshire Puddings dead on quarter past six, and I sit down, a veritable ball of sweat, but able to toast our guest with Jools, and we all soon demolish dinner, and the bottle of pink fizz opened for the occasion.

Cheers, Tony.

We sit outside until disk begins to fall, but we are all shattered, and make tracks up the stairs shortly after nine, hopeful of some serious sleep.

Monday 19th June 2017

The endless summer continues.

We Brits do like to complain; its either too hot or too cold, or too windy or too wet; you get the picture. And its not that we really have extreme weather here; the occasional storm or snowfall from France notwithstanding. But, even after taking that into account, it has been too hot. Certainly at night, where sleep is almost impossible, and we wake up each morning feeling like we haven't slept. And each day seems to be longer and hotter than the day before, meaning that we have to water the garden; not a chore really as we love the colours and the results we have been getting, but I am feeling like we need a break.

And after saying all of that, I go out with Tony in the hottest part of both days for a tramp in the countryside. So I only have myself to blame really.

But Monday morning means back to work for Jools and I, back to the grindstone, well, for Jools this means a 45 minute commute in at least one direction such is the state of the roads around Dover. We are both awake at half five, thankful that we had something close to a full nights sleep, and ready to face the day.

Coffee, feed the cats, breakfast and then the final preparations before switching on the work computer to find that there are several program updates to install, and even some new programs. Oh this is going to be a joy. But it does mean that nothing can be done until the computer has finished, and restart is made. So, another coffee while I wait, and as I drink that Tony comes down and has to decide what to do with his day. Time is fast running out for him, just two full days left. He decides on a taxi ride into town and see about getting some of his stuff sent back home to save excess baggage on his return flight. He also has to arrange a taxi to the airport this end, and collecting once he arrives on the other side of the world.

He books a taxi to take him into town, also planned is a Strava walk, which ended up being 7km, ranging from the town centre along to the promenade, to the eastern docks, nback again and following the river to Morrisons to buy lunch before getting a taxi back home.

I carried on working, and during one of my frequent breaks, a walk int he garden revealed a mating pair of Azure Damselflies. On another trip out I snap a couple of males waiting for more rumpy, delicately balancing on blades of grass.

Once he was home, the plan was to walk into Kingsdown, instead of Walmer as I thought it would be too much in this weather, opting for the Zetland Arms rather than the Green Berry for an end of walk beer.

I opted to take just the compact camera, and ended up regretting it straight away as I found five Commas on the walk between the end of the road and the start of the fields; more than I have seen in the past two years. All looked fresh out of the cocoon and brightly coloured like you wouldn't believe. They were joined by a tatty Painted Lady and in the copse, many Skippers were about, and continued to be along the cliff edge once we got there.

We were again greeted by the pig in their copse, a little more distressed this time that we had no food, but they had plenty of water in their trough, so no worries. We walked on down to the bottom of the Dip and then the climb back up the other side. My back grumbled more than it had for some time, meaning I know I was holding Tony up, but I struggled on.

I made it to the top, so the walk to the start of the path across Bockhill Farm was easier. Off the road and over the fields, I realised it is probably nearly a year I had walked all the way to the monument, which came as a shock, as in the past we seemed to do it most weeks. Hmmm.

At the monument I paused on the bench, doing some stretching on my back, hoping it would get easier. Down we went, and I was amazed by the sheer number of pyramidal orchids; all shapes and sizes, and a range of colours, but no var. alba though. And butterflies; more Skippers and seven Marbled Whites out feasting. The orchids stretched beside the path all the way to the gate where Kingsdown begun, I so much regretted not having the macro lens, but there you go.

More pyramidals also on Kingsdown Leas, I stop to look at some, and the Marbled Whites when I could. Seems it was too hot even for golfers as the car park was empty, as was the fairways. We were treated to the fine view along the beach as we climbed down the cliff, all the way to Deal pier, but beyond was lost in a haze.

We walked across the gravel beach to the pub, texting Jools that she might like to pick us up. We get two pints of ice cold lager, I know, but perfect on such a hot and humid day. Tony surprises me by having a second, which shows how hot it was.

Jools arrives, she had guessed where we would be, but there is news; her Dad is in hospital with diabetes out of control, and is in a high dependency unit. She takes us home and goes off to the hospital in Ashford. The news is that he is getting better, but sugars are still too high.

In the event, I cook Tony and I chorizo hash for dinner, Jools would get a snack out, all put a bit of a dampner on things if I'm honest.

We are in the garden when she comes back, things looking brighter and he might be out in the morning now, but this was a serious wake up call for him.

We sit outside hoping to get cool. But it is humid, so humid that a mist begins to rise, meaning sleep will be difficult.

Starter's Orders

Yesterday, Monday 19th June, the Minister for Exiting the EU, David Davis, met his EU counterpart in the first face to face negotiation regarding Britain leaving the EU.

The British delegation did not have any briefing papers with them, it has been reported.

Almost from the off, Davis had agreed to the EU's timetable in discussing the fate of EU Nationals in the UK, UK Nationals in Europe, Ireland, then everything else, no parallel talks regarding trade, trade talks would only begin if the EU themselves thought sufficient progress had been made to that point.

So much for the bluster from Davis a couple of weeks ago that this was going to be the fight of the summer. When push came to shove, Britain had no opposition the larger party in the discussions. As was predicted, It does mean that now that is not going to be argued, that some kind of discussion can now take place, but that still gives both sides just 15 months now to conclude all discussions before the six month ratification process at home and in the EU can begin.

If any one country, parliament (national or regional) fails to ratify it, then there is no Deal. And Britain crashes out with no deal, and chaos will be unleashed.

Today, the Chancellor gave a speech in which he stopped pretending there was any upside to Brexit: "Monetary policy cannot prevent the weaker real income growth likely to accompany the transition to new trading arrangements with the EU".

The Governor of the Bank of England was even more pessimistic: "Before long, we will all find out the extent to which Brexit is a gentle stroll along a smooth path to a land of cake and consumption". Obviously, Brexiteers and its supports suggest this is naked politicking, but it his job to try to protect the national economy.

Who would you believe, the Governor of the Bank of England, or the Editor of the Daily Mail or Express?

Sunday 18th June 2017

Phew, what a scorcher. Says all of Britain as it wakes up the the 3rd day in a row of temperatures that most Australians would consider "chilly". But it am hot, so hot that the cats no longer are sleeping on the bed, and Mulder just comes by to remind us that breakfast might be appropriate at some point.

Anyway, we get up, and outside the sun is already up, getting hotter and hotter. Jools and I have coffee, then wait for Tony to Join us so we can go out for the morning, as the afternoon would be too hot for anything. The plan was to drive to Canterbury, wander round, have breakfast and come home. Simple plan, and what could possibly go wrong. We drive to Canterbury, only worrisome spot was when a Ford Ka decided it had to be in front of us as we waited at the final traffic lights into the city, he then cut us up going into the roundabout, but then carried on, while we took the dead end street under the city walls tp the car park, stumping up tow pounds seventy of your English money for just over two hours parking, and then the city was ours.

As planned, it was quiet on the mean street of Canterbury; cafes and restaurants were only just putting out their tables onto the streets and alleyways. But for us, we could be the mix of old and ancient buildings, cobbeled streets, Pilgrims Hospital, the closes gates to the cathedral precinct. And then down Palace Street to see and snap the door at the old Kings School shop, walk back, look at the bridges over the Stour and marvel at the ducking stool used to try witches, so they say.

Places are filling up, so we walk back to the Buttermarket and take up a table in a Belgian place, Jools and I order hash and Tony has a fry up. And life is good. Despite them being short of staff, food comes just in time so I can scamper back to the car to get a new parking ticket and to wait for Tony and Jools to come back. They arrive two minutes after I have spent one pound seventy on another hour's parking, but I was happy enough to get in the car and drive us out into the countryside and hopefully will come in through the open windows and cool us down.

Our destination was Fordwich, the so-called smallest town in not just England, but Britain. But of course, turns out there are different measures as to what smallest means, but anyway, Fordwich is pretty enough, strung out along a narrow main street, which gets to less than 6 feet wide in some places, and with 90 degree bends. And yet people try to race through, swerving round corners. We are here to marvel at the way in which the modern worl has taken over the ancient, and the two live side by side, not always happily.

We found a place to park on the main road, the square outside the church was full with nearly half a dozen cars. Tony and I walk to the bridge over the Stour, taking our lives in our hands crossing over the road. We look at the river upstream. And then the river downstream. And walk back round the George and Dragon to meet up with Jools outside the town hall. The other pub was also closed, so no coffee for Jools. Having explored the whole village, we go back to the car to take a long round trip home, through Stodmarsh, back to Wingham and then back to Dover.

We arrive home after lunch, and treat ourselves with huge bowls of ice cream. It is too hot to do anything other than stay inside in the shade, listening to the radio, editing pictures and writing blogs.

One thing I did forget is that Tony and I went for a walk in the heat of the afternoon. Regular readers of my posts will know of "The Dip", and Tony is one of three of my friends on Flickr who have said they would like to walk down there for real.

As Tony's time here was getting short, even though it was hot and humid, just after three we set off, walking down the street to the beginning of the path over the fields. Not much different from the walk I did a few days earlier, other than I had company, for whom I am sure if was like a photo album coming to life.

I said to Tony that at the pig's copse we wouldn't see any as the young porkers would be sleeping through the hottest part of the day. But they heard us coming and ran through the trees to come and say hello, sniffing my fingers to see if I had any food with me. Sadly, I didn't, but they seemed happy that someone had walked by; pigs are sociable, so seem to have real joy in interacting. Doubly so if food is involved.

We turned right and the road began to drop, until the view opened out, and there it was: the Dip.

Pictures were taken, and asking if he wanted to go on, he did. We walked down to the very bottom, where mud from the storm a few weeks back was still several inches deep, and then after picking our way through the mud, began the long walk up the other side, with regular stops to look at views, wildlife and giving my poor back a rest.

We did it though, and to round off the experience, we went to the top of Otty Bottom Road to look down towards Kingsdown, before turning for home. His time taking the path from the village, through the farm and up through a field of broad beans back onto our street. The beans were so high, it looked like we were swimming as we climbed the last hill before arriving back home.

The afternoon passes, and as the day coold I make it hotter again by making steak, garlic mushrooms, steamed corn and fried potatoes. It was glorious, even if I was melting by the time I had cooked it all.

Days are now running out for Tony, less than three days before he begins his long trip home, he seems part of our lives now, even the cats, Molly excepted, have gotten used to him.

We sit outside as the sun set, me sipping sill strong Belgian beer.

Saturday 17th June 2017

Our experiment with the garden, the process to replace the lawn with a meadow has passed it's first test with flying colours. One quarter was seeded with Yellow Rattle, hoping that this would weaken the grass ready to be seeded with a wildflower mix this autumn. And in the process attract a woder range of butterflies and other insects. The yellow rattle means that we cannot mow the lawn/meadow until late July once the seed heads have dried, meaning grass has grown longer, and wild grasses have sprung up, creating roosts for butterflies and moths. As you walk through it, moths are woken from their slumbers, meaning that we now have polinators by day and night now.

The cats also like the longer grass, waiting to pounce on one of the other cats, usually Scully. But all is good, if looking a little untidy. This autumn will see the remaining three quarters seeded with more Yellow Rattle, and the remaining quarter be seeded with wildflower, and maybe an orchid or two.

So, it is with some satisfaction that we sit in the new shelter, both wisteria rapidly climbing the posts of it to make a canopy, looking out over what we have created, the sound of birdsong in our ears, and the tinkle of the Footballer Wives' fountain.

Saturday was the second day of the long Hot Summer Weekend which is expected to last most of the week in fact. So, after complaining for weeks that it doesn't feel like summer, what with the cool breeze and that, it has straight to phew, its too hot innit? Without passing Go.

If anything outside was going to be done, it would have to be done before midday, at which point we would have to retreat to the stoop to sip on our mint juleps. As usual.

Before then, there is shopping to do, butterflies and orchids to seek out. We did have enough food, but fruit and veg would soon run out, so after getting up and complaining about how hot it had been during the night, we have coffee and Tony and I go to Tesco for a quick whisk round, topping up supplies. Fruit, bread, vegetables and some paprika fried corn ar bought and paid for, and we are on our way out as the rest of Dover are just stirring.

Back home the shopping is packed away, we have a breakfast made up of left over food from Friday. The Heston Blumenthal salmon bagels and sandwiches. Not pretty, but it was ok. Meaning Tony and I could go out and I could show him some more interesting sites and then we could hunt for some orchids! He's a lucky man.

We drive into Dover then up Military Way the other side to Western Heights so I could show him one of the great hidden treasures not just of Dover, but the country. Built defend both Dover and England from Napoleon, three massive fortresses were built into the top of the downs to the south of the town, on a hill the other side to the castle. It is owned by English Heritage, but can spare no cash for it, so it is up to a band of volunteers to keep the weeds and vandals at bay.

There is a walk through a low tunnel into the moat, this never had water, but provided killing fields for the firing points in the carponiers in the fortress. It was all locked, so we walked rounf the fortress in the moat, passing a few other braving the already hot day, either jogging or walking their dogs.

From there it was a 30 second drive back down the hill to the small car park, beside which is a large colony of Common Spotted Orchids. If I'm honest, I have enough shots of them, but there is always the chance there will be a rare variant to look for, so I get the camera and scramble up the bank and presented with the sight of about 200 spikes of all shapes and sizes, some var. alba, some close to it, but nothing to hyper-coloured or anything.

But inbetween I could see the sooty blue-black shapes of Small Blue Butterflies flittering about, looking for pollen, and occasional basking in the sunshine. So I forget about the orchids and am chasing the butterflies until I get an open wing shot, and one of the undersides. This is Britain's smallest butterfly, so a challenge. But one I accept.

Back to the orchids, and already they are beginning to fade, meaning the final part of the season, the Helleborines will soon be upon us. But for now, snap these and the marsh before they are gone for another 48 weeks.

After snapping them, we made the short drive to Folkestone then up the Elham Valley to Park Gate Down, to look for more orchids, obviously. To me and all of who live in Kent, the narrow lanes that weave through the fields, dip and dive over and under the downs, are such a common sight to us, we barely give them thought, but Tony thought it magical, and so I stopped on the way down the PGD so he could snap the lane as it went through a wood. It is good to see things through a visitor's eyes sometimes.

All this way to see the tiny flowering spikes of the Musk Orchid, now at what counts as their peak. They stand no more than 6cm high, and being green are hard to spot among the surrounding plants. And that as it is a large site, and they grow in just a tiny part of it, unless you know where to look, you'd never find it. And finally, I saw just 9 spikes yesterday, so pretty thin pickings.

We arrive at the right area, and I say to Tony "this is where is my orchid eyes are working properly". Within a few moments, I had spotted the first of the spikes, showing lime green instead of the darker green of surrounding grasses. Tony goes for a walk, while I search for more spikes.

I am also there to see how many var. alba Fragrant and CSOs there are. Turns out a bumper year for Fragrant, and there are many pure white spikes to find. After an hour, it is too hot to walk about any more, so when Tony comes back we walk back to the car and begin to return home. We call in at Morrison's for some lunch, pasties and some cream for the strawberries I got this morning. I did forget the cream, but hey.

We were in and out in 5 minutes, escaping the shopping hordes up Connaught hIll and along the coast road and home. Just in time for lunch, and a beer.

And with the heat of the day at its peak, we retreat to the cool of the house, listening to the radio as outside swelters in the summer sunshine. We have strawberries and raspberries wit cream, and then relax some more.

Jools and I do try to sit outside, but the humidity drives us back in twice, until it gets to seven, when a cool breeze just begins to move the air. Tony is introduced to the delight of insalata caprese, I don't think he is convinced, but he does eat most of it, and says it was OK.

Tny and I have a shared love for a certain American singer, despite living on opposite sides of the world, so I talk him through all the different versions of Pat Benatar's singles I have, playing We Live for Love of the original 12" single, before playing some Madonna and Soft Cell until we go out for the final hour to watch dusk fall. I sip whisky, and I declare that the day is good.

All change?

I read a blog post a few months ago that said when May's popularity ends, it will be a sudden fall. And indeed that happened in the wake of the fire at Grenfell Tower.

Not only for what happened, which certainly was not her fault per se, but the blocking of legislation that would have made landlords responsible for ensuring that rented accommodation was fr for human habitation was blocked by Conservative MPs in the last Parliament, over one third of which are landlords themselves. And the local council, one of the richest in the UK, isn't going to take itself to court for providing dangerous accommodation, and any chance of the tenants themselves taking legal matters into their own hands was thwarted when Legal Aid was slashed thus denying the poorest their legal right, securing only the richest will get justice.

No, it was her reaction in the aftermath, only visiting and meeting with senior fire officers, surrounded by police, not meeting with one survivor. Corgyn met and hugged survivors, Prince Harry and the Queen also met survivors, but for Maybot it was apparently impossible aoct in any way human.

On top of this, David Davis idiot in charge of the Department of Exiting the EU has had to agree to the timetable from the EU on negotiations, just like it was predicted he would, and the opposite to what he said would happen. At the moment there is no actual Government, as the deal with those nice folks at the DUP is not agreed, and so May heads a minority Government, with no mandate, talks with the EU begin on Monday with no lead negotiator, no clear policy, no clear red lines and unsure that Davis himself will be speaking for the \government and the country. The Queen's Speech is scheduled for Wednesday, unclear whether there will actually be a Government to write it, or be represented in it.

Meanwhile, economic data gets worse, just as predicted, and the penny begins to drop that the Emperor not only has no clothes, lies, but isn't an Emperor either. Lies built on lies and repeated by the fearless press has brought us to this, and all the while Maybot says Brexit is Brexit and she will Deliver Strong and Stable leadership when she has delivered only chaos. Chaos and confusion.

All the chaos was predicted, and like I said, I am going to get the popcorn and watch the entertainment unfold.

Friday 16th June 2017

And, time to go home. Again.

Thursday night was filled with the usual worries whether the phone would wake me up in time, as seems that the new Sim cards we British employees have been given, do not like Denmark, and so without realising the phone is roaming, it switches to UK time. So, also as usual, I fret so much about oversleeping that I don't actually sleep at all. Or much. Anyway.

I have the morning planned to the minute; up at five thirty five, washed and dressed and packed by five to, check out by five past six and on the road. Soundtrack is the local radio station, Your Rock, or something, and is mostly peple grunting to a driving manic drumming beat, or chirpy adverts. I have enough of it by the time I am on the motorway and powering my way south. I have the side windows open, and the bus easily does 130 kmh, and when we pass two trucks hauling what looked like massive turbine tower segments, there was just enough space for the van to squeeze by.

It feels cool outside the van, there is dark low cloud and after the summer feeling of the day before, this felt more like October. But then I knew it would be warmer and more humid in London once I got there.

I had checked I had my phone with me, and I did feel more awake than last time I was here, and safer driving also I must add. The verges are a riot of colour, except the very edge which had been mown all the way from the motorway junction to the airport; a few of the dazzling pink flowers could be seen, but just a handful. I wonder why this was done, seeing the roads lined with such vibrant colour was a real highlight of being in Denmark at this time of the year. Elsewhere there are the usual Lupins, but also Valarian, Ragged Robin and Foxgloves. Incredible and vibrant colours.

I arrive at the airport at five past seven, deposit the car, sorry bus, and walk to the terminal to drop the keys off and check in. I was the only one in the queue to drop my bag, and no queue in the secuity section either. I am through and on my way to the business lounge in 5 minutes, passing colleagues who were just about to board the manchester flight. I say hello, and as their flight is called, climb the steps to the lounge, get a roll, some cheese and a coffee. All without managing to spill any coffee or drop the roll. Great news.

I eat, drink and check mails. Not much happening, just another mail, this time from the CEO to the project team. I send it on to the quality team, they did most of the work.

Onto the plane, and it is about half full, the usual mix of the rude business types who seem to not know the words please or thank you, and holiday makers. And me, a foot in both camps really.

We taxi, engines rev and off we go; bumping down the runway and climbing into the air, through the low cloud and into the bright sunshine above. Breakfast is brought round, and coffee. Holland passes below us as we fly south, clouds break and I can see tiny shops on the sea, moored around the old Luchterduinen wind farm. Those were the days And now we have new days, better days, if that is possible.

After an hour, we begin to drop, turn down the north Kent close, passing over Thanet, Reculver, Herne Bay and Sheppy to Grain. Lower we get, and summer colours in the fields and hedgerows grows stronger.

We fly the usual route along the Thames, dropping lower until with one more crossing of the river, we bounce down. Damn, it looks hot out there, the aircraft at their gates seem to shimmer through the jetwash as we taxi to our gate. All done, now the wait for ground crew to open the doors and say its safe to walk over the road to the terminal.

I am last off, as I have plans to meet Tony at Dover Priory at quarter to twelve, so I have so much time. So much time in fact, I could have caught the quarter to ten train from Stratford. Instead I sit in the cafe drinking iced caramel coffee watching trains come and go. After there is the shopping centre, not mall, to explore, but find that most stores won't open until ten, so I can't get into Foyles to browse the books. Instead I go into Waitrose to buy Tony and I lunch; in the end, it was charcoal bagels with smoked salmon. No, I have no idea other, but Heston had something to do with the recipe. Apparently.

I get on the train at quarter to 11, the train is not empty, but busier than normal, with people heading to the seaside. Most get off at Ashford for a connecting train to that Margate. How their children got the time off school, I don't know. Anyway, I call Tony and he is stuck in traffic just outside Faversham. Not just traffic, in a jam caused by a fatal accident. He's OK though. Change of plan, he'll come straight to the house when he can.

I stay on, call to book a taxi, and enjoy the last few miles of the journey through Folkestone and along the coast, under the famous white cliffs. The taxi is waiting, and the driving is waiting eating from a tub of winkles. Nice!

I thought I had 5 more minutes he says.

Anyway, he stops eating and i load the car with by bags, and he drives us up towards the castle, he grumbling about something his boss is doing I nod along, just thankful that the ride would be short.

We arrive and he is still moaning about his boss as I escape down the drive. I see there is no sign of Tony, so I call him and find he has moved 500 yards in an hour or so. This might take some time.

I use the time to empty my case, sort the washing out, and then have a shower and clean my gnashers. I feel much better.

Jools and Tony arrive within 5 minutes of each other. The traffic just cleared once the accident had been removed. And Jools had been shopping, so we have some stuff for the weekend. I boil the kettle and make brews at least for Jools and I, Tony has a Coke from the fridge. And we find out that he is leaving us on Wednesday, not next weekend, so time is already running out.

The plan is to go out to eat fish and chips in the evening, and want to try the place in Deal that was closed a month back. But as we try to drive in, we find we are at the end of a queue of cars staring at Ripple and probably would go all the way into town; several miles.

So I turn round and as we drive we change plans and decide to go to Folkestone to the chippy beside the harbour, and instead of sitting inside a restaurant, we could sit beside the harbour. Not as good as it sounds, as you might find out.

Parking is free, at least after six, and we find a space, then walk over the the harbourside to The Smokehouse, place an order for cod and chips three times, and wait. The fish is wonderfully fresh and the flesh white, we are joined by an audience of juvenile seagulls a a ginger and white cat, all of which want some fish. The gulls screech at us, and the cat rubs itself against us, but I'm not giving anything away.Jools gives the cat a few morsels, but the gulls don't get anything.

After eating, we walk round the harbour to look at the work going on at the old Harbour Station; no idea what they are doing, but its serious work; the awning is gone, and the wall on one side seems to have been taken down. Tracks have been lifted too. No more trains will run down here now, sadly.

We are back home by nine, enough time to write a blog and sit outside watching the bats catching insects. And it be the weekend, my lovelies.