Saturday 17th August 2024

And another adventure.

In 2009, over some pints of beer, some rightminded folks thought it a good charity event to have buses run to the "lost" village of Imber on the Salisbury Plain.

Lost, because like those on the STANTA training area which my friend Simon K so well describes on his churches of Norfolk website, the War Department requisitioned several areas around the country for preparation training for the ground invasion of Europe that became D-Day.

In many cases, the land and villages were never given back, like at STANTA and here at Imber.

So, run some buses. Red Routemaster buses from Warminster one day a year to visit Imber, a village frozen in time from 1940.

To say it was a success would be an understatement, and after a pause for COVID, is back and bigger and better subscribed than ever before.

UK Railtours were running a trip starting at Tonbridge to Warminster, so it seemed a good idea to book and go along.

This did mean getting up at stupid o'clock, have coffee and be on the road before six.

Years ago, we bought a picnic basket, a traditional one in a wicker case with cups, plastic knives, etc, and have never used. This would be its first use, once I had cleaned the dust and cobwebs off it. Jools made ham salad folls, we had a bottle of fizz.

All was set.

We made good time to Tonbridge, getting tot he station along quiet roads and motorways, parking in the near-empty car park next to the station. But our plan to have breakfast was scuppered by the fact almost all places along the high street were yet to open, so we had to make do with a warmed up bacon butty and coffee from a small kiosk on the station forecourt.

That helped.

We still had half an hour wait before the heritage unit rumbled in, we had reserved seats, so found those, where we were sharing our table with a couple from Rainham, who were quite chatty, but not too much.

This is pretty much the only Southern "slam door" unit still running on the mainline, so it looks unusual, and all along the route people came to take shots and videos, or those not expecting us, looked on at something from the 1950s, chugging along.

Our route took us through the Surrey Hills to Redhill, then up through Croydon into Waterloo via a freight line.

This is where most folks got on the tour, so was crowded after that.

From Waterloo we headed out along the main line to Woking and Basingstoke where we had the last two pickups, before taking the non-electrified line to Salisbury before finally arriving at Warminster.

And that is where the queues began, and really did not stop.

It took half an hour to wait to get on a bus, and when we got near the front, all seemed to want to board a Routemaster, the modern air conditioned bus was less than half full, so we got on, which seemed fine as all buses stop at Imber on the way to the various further destinations.

The bus climbed out of the town, past the barracks I used to visit when posted to RAF Lyneham, then up onto the battle area, where there were observation towers, hulks of bombed out tanks, but mostly endless plains of wild flowers, just swaying in the breeze.

When the bus arrived in Imber, we saw crowds everywhere, as this is what people wanted to see, including me. We decided to go to the end of the route and come back towards the end of the day, so stayed on. The bus filled up with folks seeking to escape Imber, leaving with people standing hanging on for dear life as the bus lurched along the less-travelled roads.

We ended up at the village of Chitterne, where there was a fine, if plain church, and next door, the village hall that was doing refreshments. So, as there was a wait for a return bus, we had a bottle of water and a cheese scone before getting on the bus we had arrived on.

I had my macro lens in a backpack, and had taken it off before sitting down to eat, and little did I know that I left it leaning against the table leg.

Halfway back to Warminster, I realised my mistake, and so had to get off at Gore Cross to catch a bus back. There was no phone signal, and I had no phone number who to call.

So, I climbed on the next bus, meaning some poor sould got left behind, and made my way back to Chitterne. Jools had stayed on the bus and went back to Warminster.

My bag had been found and set aside.

I claimed it and revealed the grand of L-series lens inside, then had to wait for a bus back.

We waited on a hot and sweaty Lodekker until twenty to four, then myself and the old gentleman beside me, began to worry about getting back to the station to catch the train, which was to leave at five sharp!

The trip in a 1950s powered bus, that lurched over potholes, and struggled in first gear up any climb, struggled to get back to Gore Cross, then to Imber, where there were no crowds, but with just 40 minutes to get back.

At least I had a phone signal, so could let Jools know I was on my way, and finally at twenty to five, the bus lumbered down back into Warminster, round two roundabouts to the station, where Jools was waiting, releaved.

At ten to five we boarded the waiting train, and Jools popped the cold bottle of local beer she had bought me.

Phew.

The rain growled out of the station, and as the tour headed back east to Salisbury, we had either a beer or cider, along with one of the rolls that Jools had made. Once at Salisbury, we took the line south to Southampton, for a different experience to the outbound trip, before turning north through Eastleigh and then in the gathering gloom of a later summer's evening to Basingstoke and Woking to drop off passengers, and then arriving into Waterloo at dusk.

The tour was ahead of schedule, so we had to wait 15 minutes for the road to take us back out, then via the freight line at Battersea, then rattling at walking place though the southern suburbs to Selhurst, where finally we had a clear road and we sped up.

We got back to Tonbridge dead on time, leaving us with the task of dragging our weary legs and bags up the steps to street level, then over the road to the car park.

I turned the key, the engine fired. Jools set the sat nav and we were away, up the high street and out into the countryside, along quiet dark roads until we got to the motorway, then tuned south towards Dover.

We got back at half ten, the cats were non-plussed and much of the extra food left was uneaten. We put out fresh stuff, I had a brew, and at just after eleven, we went to bed.

Friday 16th August 20124

Friday.

Another day without work, and a day in which we had chores.

Being Friday, Jools was up and about to go to her yoga class, I laid in bed, snoozing until I heard her start the car and drive off to the class.

Once up I found a steady drizzle falling, meaning there would be no raking until later in the day, if at all.

Once up, I put the bins out, move the cat's bowls to where they wanted them, or rearrange the food to the food is in the middle of the bowl, and so acceptable.

I spent most of the morning on the phone to the credit card company and then Expedia, trying to get a refund for the hotel in King's Lynn that cancelled.

I thought I could just get money back, but after waiting an hour to speak to someone, I was told I had to contact the vendor first.

Sigh.

So the processes began again, and it seems the owner of the hotel wasn't licking up the phone, and as of late Saturday night, Expedia still haven't been able to speak to him.

I will get my money back, but just when and from whom.

Once Jools was home at half one, we drove to Tesco to brave the madness that is the supermarket on a Friday. But with the hand scanner, its still pretty painless.

We zipped round and were back by half three, and somehow most of the day had slipped by.

I listened to my gut in the music quiz, and my gut was wrong, but after it finished, we had a good chat about stuff, so another hour passed.

Finally, the football restarted, with Man Utd v Fulham, and in a poor game, Utd scored late on the take the three points, somehow after Fulham had dominated.

So it goes.

Thursday 15th August 2024

Out first thing in the morning, and I find a Slow Worm, minus its tail, so I put it in the "formal" bed and hope that it stays out of the heat.

Jools is now going to work earlier, as her "number two", Donna, is on holiday, so is doing the work of two, so a head start before the office fills up with noise and questions is needed.

That being said, it was an altogether quiet day, I had to get my enthusiasm up to scarify the lawn.

For the wildflower seeds, something like 40% bare soil so the seeds are in contact so can germinate. So, the manual scarifying tool is not that bad, but clearly my back had to complain once I started, so regular breaks were needed, and Scully needed attention too, so the hour-long job took most of the day.

And then pick up the dried thatch for the bin collection on Friday.

I write some more, edit pictures of Ely, listen to podcasts and watch videos, the day passes quickly if unproductively.

I could get used to doing nothing.

As expected, the wind got up and clouds swept over, to the point I closed some windows and the back door, as it was getting chilly.

Dinner was pizza, followed by coffee and nuts!

And then an early night on what was the eve of the Premier League season.

The madness begins all over again on Friday evening.

Wednesday 14th August 2024

Wednesday, and back home a day early. Which gave me the chance to catch up on the lawnmeadow.

For most of the year it's very low maintenance, with sometime ten months between having to do anything other than observe Mother Nature's handiwork. But in the summer, in August, the hay has to be harvested, the ground scarified and seeds sown.

I have collected Yellow Rattle and Corncockle seeds, so first task is the first mow.

Set the mower to the highest cut, and hope it starts. It did, so in half an hour most was cut, leaving just two patches: one where the Bird's Foot Trefoil still attracts butterflies and the Musk Mallow.

Thursday is the great raking and scarifying, or the first one anyway.

That was the main task, which I managed to handbag through most of the day. With it being so darned hot still, sleep was hard to come by. Awake at half four when it was still pretty much dark, and dawn didn't really come until half five, by which time Jools was up and getting buy. So I laid in bed and listened to her getting busy and the birds outside singing for their breakfast.

I do get up and get the day started.

There was much writing and photo-editing to do, which means I can work in the garden for half an hour and then retire to the keyboard to do some digital work.

Scully, as she has gotten older, is now more clingy than ever before. She sits at my feet, meowing, as I drink coffee, demanding that I go to sit outside. Once I agree to go out, she then gently paws my arm and hand so that I would keep stroking her head for pretty much all day.

This is a trick she learned from Mulder, who does the same. So, any time sitting on the patio means being attendance by either or both cats, demanding attention.

The day just slipped by in such a fashion, too warm really to do too much in the garden, and too hot and sunny to sit on the patio from noon until three.

But once the shadow of the hedge covered the wooden seat, I could pour an ice cold beer and sit out, watching the birds, while one or both of the cats demanded attention.

I make dinner which was chicken Kyiv's, baked potato and fresh corn. Light, summery and not too difficult, though the two ovens cooking made the kitchen damned hot.

There was football in the evening, Leeds v Middlesborough, which should have been a home win, but Boro ran out easy 3-0 winners, entertaining as I tackled a bottle of sloe port and honey roast cashews.

Tuesday 13th August 2024

And so, to the Isle of Eels.

I was up at half five, having slept surprisingly well, and the room actually cool.

I messed around for half an hour, then packed and with one last sweep, left the oven for the last time, not looking back.

The station was a five minute walk away, and the ring road quiet at quarter to seven. Once inside I bought a ticket to Ely, then went to the station buffet to buy a bottle of Coke and a sausage roll to have on the train once it pulled in.

Again it was an eight car class 387 set, so plenty of space on the train, and early enough to beat the last dregs of the festival crowd who might be travelling.

Ely, or the Isle of Ely, stands on a low hill, that was once surrounded by marshes, mires and pools until polderisation took place and these turned into farmland. So, imagine the cathedral as it is now, but rising from the marshes and fens, it must have seemed miraculous.

The cathedral as an unusual feature, the Octagon or Lantern, which relaced a tower that collapsed possibly as part of the construction of the Lady Chapel.

How something so large just seems to sit on the roof, and has done so for some 600 years is a wonder, and testament to the work of the builders and the used of the supporting columns and arches that hold and spreads the weight.

I have over two hours to kill before the cathedral opens, so watch trains coming and going for half an hour or so. Good as Ely is the junction of lines north, south, east and west, and then some, so a good mix of traction and liveries. And then the passing freight train en route to Felixstowe too.

Trains to Cambridge are packed, and cycles not allowed during the rush hour, so good to watch people squeeze on, content for me that all I have to worry about is where to get breakfast.

I walk out of the station, down through the car park and seeing the cathedral about half a mile away, up the hill, I set off.

Signs lead along a typical Fenland town street, plan, if not downright ugly houses and dirty boarded up shops and takeaways, before walking left and beside the car park, up a fairly steep path and out through what might have been the arch of a coaching inn, and out onto the main street.

I tried to find a place for breakfast, but the only café I found was an hour from opening, and they were just setting the chairs and tables outside. So it was a Costa Coffee, a huge vat of Americano, along with a sausage bap, microwaved, but good enough.

I took my time and people watched, so that by the time i left I had just half an hour to wait.

The twin west towers and the lantern rise above the roofs of the town, so drew me ever closer like a moth to a flame. I approached the cathedral gate along a cobbled alleyway, then into the grounds, a large grassed area with shaded seating, at least at that time of day, to ponder and admire the scene.

I was first in the west door at half nine, waiting to pay my entrance and then get out and take shots. There is a tour up to the lantern, 175 steps, which on such a hot day didn't seem like a good idea, so I bailed. But we shall return.

I go around with the 50mm on my camera, and soon even in the coolness of the Nave, I was getting hot, and needed to take five minutes here and there to try to cool down and mop my brow.

The Lantern dominates everything, or course, and on the Transept in front of the Quire, and altar the size and shape of the Lantern above sits on a wooden platform.

Above there is the pained wooden roof of the Nave, and in each Transept wooden ceilings are flanked by a hoard of angels and attendants. All highly painted.

I switched to the big lens, to get details of the windows and carvings, so that by eleven or so, I was very hot and bothered.

So, back outside, on the hunt for a taxi to take me the short drive to the station. I asked one driver packed up, so he advised me to go past The Lamb, turn right and past The Hereward there's the rank.

So I follows his direction, see taxis up ahead, but seeing people with pints of ice cold beer inside, I go in and treat myself to a pint of Amstel.

It was cold and wet.

But when I came out, the rank was empty, but there was an office nearby, and they got a car to come, driven by a friendly guy who took me down past the cathedral, down the hill to the station.

For a fiver.

There was a Thameslink train waiting, wasn't due to leave, but has 12 air conditioned carriages, so I got on one near the front and took a seat to ait, and from there I cold still watch trains coming and going on the other two platforms.

The train moved off on time, and only stopped at Cambridge North to pick up a few passengers, and Cambridge to pick up a lot. It was certainly full of life with two families of Indian, three mothers with six children between them, and the age old struggle of how to keep them entertained.

The Class 700 Thameslinks are infamous for their hard seating. Which is true, but under each seat there is a supporting strut which reduces footroom and caused my knee to complain for the rest of the day.

Non-stop into King's Cross, and over the road I found I had missed a Dover train by ten minutes, so had 50 minutes to kill, so into M&S to do some shopping, get bread for dinner, then into the 'Spoons next door for yet more old beer.

I go up onto the platform to wait for the train to pull in, and get talking to two ladies from or near Leeds who were cycling the southern part of Cycling Route 1 from Dover to Felixstowe.

I confirmed for them the climb out of Dover to the National Trust place was indeed, one heck of a climb.

So, onto the train and a quick hour back under London, through the southern Essex badlands and into Kent to Dover where I had arranged a taxi to take me home.

AJ appeared interested in me photographing churches, and so the trip went quickly, and he insisted on dropping me at the door rather than on Station Road, as it was "too dangerous".

A short walk home where Mulder and Scully were waiting for dinner, it was four after all.

I prepared Caprese, sliced the bread and made sure there was some fizz chilling, so that when Jools got home we could eat well. Her journey home was made difficult by a crash on Townwall Street, and then all other roads around it quickly jammed.

There could have been football to watch, but needing a shower and being footsore meant I went to bed instead, though couldn't sleep.

Return of the Ghost

So, after fifteen years, the Ghost Orchid has reappeared.

A friend of mine, Richard, posted yesterday on Twitter, along with a picture of the single spike.

Richard has been an orchidist for three decades, and moments like that when you find something rare or special makes all the fruitless hunts worthwhile.

That is why we go back to the same sites year after year after year. On the offchance that that one time you'll find it, the Holy Grail.

And that's what Richard found.

I have another friend who goes to the the last known site for the plant for two weeks searching every year. And he's been doing that for at least a decade. That he hasn't found it yet isn't for the wont of trying.

Much speculation of what conditions is best for the species, and so it seems the very damp winter and spring is just what it needed to make an appearance.

We will look again this weekend near to us, any maybe we'll get lucky too.

Monday 12th August 2024

No one goes to Norfolk by accident. I means its not on the way to anywhere else, so those who come, we must assume, want to go there either to visit of live. And in Kings Lynn, out in the bandit country of west Norfolk, you really only come here because you're going to Kings Lynn, or gong on to Hunstanton or trying to escape via the A17.

I was posted to RAF Marham at the beginning of the 90s for two years, though before getting married we used to go to The Globe and other such delights, the finer points of its trading past were somewhat lost on me.

So, a long held plan was to revisit, so when Jools suggested I go away for a few days, King's Lynn was the answer.

The answer to the question nobody asked.

I found a cheap place to stay, paid, and so come Tuesday morning, after coffee and packing, Jools dropped me off at Dover Priory, where I found that they only sell "anytime" returns at that hour, and the £88 return I saw online the night before was going to be that amount for just the single to get me there.

Sigh.

I paid, and hoped I could get something cheap on the way back on Wednesday, though I was seeing how I could use this to factor in a stop off in Ely on the way back.

I took a seat once the train pulled in, and a working couple, colleagues at Saga, sat opposite, and she began talking about how undervalued she was there, and how people were not promoted on merit, and then they left, the company had to pay double to get someone to take over those tasks.

Such a familiar story.

Anyway, the train wasn't full, so all very pleasant, and just a walk over the road to King's Cross, so time to go to M&S for something for breakfast, then ambled over only to find I had just 90 seconds to gallop over the platform 9 to get the train, which was three quarters full.

The young lady in the seat in front took an hour to re-apply her make up using the phone camera as a mirror. I don't know, but it that normal amount of time to achieve the "natural" look?

I don't know.

I ate my fruit and pastrami sandwich to follow, eating as the countryside rolled by, happy in my air-conditioned chariot.

Through Cambridge, where most passengers got off, and off into the fens beyond and north, where once upon a time this was endless mires, marshes and stagnant pools, where the Isle of Ely, once an actual island, is visible for ten miles before arriving,

Tomorrow, I thought, I'll explore the Isle of Eels once again.

The train eased out and after the junction with lines leading north west and east, we headed north to Downham Market and King's Lynn beyond.

A family got on at one of the small intermediate stations, two older parents to a hyper ten year old boy who wanted everything, but out here in the wild west, there was no signal, phones could not be pared, so there was just looking out the window at the flat line of the horizon and the drainage sewers and sluices.

We arrived in King's Lynn just before eleven, and the heat hit like it did when I worked in Vegas. I walked out of the station, over the main road, the family following me as the father tried to cope with two suitcases, their son and a cowardly small dog, stopping every ten yards to collect everything that had been dropped.

They had to get to the bus station to go on to Hunstanton or some other glittering resort dotted with casinos and pleasure beaches.

Their bus was in, waiting.

I walked on.

I walked through a shopping centre exotically called "The Vancouver Centre". I couldn't see nothing in common, but who knows?

I walked through and along the main street to a junction, where I felt I should sit down and have a swig of the remaining pop I had. I was outside the King's Lynn branch of Wimpy.

Wimpy, a British fast food chain based on at table slow food, named after a character in Popeye, so of course King's Lynn had a huge branch.

There were signs to the historical quarter, so after a while I set off, heading for the Purfleet Sluice and the Customs House.

Did I mention it was hot?

I got shots, then walked on to the quayside, where candy-coloured buoys were lined up for their next duty, and behind the quay, a warren of cobbled lanes with brick houses and courtyards and warehouses, showing how prosperous the town clearly once was.

A lady saw me taking shots and made sure I came to her private yard to see the large, church-like tower built to keep an eye on incoming ships.

It was getting hotter.

I walked down the quay, then into Saturday Market Place where there is a market on Saturdays. One side is lines with the Guildhall and the other the Minster church.

I took shots of the Guildhall, and it being half midday, went in search of food and drink, and came upon Wenns Chop and Ale House, where I asked if they had cold bears (beers). They did.

I ordered a pint of Coke and burger and fries.

The place was quiet, but efficient, with enough staff to fill glasses and bring sauces.

I eat up but order another half pint of coke to build fluids up, then after paying walk over to the Minster to take shots, before an organ recital meant children and photographers made their escape. Not that I don't like organ music, church organ music, but this had a shrillness to it, that wasn't altogether pleasant.

It was then I received the call.

The room where I was booked into, had a flooded toilet and so I would not be able use it, so there was nowhere to stay. Something was mentioned about a refund, but I was in town, there was a music festival on and almost no rooms.

I tried a hotel portal, got a room for eighty quid, like I had a choice, then repaired to a pub for some more cold beer.

I watched the Hundred cricket as I drank, and people watched a family as they tried to claim control over their finances after falling out with a son who had messed up their mail be redirecting it, or something.

So calls were made between pints, games of pool and going outside for a gasper.

I drank on, and the cricket carried on.

I had three pints of ice cold German beer. It was wet and cold, which is all that mattered as the hottest part of the day blazed down outside.

It was five, so I had better find my room for the night. Now, here's the thing with these hotel portals: you don't know if its an hotel or just a room in a house.

This was a room in a house.

And it was a 15 minute walk, but in temperatures of 33 degrees back round to the station and then on a bit, and I had to check the address twice as I walked past it three times.

I had been texted a code to get in, and a code for my room on the top floor.

So far so good.

The room as in a converted attic, a foot from hundreds of tiles that had been baking all day in the sun. It was like an oven.

I should have gone to the station and went home, but using the desk fan, I cooled down, though any time away from the bed and the fan meant I was sweating like a waterfall in a couple of minutes.

I hoped it would cool down. I had a shower in the bathroom one floor down, went back up and was as hot and sweaty as before in ten minutes.

There was water to drink, and I wasn't hungry, so I whiled away the evening until dusk, when I collapsed on the bed and facing into the full force of the fan, fell asleep.