The drunks were later with their shouting this morning: they started saying goodbye to their friends at 5.15am. I need to identify exactly which house they live in. I’ve found that when people have done this in the past, waking them two hours later to explain that from now on they will be continually be woken two hours after they go to bed (until the noise stops) works wonders.
‘er indoors TM was up at silly o’clock to flog candles, and so I was awake and on the Internet earlier than usual on a Sunday. Did you know that eight people had been on my blog before 6am this morning? As well as a couple of international readers, there were six hits from UK-based readers. It would seem I’m not the only one with insomnia….
After a quick bout of brekkie, I kissed goodbye to ‘er indoors TM who was off on her travels and I set off to the railway station. Braving the swarms of French student who were also going to Folkestone (for no adequately explored reason), I was met at Folkestone Central, and soon four of us were on the bus to the Valiant Sailor at the far end of Folkestone. The first stretch of the journey from Folkestone to
From here we walked on to Capel café, and sat on a pavilion on the cliff edge where we munched a sandwich and admired the views (or were terrified by the views), before heading onward. We followed the village road for a few hundred yards, and then we took the cliff path. There’s no denying this path was narrow in places, and was rather close to the cliff edge. But we managed not to fall over the edge, and I for one realised we were in one of the most scenic parts of the world. We found an old Second World War audio reflecting dish thingy, and we stopped to have a look-see, and posed for more photos. It was at this point that my mobile rang – the last member of our group had just parked his car and wondered where we were. I described our position relative to local landmarks. We both agreed where we all were, and we knew we weren’t far apart. So we all carried on walking along our respective paths, confident we would soon meet up.
We found an old army rifle range, and some ex-military buildings which are now cowsheds. And we found some old gun emplacements. My mobile rang again. Batty hadn’t met up with us. Where we we? There had been a slight confusion. Somehow I had told him that we were walking from
Being just big enough to climb into, “Daddies Little Angel TM ” flatly forbade me to climb into it.
We climbed out of the hole to see Batty in the distance, so we got our breath back, met up with him, told him how wonderful it was down below, and we all climbed back into the hole for another look-see. I say “look-see”. I actually mean “fumble in the pitch darkness”.
We then carried on along the top of the cliffs, admiring the view of Samphire Hoe, and calling in at all the disused and abandoned Second World War batteries along the way. I must admit I had a bit of a rant at this stage. It’s scandalous how much money English Heritage and the National Trust spend on some of their properties when the coast between Folkestone and
Pausing only briefly to be told off for being too close to the cliff edge, we found we had reached our destination –
By this stage, all six of us were wilting, and so we staggered down the hill into
I’ve had a really good day out with friends, I’ve learned loads, and we will be going back to investigate the tunnels in the not to distant future. If any of my loyal readers would like to come along of this expedition, please let me know….