Monday, 5 September 2011
We all head for Diamond's on Sunday afternoon for a Ruby Murray which Diamond has cooked thinking we'd all be exhausted after Saturday's loooooong day. This will be followed by some of Diamond's famed lemon ice cream and naked strawberries. En route we happen upon the steam train waiting under the bridge at Faversham Station at the end of Faversham's Hop Festival. We pause on the bridge waiting for it to pull out of the station. Because of the sponsorship involvement of local brewery Shepherd Neame, the train is re-plated as "Spitfire" for the weekend, Spitfire being one of Sheps's beers (very nice, too, says Dad). Unfortunately as we are part-packed at home Dad can't find the box the mobile phone came in (and therefore the cable), so we can't download the pictures he took of the train (Sorry M Silverwood!). I am happy to stay on the bridge till the train, starting to move emits a loud, deep, bassy 'HHWWooomph!' Best a dog hides behind Dad's legs. I wasn't expecting that!
Today we get a nice walk all out the back of the allotments, where the rape fields have now all been harvested, the trash cut away and the soil disc-harrowed. The crumbly tilth is a lot easier to walk across than the 4 foot tall rape plants were to battle through, when you are only a small dog.
Dad must catch a train to Rainham to go pick up the car which has now had the dent put in by silver-haired-posh-bloke-at-Morrisons taken out again. Dad takes his hat off to Hidsons of Rainham for the brilliant job, well and professionally handled for no charge to him and including a thorough clean of the car outside and valet inside. Also to Citroen's own insurance company who did us proud and waived the excess when posh-bloke (at Dad's persuasion) fessed up to the dastardly deed.
A gale of wind blows up from the SW bringing a very autumnal feel to the weather, especially morning and evening. The leaves on many trees are turning colour and some are drifting down. God bless the French Windows - one gust of wind and your Dining Room is turned into a compost heap. I suppose the breeze is, though, getting the washing dry, so Dad'll be please by that. We help Dad and Angel B to pick nearly 5 lbs of damsons off our tree.
Meanwhile we're all still waiting abit frustratedly for some progress on the legal bits of selling the house. How can it take so long in these days of modern IT systems and easy access to information?