Photographs for week ending 14 December 2014

Here is another variety of photographs I've published this week through my Facebook and Twitter accounts.

On Saturday 6th December there was a steam engine day trip to Lincoln to coincide with the city's Christmas Market. The locomotive was the Union of South Africa. I managed to get a few reasonable snaps as the train was entering our village of Heighington rail-space. I was caught unawares slightly by its speed: it was really motoring – or should that be training – as you can see by the horizontal steam trail.

In the previous week's gallery I showed you Mr Blackbird in our crab-apple tree: this week to maintain equality of the sexes it is the turn of Mrs Blackbird.

This view was taken during my recent nostalgia visit to my childhood home-town. Folkestone's inner harbour on 21st November 2014; a leaden and dispiriting morning. Can you spot the Martello Tower?

I've been trying to get an image that I believe portrays the concept of the bird and its habitat for the Woodpidgeon – I think this might just do it justice.

For this I like the title of 'Time for Thought'.

Sea-fishing on a grey, damp, misty, windy November morning, at 09:30 hrs. on the exposed Hythe beach. The grey-green sea looks arctic and aggressive. Surely they cannot find it an enjoyable experience?

This is a case of view one get one extra because I can't decide which is the better image. Which do you prefer?

I have shown you Mrs. B and then followed on with Woodie so today here they are together.

© Elliot Sampford

Photograph Gallery for two week period ending 30 November 2014

As the title states this entry covers a two week period rather than the usual single week. I was away from my home base for four days during the first week and did not have access to a secure Wifi network so I didn't have a daily photograph post on social media for that time.

Here are the ten photographs that I did manage to upload in chronological order.

Our resident Robin resting.

Abandoned construction takes on its own beauty at sunset.

I'm sure Woodie isn't singing this as an act of religious hatred

What a desolate, depressing sight: Folkestone Leas Promenade bandstand on a cold, cloudy and damp November morning. Even the clock has stopped: I took the photograph at 10:07 am.

An example of 'Au Naturel' fitness.

Autumnal berries - a valuable food source for wildlife.

I wonder if it liked standing there so it could look as its own reflection and admire itself.

I thought I would title this 'Do Not Disturb' – but it had to be on Saturday by cars bringing children to football practice on the village playing field.

Do Not Disturb

Wouldn't it have been easier to eat the fat ball at the top? I hope it can get its food to go up!

Don't forget you can click on any photograph to see an enlargement.

© Elliot Sampford

Lost Friend Found.

During the morning of Sunday 9th February 2014 I answered a telephone call and heard “Hello Elliot it's Phil Barling”.

That's nothing special you are possibly thinking – but it is. It was over forty years ago that I last spoke to him.

He and I were friends at our secondary school and after I moved to Stelling Minnis in Kent, his home village, in 1964 our friendship grew stronger. I enlisted into the army in October 1967. I think I last saw him in early 1968. I've often wondered what he might have been doing since I left.

In the summer of 2010 I made a return trip to the area to see if he was still living in the bungalow next to the local shop. The only information I obtained – wrong as it now turns out – was that he had moved to Folkestone, my early childhood town. I used the internet to try to locate him. I Googled his name along with 'Folkestone' – but no joy. I tried 'friendsreunited.co.uk', in particular our old school of Brockhill in Saltwood, Kent – but no joy.

In November 2013 I came across the Stelling Minnis Village Website and the Parish Magazine. I wrote to the Editor in the hope that through the website or the magazine I might obtain details of Phil's whereabouts. My letter, entitled 'Can you help' was published in the January 2014 issue.

On the 20th January I received an email from a lady called Evelyn Simpson: “Have you managed to track down Phil Barling? I used to play with Phil’s sister, Jill in the mid 60’s, and I may be able to track his whereabouts through her daughter.” I confirmed I needed her help.

On the 30th January, Evelyn wrote to me again giving me Phil's email address, which she had obtained from his niece.

I wrote to him on the 1st February: “...I thought it could be good to be in contact and reminisce about those times [our teenage years up to October 1967] and what our lives have been since then. I started to draft a long email about my past but decided I wouldn't send it, at this time, because you may not be interested. It would be good to hear from you, but can understand if you choose not to reply.”

One week passed and I hadn't received a reply. I began to assume that as I had been the one to break up our friendship he didn't want to get back in contact.

His telephone call on Sunday 9th February proved me wrong. It was fantastic to speak to him. We chatted for forty minutes as if it had only been forty weeks – not forty years – since we'd talked. It won't be the last time.

I've already expressed my thanks direct to Nick Smith of the Stelling Minnis Parish Magazine, and the good-hearted Evelyn Simpson. However, I want to thank them publicly; for without their assistance I would still be searching for a long-lost friend.

© Elliot Sampford 2014

Orihuela Costa to Heighington

The suitcases, five to be precise, and an assortment of other bags and packages were stored in our faithful Hyundai Getz. 'Operation Hibernation' was complete with the result of our Spanish home resting in a semi-comatose state until our return in the New Year. Our departure at 08:08 hrs. on Thursday 10^th November was the beginning of our three day journey to the United Kingdom. As usual on such excursions we normally have two nights stopovers in France.

Our target destination for Thursday night was the Ibis Hotel in Beziers. We have stopped there before as it is one of our three choices of hotels for first night accommodation in France; the other two being Perpignan and Narbonne. The days travelling went as planned, with us stopping, as usual on this route, for coffee at the services on the A7 Valencia ring-road, lunch at the L' Hospitalet services on the AP7, and afternoon tea at La Jonquera, before the final stage to Beziers, arriving at the hotel at 18:25 hrs. We always call into the gasolinera at La Jonquera, on the Spain/France border, to fill up the petrol tank with sin plomo 95 before entering France. The price increase of a litre of fuel from Spain to France is enormous. We paid €1.334 p/litre and then noted that just 20 kilometres into France the price was €1.625 p/litre. The saving we made by filling up in Spain paid for our afternoon tea!

The aim of our travel on day two is to get to within approximately three hours driving of 'Le tunnel sous la Manche' at Coquelles, Calais. This trip we decided, in consultation with Satnavratilova, to go the eastern route via Montpellier, Nimes, Lyon, Dijon, and Troyes, with our overnight stop at Reims in the Ibis Tinqueux. Having stopped for our three break periods during the day we arrived at 17:45 hrs.

Saturday the 12^th November, the third day, saw our arrival in the UK. An early start at 07:30 hrs. was needed to arrive at the Channel Tunnel in time to catch our pre-booked train. We couldn't afford to miss that one as we had a busy schedule to deal with in the afternoon. Our satisfaction at reaching the terminal in good time was soon reduced when we read the notice, as we waited to register our arrival and pass through the French and British passport control, “Due to a stopped train in the tunnel there is a delay on some departure times”. With all the administration procedures completed, including the printing of our train allocation alphabetical ticket displaying the letter 'H', we proceeded to the terminal building to await to be called to board the 'H' train at some unknown time. But as luck would have it; no sooner had we purchased our latte coffees than the announcement we hoped for was displayed on the notice screens. Our train was to depart on the scheduled time with those travellers delayed from the 'F' and 'G' trains joining us. The thought came to mind, what if three into one won't go! A second thought came into mind. If a power failure was the cause of the delays, what if it happened again when we were in the tunnel.

The what ifs didn't happen and we arrived at the Folkestone terminal on time at 10:55 hrs.

Our next objective was to be at Heighington, near Lincoln, at 15:30 hrs. to check out our outgoing tenant from our future UK base home. The two major hurdles that had to be negotiated as we drove north were the Dartford Crossing and the M25.

The approaches to the Dartford toll booths were surprisingly clear. We chose a non-change lane and as we approached the urinal coin collector Natalie made sure she had the £1.50 toll ready and practised her throwing action. Window down, we crept towards the receptor at a steady very slow speed, she took aim and threw the two coins in with some force, both of us looking for the red stop light to change to green before we reached it, to confirm receipt of the correct fee. Why wasn't it changing? Had Natalie thrown the two coins with such force that they were still going round the urinal like two motorcyclists riding the wall of death, or like two balls bouncing round a roulette wheel, seemingly determined not to fall to the bottom of the shoot to be counted. At last we had green.

Our short journey on the M25 from the tunnel to the M11 was bliss. In fact I had difficulty in not getting too excited and keeping below the 50 mph limit through the variable speed control section.

We arrived at Heighington on time and within twenty minutes the check-out was completed satisfactorily and the tenant had departed. As we are refurbishing the house before we furnish it we then moved on to our holiday rental cottage for three weeks as we were due there for 16:30 hrs. A quick unload of the car and then off to Sainsburys in Lincoln for provisions, returning to the cottage at 19:10 hrs. Having been on the move for nearly thirteen hours we had completed all our aims for the day. If you are thinking my calculation of the total time is wrong don't forget we put our watches back one hour when we entered the UK.

When we finally got to bed and turned the lights out I thought "What a day this has been"!

CoLJ 15 - A Day's Driving Not to be Forgotten!

We, Natalie and I, left The Conifers, our final holiday cottage on this trip, on Saturday 3^rd September for the drive through Southern England, France and Spain, in our trusty 2007 Hyundai Getz, and arrived home, in Orihuela Costa, on Monday 5^th September. The second and third days driving went without any problems and on schedule, cruising the motorways south through Europe. The same cannot be said for day one, which was predominantly in England, with a little section in Northern France to get from the Channel Tunnel to the south western suburbs of Paris.

Our aim was to get to our hotel for the first night at 20:00 hrs. including stopping 30 minutes for morning coffee, 60 minutes for lunch, 35 minutes through the tunnel, and a further 30 for afternoon tea. A stress free day was the plan.

It all started to go wrong after just an hour into our driving when we were delayed for a half an hour near Stamford in Lincolnshire by the multitude of vehicles clogging the A1, trying to enter the Burghley Horse Trials. The drivers didn't seem to understand the instruction “For Burghley keep in left-hand lane”.Once past this problem the traffic began to flow freely; that is until ten minutes later when we reached the beginning of the A1M section near Peterborough.

The motorway section was completely closed in both directions. Having taken 20 minutes to exit the slip road, as directed by the diversion signs, there was a distinct lack of any more assistance from the highways authority as to which way to go to continue south towards the A14 and M11, our route for the morning. It seemed to be a case of 'we've got you off the motorway – now you are on your own'. At first SatNavratilova was of no use either as she kept insisting on directing us towards the closed A1M. Out came the historical road map from the boot of the car, below the suitcases of course, a diversion route was determined, and we proceeded for some considerable amount of time along countryside A and B roads until we rejoined our initial route. Having put up with SatNavratilova telling me she was “recalculating” for some 15 minutes she eventually agreed with my old fashioned planned route and decided to take over the navigation again.

By the time we joined the A14, had had a very quick toilet break at some services, well can't ask a lady to go behind a hedge, we had lost almost two hours of our time. Never-the-less she, who doesn't like to have to recalculate, was telling us that we could still, if we didn't have any rest breaks, just make the channel tunnel before the departure gate closed at 14:12 hrs. and catch our planned for train departure at 14:42 hrs. When we left the M11 and joined the clockwise carriageway of the M25, heading towards the Dartford Crossing she was still confident, with our arrival time of 13:55 hrs. glowing in the bottom right-hand corner of her screen.

Having negotiated the many slip lanes to get into the flow of traffic, I was feeling confident, thinking to myself that the traffic on the dreaded M25 was flowing quite well and did the road really deserve its bad reputation on everyday. This was a Murray Walker 'Murrayism' moment. A few nano-seconds later Sally Traffic's week-end colleague announced on BBC radio 2 that traffic proceeding clockwise on the M25 in the region of the Dartford Crossing was not! There were delays of 45 minutes being experienced. It was an interesting time watching the lane swappers in their unsuccessful attempts to regain seconds of their time.

Eventually we had crossed the Thames over the impressive Queen Elizabeth 11 bridge, Natalie had accurately thrown our £1.50p toll fee into the urinal lookalike chute, to catch the pennies, at the toll booth, and we were heading for Folkestone our gateway to France, and freedom on the motorways. Of course there was just one problem. Our train would be halfway through the Channel Tunnel without us when we were now scheduled to arrive at the terminal!

As we neared the slip road from the M20 into the tunnel terminal I once more glanced a look at the fuel gauge which was registering that the tank was approaching only a quarter capacity left. Remembering the extortionate price of unleaded, sans plomo 95, sin plomo 95 petrol in France, and that there is not a petrol station on the entrance to the tunnel, because Euro tunnel prefer vehicles not to have a full tank of fuel on the trains, I decided to take 10 minutes to divert and call into the local Tesco garage to top up with fuel at the best possible prices. A saving of approximately £4.00p on 30 litres was worth a diversion of less than 3 miles. Time didn't matter as much now as we were already late. Mission accomplished we arrived at the check-in booths 1 hour and fifty minutes later than planned, having had no lunch, and only 7 minutes before our pre-booked train was to arrive in Calais.

Arriving at the deserted booths, and selecting one with the ticket dispenser on the left of the car, so much easier for a left-hand drive, I input our reservation number. I was asked to confirm I was me via the console touch screen, which after checking myself in the internal mirror, I did. I was then informed that we had missed our train! As if we hadn't realized! As I pointed out to the inanimate touch screen, in a polite verbal manner of voice, I knew this fact, true to its advertised policy this wonderful computerised component offered a new selection of alternative train departures to choose from. We chose the train just one hour after our original reservation. At no extra cost. Take note Ryan Air of good customer service.

So, after all the problems of the journey to the Folkestone terminal we would arrive in France just one hour late. The rest of the day's, sunny early evening, travel on the French motorways and the Paris Western and Southern Périphérique to our hotel would be easy! There wouldn't be any need to stop for petrol, and as we ate our late packed lunch whilst travelling through the tunnel, there wouldn't be any need to stop for tea. We could be at the evening hotel by 20.30 hrs. just 30 minutes later than planned; so I thought!

Two hours of easy driving on a motorway and we began to notice the ash grey clouds building ahead of us. A quarter of an hour further they had changed to battleship grey with hints of lightning flashing across the sky. Five minutes later the clouds are a dark slate grey verging on a crow black, coal black, the lightning is forking to the ground, and the heavy rain is drumming deafeningly on the roof of the car. The windscreen wipers are on at the fastest speed and not coping with clearing the water. The drains on the motorway surface are not emptying the water away quick enough. The motorway has become a canal. We passed a road sign reminding us that when it's raining the maximum speed limit drops from 130 kph. to 110 kph. I looked at the speedometer; we were travelling at 65 kph., keeping pace with the red tail lights ahead, and struggling to see where we were going. We wondered at the kamikaze captains of the speedboats in the outside lane. For an eternity, probably almost 30 minutes, we drove into the unrelenting waterfall longing for the exit from the motorway. We wondered if we would be able to read the road-signs, through the deluge, telling of the right slip road, when SatNavratilova reassured us with her instructions of “exit right in 1 kilometre” then “exit right in 500 metres” and finally “exit right”. I wasn't going to doubt or argue with her. In a minor way I was like a pilot landing his aircraft under IFR(Instrument Flight Rules) conditions. Unfortunately though she didn't see the lake on the slip road, neither did the drivers of the two vehicles in front us. As they both hit the water it was like a water main had burst through the tarmac. The 5 metre scarlet fountains either side of them visible in my headlights and the red brake lights of the cars, a warning to me.

It seemed as though the rain weakened shortly after we left the motorway, helping drastically with visibility on the roads through the Paris suburbs making it easier to follow the calm, clear instructions from SatNavratilova, leaving me only to concentrate on the black wet shiny roads, the multitude of bright traffic lights, and the erratic lane changes of the Paris drivers.

At last at 21:30 hrs. her confident voice assured us that we were “arriving at destination on right”. The hotel sign a glowing beacon of safety from the coal black wet night.

We had had a day's driving not to be forgotten and hopefully never repeated!

CoLJ 3 - Folkestone to Kingston.

The Folkestone area has memories for me, as I lived in the town and in close by Hythe for most of my primary school years. It is not the town I remember. It is not the vibrant seaside town I enjoyed living in. It is tired and run down, with much of it in a state of dereliction. The harbour area is a disgrace compared to the busy cross channel ferry port I knew. It was a disappointment when last year I decided to re-visit my old playground.

For me once again this year, as in most previous years, and like the vast majority of those arriving at the channel tunnel terminal, it is just the point of arrival into the UK and a point to be quickly left behind on the ongoing journey.

But first, as usual, I needed to call in to the local Tesco garage to fill up the petrol tank. I usually run the petrol level as low as possible approaching the tunnel in France. There is a considerable cost saving in waiting to purchase petrol until entering the UK. There is a further saving by bypassing the petrol station on the terminal and popping into the outskirts of Folkestone. A 10 minute and 2 mile diversion is worth it.

Having given SatNavratilova the address of our holiday cottage for the next two weeks, received her instructions, we turned our back on the town.

After a short distance on the M20 our journey was a cross country route through the Kent and East Sussex countryside. It was very pleasant to pass through the picturesque hamlets, villages and small towns. The intense, lush, multi hew, green foliage of the countryside being an immense contrast to that of the Costa coast of Spain. What was not pleasant though was the condition of the roads, the aggressive attitude of other drivers, and the overall driving experience. The surface of the majority of the main roads was appalling with broken patches of the driving surface and potholes. I do not remember the roadside vegetation being allowed to grow so close to the edge of the road, making it very dangerous when negotiating the many obscured twists, hidden bends and blind corners in the single carriageway roads. As bad driving habits go, the Spanish driver can learn from the British drivers we encountered. They could learn; how close a tailgating vehicle can get to another without actually touching it; how to ignore lane discipline; how to ignore road markings and overtake on blind bends. I will think again about criticising too quickly the roads and the drivers in Spain.

Never-the-less we arrived at Roman Way, Kingston safe and sound despite the efforts of the southern counties kamikaze drivers.