Friday night was not the best night of the week. Everything was going

wrong at work and I was kept busy until 7pm.

Half an hour after getting home, we had a power cut.

Mine is an all electric home. No cooker, lighting or heating.

I was able to solve the lighting problem with candles, a rechargeable

flourescent lantern and a torch.

Soon after, the lantern lost it's charge, not surprising as I haven't

used it for a year.

Then I remembered I had a camping stove. I got that out and then

realised that I hadn't bothered to get a gas canister to go with it.

I didn't mind the cold food, but knowing I couldn't brew up a tea or

coffee made them all the more desirable.

By 10pm, I was contemplating bed as an alternative to conversing with

myself, but fortunately, power was restored just then.

It was off for 90 minutes altogether.

Saturday was better. Got the shopping done and then gave the flat a good

clean, ( a bit of dusting and hoovering, that's enough! ).

We then drove in to Bromley to pick up my new hi-fi system, bought 8 CDs

and set it up at home.

We listened to Mozart's violin concertos Nos 3 and 5 on it. Sheer bliss.

We just managed to book a table at the Sonargaon. It was packed out at

7pm. There must be a new chef there, because there were six new dishes

on the menu. I tried the Achari Korai. It is grilled chicken in a hot

sauce. It was served in a sizzling korai (like a miniature chinese wok)

flambed in Sambuca liquer. The waiter had never served one before and

looked thoroughly startled when it flared up. I have to say it was

delicious. Not genuine Bangladeshi cuisine, but who cares?

Sunday looked quite OK. It wasn't raining or blowing hard, so we thought

we'd go for a circular walk from Chiddingstone to Hever and back.

Chiddingstone was lovely as usual. The old pub looked really inviting

with muted red lanterns inside and a fireplace, but we ignored it and

ploughed on to Hever. The weather was just above freezing most of the

time, but there was some ice on the ground. The air was nasty though.

It was very damp and chill. The ground was sodden everywhere, but we

were prepared for it; well, we thought we were.

I like the countryside in winter. It has a beauty of it's own and a

stillness and silence you don't get in any other season.

The skeletal trees have a fineness of detail silhouetted against the

sky. Even the birds were quiet and almost completely absent, until a

microlight aircraft appeared overhead and frightened a flock of Canada

geese into the air.

The going was a bit sticky, but reasonably firm towards Hever.

We followed much of the Eden valley and crossed the Eden several times.

There must have been a coarse fishing match on, as there were dozens of

anglers along it's banks.

When we got to Hever, Louise got hungry so we stopped off at the "King

Henry VIII" pub. It is a very cosy pub, with excellent beers and wines.

The food was good too. The fresh tomato and fennel soup really was

homemade. Usually, in British pubs, "homemade" means they opened a can

and heated it up themselves. It was so relaxing and cosy we felt like

dozing off there, but we had another 2 miles(3.22km) to walk.

Opposite the pub are the Church of St Peter's and the gates of Hever

Castle, once the home of Anne Boleyn. The church dates back to the 15th

century and was part of the Boleyn family estate. The castle is open to

the public, but not in winter.

There was some ice on the ground despite the sun shining for a while.

The stretch from here was dire, to put it mildly. It was restricted

between fences most of the way and was heavily churned up by boots and

horses hooves. It was also very, very wet and slippery. The same 2 miles

in summer would take half the time. We gave up trying to keep our boots

out of the water after a while, it took too much effort. We passed

through a small, beautiful gorge of greensand rock where the path had

been worn some 10ft (3.05m) deep into the rock over the centuries.

The path got worse until we emerged onto a field. Thinking we were

walking on grass at last, we were disappointed to find it had a 2" (6cm)

layer of water on the surface. We managed to splash mud and water all

over ourselves. The last stretch was by far the worst. It was open

ploughland and uphill. My boots started to grow in size as that mud

clung desperately to them. Each step meant dragging our boots out of the

mud, which in turn, tried to suck them off our feet. It was exhausting

work and I have to admit, we looked ridiculous attempting it, but I'd do

it again, rather than sit at home watching the idiot box.

Chiddingstone, with it's church, castle and single row of Tudor cottages

was a welcome sight. Chiddingstone got it's name from a large

rock on the outskirts of the village. It was used as the village

"Chiding Stone." When a man's wife nagged him too much or failed to do

the housework, the elders would gather there and chide her before the

whole village. I try to get the village elders to come out to the stone

each year to chide Louise for her nagging, poor housekeeping duties etc,

but she gets confused and thinks it is me being chided.

I can't believe how muddy my trousers were, there was mud 6" (15cm)

above my knees. It was great soaking it all off in the bath later that

night.