Chidingstone Causeway, The Little Brown Jug

Tuesday 25th September        The Little Brown Jug

Rising Damp.

Walkers:4 legs,Farty,TB,Wind.

(latest update on Chris's communication problems,

The phone line is fixed,but now Brian's computer won't

talk to his router(?),and Chris's won't work at all.  Chris said

!£$%&@? hell!

 Find of the walk: We found we'd never been so wet - not with clothes on anyway

 Distance: 5 1/2 miles

 We met up at the Little Brown Jug,which reminded Wind of the Duchess of Cambridge's recent troubles where her little jugs were brown due to exposure to The Sun.

(Did you see what I did there,eh? eh?)  Wind had driven through a monsoon which had unfortunately followed her.  We stood in the pub porch deliberating as to what to

do.  When in doubt have a coffee break.  Fortunately the pub was open,so in we went.  45 minutes later the rain had stopped,so reluctantly we got under way,making

our way over Penshurst station railtrack and into the fields beyond.  Almost immediately the rain started again.  Sue and Chris were,as usual,kitted out sensibly in long rainwear,kneehigh boots,and hats.  Sue looked quite the edwardian lady in her bonnet and flowing raincoat,while Chris had more of a stylish Ned Kelly look.  The rest of us just had a drowned rat look,and we'd only been going 10 minutes.  Is this weather set to last,someone asked.  Sue said she'd heard there was going to be a lot of grey,and flashing,which sounded like inappropriate behaviour at an old folks home.  Talking of which,we soon came upon a group of oldish looking male walkers.  We stopped for a chat.  Don't you have any lady walkers,we asked.  They weren't keen apparently,and were amazed to see TB with us gals.  He deserves a medal!  He watched them wistfully as they disappeared in the opposite direction.

It was after this that we met our first cows,which,luckily for Chris,were fenced in.  They were black with lovely faces.  A mother cow was licking her calf. (Not her leg,her baby).  Disgusting habit,said Chris.  Forging on,we crossed the lovely Vexauer Bridge,which spans the River Eden.  The concrete posts at either end had carvings on top in the shape of breasts,strangely.  Probably something to do with the Normans.  Filthy French.  On we went,and arrived at Chiddingstone Village.  There now follows a brief history lesson.  Yawn.  Chiddingstone is named after the Chiding Stone,which isa large sandstone rock from which judgment was dished out to "overbearing wives"(?!).  There's no mention of overbearing husbands being judged.  Those were the days.  Apart from the church,(original bits 13th century),and the castle,the village is owned by the National Trust,and has been used as locations for films such as Room witha view,Wind in the willows,and Elizabeth R.  It was founded before William conquered.and was owned by Earl Goodwin,father of King Harold.  Nearly finished.  The Streatfeild family owned the castle from Tudor times,and in the 1800s,Henry Streatfeild,who was a big cheese in the iron industry,rebuilt the original house to look like a medieval castle,as you do.  Bit like putting stone cladding on your house.  The castle also has it's own very ornate victorian post box,which seemed to have more collections than the rest of us.  We know our place.

By now it was chucking it down.  "Look Sue", Wind said,"a cottage dated 1679!".  "Sod that",said Sue,looking at her reflection in a car window,"look at my hair!"  We were pretty bedraggled,but were determined to make it into the castle grounds.  We scurried under the cover of some trees,pausing only to help TB with his headgear.  He couldn't quite get his hood over his waterproof hat,so ended up with the hat on top of his hood,which we assured him didn't look at all silly.  After a quick nose round the castle grounds,and noticing a grave containing Ginger,the marmalade cat,(the marmalade cat was spread here,said Chris,darkly),we continued on our way,and came upon our second group of cows,which Chris bravely skirted round.  They were dairy cows,judging by the size of their udders.  There were boobs at every turn today.  We ground to halt at a deep water-filled ditch,and realised the bridge was further up,throught the herd of cows.  Idon't think so,said Chris,and she and Sue pole vaulted over using Chris's compass stick. Would have got gold in the olympics. The rest of us preferred the cow-lined route,especially those of us with vertically challenged legs.

The rain was now lashing at us from a horizontal angle,and Wind announced that even her gusset was wet,although that may not have been entirely due to the rain.  That reminds me,vast quantities of urine gushing from the cows and sheep today.  Gallons of the stuff.  It surely can't all be down to the sight of us.  Chris said she had a spare pair of her mother's incontinence pants if Wind was interested,which she could wear while her trousers dried in front of the pub fire.  We weren't sure if

that would be a very attractive look,but thought it would ensure speedy service.  We traipsed into the pub,looking,as TB put it,as if we'd shat ourselves,and gently steamed.  The food here was good,but drinks were expensive - £4.40 for a pint of lager.  The young waitress seemed bored.  "That was delicious" we exclaimed,as she cleared the dishes.  "There used to be a pattern on those plates" said Chris.  Nothing.  "You finished?" she asked.  You wanted to ask if the charm school was closed when she went,but we kept schtum.  Well,we are British. 

TB is off to his photography club tomorrow,and had some pics of the interior of a train carriage which showed rather garish upholstery.  Farty and Wind went all misty eyed,remembering the time when train seats were comfy,covered with dark blue and green velvet.  Wind remembered the district line carriages having lamps (not gas,thank you very much) and wrought iron twirly bits.  Serious memory lane stuff ensued,including recollections of trolley buses,toy bus conductor ticket machines,emptying your mum's larder to play shops,post office kits(loved the stamp)....You get the picture.  "Shall I get the bill?" said Chris,as eyes were glazing over.  You can have enough of All Our Yesterdays.  Do you remember that programme?....Enough already!

Thank you Mon,nice one.  We wait to hear about next week's venue.  Thanks for the mammaries!