As I write there is a hint of rain in the forecast. The Met Office has the ‘odds’ at 30%, yet the sun is once again blazing on this delightful Monday morning. I say delightful but of course many of us feel a bit torn about the whole thing. I love being able to nip down to Camber Sands or Hastings whenever I can, in the knowledge the weather will be great, but unlike the smarmy opinion writers in the Telegraph or Times, you can’t help but be extremely worried about the unpredictability of British weather in the age of global warming. Flooding is quite likely to follow drought and the effects of it all won’t just be felt on food prices and farmers’ livelihoods (as if that wasn’t enough) but on our houses, gardens, trees, wildlife. You know all this.

As for Kent walks, I like the usual late August ‘tiredness’ in the countryside, the quiet, the drowsy beer-thirsty wasps and the sense of being on the cusp of change (swallows gathering their forces to head to Africa etc). But this year the aridity, the colours, the mood has hugely exaggerated that normal late August vibe. On yesterday’s cycle from Downe to Knockholt and back via Green St Green and Cudham the sombre browns, dustiness and silence were at times wonderful, at others dispiriting. I supposed it depended whether I was going downhill or not.

I’ve taken to my bike with friends and family for North Downs rides of late, creating our own breeze is rather refreshing, and put actual walking a bit on the backburner (I quite often walk alone but lately I’ve preferred company – which isn’t always available). A ride from Sevenoaks to Penshurst via Tonbridge was particularly pleasurable. But yesterday, on the escarpment, the humidity felt suffocating in the unusually cloudy conditions. After a pint of Harvey’s at that excellent boozer the Three Horseshoes in Knockholt the remainder of the ride back to Downe passed in a blur of sweat and haziness. Should have drunk more water, deffo.

Nightjars in the Ashdown Forest

A memorable outing this weekend was to the Eastbourne air display. When the tide is in the stony beaches they are excellent for a swim, with the added frisson of aerobatics by Spitfires and so on. There are some good cafes amid the glorious Victorian white stucco in the side streets too. For a free event that attracts thousands, it really does work well because there is lots of space in the town and plenty of beachfront. And just a short walk to the west is spectacular Beachy Head and beyond that, the Seven Sisters, which in the late afternoon light are utterly magical. After a delightful pint at the Tiger Inn in East Dean, just up from Birling Gap, we set off for home via the Ashdown Forest.

At Gill’s Lap (Galleon’s Lap in Winnie the Poo), one of the highest points of the heath, we parked up and took a stroll among the heather and pine clumps, visiting the Heffalump trap, Kanga’s sandy pit and the Enchanted Wood (yes, they are real places – and just to the east is Eeyore’s Gloomy Place I kid you not). In the twilight the surrounding landscape and huge views turned pink and purple; it really did feel enchanted. As we headed back to the car we were suddenly surrounded by elegant, long-winged birds of a kind I had never seen before. I knew right away they were nightjars. There were four or five of these nocturnal creatures, gliding and side-slipping so beautifully in the dusk but totally invisible after they landed in the heather. My son managed to get video footage (see below).