Monday 16th February 2015

Sunday.

You know, I don't like to labour a point, but my gosh, I was shattered over the weekend. I guess you really don't know who crappy you were feeling until you begin to get better. And so, Jools and I slept through the cats mewing, the heating switching on, arising just in time to see the sun rise above the horizon. How glorious that was.

I got the camera.



So, with the day looking bright, what to do with it? Seeing as its February, I had seen from my friends shots, that maybe snowdrops would be out. And then the final call on our grand revisiting of the Kentish seaside resorts meant we really should go back to Whitstable. But then that means missing out on Herne Bay. One for another weekend then, perhaps.

After advice from a neighbour, we drive to Westcliffe as there 'is a waterfall of snowdrops under the church.' Over-egging it as it happened, but still nice, even though all the drops were out as they were in full sunshine. I decided that the best bet would be a dark churchyard, Waldershare maybe....



We drove up the A2 past Canterbury, then doubling back up Thanet Way to Whitstable. Being early on a Sunday morning, there were plenty of parking spaces, so we paid for three hours near the harbour, I got out my camera, and we went for a walk.

Whitstable is a popular place, especially for the smart set from London, who fancy a trip to the seaside but be able to get the comforts of Camden Town. Therefore, Whitstable is fill of small independent shops, coffee shops, art shops, coffee shops, and so on. Heck, there's even a record shop, although on a winter Sunday, it was closed.



We walked along beside the harbour, through the dozens of yachts paid up on the gravel beach, past the oyster shops, oyster bars, oyster restauarants. They do a good oyster in Whitstable apparently. Not you's catch me eating one, or pouring it down my throat anyway. Past our office beside the harbour, over where the first commercial railway terminated, and along to Squeeze Gut Alley, a very narrow passageway between rows of houses. We posed for pictures, then set off for a good cup of coffee.



At a fine place that did coffee, cakes and bottled craft beers, we order coffee and pear cake. Very nice it was too. Hmmm, cake.

The town was filling up with trendy types, so we decide to beat a retreat, driving back along the Thanet Way to Ramsgate, then down to Sandwich and onto Dover. Stopping at Waldershare, there was a carpet of dew-covered snowdrops, so I snapped them good, laying in the mud so getting my clear jeans dirty, Mum would not be impressed. At the old folks place, all were out, so having tried to do our duty, we scarpered back home for lunch, bacon butties and the last of the Marzipan Torte i bought from Dresden airport on Thursday. We like it, which means I shall buy another one this week when I go.



Oh yes, egg shasing on the TV, I lay on the sofa with Molly, and we both are snoozing back to back. Lovely.

I cook chorizo hash for dinner, and the radio burbles the last of the cup games of the weekend. Chorizo hash is so nice, so tasty, its smells fills the house with lovely smoked paprika notes. I have the other half of the red from the previous night. And what do you know, I am shattered again, so at eight in the evening, we are taking to our bed once again, as outside the fog comes down and deadens all sounds.

And that was your weekend.

Again.