I took my daughter for an open day at the University of Kent in Canterbury recently. I had to lose myself for a few hours so I went to Whitstable, about seven miles away, on the coast. It was a first time for me. I’d heard a lot about the place - the bounty of independent shops on its now almost ‘time-forgotten’ high street; its shoreline; harbour; beach huts, galleries and lively pub and music scene. I couldn’t sample the pubs and ale but I had a good stroll up and down the seafront and around the harbour. Oysters are everywhere. Bucket loads. A pity that I am not remotely interested in eating them. I can’t say I don’t like the taste as I’ve never had one. It’s a culinary psychological block. They just don’t look as though they are meant to be swallowed and digested. I get that many like and love them, and would gulp them morning, noon and night instead of Weetabix and everything that follows, swilled down with a fine white Burgundy or the like. I love the shells and always pick-up a few choice ones. But the innards are not for me. They give me the gastric quivers. So, instead, it was fish and chips at the yacht club café with a cup of tea. The day started gloomy but over a few hours the flat grey gave way to blue skies and Autumn sunshine. Here are a few images that capture something of the place over a brief, few hours..
