Bye bye Broadstairs (for the moment).

As promised in the last post here this one is going to be quite a number of days all rolled into one, not because I am getting lazy or rushing to the end of this particular trip, which it will be but because I slipped into somewhat of a routine which probably would not interest the reader. I do, however, urge you not to skip to the next page just yet. The one thing I did manage to do was to get to see some excellent gigs and was getting confident enough with my newish camera to record some footage. This post will contain links to my YouTube page where I tend to post all my videos and I hope you enjoy them. I shall also write briefly about the one or two other things that I did but that will be brief, I promise.

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An autumnal Viking Bay.

Saturday the 19th was a pretty bleak day, not in terms of the weather was still pleasantly bright if chilly but in terms of the Rugby World Cup where Ireland still had an interest but not much hope. Having failed to beat Japan in the group stage we were destined to face the mighty All Blacks (New Zealand) who were two time defending champions and my pre-tournament pick to win. I have no complaints about the Japan result as they simply outplayed us with superb discipline, fitness levels and adherence to a clever strategy that suited them very well. Of course, losing to them meant the Blacks as everyone knew and I didn’t hold out a lot of hope. Dave had very decently opened the pub early again for the minor undercard on the bill which was England vs. Australia. OK, Poms and Aussies, I am joking – honestly.

I had arrived at the pub bang on opening time as I knew there would be good crowd for the England game which there proved to be although I bagged a good seat with a clear view of one of the big screens. One of the images above demonstrates how early I got there.

Whilst I had picked NZ to win I also thought that England stood as good a chance as they had had since they won it all those years ago. I know that might sound contradictory but they went in with a superb squad and had demolished Ireland (then ranked #1 in the world) not long before. All it would take was for them to play as they were capable of and a bit of that most elusive sporting requirement, luck, and they were in with a shout. In the event they totally dismantled Australia 40 – 16 and looked nigh on unbeatable.
Somewhere in the middle of this Dave did his usual and produced tray upon tray of tasty bacon rolls to feed the masses.

I know there is no shortage of venues to watch sporting events in Broadstairs but I do like the George. Dave runs it brilliantly and there is usually a good friendly crowd for just about any sporting event. On many occasions I have seen three different sports being watched on the various screens simultaneously.

With the first game out of the way it was on to the main event and a few people left but not many so it was still a good atmosphere. I really do not wish to dwell on it but NZ did to us what England had done to the Aussies and we were turned over 46 – 14. I expected to lose but it was the manner of the defeat that rankled. We just did not turn up and you cannot do that against the All Blacks. Ah well, I certainly did not expect us to win it despite the world rankings which I have little faith in anyway. The images above tell the story of the day really.

Sunday 20th and it was back to the pub early for the other two rugby matches. In the first, Wales scraped a one point win over France and were lucky to do so  with French indiscipline gtelling again.  Sebastien Vahaamahina was sent off for a nasty elbowing offence which effectively ended his career early as he at least had the decency to retire early shortly thereafter.  As always, there were breakfast rolls for all before South Africa basically bullied a gallant Japan into a 26- 3 result. Japan had impressed me greatly and also others who actually know something about the game. Even allowing for home advantage they punched well above their weight and must be considered for inclusion in the Southern hemisphere main competition of Australia, NZ, RSA and Argentina but I cannot see the Old Boys network allowing it as they do not want the very lucrative pie sliced up five ways instead of four.

The three images I want to share with you here are nothing to do with the rugby but serve to illustrate various points.

The first is not to showcase the Victorian promenade shelters, attractive as they are, but to show you two of the ever-increasing street sleepers / beggars that seem to be in ever greater numbers every time I visit the town. The second shows the mess in Victoria Gardens after the mini hurricane during the Food Festival which I mentioned in another post. The third is included primarily because I rather like these attractive houses in Wrotham Road but also to show you what is happening in Thanet as these dwellings are relatively new and there are plenty more springing up. There was another new development in Alexandra Road under construction since my last visit.

Nothing until the Wednesday when it was Folk Club night again in the Tartar Frigate which I go to sometimes and am always made very welcome, probably because I know just bout everyone there. Here are a couple of images to give you an idea.

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This used to be a Post Office.

Only one image for Thursday the 24th October whilst coming back from my Beano’s “breakfast” at 1400 and it once again shows what is happening in smaller communities in UK. This building, until recently was the Post Office for the town but that function has now been devolved to retail premises although they do retain the rear of the premises as a sorting office. I think it is disgraceful.

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Folk week commemorative marker.

Not much on the Friday except that I finally got round to taking images of a couple of things I had been meaning to for ages as I knew I had only a few days left. The first is the rather wonderful sign commemorating 50 years of Folk Week in 2015, the Festival is nearly as old as me! The piece was made by Mark Howe of Broadstairs Metal Craft and I think it is very well done. Hopefully both it and the Festival will still be in place for the centenary although I doubt I shall be around to see it!

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Memorial plaque to Ted Heath.

The second is of a plaque on the side wall of the Sailing Club commemorating it’s most famous member, the former Prime Minister Sir Edward (Ted) Heath who I have mentioned before in these posts.

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Jez Hellard and the Djukella Orchestra in the Wrotham.

The final image is of Jez Hellard and the Djukella Orchestra who played in the Wrotham that night. These guys are regularly booked for Folk Week although I had never seen them. To be honest, I do not get to see too many acts as I am usually too busy making a noise myself. somewhere. Once again Jackie had booked well and they were yet another of the excellent acts I saw in the pub, I really cannot speak highly enough of either her or the Wrotham generally. As promised at the start of this piece you can check out some clips of the band on my Youtube channel here, here, here and here.   Four videos, I am spoiling you, dear readers.  Of course the added bonus was that I only had to wander upstairs to my bed again but not too late as I had an early start on the Saturday.

Saturday was rugby day again and so I was up with the lark and off to the George once again. I knew I needed to be early as it was the first semi-final with England taking on New Zealand so one of my hunches about the eventual winner was going to come a cropper. As you might imagine, the place was packed to the rafters although again I had a good seat (and the obligatory decent breakfast offerings from Dave) to watch an excellent game. England turned over the much-fancied All Blacks 19 – 7 and played extremely well. I knew they were good but I did not expect them to win as impressively as they did nor restrict the Antipodean side to a mere seven points. Needless to say it developed into a bit of a party helped along the way by the usual football offerings on TV. I had a reasonably quiet evening and headed to bed early as I knew the next day was to be another early rugby start.

Up on Sunday and straight to a much quieter George Inn for Wales vs. South Africa in what promised to be a good game and certainly lived up to the billing. There were a few Welsh supporters in but it was by no means busy. I knew it had been a bit lively in there on the previous night so perhaps there were a few delicate heads and stomachs being nursed at home. Another 0900 kick off may just have been a step too far despite the extra hour in bed afforded by the change from BST to GMT. As I expected, RSA depended on the sheer physicality of their monstrous pack and edged a narrow 19 – 16 victory to set up a final against England the next Saturday. I was looking forward to that although I knew I was going to be watching it many many miles from the George.

I was leaving on the Monday which, even allowing for my hospital sojourn, is earlier than I normally go. I usually hang around until a day or two before Remembrance Sunday as I like to attend the Act of Remembrance in central London but before that I had another little jaunt to undertake.

You may remember my mate Paul from these posts, he is the banjo player I had played Folk Week with. He and his lovely wife Sue live in Newcastle in the Northeast of England and for years I had been promising to go up and visit him and “play a few tunes” as we refer to it. Whilst I had been in Broadstairs he had been messaging me from his hotel in Crete asking me to come up in early November. I couldn’t help but think how much things have changed in my lifetime. I remember a time when computers took up a warehouse and a mobile (cell) ‘phone was science fiction and yet he was sending me instant messages from over two thousand miles away arranging gigs a mere 350 miles away. There was a gig on the Tuesday night so my plan was to get an evening train to London on the Monday after saying my farewells and then a quick turnaround and on another train North on Tuesday lunchtime but all that is for future posts.

For now I still had one last treat in store, the Sunday early evening gig in the Wrotham which I was looking forward to as it was Snake Oil Trading Company which includes my mates Griff and Brian who I have mentioned often here before. They are the two sound engineers / multi-instrumentalists that seem to rig just about every gig in Thanet that my other mate Chris doesn’t put together. I reckon Broadstairs must have more soundmen per capita than anywhere else in the UK and they can even make me sound marginally less awful than I usually do! The other two members of the group are Ray on guitar and vocals and Jacks on drums / percussion and vocals. They perform what is known these days as Americana and they do it very well as I hope the clip shows.

During the interval my mate Nigel Feist  and Ben Mills  got up and did a couple of numbers which was a commendable effort as they were both still hanging out rather following Nigel’s birthday party the night before.  Nigel is an excellent blues harp player whom I have known for years and Ben is quite a celebrity around Thanet following his getting into the finals of a national TV talent show a few years ago.  In a perhaps unusual choice of number they did a rather bluesy version of “Ode to Billie Jo” by Bobbie Gentry which I rather liked and which you can see here.

It was great fun, well attended and I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially heckling the band (in a friendly manner obviously). Another quiet evening in the pub with a few great friends completed the day before retiring to my comfy room for the last time this trip. I felt quite sad about that.

Monday morning and a beginning and an end. The beginning of a new week which was hopefully going to end miles away and the end of another Broadstairs trip which had proved to be memorable for all sorts of reasons.

Just a few random images of the day here, firstly the William Hill bookmakers which had closed down when I was here and mirrors the fate of it’s sister shop not three hundred yards from my home. I was told that the rise of online gambling and new regulations on gaming machines where people could lose ludicrous amounts of money in a very short period of time, were making them no longer viable for the operators. Apparently they had all opened up huge numbers of outlets a few years ago where betting on sports events was the least part of the business, all the money was coming from the machines. Now this is no longer possible they are just closing them all down again. It is no loss to me as I find gambling the height of stupidity, I do not even buy lottery ticket.

The second image is of the pier, a view I must have literally hundreds of images of but. like the Royal Harbour in Ramsgate, I can never get enough and it serves to show that even at the end of October there were still people enjoying the Viking Bay beach. The final image is of my “last supper” in town, delivered to the pub as usual and delicious as usual. There had been a few farewells during the day and I still had one more lot to do so I headed off back to the Wrotham.

When I got back, the “choir” were in full flow. They are not a proper choir but rather a group of people who get together to sing, accompanied by two guitars, and with the emphasis very much on harmonies. They do stop and work these out so I do not know if the ultimate aim is to perform live or whether indeed they already have. It certainly seemed much more like a rehearsal / workshop than a singaround and it was rather an appropriate finish to my stay. I was half-tempted to break out the guitar which I had sitting beside me but I had a train to catch which I did in good time as the image below shows.

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On the move again.

It would be tempting to say I was thinking about things in general on the train and were I a cinematographer it would be great, interspersing “flashbacks” with my reflection in the window of a speeding train with lights flashing but it didn’t happen that way. Yes, there was the general deflation I always feel leaving Broadstairs but I spent my time reading my book and dozing on the mercifully empty train. The introspection had been taking place before I left and much more since, especially whilst reliving it all here.
It had been an even more eventful trip than usual on my annual pilgrimage to the Folk Week and there have been some pretty eventful times there in the past. It had reminded me of my own mortality and approaching official “old” status not that I was ever living in a state of ignorance (blissful or otherwise) of either and caused a fairly serious lifestyle change as a result. I am very pleased I “quit” smoking to the extent I did. Apart from anything else it is saving me a fortune in tandem with the new drinking regime which I am still not particularly fond of snd doubt I ever will be. What is it they say about never missing your water till the well runs dry?

I always knew I had a lot of friends in and around Broadstairs but this really drove the message home. The amount of support and concern I received both amazed and humbled me. Cliched as it is, the people involved are too numerous to mention but they know who they are and some of them actually read this nonsense so my heartfelt thanks to them all.

I got to see the National Health Service “up close and personal” and I have to say that for all the much publicised failures that the media revel in, my experience was 100% positive. Again, I believe one or two of the people in the QEQM read this and so more heartfelt thanks are in order. You are lifesavers, literally, and you should be immensely proud of what you do. Heaven knows, you can’t be in it for the money!

As for the Festival itself, yes, there were a few problems this year, many of them climatic but there is nothing you can do about that, it is just the British “summer”. The other issues will undoubtedly resolve themselves to a greater or lesser degree but the enthusiasm for Folk Week seems to be undiminished by those present. The standard of musicianship (not to mention dancing, poetry, juggling and a host of other artistic activities) seems to be as high as ever and yet further thanks to everyone who put up with me making a noise alongside them both during the event itself and subsequently.
I could really go on and on here but I’ll rein it in as it will become terminally boring for the reader but back when I started this blog I did say that I was going to be completely honest in it and that is what you are getting here, folks.

Now that I have got my thoughts on life, the Universe and everything (to quote the late Douglas Adams) out of the way you’ll be glad to know there is more travel in the next post which is presumably why you dropped in here in the first place so stay tuned and spread the word.

A “major trek” from Broadstairs to Margate.

In the last post I promised the reader that I would be going for a walk but I shall very briefly deal with Monday 14th October and it will be brief, believe me. The whole day is best summed up in the images above which show my usual excellent breakfast in the Royal Victoria Pavilion, a murky Ramsgate beach in the early afternoon and the full-bore rainstorm that had settled over Broadstairs by early evening and did not let up. I am a fairly hardy soul but it really was too dismal to consider doing anything of note and so we shall pass quickly on.

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A (not so long-distance) footpath.

A few posts ago I teased you with the image that heads this page and promised a full explanation in due course, so here it is.
For many years I had seen signposts like this round Broadstairs and never even bothered to enquire what T&D stood for. When I eventually did, I was informed that it was Turner and Dickens although many locals do not even know this as you shall see. T is the famous artist JMW Turner and D the equally famous novelist Charles Dickens. The former had a strong association with Margate and the latter with Broadstairs to the extent they now even have an annual Dickens Festival and it seems you cannot move in the town without seeing a plaque commemorating some Dickensian association.

Despite the fact that their lives overlapped by about four decades and had connections in the two adjacent towns, there is no evidence the two ever met although it is possible as they had mutual friends. I suspect it is just the local Council conflating the two histories to create the route. Whatever the facts, it matters little as this is a pleasant stroll and it is nothing more than that. Over the years I had walked the majority of it without really being aware it was a designated route.

If you do fancy a go at it your first problem will be the conflicting and often inaccurate information available on the internet. I checked the first three websites my search engine threw up and that was an education with the start and end points being given as the rail stations in the two towns (wrong) and distances varying from 6.44 km. (four miles) to 8.7 km. The route starts or finishes at The Droit House Visitor Centre in Margate and the other terminus is the Dickens House Museum on the front at Broadstairs. I would say it is closer to the former distance and it is certainly not onerous.  I found this website to be one of the better ones.  

I love walking and have completed the London Loop and Capital Ring (150 miles and 78 miles respectively), the vast majority of the Thames Path (184 miles) and the pinnacle of my rambling was completing the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal (100+ miles at altitude) some years ago so what was I doing wandering about four miles mostly along roads I knew intimately? A couple of reasons, really. Firstly, it would give me something to do rather than just sit in the pub all day at my computer and secondly it would “test drive” my poor old body that had been a bit knocked about. I was surprised at how weak I still felt exactly a month after being discharged from hospital. This route was ideal as it vaguely follows the Thanet Loop bus route (or vice versa) so I knew that if I got tired I could easily get to a bus stop which was a reassuring backstop.

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Michelin starred, no less.

I started good and early and the first image I took that day was absolutely nothing to do with the path and was taken about 200 yards from where I was staying. This rather unprepossessing frontage hides the restaurant that had recently achieved Thanet’s first Michelin star. It is run by a guy called Ben Crittenden who transformed the premises from a tiny sandwich bar with his Dad. The only other person involved is his wife Sophie who runs front of house.

STARK is only open in the evening four nights a week, it has twelve covers and no menu, you eat what you are given. The website states, “PLEASE NOTE THAT WE ARE UNABLE TO CATER FOR ANY DIETARY REQUIREMENTS, DISLIKES OR ALLERGIES AND WE ARE UNABLE TO OFFER ANY SUBSTITUTIONS”. Sorry about the caps, it is a c&p. All this sounded very pretentious to me but I am told by people whose opinion I respect that he is a really pleasant bloke. The rather draconian food policy derives from the fact that he has a kitchen the size of a shoebox which is equipped with one fridge, well, how much kitchen does a sandwich bar need? Gordon Ramsay, eat your heart out.

If you can get a table, and I say if as there is typically a six week wait, it will set you back £60 or £90 with a paired wine flight. Heaven knows where he keeps the wine! Whites in the fridge and reds under the sink presumably. In truth, with some of the weather we were having he could have put the whites on the back doorstep and they would have chilled nicely if they had not been washed away to the sea down Oscar Road. I doubt I shall ever dine there but good luck to them and back to my walk.

It was a mere five minutes walk from STARK to the Dickens House Museum which I have never been in and is said to be the inspiration for the home of Betsey Trotwood in David Copperfield. This would make sense as it is about 10 feet across a footpath to the Albion Hotel which has a Dickensian association as the plaque outside indicates. It also has a Fergian (what a word!) association as I have stayed here and played a gig in the lovely garden with my mate Tim.

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The real Bleak House.

I also took the image above of Bleak House which is certainly not the best one I have of it but I took it to demonstrate a point. With a little compact camera (no telephoto lens or anything) I took the images of the Museum and this one whilst standing in exactly the same spot which shows just how compact Broadstairs is for the visitor. About as compact as my camera really.

On then up the High Street and I may as well have been walking to Beano’s for my breakfast as I know it so well. I have walked up and down here literally thousands of times. I thought I would include the images above for a bit of amusement. Not far up the hill is the pretty uninspiring row of shops, with J. Prentis the greengrocer at the far end. I must declare an interest in that I know John who is a really nice guy but his fruit and veg are really good with lots of locl produce. Cobnuts were the seasonal offering with a cobnut being a locally grown variant of a hazelnut.

I looked up as I knew there was another blue plaque there indicating that Dickens had stayed in a house on that site at some point but, as the image shows, it has been changed, very possibly by John to what you see above. I won’t bore you with the details but it is to do with a dispute between him and the landlord of the upstairs premises which are, frankly, an eyesore and have been for years. It certainly made me smile.

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How lovely, two pubs side by side.

On up the hill past Pierremont Hll where the future Queen Victoria once stayed, past the War Memorial and then I stopped briefly to take the image above which indicates much of what is happening in Broadstairs. The two premises shown are both obviously former retail outlets and are both now pubs. The one on the right is Mind the Gap (a reference to the nearby train station) where I have been once or twice and played an impromptu gig with a standing invitation to do so again any time. It is one of the many micropubs I have spoken about in this series of entries. The bar on the left is Houdini’s, which I unusually have never been in. The USP here, as the name suggests is that most of the staff are practicing magicians who will amaze you with their prestidigitation at the drop of a (top) hat. I just hope the rabbit does not jump out.

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Friends Meeting House.

I carried on past the station and Beano’s which took a serious amount of willpower and then right into St. Peter’s Park Road where I stopped to take a quick image of the rather pleasant Quaker Meeting House which houses not only Society of Friends (Quakers) but also, somewhat oddly to my mind, the Free Presbyterian Church of Scotland. I cannot imagine there are too many practicing Calvinists in Thanet but apparently there must be enough for a congregation. I live and learn.

The path then follows some quiet residential streets until you get to St. Peters which I also know quite well having played gigs on all four pubs in the village. It is not a big place and I think it is commendable that it supports so many “boozers”. Again, two of them are micropubs (the Four Candles (the smallest brewpub in Britain) and the Yard of Ale) and the other two are more traditional establishments (the Red Lion and the Little Albion). Both the micropubs regularly win awards as the attached websites show and both are excellent. The image shows the Candles on the left and the Albion on the right. When I passed the Little Albion was undergoing a much-needed refurb as you can see by the newspapers in the windows. I could tell you all sorts of stories about it but I won’t bore you.

St. Peters and Broadstairs are now more or less joined and the local Council features both names but while Broadstairs is now the much more important entity it was not always thus. The village has a very long history with the first Church being built here in 1070 to serve the habitation in the area when Broadstairs was merely a few fisherman’s huts. Strange as it seems now, it was reputedly the largest parish East of London in the first half of the 19th century. Nowadays, it is basically a dormitory town with about 20% of the population being retired.

A short walk past the pubs I came to the charming set of mosaics pictured above, the work of well-known local artist Martin Cheek and local schoolchildren. See if you can spot which characters are depicted. This is yet another example of the very artistic nature of the area that I mentioned in the previous post.

The two images above are nothing to do with the Turner and Dickens theme other than they are on the path named for them. The first shows a detail of a hedge around a private dwelling the like of which I do not think I have ever seen. It is so thick that it has to be trimmed as shown so as not to obscure the street sign. The people here must really value their privacy! The second is of a large and presumably very old tree that I liked the look of purely because of the numerous trunks.

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St. Peters parish church.

Another few minutes walk brought me to the Church for which the village was named and which I had been in before, notably for the wedding of my friends Simon and Becky which was quite some event as it happened during Folk Week. Becky is an excellent fiddle player and singer who is originally from the village and who I have played many gigs with and Simon dances with a folk dance side from Northumberland where they now live with their young son.

Being in Folk Week, the logistics were a bit frantic for many of the guests. If memory serves, the wedding was at 1500 and at lunchtime I had a gig with my mate Pete May in the Charles Dickens pub in Broadstairs which is yet another of the Thorley Taverns I mentioned in the last entry. People were somewhat confused by me turning up to play looking semi-respectable as I habitually play in jeans and a T-shirt and Pete was fairly smart as well. We finished the gig bang on, explained why we could not do an encore, set down in record time and then hit the traffic in Pete’s vehicle! We ended up taking a crazy detour and arrived at the Church about two minutes ahead of the bride. We did well as there were other musicians slipping in the back during the service. Everyone knew the score (musical pun absolutely intended) and it was no problem as was the state of dress of many of the congregation. Simon’s dance side turned up in full “morris” gear to provide a guard of honour and many other dancers from other sides turned up in their costumes, having danced out that lunchtime, it was quite a sight.

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Red Lion pub.

After the service we all retired across the road to the Red Lion (pictured) for a few before heading the short distance to the Village Hall where the reception was to be held. There was food laid on but Becky had not booked a band, well she had no need to as a fair proportion of the guests were musicians who were under orders to bring their instruments which we did. The entertainment effectively took the form of a ceilidh with a fairly large and constantly changing band including your humble narrator. It was one of the best weddings I have ever been to and the memory of the bride hammering her fiddle with the band whilst still in her bridal gown is one that will remain with me forever.

As I always do, I stopped to pay my respects at the War Memorial outside the church and take a few images for inclusion in the War Memorial Register. I found it amazing how many men from this small village, which must have been even smaller then, died in the First World War. Lest we forget.

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St. Peters parish church.

I was surprised to find the church was open on a weekday out of season but I gratefully went in for a look round to find that I was understandably the only visitor. There was a man there “minding” the place which I think is a terrible shame. Churches used to be open all the time as places of sanctuary and shelter but the realities of modern society render this impossible now. He was very friendly and pointed out many things of interest but he did manage to surprise me somewhat when I told him I was walking the Turner and Dickens path and the presence of the mosaics mentioned above, he claimed to have never heard of it despite obviously being a local and a parishioner there. We got to chatting about this and that until he slightly apologetically told me he had to lock up and go for his lunch. When I checked the time I discovered that we had been chewing the fat for the best part of an hour. Still, no harm done as I had nothing specific to do except go for a walk and it was an interesting conversation. I do love never specifically planning anything.

The attached website has an excellent history of the Church but a brief precis is that the nave is the only late Norman portion of the church still extant and dates to 12th century although most of the rest is 15th century. It was extensively restored in the latter part of the 19th century and much of the stained glass, of which I am so fond, dates to this period. A couple of interesting snippets about the church are that the late former Prime Minister of the UK, Ted Heath, who was born in the village, sang in the choir here and the church was used as a naval signalling station in Napoleonic times. The latter fact means that the church retains the right to fly the white ensign (the flag of the Royal Navy) although I am not sure if it exercises this privelege. This interested me as there is a church about 15 minutes walk from my home in the East end of London that regularly flies the red ensign (flag of the merchant marine). I wonder how many churches in UK are allowed to fly naval ensigns.

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St. Peters churchyard.

To the rear of the church is the extensive graveyard which I have visited before and which I found fascinating especially as it has a number of Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC) tended graves which I have a particular interest in. I did not spend too much time on them as I had examined them exhaustively on a previous visit but I took a while to look at the Garden of Remembrance and I paused to take one of the images you see above which shows a portion of the graveyard which has been left to grow pretty much wild. I don’t know the reasoning for this. It maybe deliberate policy to encourage wildlife as is becoming popular, it may be that they do not have the resources to keep the whole place up to scratch. Certainly other parts of the site are very well-kept so I really have no idea. The images below are of the well-surfaced path which passes through the rather ornate castellated gate you can see.

 

One piece of advice I would give to the visitor is to try to arrange one of the St. Peters walking tours which I have never been on because they are so popular. Three of them involve the graveyard, a general one (including the grave of the Giant!) and one each for graves pertaining to the World Wars. The most popular is the Village Tour when numerous volunteers from the area dress up in period costume to greet the tour with various anecdotes. I think it is a great idea and those that have been on it say it is excellent which is presumably the reason it has won so many awards. I really must get round to it some day.

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St. Peters Footpath.

The churchyard gate marks a boundary in more ways than one. Whilst in the precincts of the church you can see houses nearby and know you are in a reasonably built up area but as soon as you walk outside you are in open fields. Certainly there is constant traffic noise from the nearby A255 which is always busy but it certainly looks rural enough although utilising modern farming techniques i.e. huge fields which neither Turner nor Dickens would have recognised. Frankly, it is fairly flat, featureless and boring, especially on a cold and damp October day. The path here is called St. Peter’s Footpath and remains so until you are well into Margate.

Whilst on the Footpath I passed an area known as the Shallows for which various suggestions are given as to the origin of the name. What is not in dispute is that this is where the poor old Baptists had to meet to worship in the 17th century when they were being persecuted for being Non-Conformist. That is probably pleasant enough on a warm, summer Sunday but not much fun in the midst of winter.

I kept walking and was glad to note that I was not flagging too badly although my knees were making their presence felt a little, and were to do so a bit more the next day, but it was flat and easy walking. Whilst I had walked under the railway line in Broadstairs I was to walk over it on a footbridge on the outskirts of Margate. The various websites make much of the local youth, under supervision, being encouraged to turn their aerosol graffiti habits to positive effect by decorating this structure. Whilst this may have been true when the websites were constructed the “artists” have either reverted to type or their less altruistic brethren have been at work as it is just a mess of ugly “tagging” graffiti now which I did not even bother taking an image of.

 

Just beyond the vandalised footbridge is the entrance to Dane Valley Woods which is marked by the rather pleasant carved sign you can see above. I would ordinarily have liked to explore that a little but a look at the muddy path (also pictured) and my still relatively pristine white trainers put paid to that notion. That was a bit of a shame as a look at XXXX the attached website shows the woods to be a very creditable project to “be a sustainable, community-owned wildspace in the heart of Margate encouraging participation in creating and managing the woods for enjoyment, health, learning and wildlife”. Fair play to them.

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Past the woods and I was into Margate with settlement springing up as suddenly as it had disappeared in St. Peters although my way was still named St. Peter’s footpath. I knew I was due to come upon a windmill called Draper’s Mill fairly shortly as I had seen it signposted from the other direction previously and I could just see the top of the sails from a way off. I wasn’t actually expecting it to be open (if indeed it ever does open to the public but I suspected it must) although I probably wasn’t expecting what I saw which was a cherry picker and a gang of workmen dismantling the sails. Routine maintenance I suppose.

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Draper’s Mill (under repair).

The mill was constructed in 1845 as one of a set of three on a site where a mill had stood since at least 1695. It worked in the manner intended until 1916 when the sails were superseded by a gas engine although I singularly fail to see the point of a “wind”mill that does not utilise the wind. In 1927 the disused sails and fantail were removed completely. In 1965 the mill was threatened with demolition but the Headmaster of the primary school opposite founded a charitable Trust and saved it thankfully. I am so glad he did. Just in case you are interested, those sails span 66 feet (20 metres).

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Signpost, Turner and Dickens path.

I kept on walking, still on St. Peter’s footpath and then things started to unravel a bit. I don’t know Margate anywhere near as well as I know Broadstairs but I know it well enough not to get lost. Whilst I did not get lost per se, what I did lose was the path. It had been signposted well thus far and, indeed, for a long portion of the path it was the only visible route but the signage just petered out with the post above which is the same one I teased you with before.

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Another one bites the dust!

I kept going in generally the correct direction but could find no sign of a sign if that is not appalling English. I quartered about but still nothing. Ah well, no problem and I made my own way into town. I suppose that theoretically it would have been possible to look up the route on my ‘phone but that is all a bit technical for me. Pausing briefly to take the image of yet another dead pub for the Lost Pubs website I headed down Ramsgate Road into town.

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I know you want a picture of a fry-up.

When I got into town I debated walking down to Droit House which is the official start / end point of the path but I had walked far enough and decided to jump on a bus back to Broadstairs. I knew that I could still manage a bite of brunch in Beano’s although it would have been just as easy to walk five minutes down the hill to Beano’s in Margate but back to Broadstairs I went. I know it is unusual for you to get my “breakfast” pic so late in the piece but here you go. I know you would not think it was not a proper page of mine if there was not an image of a fry-up on there somewhere!

It had been a great day in terms of me learning what I was capable of as I recovered and I was well pleased with my progress but the day was not yet over. As I have mentioned before, Jackie manages to get some great acts in the Wrotham despite it being a relatively small venue and this evening was a case in point. She had booked a guy called Keith Kenny from New Jersey and he turned out to be excellent not to mention a really nice bloke when I chatted to him afterwards.

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Keith Kenny and his surprising suitcase.

I had noticed on his cartoon promo material that apart from a caricature image of him there was a red suitcase which I took to be merely indicative of him being a travelling muso butit is not. As you can see in the image above (again, I did not want to use flash and annoy others) it is onstage and actually hides an electronic drumkit and between that, his pedal board and his loop machine he manages to sound like an entire band all by himself.

Of all the excellent music I saw during this trip he really was one of the most impressive acts and I would definitely go to see him again. He does a short tour in the South of England every Autumn and I believe this was his third year in the Wrotham. It is a measure of how well Jackie runs the music here that not only does she get returns from international acts but I know he has already asked to play next year because he loves it there. Do yourself a favour and check out his website.

After the busy day I did not stay too long and it was a relatively early bed for Fergy.
In the next post I mange to get further than the Pavilion in Ramsgate and discover a few hidden and not so hidden gems so stay tuned and spread the word.

Another Broadstairs Festival – not Folk but Food.

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It was very busy.

Strange as it may seem, I had a vague plan for the Saturday after all those days of doing very little and that was to do with another Festival that was taking place in Broadstairs, indeed it was taking place about five minutes walk from where I was staying. Instead of Folk this Festival is dedicated to Food and has been going for a number of years now. Indeed, it seems to get bigger every year.

Kent is known as the “Garden of England” and with good reason as it is an absolute treasure trove of produce from the orchards with the associated ciders and perries to the hops and the beer they produce to excellent lamb, cheeses and all manner of fruit and veg. Add in such seafood delicacies as Dover sole and Whitstable oysters, to name but two and you really cannot go wrong food wise. On my five minute walk from bedroom to festival site I actually passed the restaurant which has very recently been awarded the first Michelin star in Thanet and which I will deal with in a future post.

If you are a regular reader all this will explain the rather cryptic message I left in the last sentence of the previous post about napkins, knives and forks. I decided to go on the Saturday and was glad I did not wait for the Sunday for reasons I shall explain in due course and it was absolutely packed as the images attest even though the weather was anything but glorious. I have actually been here before and sat outside drinking in a T-shirt. All this in early October, it was great but sadly no T-shirts this year and I was well wrapped up.

I have to say that the Festival was very frustrating for me this year for a couple of reasons. Firstly, due to my medication I could only stand and look longingly into the numerous beer and cider tents, the Gin Palace, the champagne bar and even at the miniature prosecco wagon you can see in one of the images. OK, I am not really much of a one for drinking prosecco except mixed with Aperol and soda in my mates bar in Rome but it is the principle of the thing.

The second reason for my frustration was that much as I love where I am staying in the Wrotham, the sum total of my cooking facilities is a kettle. OK, I had cutlery and a tin opener with me as I always carry such things for emergencies but it somewhat limited my choice of purchase. What could I possibly do with a lovely rack of Kentish lamb for example? In the end I limited myself to a couple of excellent pieces of locally produced cheese and a bag each of red and yellow cherry tomatoes on the vine from the massive agrocentre called Thanet Earth which I have mentioned before and who had an extensive stall. I was glad to see that they were selling their produce in paper as opposed to plastic which was a good sign.  I’ll show you what I did with the toms in a future post.  I also bought a couple of pieces of cheese from the Cheesemakers of Canterbury

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Yes, we were close (to Lousia Bay that is).

I do like the way they name all the “roads” on the site with local place names as you can see in one of the images. I picked this one as the Festival site is right beside Louisa Bay where there used to be a pub of that name that I played a gig on the first year I played Folk Week which is a very long time ago. There is a block of flats there now which seems to be par for the course in Thanet, indeed in the whole of the UK.

As I was taking this image, I heard my name being called and it was my mate Jo who is one of the Festival Directors. She is the lady who used to own what is now the Magnet micropub, formerly the Reef, and who I have known for many years. I met her about a week later and she told me that she had one of those wristbands that tell you how far you have walked amongst other things like the time of High tide in Cape Town or whatever and that she had walked something ludicrous like 12 miles that day. I told her to cancel her subscription to the gym!

Jo was not the only person I was chatting to as it seems I know an awful lot of people round Broadstairs and they all happened to be at the Festival at the same time I was. It probably took me twice as long as it should have done to get round the site as I kept bumping into people, many of whom I had not seen for a long time so there was a lot of catching up to do.

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What a lovely dog with no sense of smell.

I took myself considerably less than Jo’s 12 miles back to the Wrotham for another quiet night and was sitting minding my own business when a lovely dog decided to just make itself at home on my feet which sported only a pair of flip flops (thongs). I thought dogs were meant to have a keen sense of smell but apparently not. Try as I might, I could not get the beast to turn round even slightly so I could get anything other than a back of the head image and it is not centred properly but I quite like it.
Upstairs then once again to my bed, leaving my purchases by the slightly open window by way of refrigeration and off to sleep.

The next post will be another several days rolled into one as I really had slipped into a very comfortable routine of doing very little but I’ll let you know as soon as anything good comes up so stay tuned and spread the word.

I can’t keep away – QEQM hospital again.

Entrance, QEQM hospital, Margate.
I know this door better than I know my own front door.

On the 17th September, I awoke after another excellent night’s sleep in my comfy bed in my quiet cosy room and I felt good. I knew I wanted to stay round Broadstairs and Thanet for a while as a) even getting a cab to and from the train stations at either end I was not sure if I was physically strong enough to hump all that luggage back to London and b) it is so much better an environment to aid recuperation. I was still a bit surprised as to how weak I felt but I suppose it is natural. Jackie was happy for me to stay more or less as long as I wanted so everything was set fair.

Unfortunately, there was still the problem of getting registered with a Doctor locally and getting repeat prescriptions etc. If you have not read the previous post here, I had been turned away from the local health centre despite several hospital Doctors telling me they were legally obliged to take me on. The simple fact of the matter was that I needed medication and my only option was to go back to A&E (ER) at the hospital albeit that I knew it was a ridiculous waste of the time of a Doctor already busy in an already over-stretched department. I queued up again, checked in and then sat down for the long wait with another large, good book. I was not too bothered by that as there were other people there obviously in need of much more urgent attention than me.

I was finally shown through to a small room to speak with the lovely Dr. de Giorgio who quizzed me about my current condition and wrote the script out in the matter of a few minutes. She also checked across the corridor where the door to the opposite consulting room was open and asked me if I could just say hello to her colleague, the Doctor who had initially admitted me what seemed like half a lifetime ago. Sure that was no problem until the Doctor explained that her colleague (whose name I still do not know) had spoken of me when I was admitted and said that it was a long time since she had seen anyone looking as ill as I had. I have a mirror in my room and I didn’t think I looked that bad but obviously so.

The Doctor also told me that her colleague had checked with my ward later the next day to check that the surgery had gone OK, just to be sure. I wonder if she does that for every patient she admits. Somehow I doubt it and it was a bit worrying albeit I only found after everything was sorted. Naturally I went to see the other Doctor and cracked a joke about rumours of my demise being greatly exaggerated. She said I was looking a lot better than I had been before and wished me well. Nice lady.

I know of a couple of pharmacists in Broadstairs but my friend had been telling me before how poor even the largest one was when she was trying to fill prescriptions and so I jumped on the Loop bus as I had topped up my weekly card. I reckoned that as Ramsgate was a larger place than Broadstairs I might have had a better chance of success. As it turned out that was a false hope and it was the Enaxoparin sodium syringes that were causing the problem. The first pharmacy did not have them and the second one which was the biggest in the town could only give me 20 of the 30 prescribed which would have meant a return trip so I did not bother as I had enough for the night and thought I might go to Margate the following day.

I was in Ramsgate and waiting for a bus back to Broadstairs and took a couple of images of the harbour although I do not really know why as I already have dozens from every angle and in every weather condition you can imagine. I just love the place and, as is my way, I am going to share a little factoid with you about it. It is the only Royal Harbour in the UK and received the designation in 1821 from King George IV, a German who used to embark here en route to Hanover. He was so pleased with the rapturous welcome he got from the townspeople that he granted the title and allowed his Royal Standard to be flown three times a year, a tradition that continues to this day.

Old Rover car seein in Ramsgate.
What a beauty.

I also took a quick image of the lovely Rover you can see above. I do not know if it is my imagination but there seem to be an awful lot of wonderful old cars around Thanet, I seem to see them everywhere. From the number plate I reckon this was registered in 1970.

I got the bus back to Broadstairs and, more in hope than in expectation, went into the local chemist clutching my prescription. A quick check and the young lady told me I was in luck and that they had everything I needed. Happy days.

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Yes, this is all for me!

I could not resist taking the image above which is my personal “medicine cabinet” on the mantlepiece in my room. Terrifying, isn’t it?

Cinelli Brothers Band at the Wrotham Arms, Broadstairs.
The Cinelli Brothers taken without flash! Honestly, you could see them.

The evening was taken up in the Wrotham where the excellent Cinelli Brothers Band were playing. The brothers are the drummer and the frontman with the hat who are London based Italians and the other two guys are British. They play really good basic blues and do it very well. You can have a look here to get an idea. They are also very friendly guys and I had a chat with a couple of them. Definitely recommended if you get chance to see them. I d not know how she does it but Jackie punches well above her weight with the quality of the music she puts on in what is a pretty small pub.

Having jabbed myself, filled up on various medications and dressed wounds I turned in for a few chapters of my book and another nights sleep.

I am still in Broadstairs writing this in October so if you want to know what I got up to whilst recovering please stay tuned and spread the word.

Time to go home (as Andy Pandy used to say so long ago).

The big day finally arrived, Sunday 15th September and I waited until everyone else had used the bathroom, went and had a shower, which I could do by then (I couldn’t until the PICC line was removed), changed my own dressing and headed back to my bedspace. Why on Earth I did not take my street clothes with me I shall never know, I suppose I just was not used to wearing them by now so I pulled my curtains and got changed. It seemed a bit odd after all this time. I binned my pyjamas in the laundry basket and then stripped my bed and binned the used bedlinen, I thought it was the least I could do. I donated the books I had read to the ward “library” which at that point consisted of two old Readers Digest books of four abridged titles each, not one of which I had heard of!

After that, it was a slightly odd sensation. I was sitting doing my normal things but in my “civvies”. I had ordered my lunch, which you do immediately after breakfast, although I had told the lady I wasn’t sure if I would be there for it or not. She told me to order it anyway on the principle that it was better she prepare it than me possibly go hungry. It turned out she was right and this was the rogan ghosh I spoke of in my previous post plus spotted dick and custard – lovely stuff! I am publishing the images again here as I could look at them all day as easily as I could eat that dinner all day.

I knew I would be going nowhere until I had been given drugs to take with me as I had been told that not only would I be taking some of the medications for a while including 12 weeks of the injections which I was not looking forward to, but that I would be on one of the tablets for the rest of my life. Every day as long as I live which, whilst not a major problem as taking tablets doesn’t worry me, will undoubtedly lead to all sorts of bloody hassles when I travel overseas for months on end. I really have no idea how it works but it must as I am sure others do it. A right pain but something I suppose I am going to have to get used to. Without being over-dramatic, this whole episode had been life-changing one way and another.

All the drugs duly arrived and it was time to take my leave. Cheerio to David in the next bed who had been in for a long time and looked set to be in for a long time to come, I wish him well.  Then it was farewell to Kyle in the corner bed (you shall meet him again), and a generic cheerio to the three other guys on the other side of the ward who were all recent arrivals I had not really got to know.

I was well aware that the next bit was going to be the most difficult part and that was saying goodbye to the wonderful staff who had been so good to me over quite a long period. Obviously, the normal business of the ward was going on and people were busy but I cornered as many of them as I could for a brief farewell and heartfelt thanks to the point that it was getting a bit emotional. All of them wished me well, gave me various words of advice about my lifestyle, making sure I took my meds etc. etc. There was still one final little piece of nonsensical hospital procedure to be followed and Sister deputed one of the male nurses to escort me to the front door which is standard practice it appears. Apparently it did not matter that I had been wandering about the hospital alone in the dead of night for weeks. I joked with the nurse that they were just making sure I didn’t steal anything on the way out but it seems they were responsible for me until I was off the premises. Something to do with damned lawyers and spurious lawsuits, I believe.

I know I say a lot of strange things in my posts here and this will undoubtedly rank as one of the strangest to date but I was actually a little sad to leave the place. Obviously nobody wants to be ill and in pain and few people would choose to be in hospital but apart from the obvious physical discomforts (especially that damned NG tube up my nose and the extended starvation diet) I had as good a time there as could be expected under the circumstances. I was made as comfortable as was possible, I was treated with every consideration by staff of all disciplines that obviously believed in what they were doing, I had all day to do nothing but relax, read and potter about on the net. I have really no excuse for how long it has taken to post this admittedly lengthy post with the time I had at my disposal on the ward. When I was eventually allowed to eat, the grub was spot on and I was pretty much left alone to do what I wanted within the confines of my treatment.

Having finally stepped outside and smelt fresh air for the first time in what seemed like forever I relented on the matter of the bus and called a taxi. I was perfectly able to get the bus but I was conscious of time and I knew that my friends Sally and Brian were playing a gig in the Wrotham at 1600 and I really wanted to catch it as I had missed them completely during Folk Week. It turned up promptly and delivered me at my temporary home just in time to catch the start of the set and be accosted by any number of friends, many of whom did not even know I had been ill so my sorry tale was somewhat abridged and related several times. Sally and Brian were superb as they always are, I have known them for more years than any of us would care to remember and I have never seen them do a duff show yet. They do some old-style folk and some numbers which are fairly “socially aware” but they are possibly best known for their humourous numbers some of which are literally rib-hurtingly funny. It was a great welcome back to the “real world”.

Drink, Wrotham Arms, Broadstairs.
I had waited a ling time for this.

Naturally, I had to order a pint which you can see pictured above. I had been lectured ad nauseum about my drinking and smoking in hospital and I had a plan for the smoking which seems to be holding up fairly well as I write this a couple of weeks later but I had told the Doctors that there was no way I was giving up drinking completely, that was just not an option. Before anyone gets in touch, no, I am not an alcoholic, that was proven in hospital when I did not have a drink for a month or so and suffered no ill-effects. When I was first admitted they used to offer me medication if I was getting withdrawal symptoms but they were completely unnecessary.  I was very disciplined and limited myself to two pints all night.

The fact of the matter is that I enjoy drinking, as much for the social aspect of it as anything else. I absolutely refuse to sit and drink soda water and lime all night and if you remove pubs from the equation then I may as well put down a deposit on a small cave on a remote island as I shall instantly become a hermit. I shall have nowhere to go socially which I explained to the medical staff and told them I would cut down as far as I could. Again, a couple of weeks in, this strategy seems to be holding up well although it is very early days. We shall see how it goes.

One other thing of note is represented by the rather lovely image above and it is the fact that my spell in hospital had seen the seasons change from Summer to Autumn. Yes, I know it is not officially Autumn on the 15th of September but I always associate the coming of Autumn with the first hanging of the hops in the same way as many people associate the coming of Spring with hearing the first cuckoo.

Kent is known as the “Garden of England” and rightly so because of the variety and quality of it’s produce. It is famous for it’s apples and also it’s hops with the first English hop garden believed to have been created near Canterbury in 1520 and this is the reason for the excellent quality of both the cider and the beer in the County. Shepherd Neame Brewery in Faversham is reputedly the oldest in the UK and cider has been made in the UK since the time of the Norman Conquest which was very influential in Kent. Can it be merely coincidence that I spend so much time in this fine county?

Hanging hop display, Wrotham Arms, Broadstairs.
It’s Autumn on the Fergy calender.

When the hops are picked at this time of the year, it is the tradition all over Kent to hang garlands of them, if that is the correct term, in pubs. Not only do they look rather pretty but if you rub them gently between your thumb and forefinger, the smell is divine. In the Wrotham, Jackie has gone the extra mile as she tends to do and put up fairy lights amongst the display. I think it looks rather wonderful although it did take me a few attempts to get a decent image. I hope you like it.

After Sally and Brian had finished, the pub pretty much cleared out with only a couple of guys playing pool and I had another quiet night chatting to Jackie at the bar. I could not help but think about what had happened the last time I had done this and all that had happened in what had seemed like half a lifetime. It had been quite a ride. Although I felt OK apart from a little tenderness around my wound site, I did feel tired quite quickly and retired pretty early to my room to stick a needle in my belly, take a handful of pills, a cupful of a solution and then crash into a bed that did not have an air mattress and a remote control. I turned out all the lights and listened to the silence which was punctuated only by the occasional passing car on the Ramsgate Road and it was not long until I was fast asleep.

If you have read this far in my hospital saga then I am unsure whether to applaud your perseverance or wonder at your masochism but whichever it is, I thank you. Yes, I know I have gone on a bit but it was a fairly long period of time to write about and one that was, and still is, literally life-changing. There will undoubtedly be further references to my health and connected matters in the next few posts but I shall try to keep them relevant and to a minimum.

If you want to know more about my rehabilitation into the “real world” then stay tuned and spread the word.

Back “home” to the Wrotham Arms.

Hello again folks and thanks for your forebearance in waiting for an update here which I know has been long overdue but the reasoning will be explained in the next post after this one. It is an interesting story to say the least. I intend to put three days together here for your ease of reading although I am actually composing and publishing this in late September and backdating as always.

Bedroom, Spencer Court Hotel, Ramsgate.
Goodbye to one hotel bed………..

Saturday, 17th August 2019.

The Saturday after Folk Week I was up fairly early as I knew I had to check out of my hotel pretty early and then get all my gear over to Broadstairs to my new abode in the Wrotham Arms. I like to travel light but the guitar case and the weight of the laptop with it’s various accessories in my daypack makes for a fairly cumbersome load. I was feeling OK as I decided to walk into Ramsgate and get the bus over rather than call a cab which would not have been expensive. I knew I could not “check in” at the Wrotham until 1600 as the pub does not open at lunchtime and there would have been nobody there so it was an obvious choice to head back to the George for a quiet couple of pints which is what I did.

In years past this day was known as Survivors Saturday where all the local site crew would come to the Neptunes Hall pub after having struck all the fencing etc. from the various sites ready for collection by the hire company. The sites take three days hard graft to set up and one frantic Saturday morning to take apart. I know as I have done both things before and the speed of the Saturday demolition is undoubtedly fuelled by the thought of the free beer the organisers put on in the Neps. As well as the crew, some of the organisers, local musicians, local volunteers from the Workforce and the odd (in every sense of the word) itinerant visiting muso like myself would all attend and there would be a bit of an informal debrief on the week just passed. Folk music was absolutely banned and Ken the landlord took great delight in putting pop music on the pub sound system with never so much as a “hey nonny no” or a finger in the ear! I love folk music but there is a limit and It did make for a pleasant change.

Broadstairs Folk Week sign, George Inn.
I can almost guarantee it!

Sadly, in recent years, the tradition of Survivors fell into decline somewhat and it was finally killed off when Ken and Jill retired in 2018 and the premises were refurbished, re-opening in November of that year. As part of the new regime, the Neptunes does not now open at lunchtime so that was that. I sat in the George looking across the road somewhat wistfully at the closed and darkened pub opposite and thinking of how things had changed over the years I had been there. In that vein I took an image of a sign that Dave had put up in the George earlier that week which you can see above. This was prompted by some wild rumours that had been circulating that it was going to be the last Folk Week ever.

I think I should put things into some sort of perspective here regarding Broadstairs Folk Week and I should say that I have a reasonable handle on what is going on. I know a lot of people and I hear things, confidences I am obviously not going to break here but shall speak in general terms and the first of which is so obvious it is ridiculous. The rumour of the demise of the Festival was apparently based on the fact that it had gone bankrupt but just think logically about this. I know the Festival accountant and the final accounts are not put together until some time later as there are still outstanding matters to be settled and so declaring the event bankrupt whist it is still in progress (and hopefully generating money in the form of collections etc.) is very premature.

Certainly it is no secret that Folk Week had to downsize a bit this year due to less corporate sponsorship and several other factors. This was the first year that I can remember when the main focus of the Festival was not a huge marquee along with attendant beer tent in Pierremont Park as they just could not afford it this year. The beer tent, which is run by my great friend Jenny, was relocated to the Craft Fair area adjacent to the Bandstand but the seating was totally outside and the weather really was not suitable for al fresco drinking for most of the week as I have mentioned previously. There are numerous other factors in play which I shall not bore the reader with but I cannot see this superb event folding just yet. I know it came close some years ago but everyone rallied round, gave of their time and talents for nothing and we survived somehow. I am sure we can do it again, at least I hope we can.

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Remember this, it is important.

During the afternoon I popped across the road to get a cheeseburger as I had not eaten for a day or two and knew I really should. I had taken a large bite out of it before remembering my camera and blog as you can see and normally I would not publish such an image but this burger is to prove important so I am glad I had this on file. The big bite was about the best I managed as I forced myself to eat as much as I could but still only managed about half of it, I really was in no mood for eating.

Harringtons ironmongers, Broadstairs.
I didn’t dare ask for four candles.

On my way up to the Wrotham to dump my kit I passed Harrington’s Store and could not resist popping my head in to ask if I could take a photo which the guy was more than happy for me to do. Harringtons is quite simply a timeslip, it is a general store and stocks anything you could possibly want and quite a lot of things you may never want. Again, I shall revert to an old review from my Virtual Tourist writings to explain.

“I don’t know if readers will have seen the absolutely classic comedy sketch by the British comedy duo, the Two Ronnies (Barker and Corbett). It has been voted best sketch in the history of British comedy. If you haven’t seen it, I have posted a link here.

There is a bit of Broadstairs folklore associated with it. The shop pictured is the simply wonderful Harringtons which is worth a visit in itself, it is an absolute cornucopia. It is situated at 1 York Street. I visited recently to buy a French bean cutter (long story, don’t ask) and was amazed at what was available, I kid you not, they have everything from a single screw to sets of saucepans to builders supplies and just about everything else.

Anyway, I know that some years ago, Ronnie Corbett had a holiday home just across the road (behind the Charles Dickens pub if you are interested) and was in the place. He was so enthralled that Ronnie Barker subsequently wrote the iconic skit based on this place. So there you have it. Fork handles”.

In the way of these things I had my bubble partially burst a couple of years later as I was staying in digs in Broadstairs during Folk Week and had borrowed an autobiography of Ronnie Corbett from my landlady where he states that the original idea came from a shop in Hayes in Middlesex although Harrington’s vast range did indeed influence the final script. Honestly, even if you don’t buy anything just go in for a look, they are well used to it.

As for the bean cutter mentioned, it went straight in the bin when I nearly removed a finger with it, it was bloody (literally as well as figuratively) dangerous.

I made it in good order to the Wrotham, spoke to Jackie and was billeted in Room Six, which is the best room apart from the fancy en-suite family room. As you can see from the images it is lovely and cosy and I do rather like it. Over the years I think I have stayed in every room there. It faces the road but it is not a problem as it is as quiet as the grave after the early evening. Like most of the rooms it is not en-suite but that is no problem as the communal bathroom is only a few steps along the corridor. It is kept spotless and the shower is piping hot with a good pressure which is all I could ask for really.

I didn’t feel much like heading back into town that night and so settled for a quiet time in the bar chatting to Jackie. It was pretty quiet and so we had a good chance to catch up on things. I was still taking it easy and did not drink a lot. By about half midnight I bid goodnight and headed towards my bed. OK, I know this is technically the 18th but bear with me. I walked to the bottom of the stairs which is literally no more than 30 feet from where I was sitting and doubled over with the most excruciating pain in my stomach, it was absolutely agonising. I half crawled and half staggered to bed, kicked off my shoes and curled up in a foetal position fully clothed and lay there all night in far too much pain to sleep. I must have dozed off for a little while but not long and woke in the same pain shortly after.

Sunday 18th August, 2019.

This was just a day of unmitigated discomfort where the only position I could lie in that did not make me physically cry out was lying in the same foetal position on my left side (for some reason it was no good on my right) and practice shallow breathing as inhaling or exhaling too deeply sent a stabbing pain through my abdomen again. The interesting thing and the sole reason I did not try to get help, if indeed I could have got out of the bed, was that I had had exactly the same symptoms some years before whilst on a canal boat trip with friends which is documented elsewhere on this  site. In that case the worst of it passed within about 24 hours and when I consulted a pharmacist she diagnosed trapped wind and prescribed something for that. In light of what was to transpire, I suspect this was a very flawed diagnosis!

Another full day and night of extreme discomfort trying to catnap where possible but being awoken by the pain after the merest of 40 winks every time.

Monday, 19th August, 2019.

I woke after one of my brief and fitful dozes on the Monday morning and felt much better. Not anything like 100% but not nearly as bad and fit enough to go out. I didn’t feel like eating but I went to the George in the afternoon to watch the Football later on. Again, I was very circumspect in my drinking and spent the afternoon catching up on my blogging here. At about 1900 I started to feel rough very quickly and within half an hour I knew there was no way I could walk back to my digs even though it is only a fifteen minute slow amble to get there. I had to get the barmaid to get me a cab and I am sure the driver must have thought me the laziest man in Thanet. I did not even feel well enough to explain. Something was definitely going to have to be done.

What was done is fully explained at some considerable length in the next post so stay tuned and spread the word.