If, as I'm sure you'd agree, London is Pop Art and Snowdonia is Abstract Expressionism, then Pegwell Bay on the Kent coast is Minimalism. As such, it may take a while to fully appreciate its beauty. So I found as we walked around it on Friday. Unlike the Snowdonian mountains, it's not a wham-bam landscape. One could actually wonder if it's even worth visiting; much like an exhibition of Minimalist art. But after a while the tranquillity and space seeps into your soul as surely as the distant sea at low tide returned to fill the wide expanse of sand.
Warning: don't carry food along the terrace at Broadstairs, the seagulls are brutal in their ability to mug humans! So I discovered as I naively entered the terrace from town whilst eating a croissant. There was only a mouthful left, but it was destined for the seagull's mouth, not mine. It came out of the blue, unseen by me, snapped the croissant in its beak and was gone in seconds to be harassed in flight for its prize by other gulls. I stood there in shock, feeling a sting on my finger. It's claw had nicked the last knuckle of my forefinger, drawing a drop of blood. Now I can totally empathise with Tippi Hedren, who was put through hell by Hitchcock in The Birds. My suffering was nothing compared to hers. But then, unlike hers, that incident will not secure my place in a great work of art!
We went to Sandwich for a week, straight out of the gate once people were allowed to stay somewhere overnight. It's a picture postcard village, fine for a week. What people say of London I feel the opposite about country places. I love to visit them but couldn't live there. I was born in the countryside, a Buckinghamshire village. It was a good place to grow up in but like a butterfly in a chrysalis once it proved to small I had to break out and fly away. That's not to say I became a splendid creature; more of a fly, perhaps, if I have to keep the winged insect analogy going. But unlike flies I haven't enjoyed the amount of shit I've encountered.
Butterfly at Pegwell Bay |
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