My railcard's last hurrah

By some form of miracle, the weather this May bank holiday has not been at all bad. Floaty skirts have been a theme as I've enjoyed an afternoon tea, brunch, a picnic, and an impromptu trip to the seaside.

Whitstable's been on my list for a while; although after our Dungeness experience, I was a little hesitant. However, following recommendations from friends and family, I booked two tickets for myself and Emily to head down to the coast for an afternoon of sun, sea, and sand (somewhere beneath the pebbles).

Only around an hour and a quarter out of St Pancras, it wasn't long until we spied the sea from the train window. Wishful thinking led us to hope that most fellow passengers would be going on to Margate, but in fact plenty alighted with us and together we trooped towards Whitstable Harbour.

The Great British Seaside revival is real. The harbour and seafront were bustling, so valiantly we walked on with the intention of getting away from the crowds. It took a while, but the beach did eventually quieten down. The only downside to this was that it also ran out of food and drink options. Not wanting to appear too defeatist, we looped back, walking this time along the quiet backstreets as opposed to along the seafront.

Queues wherever we went, we decided that we would have to stop being so stubborn, and joined one to order chips (and a crab sandwich for me, whitebait for Emily) and beer; all local, of course.

We perched on a wall by the quay, thoroughly enjoying our food, drink, and people watching. Suitably stuffed, we took our drinks for a walk back to the quieter end of the beach.

Here we sat for the rest of the afternoon, basking in the sun. We got as far as a toe dip in the sea, but my gosh was it a cold shock! So, despite thinking that we would be bold and go for a full dip.. we didn't.

Early evening came and a short walk took us back to the station. This time the platform was even busier than before and the train that pulled up was already rammed with people who had been further afield to find their patch of seaside.

First impressions of Whitstable were good. If I can handle the full fare, I'm sure I'll return one day in the middle of the summer holidays when hopefully it won't be quite so teeming with tourists..

Flotsam

I’m wrapped up in the softest Christmas blanket you ever did feel, surrounded by the pandemonium that is the festive season in the Brockway household! Not even two days back home and already we’ve had a trip to the beach and more importantly, I’ve had a paddle so feeling the need to get all cosy.

                Been off the radar for a couple of weeks while I’ve been buried deep in books and I can’t really believe that the writing has started again now I’m back in King’s Lynn of all places! One of the books I was buried in has the title Flotsam, which has now become my new favourite word.

flot·sam

/ˈflätsəm/

1.     material or refuse floating on water

2.     useless or unimportant items; odds and ends.

So today while I was walking along the beach at Hunstanton I was very aware of the flotsam amongst the seaweed and the endless piles of razor shells – which, by the way, I am slightly obsessed with walking over because the crunch is SO satisfying! Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything at all interesting – well and didn’t really look too closely to find anything anyway – but I really do love just how much there is to see at the beach. Although we often take the same walk, the coastline really changes. Every time you go things are a different colour, or the sand is a different pattern, or there are different things washed up that weren’t there the day before. Only this time last year the whale appeared, and I’ll always remember our shock that so many people had decided to go for a walk on the beach that Christmas Eve, not knowing what would greet us once we reached the sand and having the realisation that it wasn’t us being trend-setters so much as the whole whale-washed-up-on-the-beach situation!

                Today was so sunny and peaceful and we had those reeeeally long shadows, which I always love because they make me feel really tall and leggy! I began to wander out to the sea before realising quite how far out the tide actually was, but it was so worth it. The waves were really lapping the shore and it just sounded so calm. No matter what the time of year, I HAVE to go for a paddle – fear not, I was wearing wellies (so actually it probably doesn’t really count) – while my poor parents just wander along waiting for me to come back.

                As much as I like to think I’m not a huge fan of Norfolk and the idea of having no clue where I’ll be this time next year really excites me, I still love to know that this will always be home. I can’t ever imagine being too far away from the sea, and even less so the Norfolk coast!

When someone asks me what I like to do, I always struggle to come up with an answer beyond shopping. Though oddly enough, I actually have quite a few interests – it’s just I’d probably call them ‘quirks’ instead, so don’t always openly admit to them.

Seems to me if someone starts a blog they usually have a theme, and I just wouldn’t be interesting or interested enough in writing if I was to stick with one thing! So maybe my theme is a multitude of themes?

I’ve just started a PGCE, so the urge to ramble on about school children’s amusing tales and adventures is overwhelming. Yet at the same time, I’m determined not to become one of these people who can only talk about my career; although I’m sure I’m not always going to be able to contain myself...

So then there’s music. But would that be me as a musician or as a listener? I started playing my first instrument when I was 6 and I’ve worked my way through 7 instruments to finally settle as a singer, oboe player, and pianist. I’ve just graduated from a music degree but no, my PGCE is not leading towards me becoming a music teacher. As a music listener, my taste is pretty eclectic but when it comes to genres I’m pretty flummoxed – so I can talk about what I like and love and maybe even why, but I certainly can’t talk about music with much wisdom.

How about travel? I’ve done a fair bit of that! But then is that only interesting as and when you do it? Currently a blog would be consumed by my turmoil over potential travel plans for the coming summer – would I rather go here or there? Who would I like go with? When am I going to go? Will I actually have any money left?

Then of course I’m an avid foodie, but I’d rather do the eating than the cooking. I’m a huge lover of vintage clothing and antiques, but again I know absolutely nothing besides the fact that I should have been around in the 80s and that vintage tea sets look pretty. I love tea and teashops and most things quintessentially British like the trips to the seaside in all weathers, romps in the woods, wellington boots and bonfire night, but how much is there to say beyond, ‘Enjoyed a spot of Earl Grey at Biddy’s tearoom to warm the cockles after battling the wind and rain on the coast’?

Actually though, rambling on about what I’m not well informed enough to ramble on about has given me some potential inspiration. Yesterday I found myself in an old shop that sold vintage postcards, stamps and coins, and I spent absolutely ages rummaging through them all, reading the messages on the back from ladies called ‘Carrie’ and ‘Ivy’ from the 40s and 50s. It brought me to realise that the art of writing a postcard really has been lost. Most of these cards were written for the purpose of delivering simple messages alerting friends to their presence in the town,

‘Dear Mavis, expect me for tea on Thursday afternoon. In Norwich for the week. Love, Dorothy’.

Nowadays they’re an excuse to boast about how wonderful, jam packed and valuable an experience your holiday is, and the picture on the front bears very little resemblance to what you’ve actually seen! Seeing postcards used for such a basic purpose seemed really sweet to me.

So, a decision has been made – my blog, effectively a selection of virtual postcards containing the small pleasantries one may or may not be interested in regarding the plethora of ‘quirks’ that encompass my days.