Monday, September 01, 2003
A nervous boy in spite of which, I never thought I could tremble as much as this. Your flashing eyes and sudden smiles
are never quite at ease and neither am I.
In the afternoon the parents and I drove down to Dover, to visit the National Trust White Cliffs site. It doesn't do much to draw attention to itself, like having signposts or anything, we came last year looking for it, gave up and went to Dover Castle instead (admittedly, not a bad thing really, worth a visit if you happen to get accidentally stuck in Dover and don't have anything with which to numb the pain). We had a fairly good time and then sat in the cafe watching the ferries enter and leave the port below, while looking at some land in the distance and saying "that can't be France can it?".
For people who haven't visited it, Dover is like Brighton, with all the good bits removed. Whereas Brighton functions as both somewhere for tourists to visit and as a town with a vibrant scene for those that live there, Dover seems to have sold it's soul to be just a tourist attraction, and gateway to the continent. If you were to believe the drivel in the pages of the Kent Messenger, then Kent has a massive illegal immigrant problem. It doesn't. What is actually going on, is that Dover citizens are living their lives until the mindrotting tedium of living in Dover becomes too much, they then get the Eurostar over to France, mess up their clothes a bit, then try to find a sympathetic truck driver to smuggle them back into Britain on a truck. They then claim asylum, on the grounds that whether they stay or not in this country, at least they won't be in Brighton any more.
We then drove up the coast, looking for Pegwell Bay. Going through Nan's old photo albums had reminded Dad of a trip there when he was a child, to see a Viking Ship. Unfortunately, when we got there we found it was a lot less impressive than he remembered, literally just a replica that looked like it was a children's play area. So, we reluctantly turned homewards.
are never quite at ease and neither am I.
In the afternoon the parents and I drove down to Dover, to visit the National Trust White Cliffs site. It doesn't do much to draw attention to itself, like having signposts or anything, we came last year looking for it, gave up and went to Dover Castle instead (admittedly, not a bad thing really, worth a visit if you happen to get accidentally stuck in Dover and don't have anything with which to numb the pain). We had a fairly good time and then sat in the cafe watching the ferries enter and leave the port below, while looking at some land in the distance and saying "that can't be France can it?".
For people who haven't visited it, Dover is like Brighton, with all the good bits removed. Whereas Brighton functions as both somewhere for tourists to visit and as a town with a vibrant scene for those that live there, Dover seems to have sold it's soul to be just a tourist attraction, and gateway to the continent. If you were to believe the drivel in the pages of the Kent Messenger, then Kent has a massive illegal immigrant problem. It doesn't. What is actually going on, is that Dover citizens are living their lives until the mindrotting tedium of living in Dover becomes too much, they then get the Eurostar over to France, mess up their clothes a bit, then try to find a sympathetic truck driver to smuggle them back into Britain on a truck. They then claim asylum, on the grounds that whether they stay or not in this country, at least they won't be in Brighton any more.
We then drove up the coast, looking for Pegwell Bay. Going through Nan's old photo albums had reminded Dad of a trip there when he was a child, to see a Viking Ship. Unfortunately, when we got there we found it was a lot less impressive than he remembered, literally just a replica that looked like it was a children's play area. So, we reluctantly turned homewards.
