The mister and I took a wee trip down to Margate the Saturday before last. We haven't been for years, not least because it's a bloomin long drive. There was all sorts going on. I'm not quite sure what the ladies in red were up to, but we kept seeing flashes of scarlet all over town. Great fun.
The wide sandy bay was full of folk having a lovely British seasidey time. We joined in with the paddling and searched for the very best shells, we listened to the steel band on the beach, we ate some crab and cockles and had a good mooch about town. We visited the mysterious underground shell grotto, and bemoaned the lack of Donkeys on the beach, like you do.
All the seafront pubs and bars were full to capacity mainly with skinheads (of a certain age). No not bald men, but the now slightly elderly sub culture group. They all seemed in good spirits, thankfully.
The reason for the trip was to check out the Turner Contemporary, we had heard good things about it. A sensational building with uninterrupted serene sea views.
It houses a world class gallery that is hoped will inspire, educate and excite visitors. And just perhaps, kick start a much needed regeneration.
Margate is quite an edgy place but I liked it. When Dreamland is returned to it's former glory in the next year or so it could tip the balance in it's favour and get holiday makers back to this neglected seaside town.
Perhaps the donkeys will return with them, I hope so.