The old year has burnt down like a candle. Only the stub is left. The shaft of light flickers, rises and falls away as it reaches the end of the wick. In just a few hours the  spirit of the year to come will arrive like a newly created candle,  fragrant with new adventures, kind words, shocks, twists, journeys and joys; rich with unknown possibilities.   Tonight, she will place it carefully on the hearth of your soul, an altar to all that is to come on the path not yet traversed. All she is asks is that you light the light of a new year.

Elderberry Wine

The nights getting shorter. Autumn is arriving early, or so the experts are suggesting. The cycle continues like the Church calendar.  Each year follows the same pattern in new and different ways; the new and the familiar threading together to make a new piece of material in the patchwork of our lives.

My son and his friend went berrying yesterday, gathering blackberries and whinberries. I asked them if they were making jam, 'No', they replied, 'We're making wine.' This will be the second lot; I hadn't realised they had already joined the birds in helping themselves to the elderberries from the back garden. Hope it tastes good.

A Sonnet

Shakespeare, he knew a thing or two.

Sonnet  94

They that have power to hurt and will do none,

That do not do the thing they most do show,

Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,

Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow:

They rightly do inherit heaven's graces

And husband nature's riches from expense;

They are the lords and owners of their faces,

Others but stewards of their excellence.

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet

Though to itself it only live and die,

But if that flower with base infection meet,

The basest weed outbraves his dignity:

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

W.S.

Change

Today it really felt like Spring...tender and new...

Home made Satire

At tomorrow's book group gathering we have to read a monologue. I'm channelling my inner Irene Ruddock for the entertainment of my friends. I've always known (and not just because my beloved tells me so) that I have the imprint of Alan Bennettsville running through me like Blackpool through a stick of rock.

The East Kent Coast

From the rolling green hills of Dorset to the bleaker, yet still beautiful, coast of East Kent.

I journeyed around the area spanning the Thames Estuary to Sandwich Bay. Each town with its own distinct character. Whistable's narrow streets and pebbly shore has real character, as befits the ancient port of Canterbury. Beloved of trendy media types, the town also celebrates its connection with Hammer Horror stalwart Peter Cushing. A bench sits on the beach, a stones throw from the Oyster Houses, a memorial to Peter and his beloved wife who pre-deceased him. My dad boasts his claim to fame as maker of the wrought iron rivets that hold the bench together.

Peter Cushing's bench

Herne Bay, despite some fine Georgian terraces  along the sea front, lacks the style of its more media savvy neighbour but I would recommend the sea walk from The Kings Hall to Reculver, a holiday hamlet and country park which boasts the rebuilt ruins of historic twin towers.  An early centre of Christianity, Reculver is associated with the St Augustus who first brought the faith to England. There is also clear evidence of an early Roman Fort serving Richborough. The view across the long-silted Watsun channel looks towards Margate.

Reculver

Margate, the tattiest of the three main Thanet coastal towns, is busy polishing its image now its home to the Turner Gallery, the Tate's latest venture. Small scale entrepreneurs are tarting up the old town, which is a pleasant place to spend an afternoon. I enjoyed an excellent pint at The Life Boat Ale and Cider House.

Life Boat Ale and Cider House


Next comes Broadstairs, the perfect Victorian sea side town, with lovely beaches, bags of character and an  annual folk week, which features free music in many pubs and a craft market,  in addition to the main gigs.

Broadstairs folk week

Broadstairs goes a little overboard with all things Dickensian. Streets and pubs bear the names of much loved characters.  I like the  Dickens Museum in what was the model for  Miss Betsey Trotwood's House. I cannot pass by without thinking of the kindly but intimating character dashing to the front door shouting, 'Donkeys Janet! Donkeys!' as she chased off anyone who dared to even approach her threshold.

Dickens Museum

One my favourite walks is between Broadstairs and Ramsgate at low tide in either direction.

 Ramsgate is a little down a heel, perhaps, but  possesses a superb harbour and marina .  It has some impressive Georgian squares and terraces, which conjure up images of gentility. According to the Ramsgate History Society, there are 900 listed buildings in the town. There's also a monastery and house designed by Pugin.

The Ramsgate Society web site

After that, on past the Pegwell and Sandwich bays into the historical town of Sandwich, slightly inland. One of the finest historical towns in the UK. I recommend the Secret Garden, a wonderful place with a large house design by Lutyens. Walking in the gardens towards the house, it is easy to believe you are suspended in time on  the eve of the First World War.

The Secret Garden


(I feel like Michael Portillo on one of his railway journeys.)

Summer

So far, the summer has been good to glorious. Last week was the hottest to date and, fortunately, we spent it in  Lyme Regis. Cliché, cliché, cliché but, on a hot day, even England is a little slice of paradise. The sea, the beach, the ancient cliffs; a week away from  the grind, time to unwind. None pressurised time spent with a loved one. Precious.



( Image: People's Commons)