A breath of sea air

Another rainy day in the big city, and I’ve had enough gloom. But I’m not about to wait months for the brighter days to return. I guess I’d better make my own sunshine.

With this thought in mind, I wheel out the bike and pack up my laptop in the top box, hoping to find a quiet place on the Kent coast where I can drink some coffee and add to my collection of unpublished prose.

“The sea air will do you good,” says June, not in the least reluctant to see me depart for the day. We’d spent a lot of time together during lockdown. I smile my reply, wishing her a pleasant day, before jumping on the bike and roaring off.

My first port of call (literally, as well as figuratively) is Rye Harbour, at the edge of Romney Marsh. I stop off at a fresh fish shop, which boasts a catch brought straight in from the boat.

“I’d recommend the Halibut,” says the younger of the two men behind the counter. I suspect both have been out on the previous tide and are doubling up as shopkeepers to supplement the meagre fisherman’s income. The other man leans against the back door, fingering an unlit roll-up.

“If it’s last night’s catch yer after,” he says to a woman who has stepped in behind me, asking about local catch, “most of what’s over this side is. You got yer skate, bream, herring, squid…” the list goes on.

Quitting the shop after buying just a pair of kippers for tomorrow’s breakfast (not at all local, but from Grimsby), I press on to the Dungeness peninsula. Despite the ominous sight of the now-defunct nuclear power station, Dungeness is a wonderful coastal location, with vast shingle flats that are home to some superb birdlife and flora.

There are no trees anywhere in sight and no protection from the crosswinds off the sea. But at least the rain has stopped, and the sun has now broken through the clouds.

I ride along the narrow road across the shingle and am surprised to see the pop-up fish bar open this late in November. Easily tempted, I order a meal of today’s catch, and wait at one of the bench tables out in the open, while it sizzles in the fryer.

Having eaten, I make a brief visit to the station terminus of the narrow-gauge steam railway that still serves this part of the coastline. The station is closed, but the gift shop and coffee bar are still open. I make use of their facilities before ordering a double espresso, sipping it alone in the windswept ‘garden’ outside.

Heading around the bay, it seems that mine are the only two wheels on the road for miles. As I arrive in Hythe, I toy with the idea of pressing on to Ramsgate but decide against. The gloom is starting to gather, and I would rather be home with June, enjoying an evening meal in the warmth of our suburban home.

Having had my afternoon in the sunshine, I race off up the M20, homeward bound. It can rain all it likes tomorrow. I will be catching up with the writing I haven’t done today.

* * * * *

This story is a work of fiction but is based quite closely on an actual journey I made on my BMW in November 2022. I like to ride along the coast, taking in the places I don’t often see, although I have been to the wonderful shingle flats at Dungeness several times. Worth the visit if you ever get a chance and look out for the fried fish hut but be prepared to queue up. I have yet to visit Derek Jarman's house. Must do that some time.

I don’t know anyone called June.

If you like this story, please let me know and I will post some more like it.

RGT

© Raymond G. Taylor, 2022, all rights reserved. The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

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