Canterbury 2016 Journal
It’s that magical time again when I get back from a holiday and feverishly turn my memories into a belated journal before the slow, inexorable march of time makes me forget what the hell actually happened. This time, we’re taking a trip to Sittingbourne, Herne Bay and Canterbury on the coast of Kent, the English Garden county.
But first, let’s take a detour into London.
Picture the scene: It’s 5:30 on a Friday, and I’ve just knocked off work for the week and downed a bottle of beer before hopping on the 850 bus, which is late as usual, from Marlow to High Wycombe. I head back home for long enough to sink another beer and collect the lady friend. She’s asleep in my bed, having arrived at my flat and letting herself in while she waits for me, so I wake her up and tell her to get her shit together so that we can head into London.
On that Friday night, Canterbury seemed like a dream that was yet to happen. Our sights were set instead on a pilgrimage to London, so we walked through town – stopping for cheesy chips and chilli sauce from Dennis’s kebab van – then hopped on the fast train to Marylebone, where I managed to squeeze in two more beers before we arrived in the capital.
At Marylebone, there was time for a quick cigarette before going underground to catch the tube to Camden Town, which left us just a short walk away from the Jazz Café. It’s a lovely little venue, and it has the added touch of a sound system in the bathroom that pipes in music from the stage, so you don’t miss the acts while you’re taking a leak. At a fiver per pint, it’s actually one of the cheaper music venues when it comes to alcohol, although I’m more used to paying £3.50. I miss my uni days, when it was £1.70 for a pint, or just a pound at acoustic night or when the year was coming to an end and they needed to shit their remaining stock by selling it at cost to alcoholic academics.
But we weren’t there for over-priced beer and lavatorial sound systems. We were there to see Foreign Beggars, and if you don’t know who they are, you’d better get to know, fam. But first, we caught a set by Eva Lazarus, who was pretty good – she could sing, she could rap and she could dance, and she managed to put on a strong show without any ego. When she talked between the songs, you could tell that she loved music and was grateful to have an attentive audience to share her sound with. Plus, she had a couple of backing singers/dancers and a shit ton of sparkly confetti. What’s not to love?
And then Foreign Beggars were on, and it was epic. They performed a decent mix of new tunes and old classics, including a few from Asylum Speakers, and were joined by an all-star cast of special guests including Dr. Syntax. I’ve wanted to see him live for a while because he’s one of my favourite rappers, and so it was a nice surprise to get to see him. He’d brought Pete Cannon along, who I’m more familiar with as a producer, but it turns out he’s a decent rapper as well.
Overall then, it was a cracking gig and a great night, and we kept the party going with a couple more beers on the train home. I was trying to read my Stephen King book (Rose Madder) on the journey, but the print was small and it hurt my eyes and so I didn’t make much progress. And, because all good things must come to an end and we had to get up early in the morning, we hit the sheets as soon as we got in and fell asleep almost immediately.
That brings us up to Saturday, when our adventures began for real. We got up at the crack of ten without too much of a hangover, and then quickly packed our things and loaded up the car. It was a two-hour drive to Sittingbourne, our final destination, but the traffic wasn’t too bad and we made the entire journey in a single leg, arriving at The Pilgrims Rest bang on check-in time at 2 PM.
It was a lovely little B&B, and quite the find – the staff were friendly and while there were some other people staying there, we didn’t really hear or see them and so we were able to take it easy. The room was a good size too, with a comfortable bed and an en-suite with a bath in it, as well as free WiFi and digital TV, so we treated ourselves to a cup of coffee and some Saturday afternoon television while we got our bearings and prepared to head back out again.
Our first stop was the seaside town of Herne Bay, and despite it being the end of the season, the weather was good and there was plenty to see and do. We strolled along the beach for a while and I tried (and failed) to skim stones over the water, and we also wandered along the pier. Most of the little shops and things were closed, but they had a bouncy castle and a micro pub which sold ‘Beer on the Pier’ – possibly not the wisest of combinations.
After that, we wandered along the high street and checked out a few charity shops, where I was able to pick up three Agatha Christie books for a pound. We also had chips (minus the fish) in a little restaurant on the seafront and then wandered through the arcades, although we didn’t play any of the machines because they didn’t have Time Crisis and, let’s face it, Time Crisis is where it’s at.
Afterwards, we hopped into the car and went back to the hotel, where we settled in to watch TV for a bit while I got some work done. That’s the thing about being a writer – you never stop, and if there’s a little downtime while you’re in a hotel room, you’re contractually obliged to boot a laptop up and start working. We did at least nip out for a drink at the local pub – which was deserted – and I also took a break from watching Pensioners That Kill for long enough to take a bath. This probably makes me sound old, but relaxing in the bath with a good book can hold more appeal than a night on the town, especially when the town in question is as sleepy as Sittingbourne is in mid-October.
We woke up at around nine on the Sunday and shuffled obediently into the dining room for breakfast, which was included in the price of the room. Becca and I shared a pot of coffee and started out with some toast and some home-made jam and marmalade, before moving on to a vegetarian cooked breakfast. It was a delicious start to the day and helped to fortify us for our adventures, which started just as soon as we packed up our stuff, checked out of the room and then hopped in the car to go to Canterbury.
Our first stop was the Canterbury Tales attraction, which was home to a number of different rooms which were filled with animatronics that told the stories of some of Chaucer’s tales. Their employees were in costume and in character, and so part of the tour was led by them, but for the middle of it, it was all automated and you listened to the story on a headset. If you can call them headsets – they were more like early cordless house phones, heavy chunks of plastic that made your arms ache by the end of it. Still, it was atmospheric and had that weird smell going on that you often find at tourist attractions, and the gift shop was pretty cool too. It’s the kind of attraction that’s not for everyone – and in fact is probably better for adults than children thanks to the need for a long attention span and the occasional bawdy joke – but for literature lovers it was perfect, and good value for money, too.
After that, we went for a walk around Dane John Gardens, purely because I have the same name(s) and I wanted to be photographed beside the sign. It turned out to be a good choice because it was a beauty spot with some stunning statues and architecture, including the remnants of the city’s historic wall and an obelisk at the top of Dane John Mound. There was a cracking view of the city and I took a panorama of it, but it was ruined slightly by the cranes and the main road.
By then, we’d built up an appetite, and so we refuelled at Wetherspoons with nachos and halloumi wraps before browsing through a couple more charity shops and stopping off at a tobacconist, where I treated myself to some flavoured tobacco – blueberry, vanilla and menthol. Then it was time for the last stop of the trip: Canterbury Cathedral.
We didn’t have a huge amount of time to walk around, but we didn’t really need it – you can see it all in an hour or so. In fact, it was a good time to go – they’d just had their Sunday service and the choir was practicing. They sounded beautiful, even to my atheist ears, and the architecture was phenomenal. We even wandered around the crypts and got to learn a little history, and afterwards we walked around the grounds, which were well-maintained and looked great in the sunshine. We were lucky that the weather held.
But like the life of Leonard Cohen, all good things must come to an end, and so we left the cathedral behind and made our way back to the car, stopping at Tesco on the way to stock up on supplies for the drive home, which we made in one leg again.
And then we unpacked and watched Netflix, but you don’t want to hear about that. You want to hear about my next exciting adventure, which means you need to buy some of my books to help me fund it.
Right? Right.
THE END
