We took a short break recently, spending a few days exploring the county of Kent which describes itself as "the garden of England." I don't know that I'd describe it that way myself but I suppose my first choice description of "far better than Norfolk" – whilst wholly accurate – might be a tad contentious.
We explored castles, we visited stately homes, we wandered down piers (and up them too as failure to do so leads to death from exposure or seagull abduction), and a good time was had.
We also decided to take a walk along part of the famous white cliffs of Dover (spoiler: no bluebirds were spotted) in order to reach the South Foreland Lighthouse. This, incidentally, is something you too should do should you ever find yourself in the area; there's a rather lovely teahouse there but the personal tour of the lighthouse itself which (pun alert) illuminates the history of the world's first electric-powered building of this type is the (further pun alert) highlight of the visit. I think I'm out of lighthouse-related puns now.
The clifftop walk was wonderful, if a little tiring. The windy conditions made the excursion especially exhilirating. Fellow walkers could be seen standing horrifically close to the edge. Sheer faces of chalk stood out marvellously against the blue sky and brownish water. France could be seen on the horizon. France was so close, in fact, that our phones switched to a French network. Many curse words were uttered as we turned off data roaming to avoid excessive charges even though we were on home soil. All-in-all, fun.
This photo is from the walk along the white cliffs. Mark, I said to myself. Mark, what composition says iconic White Cliffs of Dover image to you? The answer, of course, was Dame Vera Lynn leading lemmings over the edge to land on and repel Norman invaders because that's how my brain works. So here's a spiky, bushy tree-type thing and some grass.
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