With both our holidays to Italy and Spain respectively
cancelled, my wife and I decided to have a couple of nights at the Hotel
Continental in Whitstable, Kent. We had been to Whitstable some years ago and
loved the quaintness of its little streets and harbours, plus of course we both
love sea food, especially oysters.
What we found however was somewhat different to the quaint
little town we remembered, the streets are still narrow and the shops still
small, but apart from the odd few, they mostly sell tourist tat.
The first place we went into of course was our hotel, which
was “alright” I suppose one could describe it, but still seemed to be stuck in
a look of the 1950s, with no elevator, just a narrow winding staircase which I
had to lug our suitcase up, “What you got in there, a body?” called the woman
on reception as I struggled up the stairs with it – no offer of any help, just
a giggle at our expense.
Our room was clean, normal to smallish and the shower-room
was quite modern – surprise – surprise.”
What I really wanted to see was the Sea-View” we had booked – I flung
back the small window beside the bed to see a building opposite advertising “No
Vacancies.” I then stretched my neck out of the window as far as I could to the
right and sure enough there was the sea – about 12 inches of it, for that is
all I could see from there.
We decided to go for a walk into town to see if we could get
some lunch at one of the restaurants there but unfortunately they were all
booked up and I didn’t fancy looking for more as it was windy and freezing
cold, so we hurried back to our hotel and had a snack there, which surprisingly
wasn’t too bad – simple but eatable. At the reception desk they asked us if we
wanted breakfast for the next couple of days and if we did, what would we like
– “A full English in a bap?” she asked. In a what? I replied, “A bap” she said.
I knew what a bap was as I had seen one in a Steve Coogan comedy a while ago,
OK yes we’ll go with that and take it as it comes I thought.
At least my wife had had the insight to book some restaurants in the town for the next couple of nights, so off we went that evening to a large fish restaurant in town where the latest booking was for 8.15 PM and they closed at 10PM. (bear in mind this was before the new Covid 19 rules and all the restaurants we knew in London were at that time opening normal hours. The food was quite nice but the atmosphere was like being in a school hall or a warehouse. By 10PM we were the last diners in the place – the staff were friendly enough and didn’t exactly kick us out but they did have our bill ready the moment we asked for it.
Out of the restaurant and onto the street – what on earth
had happened in the couple of hours we had been in there? We were the only
people on the street – we walked through the high street with its little, now
closed up shops and still no people and believe it or not it got even colder,
if that was possible in early September – the wind was like a force ten gale,
it was strong that I swear if I had tripped on a lose paving stone the wind
would have prevented me from falling flat on my face. Let’s find a nice warm
pub and have a drink before battling on I thought, and there just a few yards further
on we saw one, a real old fashioned looking pub, dating a lot further back the
1950s look of the rest of the town, and I could see a few people in there.
As we got almost to the door a large vintage Bentley came
roaring out of the car park, being driven rather erratically by a man in a
camel coloured overcoat and a bowler hat. “Did you see that?” my wife asked,
well I could hardly have missed it could I? “But the man driving” she
stammered, “it was him wasn’t it – you know who I mean, what’s his name from
that old TV programme” “Yes, it could well have been I thought, John Steed from
the Avengers – couldn’t it?
Once inside the old
hostelry we found the crowd of people turned out to be just four elderly
ladies, all with the same blue rinse hair-do’s – two knitting and the other two
talking to their pet poodles. I quickly looked round to see if we had
mistakenly wandered onto a film or TV set - what with John Steed just driving
past and now this? I ordered a brandy
for myself and a glass of wine for my wife – maybe they will charge me in old
money I thought, two shillings and three pence of the equivalent – no such luck
however, “that’ll be £12.80” growled the miserable old goat behind the bar,
“and if you want another one you better order now because we’re closing in five
minutes.
We passed on his generous offer, downed our drinks and once
more made our way into the storm laden and pitch black streets towards our
hotel.
Next morning it looked slightly brighter when I strained my
neck to look out of our bedroom window, so we went downstairs for breakfast –
we could have had it delivered to our room but as didn’t have a table I thought
it would be a little bit awkward trying to eat it there.
The “Full English Breakfast” was delivered to our table in
the “hall” downstairs – where a large paper carrier bag was delivered to our
table, it contained a couple of bananas, a fruit drink, some sachets of tomato
sauce, and two cardboard boxes, each of which contained a soft bread roll
(called a bap) inside of which we found a sausage, a piece of bacon and a fried
egg. There were no plates, no cutlery and no serviettes. I eventually managed
to eat mine by using the spoon from my coffee. Can you imagine what a tourist
from abroad would have thought of this little offering? “This” is a full English breakfast? Good God”
After breakfast we decided to take in the sites of Whitstable, and believe me there certainly are some – The bowling alley, which looks like an old warehouse with a picture on the wall and no customers ever to be seen anywhere near it – huge deserted concrete road that didn’t seem to lead anywhere apart from yet more warehouses and a huge building that even the staff in the restaurants didn’t know what it was but looked like a cement factory from the 1950s yet again.
I must admit that the little harbour itself looked nice and
quaint with plenty of small fishing boats bobbing up and down in the choppy
waters but we never saw one boat leave that harbour, not even the one that
advertised “Trips”. There were also lots
of little retails stands and huts, one selling wooden tortoises, why anyone
would contemplate buying a wooden tortoise I don’t know. What did interest me
however were the two little huts selling “Fresh Fish” Perfect for taking home when
we leave we thought.
The wind had started to blow up again so we couldn’t do much
more site-seeing so we decided to take a walk to the local shopping street,
where we found a Sainsbury’s, Blimey they do seem to be getting up to date
don’t they, but at least my wife could buy the hair shampoo she needed in
there.
The people in these streets also seemed to have wafted in
from the Avengers film set, elderly women in long floral dresses with lace
around the collar and men, all quite large, in striped baggy tee-shirts and
long baggy shorts and their legs and arms covered in tattoos.
Coming up for lunch time we spotted a tapas bar along the
main street, perfect for what we want, small snacks and a beer or glass of wine
– perfect” Well it might have been apart
from the fact that it wasn’t open, and had a sign in the window saying “open
evenings only”
I do seem to be going on about food and restaurants I know
but believe me there isn’t much else to do apart from eating and drinking in
Windy Whitstable. We did pass the tapas bar later that evening – it was about
10 PM and it was closed yet again – apparently they close at 9 PM.
On our last morning after noshing our way through our Full
English in a bap yet again we decided to walk down to the harbour to buy some
fresh fish to take home but when we got there it was still only 9.30 AM and
being Whitstable nothing opens until 10 AM. It was, as per usual, so freezing
cold that we hurried back to the hotel to put on some warmer clothing and then
drive back to the harbour to buy our fish. Nowhere to park near the harbour of
course so I had to wait in the car while my wife went to buy the fish.
Vroom vroom vroom – I knew that noise and sure enough there it was again, that dark green open top Bentley again with John Steed driving and waving his brolly at me as he passed. I couldn’t wait to tell my wife when she returned with the fish but she was keen to tell me about what had just happened to her. The fish was all fresh, they told her, fresh up from Billingsgate market that morning – no wonder they don’t open until 10 AM – a small bag of clams and two Lemon soles - £40.00. Need I say more?
Back at the hotel yet again we brought our luggage down and
loaded it into the car for our drive home only to find some inconsiderate
person had scraped down the side of our car while we had been parked on the row
of parking meters opposite the hotel.
The total cost of our little two night excursion was nearly £1,000. Staycation? Forget about it.
Back at the hotel yet again we brought our luggage down and
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