scribbles tagged ‘Dungeness’

direct land lines

Monday, April 30th, 2012 | tags: , ,  |

Dungeness lighthousewendy: do you have a mobile phone?

mumsie: yes, dad has one

wendy: take it with you, it will help us meet-up, when I get off the train I’ll send you a text so you know I’m on my way

 

The next evening there’s a message from mum on the landline phone. This phone is now used only as a direct line to mum and dad

mumsie: ….we’ll charge-up the phone overnight on Saturday then switch it on a 8am on Sunday morning….

at this point I realise that using the mobile phone is not part of my parents everyday life.  I’ve probably caused a bit of a kerfuffle, house discussions about how to use the mobile phone…

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5 bits of fabulous banter »

worx disco

Sunday, March 6th, 2011 | tags: , , , ,  |

Captain Howey Hotel PubThe entrance guarded by portly middle-aged men, avoiding the wind while they dragged on their cigarettes

hello love
a cheerful greeting as I wove between them in search of the hotel reception. The hotel reception was the bar. Two women sat on a sofa Half a dozen toddlers cahorted around and over them. Several men lacking in cranial hair perched on bar stools watching the largescreen 6 nations play. Not an enticing first impression. A blackboard by the bar announced tonight’s Worx disco. The Worx? Dungeness power station workers, these people were dependent of the power station for their livelihood

The Romney and Hythe steam train trundled under my bedroom window. Heaven! It toot-tooted as it trundled by. I went to stand by the track and the driver smiled and waved and tooted when he drove by. At that moment I wanted to be part of a well practiced cheerleading team waving pompoms, synchronised high-kicking and singing the praise of the train line.

Over breakfast the  landlady whispered her concerns. These guys drank so much the night before a full days work at a Nuclear plant. We watched one stumble through the dining area on his way out of the building for his first fag of the day.  He grunted at the Landlady’s cheery greeting. After he’d gone

See what I mean?

 

worx disco
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gentle hum

Saturday, March 5th, 2011 | tags: , ,  |

Dungeness Nuclear Power StationsMechanical hums provide an unimposing soundtrack to my everyday life. Harmonics from the car’s engine, washing machine,  water circulating through the radiators, and computer’s fan. While I was looking elsewhere, these familiar hums became comforting.

The Dungeness power stations’ humm travels inland with the morning sea breeze.

PS 47 word post before the PS
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the Guls complained

Thursday, March 3rd, 2011 | tags: , ,  |

Dungeness walk to the SpitWheelchairs can cross the shingle on their way to the Dungeness Spit. The pathway is a winding work of art. Visiting the spit is a popular tourist passtime, in the UK and the USA

Guls cheerfully call pilgrims to this pathway, bongo footfalls add some rythm to their calls,  tempting me towards to the spit.  Everybody Conga!  The pilgrims danced themselves smaller as I turned toward the sleepy hum of the power stations.

High winds swept the Guls complaints away

PS 80 word post before the PS
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ancient communication devices

Wednesday, March 2nd, 2011 | tags:  |

Before telephones, even before the written word, messages were relayed across the country with more speed than a horse-mounted messenger – using torches

Torch - early communications systemA torch craddle stands on the beach at Littlestone-on-sea. Torches placed on high-ground across the country could be lit, in relay, to warn of an invasion. I’ve not found anything online about their use – does anyone know any stories of their use?

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dangerous boat machinery

Tuesday, March 1st, 2011 | tags: , , ,  |

A quiet sunday morning roam along the Dungeness coastline, interrupted by this sign:

Dungeness - no access

Did I say quiet?

Screeching of Guls, wushing wind, waves rythmically shifting shingle, the humming Nuclear Power stations.

No persons, authorised or otherwise, near the scattered boats. No sign of the silent, dangerous, machinery that is in use at all times. No walls, fences, or barbed wire re-inforced the message of no access.  Just the signed threat.

Dangerous, invisible, mysterious boat machinery? Maybe, here, boat booms live up to their name. When you come too close, the booms burst your eardrums, induce heart attacks. Maybe Jibs can jab like knives.  Forwarned, I turned inland, pulled down my hat, and braced myself for a hike to the lighthouse. Exchanging an uncertain threat for the draw of machinery designed to protect

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Derek Jarman’s garden

Friday, January 7th, 2011 | tags: , , , , , , ,  |

Derek Jarman's GardenFrom the orangerie, she looked around the garden “it reminds me of Derek Jarman’s garden‘. She described pebbles, driftwood, wilderness holding-up brave plants. A pleasing story, as if she could see potential in my newly planted garden. As if she had a vision that flowed with my own anticipation

Later, I placed felled tree-stumps in the borders and a few big pebbles between the about-to-overgrow plants

This christmas she gave me a book, so I can see Derek’s garden for myself. As with his films and life, it continues to inspire

Inspiration is one of the best presents ever

PS 100 word post before the PS
Derek Jarman’s garden
2 votes rating 5

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clark chambers farm

Saturday, January 6th, 2007 | tags: , , , , ,  |

Recommended for an informal friendly bed and breakfast in Dungeness 🙂 🙂

ratings explained

Glenda Clark (ne Chambers)  explains that the farm is the oldest family run farm in Washington state.   She is thinking about trying to get it ‘registered’,   the UK equivalent of ‘listed’.  It is no coincidence that  Clark Chambers farm is the first building on ‘Clark road’.   Bob Clark is a never ending source of stories about farm life and the social history of the Dungeness region of the Olympic peninsular.   A chirpy cheerful couple,   they remind me of cockneys,   with a different accent.

All American accessories included a white picket fence, a porch that surrounded the whole house and warm friendly owners.   Spectacular accessories included a view of the Olympic mountains to the south and a huge bath en-suite.

The bedrooms are named after their original occupants,   mom and dad’s room,   Bob’s room, the guest room.   I stayed in mom and dad’s room with a big en-suite bath.    I miss the decent sized British baths made for lounging in.    Being a person of aquadexterous talents  I could adjust the waterfolw with my tootsies.   I sloshed in the outstanding luxury of  two baths per day.

Yummy

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graveyard punctuation

Tuesday, January 2nd, 2007 | tags: , , , ,  |

Innocently wandering through a Dungeness, not Dungeness, graveyard.   As one is wont to do.

Minding my own business.  Reading the odd,   very odd, gravestone.   When,

SUDDENLY

As if from nowhere,   a cryptic cat launched itself at my torso.    It cunningly used pin-prick  claws to latch onto my skinny left thigh.   While chewing my zipper and partially succeeding in mesmerizing me with talking eyes the  killer kitty eye’d my nose as a potential source of protien:

Scared, me?   Oh yes.

Lot’s of ‘nice kitty’s were administered to secure my thigh’s freedom.

Finally I discovered that offering my fingers as a sacrifice helped lure the kitty’s claws from my leg as it performed the twistiest of jumps in a digit devouring  frenzy.   My fingers and legs bare punctuation scars…

I’ve not heard an American use the phrase ‘graveyard’ nor seen sign’s with the phrase.   Roads are called ‘cemetary road’ and sign’s indicate cemetaries.    Modern cemetaries  are often labelled  ‘memorial garden’.   The mutliple, relevant,  related meanings  that come with using the word  ‘grave‘ appeal to me:

  1. dig; excavate.
  2. carve or shape with a chisel: sculpture; carve or cut (as letters or figures) into a hard surface: engrave.
  3. to impress or fix (as a thought) deeply.
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