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