Kiss Me Quick in Kent

Last night we popped into our new local (well, the pub that is closest to us), the Wrotham Arms. Took a punt on the chance they had some live music on, and we were not disappointed. We stumbled in on , a Ozzie with many guitars and much talent. Some great acoustic blues, country and folk-ish types tunes. All good fun and he had everyone in the pub singing by the end.

Made us both get excited about Folk Week in August.

Oh and it stayed open til 12! We will back. Not least for the fact the American (yes!) landlord rather nicely helped me find a pound coin with his lighter. The 'Philly Cheese Burger' for a fiver also looks tempting.

So sorry for the absinth blog-fans, I have been enduring, sorry, I mean enjoying the delights of Broadstairs Dickens Festival.

It's been interesting, going to the butchers and seeing Queen Victoria being served her pork chops. No it has - really.

We've have indeed tried to get into the spirit of it. Hard not to when there's a bloody great marquee outside your window, with kids choirs warbling out tunes from 'Oliver' every five minutes.

Bah-humbug (see in my 'Scrooge' like way, I have been enjoying it.)

We went to see a play of the 'Pickwick Papers', at a local drinking establishment in the week.

Now, I know people say in Jane Austen, 'nothing ever happens' but blimey, a few maidens running around worrying about potential suitors would be far more interesting than an altercation over a 5-bob note or a lost hankie, which seemed to be the vibe in this 'Pickwick's' plot. It was like a bad pantomine.

I confess, reader, I have never read any Dickens. But I have enjoyed the stories in the musical and cinematic versions. Dickens' character were more like caricatures, which I guess is why they were so easy to adapt for the musical stage and film. But theatrically - Oscar Wilde, there are not.

Perhaps I am being a little too kind on the local ham-dram, sorry am-dram players, by blaming the script. But bar one (who proved - through his god-awful accent - that he thought he was the Artful Dodger in 'Oliver' - wrong book my dear!), they did a fairly good job with a pretty boring play. Though not enough, to make me and my companions sit through the second half. Sorry guys.

Elsewhere in the town, we have enjoyed the music and merriment. Oh, and both of us being totally and utterly crapped on by a seagull on the way to visit Bleak House. (Like never before: hair, bag, dress, leg...they all got a pasting). That'll teach me to diss-the-Dickens.

So a few weeks down the line and we firmly settled in the new place. Okay that's not strictly true. Loads of things not unpacked, but at least my desk/office is set up and I have an amazing view of the coast and Victoria Gardens in Broadstairs. So very peaceful indeed.

Experiences so far have been mixed. The first weekend my enjoyment of visiting Westwood Cross, the local retail park/small town, was marred by nearly an hours wait for a taxi outside of Tescos in the pouring rain. I guess I am just used to calling up at the supermarket in London and cab arriving - usually with some kind of number ref - within minutes. Not being told what's going on after 30 mins, which turns into a whole hour, and you can't go back in and ring (from the cab firm 'phone') to check in case 1) someone nicks your cab 2) they turn up and then later claim you weren't there. It's also very ramdom some just tootling up in a car and shouting out your name. I stayed in the same position for 70 minutes, but they still claimed I wasn't there.

Turns out there are only 4 cabs in Broadstairs. Eventually I got one of them.

Anyway - a lession learned. Other half will be doing the shopping from now on.

On the up side, have much enjoyed shopping in the local shops in Broadstairs and going for walks when I finish work accompanied by cockles and ice creams. It is, after all, these types of experiences we moved down here for.

I can get frustrated at the supermarket anywhere.

Okay, so I've been a crap blogger.

It's been nearly three weeks since my last post. But hey, give me a break, we moved! Finally.

Possibly the worst moving experience of my life, mainly to the distance, the combined amount of stuff me and other half now have, and the severe lack of energy caused by getting old.

The moving day was, shall we say, tense. Just glad my father was there to stave off a complete melt down of mine and other half's relationship. So 3 hours later than planned we packed up the luton van, which was full to the gills, and proceeded to hack it from South East London to Thanet at 50mph (that is all the van would do, and then it was moving from side to side rather precariously). Journey was spent in silence until we were in view of Broadstairs, with 20 mins to spare before the letting agent closed and we would have been left to sleep in the van for the night.

Then 3 hours of unloading the van ensued. We'd already binned off the idea of travelling back to London that night, so was really hoping for a drink to accompany my curry (at the only restaurant open later than 10pm on a Monday night.) Turned out to be BYO.

In the end a good thing as 5.30am start to get the van back to Forest Hill, and then a few hours of cleaning up, landlord being predictably late to handover keys, and then lugging way too much stuff back on the train to Broadstairs, rather sapped one's energy.

Worth it? Oh yes, but next time we hiring professionals. I never want to lift another box ever again.