Kent | The Little Room of Rachell

Another week away, it’s not a proper Summer holiday if it doesn’t include the sea.

Yes, lots of pictures of dead fish but aren’t they great to look at? All shiny fresh and ready to make delicious meals. I’ve included the price board in the fish market because someone will find it interesting. I occasionally write down prices in my diary, knowing I’ll be comparing then and now, fascinated in the future.

I have to capture the colours of the fishing boats in the harbour, the blue sky and the fluffy white clouds. I love staring too, drinking in all the colour and movement. The fishing boats draw a crowd of onlookers. After elbowing a few children aside and pushing a couple of Grandmas into the water I was able to peer into the boxes stacked with fish, exciting but I really couldn’t tell you exactly what kind.

Lager shandy, chips, a lemon sherbet or rhubarb & custard in the car, miles and miles walked each day, wild plums picked and eaten, trying to spit the stones out as far as possible while walking along a coastal path (but usually just bouncing next to my shoe, useless) intending to buy greengages while they’re in season, but inexplicably not getting around to it, reading The Memory of Lost Senses by Judith Kinghorn and not knowing whether to shout ‘Just get on with the reveal!’ or revel in the slow pace and unfolding of the not-really-a-mystery, navigating old style; leaving the Sat Nav shut away, searching for sea glass treasure; trying not to put my iphone in the same pocket, enjoying the folk music, Morris dancers and the Tap & Sync Appalachian dancers (from Northamptonshire which is surprising somehow) at Broadstairs Folk Festival, losing a pounds-worth of two pence pieces in an arcade, feeling no need to crochet, knit or sew until going into a Margate Vintage shop and seeing someone crocheting behind the counter, then really having that itchy fingers feeling, lingering in shady lanes looking for geocaches and receiving curious glances from dog walkers, laughing at out of context fragments of other people’s conversations, feeling a curious hint of Autumn in the air, noticing darker early evenings, cooler breezes, beginning to anticipate cooking soups, casseroles and Autumn fruit crumbles….

Off to the South coast next, the last seaside trip of the summer.

The next post will contain knitting, and nothing else but knitting. What a treat to see craft on a craft blog!

I’ve wanted to visit Sissinghurst for a long time. I’ve come across Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicolson many times when reading books concerning English social history in the last century, but their garden is also famous of course. I loved my visit.

“Vita Sackville-West, the poet and writer, began the transforming Sissinghurst Castle in the 1930s with her diplomat and author husband, Harold Nicolson. Harold’s architectural planning of the garden rooms, and the colourful, abundant planting in the gardens by Vita, reflect the romance and intimacy of her poems and writings.

Sissinghurst Castle was the backdrop for a diverse history; from the astonishing time as a prison in the 1700s, to being a home to the women’s land army. It was also a family home to some fascinating people who lived here or came to stay. Today you can take in the ruined architecture of the extensive original buildings, vast panoramic views from the top of the Tower, the current working farm and the 450-acre wider estate along with Vita and Harold’s gardens.” Taken from the National Trust website.

I really like looking at vegetable gardens on this scale. Just look at those lettuces! Those at Hidcote (not included in the blog post, but you might want to look at more photos from another glorious English garden) were well worth seeing too. I had serious vegetable envy that day too!

Vita favoured planting in abundance; she didn’t wish to see any soil, so the beds were filled to bursting with plants. It would be amazing to be able to fly back in time to see the garden in its heyday.