Thursdae.

My sister and I walked from Herne Bay to Whitstable to Canterbury, along the Crab and Winkle Line. Think I'm trippin? Check out some of this:



A lunchtime view. See if you can spot anything at all. I don't care any more [correct at the time of writing]. Yes, all buildings should advertise their function by way of rooftop lettering. Imagine the secret hideout - "what font?" asks the unknowable Cllr. Vekermun.



This is another scene from pre-Whitstable [it is technically Tankerton, though the sea has no such signs]. Although the resident toddler and ball are not depicted here, they were on the beach to the right. I told my sister that the child had hidden heirlooms inside the ball to foil sea thieves. The parent/guardians took no notice. I openly wished that I too could wear a nappy. We laughed about 'soiling oneself'.



This awful piece of service awareness tripped us up just before we joined the main cycle route. We went beyond the 'whatever next' stage to concoct a small series of dubious spin-offs before despairing our way out of Whitstable. Just.