I can't believe that summer's over. Not that we really had much of a summer, weather-wise. But here it is, already September, and I realise that I only managed to get myself to the seaside for one single day this summer. And I didn't even paddle in the sea, even though the beach was nice and sandy, with no uncomfortable rocks or pebbles to hurt my toes on.
The sandy beach isn't the only nice thing at Margate. I know when people hear the name, they often think of Margate as being cheap and tacky, a tawdry poor cousin to the posher seaside towns like Whitstable, Hastings, or even Brighton. This is an attitude which seems to have existed for a long time, judging by this report from Marie Corelli in 1896: "There is something not exactly high-class in the name of Margate. Sixpenny teas are suggested, and a vulgar flavour of shrimps floats unbidden in the air…" Is it really such a surprise to smell shrimps at the seaside, though? What did she expect? Honeysuckle and roses?
Margate is not nearly as awful as people imagine. It's actually rather pleasant, which is something you discover as soon as you get off the train and walk into the station ticket office, with its beautiful vaunted roof and vintage light fixtures. Sure, there are a couple of blocks of prime seafront property which are quite run-down and, yes, tacky (say hello to the Flamingo's shameless Las Vegas rip-off, and the sadly neglected Dreamland theme park), but beyond those, there's the aforementioned nice clean and sandy beach, pretty Victorian houses and a lot of interesting nooks and crannies. Those of you who like thrifting might be interested to know that I spotted a couple of fantastic junk shops, and a pub that serves free food on Friday evenings (okay, I admit it's probably not a pub I would visit myself, even if I do have an affection for some old men's pubs, but still worthy of note, 'cos how many pubs give away food?).
Margate harbour
Margate is also the site of some major regeneration plans, which are already starting to show some effect. Parts of the town near the seafront have already been improved, with a small square to sit in, and a row of galleries and studios in place along the harbour wall. One of these, Droit House, showcases the designs for the new Turner Contemporary Art Centre, which starts getting built in a few weeks time, with plans for a four star hotel and a yacht marina to accompany it. This new-found pride in the town does seem to have had a positive effect on the people there; although there are still a number of sad little corners that could even be called depressing, everyone we spoke to was incredibly friendly and helpful. I found this attitude very refreshing, because one gets used to the idea that locals are resentful of tourist invasions, especially in seasonal places which end up dead and neglected once the summer is over.
That's not to say that there aren't a few sad and neglected places in the town these days, or that parts of it aren't incredibly tacky, but personally I am grateful that those places are still there too, and that the town hasn't become overly gentrified (yet). A walk away from the seafront showed a pretty tacky-looking high street, and a large number of closed-up shops in the side streets. There were also couple of places proudly offering the kind of hideous so-called beauty treatment that would make the average person feel quite nauseous. One was offering a "luxury chocolate facial" which, frankly, sounds like a disgusting euphemism for something nasty. The other sign was a couple of doors down, in the window of a tattoo parlour, and was so repulsive that I can't even bring myself to type it here, in case someone sticks the nasty phrase into Google and it brings up a link to this post. Suffice to say, it involved the bleaching of an intimate part of one's body (ick!). There was a fantastic photo opportunity of this (the sign, not the activity itself, yuck!), with a huge burly bald geezer with no neck standing in the doorway looking intimidating right next to the sign. Needless to say, I didn't actually take the photo, because of the bloke standing in the doorway looking intimidating. He might have hit me or something.
There were a couple of other moments which amused me because they seemed like such visual clichés of what a place like Margate should be like. Walking down a back street, I spotted a pair of ladies' knickers and a pair of boxer shorts wrinkled in a pile on the pavement, as though they'd been pulled off in the throes of passion. Given that there was an empty gasometer and an industrial estate across the road, it was hardly the most romantic place for a quickie, so I couldn't help but be amused. Later on, waiting for a bus to Broadstairs, I heard the sounds of old-fashioned heartbreak country music trailing up the street from a small flatbed lorry, and waited for the inevitable visual cliché of a middle-aged man to be in the cab, only to be further amused as it turned out to be a young, slim man with no shirt on, flexing his muscles on the driving wheel. I think it summed Margate up quite well: it's not what you expect, but yet is not entirely a surprise when you see it.
