Last bank holiday Monday some friends and I went to "the original seaside", as Margate is now billing itself, to see the new Turner Contemporary. It looks a bit shed-like when you exit the station, but because it's the same height as the other buildings around it, it doesn't seem intrusive (it actually looks lower than it does in my photo, which is zoomed and cropped).

It's a rather nice space inside, not very big, but light and cool. Charles Holland has written a good review of it here, which saves me having to say much else.

The day we were there the seafront was heaving with bikers there for the Margate Meltdown, with lots of stalls, and pub rock bands, and gawkers. It was the most crowded I'd seen the place (but then again I've never been there in the height of the season before).

There were lots of bikes parked outside the gallery, framed here by Daniel Buren's already iconic stripes. (The huge windows overlooking the sea are fantastic.)

After visiting the Turner, I dragged my friends off to the Shell Grotto (no visit to Margate is complete without it), where I was temporarily adopted by the very friendly Grotto Cat.

And then a stroll around town, where we discovered that Limbo is situated between a Burton shop and a KFC.

And there was plenty of bunting. Bunting is definitely the "in" thing this year. I'd like to blame That Wedding, but it was popping up all over the place long before that. The high street was full of bright fluttering flags, which couldn't hide the fact that so many of the shops have closed down (but on the plus side, there were some new, independent ones which had opened up since I was there last year). I liked the two-tone chequered bunting outside the mod shop, and the orange-and-black bunting along the route of the bikefest, as well.

A day at the seaside requires ice cream, so we headed off to get some at Carter's Steam Fair, which was set up in the Dreamland car park. Unfortunately, it started raining as soon as we walked in through the gates, so we didn't stay long, and the rain only got harder when we left. With a bit of time before the next train back to London, we took shelter in a cafe in Buenos Ayres.

(It wasn't as nice as the cafe we had lunch in, a proper classic caff with red leatherette booths called Kalli's, where a cup of tea, scrambled egg, proper crispy bacon and mushrooms on toast came to the princely sum of three quid. Brilliant.)

Then back to the train station, with barely enough time to admire the lovely station ceiling, and on to the fast train home to London in the rain.

It wouldn't have been a proper Whitsun bank holiday without some rain, I suppose. And speaking of bank holidays, I was amused and interesting to read this piece on Margate and bank holidays a couple of days later.

More photos from the day (with more to come) here. All my Margate photos are here. You can read about previous visits to Margate here and here.

The first seaside visit of the year was down to the Kent coast for a rainy day in Deal a couple of Saturdays ago. First stop was the undeniably Brutalist pier. To quote Charles Holland, "It doesn't look like a good night out, more like a bad morning after. [...] It looks like a piece of the M1 that has washed up on the shores of East Kent."

Despite that, I liked the pier, which is wide, open and in constant use even on a rather bleak and rainy day in January (although it was disappointing that the cafe was closed for refurbishment).

There were a couple of families out fishing (and snoozing), including one woman who proudly regaled us with tales of past catches and how much she loved being out in all weathers with her pink fishing rod. We asked if she ever got bored waiting for something to bite. "Not on your life!" she declared, as we tried to flee the biting wind. She was clearly made of hardier stuff.

Deal has a Time Ball Tower Museum and a Castle, both of which are closed out of season, so we wandered around the fishing boats, where bored teenage boys were sorting sprats under parental duress. Signs advised us to keep clear of morning haze, and jewels shined on rotten planks.

We posed for group photos outside the castle and tried to ignore the ugly red building overshadowing it (this appeared to be the tallest building on Deal's seashore. It's not very tall but everything else is about two storeys shorter, so it still stands out).

Lunch brought debate as we traipsed around looking for fish and chips, and everyone else ignored my advice that there would probably be a chippy next door to the amusement arcade. Some of us ended up in Deal Beach Parlour, which was full of great vintage signage and unfortunately also full of grumpy staff who told me not to take photos of it.

So we only had a cup of tea, and went a few doors down to the chip shop (which was indeed next door to the amusement arcade as I'd predicted).

After lunch, a wander around the narrow streets full of terraced cottages. Lace curtains and neighbourhood watch signs were the order of the day here (one curtain twitcher banged on their window when I was taking a photo of a green door across the street, even though I wasn't trying to peer into peoples' houses).

I noticed lots of cottages had small selections of tiles over the doorways. Does anyone know if it's a relatively new thing or something traditional? I've not seen it before. It's as though one household thought it might look nice, and then all the neighbours followed suit.

Something else I've not seen before were these Vs near pavement level, which I spotted all over town. I couldn't work out what they were for; anyone know? Valves or vaults or something else?

Heading towards the high street, we spotted the only blue skies of the day.

Down on the high street we found a lovely old cigarette machine and a vintage sign offering hot drinks.

We went past Cockle Swamp Alley which had something of a Carry On ring to it, which seemed appropriate, as Deal was famously home to Charles Hawtrey (who led a rather sad life away from his onscreen appearances).

Deal was also home to the bluestocking Elizabeth Carter, whose pink house we came upon just as the clouds parted for a few brief moments of golden hour sunshine.

There was a mini exodus to the beach to make the most of the light, but a nearby signpost suggested there was a "hotter comfort concept" in the opposite direction, so we followed its advice (partway), and went to the pub.

We'll be back to visit Deal again though. Maybe in warmer weather next time.

More photos here and here.

We made plans to meet at Barking, where I arrived early, having taken the Goblin from one end of the line to the other. Since I had a bit of time to kill I went along to see the new Lemonade Building and take a few pictures. 

I was struck by how the place looked like a miniature model made lifesize, especially the way the trees looked like those tiny trees you find in train sets. The fact that their colouring matched the balconies only increased the feeling but it was quite a nice touch. 

There were some interesting contrasts between the old and new buildings, although it served to reinforce the playset aspects somewhat. 

There's a good article on Barking here, a reread of which reminds me that I missed seeing Barking's new folly (if it counts as a proper folly, and I'm not sure if it does).   

After David arrived in Barking, we caught the train to Dagenham Dock. We were the only people to get off at this bleak and urban wasteland. It was hardly the most romantic of settings, but there was a sign inviting us to "kiss and ride".

As we stood beneath the huge flyover, I became aware of the loud crackle of electricity coursing through the pylons around us. The flyover has funny little lamppost supports which almost look like an afterthought.

Dagenham is of course home to Ford, so it was inevitable that we'd see at least one building sporting the Ford logo. 

More surprising was the odd-looking pavement, with random strips of tarmacked-in York stone haphazardly placed along it for no apparent reason. 

We could only assume it was there for some sort of "heritage" reasons, except that there's little else there besides huge industrial sheds behind long fences, or huge patches of scrubland behind barbed wire. This stretch of road is filled with skip hire companies, recycling plants and truck fleets, but not much else. 

Most of the sheds seemed to be various shades of blue and grey.

We passed a closed caff offering ice pops and mysterious "orange jubblys" for 40p each. 

At one point we came across a huge family waiting at a bus stop, which seemed incongruous, until we realised they'd just been to church. I can't think of a more bleak place to worship. Surely it'd be nicer to worship in some pretty park rather than an industrial shed in the middle of some urban hinterland. 

Nearby, we came across these odd lamps, sitting in front of some sheds. 

I had to squeeze my arm through the fence to take the top photo, but it was obvious someone had gone to a lot of trouble over their layout, even though not many people would ever see them, and the thick bars of the fence made it harder still. There was a touch of whimsy about it which we liked. 

Then there was this sign, which was surprisingly classy, compared to the designs of all the other signs and logos we saw on our wander.

After a seemingly endless walk down a dreary road, we cane across some horses, standing on a small bank underneath more pylons. There was another bank across the road, so we decided to climb that to get better angles for photos. We were barely up the small crest when we were running down to the road again, scared off by a man in camo gear crouching over a rifle. Unfortunately it meant we didn't get the iconic photographs of horses under pylons we were hoping for. 

Further horseless disappointment occurred when we found ourselves at Thameside City Farm. Since this is a location that feature on local bus maps and in my A-Z it didn't seem unreasonable to expect to see some evidence of a city farm there, but when we arrived — having walked right past it — it was clear there hadn't been a farm there for some time. 

By that time we decided we'd had our fill of bleak urban industrial landscape and abandoned our walk to the riverside, heading back to Liverpool Street, a pub lunch and some fine conversation. 

This year's photos from my London Borough Photo Challenge are being collected here.

Like many seaside towns, Bognor has a rather bizarre array of architecture on display. At one end of the promenade are a selection of concrete beach huts, which could look quite ugly, but they've all been given a pretty paint job.

We spotted a wedding couple with a photographer, taking cheesy photos of the groom carrying the bride down the beach (which seemed fair, as she wasn't wearing shoes and the beach was all shingle just there). We also spotted a huge, dead seagull lying on its back, so I couldn't resist this picture of it with the wedding party in the background.

At the other end of the promenade, where the houses aren't so posh, the beach huts are wooden and painted in a bizarrely radioactive array of IKEA-like colours. I think these were available for rent by the day, unlike the concrete ones which all seemed to be privately owned.

Nearby, we spotted these eccentric mish-mash houses built from old train carriages and garden sheds. They didn't look too weatherproof: one sharp gust of wind might blow them away!

And these, which seemed oddly Mediterranean, and like little tug boats at the same time. I like the balcony/porch combo with the portholes.

Then there's this monstrosity, which could have been good, except that the proportions are all wrong and the mirrored windows are too aggressive. Judging from the few balcony ornaments we spotted (there was a really hideous elfin Peter Pan statue sitting on the penthouse patio), it's going to be full of people with too much money and no taste, which is what you'd expect from anyone who'd want to live in a place that looked like this (the photo actually makes it look better, which means it probably passes the Architecture Squint Test Owen refers to in this essay):

Bognor has a big Butlin's resort which you can see from the train when you're coming in — it's got a peaked marquee that looks like something from a fairytale at a distance. Up close it looks a lot less romantic, but the really interesting thing about the place is that it takes up a huge stretch of the Bognor seafront, but almost none of the place can actually see the sea. There are no windows, and all sorts of fences blocking access between the buildings and the promenade. There's something rather twisted about that.

There's one place at Butlin's that does have a seafront view, the new Shoreline Hotel which was built a few years ago. It's not a bad building, as it seems to follow the seaside moderne tradition of buildings that look like ocean liners (such as the De La Warr Pavilion or Marine Court which I blogged about here). I forgot to take a photo of the side view to show you what I mean, but the front view is quite nice.

But my favourite building in Bognor was "this cleverly quaint little house, a sort of building which in its optimistic quality and simplicity might be emulated in thousands all over the kingdom."

No, not the ugly yellow thing squatting on the side of the road, which I included in the frame for comparison, but that elegant and odd little tower. It's called the White Tower, and looks like it was built sometime in the 1930s when both square whitewashed buildings and suburban cottages were commonplace, so I was interested to learn that it's actually much older than that. It was designed in 1897 by John Cyril Hawes, who was just 21 at the time. It's been surmised that he built it as a tower so as to be able to have a view of the sea, rather than the other buildings in front of it. You see pictures of the interior in this pdf. [link takes you to GoogleDocs version of an estate agent's pdf]

The more I think about it, though, the more I find myself wondering when it was whitewashed and when it acquired its name, because it wasn't particularly common practice to whitewash buildings like this in the 1890s when red brick and terracotta were still at the height of popularity. I was under the impression that it wasn't until the birth of modernism that people started painting their houses white like this, but I could be wrong — feel free to comment if you know anything about it. (Incidentally, Hawes himself went on to live in a hermitage in the Bahamas which he designed in the 1940s.)

It was a pretty mixed day, with dramatic changes in the sky, but it only rained twice: once when we were in a cafe having lunch, and once when we were in the pub. To give you an idea of the dramatic weather, these two photos were taken around the same time, from the same bit of the beach (those steps were quite interesting, covered in green and purple seaweed, limpets, barnacles and whelks, not to mention a little pool with tiny fish in it).

Bognor may not be winning any style awards or high accolades any time soon, but it's a very pleasant place for a relaxing day out by the sea. So get yourself a cuppa, and sit down and enjoy the view. More photos here.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Mayfield Lavender Farm in Banstead. In the 18th and 19th centuries, this part of England was the centre of the world's lavender production, before urbanisation and cheap French imports did for it, so it's nice to have some back again in the same area. The farm has quite an interesting history. It's a lovely place, just on the edge of London; two fields of purple flowers, leased from Sutton council.

There were so many bees that the constant buzzzzzzing began to sound like noise pollution similar to planes. Strangely, it didn't smell very strong when I was there — must be one of those weird things where the smell is so distinct and potentially overpowering your brain switches it off so you can recognise other things over the top of it. Odd.

Inevitably, I took some photos. So here they are. If you click on them, you can see them at a bigger size.

little fat bees getting drunk on pollen

spot the baby

See the whole set here. They've started harvesting the lavender this week, but there's still a bit of time to go and see it before the end of August. It's worth a look.

It was too hot for a full meal of fish and chips, and most of the places weren't very cheap (not as cheap as Margate or Hastings anyway), but we did get chips from Bailey's Fry Inn, which has fantastic vintage 1970s signage.

After that we went and had tea at The London Restaurant, because the pretty red-and-green awning had caught my eye from down the road. It's a very old-fashioned cafe/restaurant, which looks like it hasn't changed since the late 1960s. They were even showing Thunderbirds when we walked in (then they switched to the racing).

The funny thing about this place is that I later found out from my mum that her aunt (who I never met) worked there, probably some time in the 1950s or 1960s! Maybe it even had the same decor back then…

Gorgeous blue skies and blazing sunshine called for ice cream, and Southend just happens to have its own chain, Rossi's, who've been serving ice cream to the holiday-makers of Essex since the 1930s.

We had ours on the pier, after a loooong walk from the shore — Southend Pier is the longest pleasure pier in the world; over 2km (almost a mile and a half). That meant there was about three miles of bunting (on both sides), made from actual fabric remnants rather than the expected scraps of plastic. It's the the longest line of bunting in the world!

If you don't fancy the walk, there's a train track, with a couple of cute trains, as well.

The pier is so ridiculously long because there's a massive sandbar which means that the tide never gets very high even when it's full. In fact, even over a mile out there are spots under the pier without water when the tide is low. All the same, you wouldn't want to walk around under there, because there's no sand or pebbles; the ground is thick with crusty barnacles instead, and a few squishy starfish that got left behind.

The tide being so low so far out leaves you with the somewhat surreal sight of people standing slap in the middle of the Thames estuary with the water barely coming up to their waists, as you can see in this handily annotated picture I took from the pier:

We actually watched those three people in the middle walk up the end of the pier. It was surprisingly dramatic, as a lifeboat came racing around the end of the pier, and a security guard dashed past us to intercept them as they climbed up. You can see the lifeboat and the trio in the distance here:

We got a bit worried, as we noticed one of them needed to be carried up the slope. It turned out she'd had been stung by a jellyfish just as they'd reached the pier (we'd spotted some in the water ourselves). She was okay, though, as we found out on the train back to shore, because they sat next to us. They were three teenagers who'd made the walk on a dare, and it had taken them a couple of hours. Security felt sorry for them and let them catch the train back for free!

The little old-fashioned train reminded me of the train journey in Spirited Away, and it was quite fun. It was interesting to see the difference in the tide from when we went out and when we came back:

Our evening ended up in a quiet little beer garden of what turned out to be "Southend's premier gay bar" where we had a great time bonding with the landlord on the subjects of good gin, Batman comics and gloriously rude innuendo. Pity about the limited selection of beer (only extra cold stuff, and no ales), but it was a much more cheerful and friendly than the enormous and depressing Wetherspoons pub across the road.

I was almost sad to leave Southend so soon, but got back to London in time to watch Catherine mess around on a couple of street pianos at Fenchurch Street and the Royal Exchange before they all disappeared the following morning. There's something wonderfully, magically strange about watching someone play a piano at midnight, in the middle of the street, as red double-deckers drive past you and the Bank of England. I was almost expecting passersby to break into song and dance at any moment, but all they did was break into applause. Still a lovely end to a lovely day, though.

More pics here.

…and past the cathedral, which is surprisingly huge for a small town (suggesting it must once have been quite the seat of power, what with the castle and all)…

…then up into Arundel Park, past the funny little gatehouse…

you'll find a lovely little castellated folly called Hiorne Tower.

Built in 1787 by Francis Hiorne, it's a triangular prospect tower with a marvellous view across the south downs, and a perfect place for a picnic. Which is what we did.

Hiorne built the tower to demonstrate his architectural ability to the Duke of Norfolk, but there's not much information available about his life or any other buildings he may have worked on, and he died before he could go on to actually do any more work for the duke. The tower is reputed to be haunted, but we saw no signs of anything.

In front of the tower is an unlikely curiosity to find sitting in a field, in the shape of an antique urn, brought back as spoils from the Crimean War after the siege of Sevastapol in 1855.

The tower itself is quite unusual, with a checkerboard pattern made from flint.

One side of the tower is extremely weathered, but the other side is not (I forgot to check the third side, but suspect it was also unweathered).

After our picnic, we had a a nice slow amble down into the valley, along the Monarch's Way, where we mostly talked to sheep.

It was quite a surprise to turn a bend and suddenly come across the lake.

At the edge of it is pretty Swanbourne Lodge, which houses a tea-rooms, but we didn't stop because we'd just had lunch. You can rent rowing boats to go on the lake, which looks like fun if you can get someone to row you around whilst you lounge.

We followed the River Arun, stopping to talk to ducklings and get excited about seeing a water vole, and wandered back into the centre of town. There's a rather good second-hand bookshop there, Kim's, which has a great selection of kids' books, including at least two bookcases which are filled floor-to-ceiling with vintage Ladybird books. It's not very cheap but I picked up a couple of things anyway. After that, time for a quick pint in a pub and then the train home. Marvellous. More photos here.

Thanks to Anwen for suggesting it, and for being great company.

Last week on Tuesday, I went to Bekonscot model village, which was good fun. We got to play at being giants, and admire the marvellous attention to detail in landscaped grounds full of miniature trees, model trains clattering around a railway track, and even animatronic action going on in unexpected corners.

Some things scaled down so well that it's a bit hard to tell from my photos that they actually are miniature, like these two ruins. 

Other things are designed to make you laugh, like all the puntastic shop names, such as Dan D Lyon's florist, or Sam & Ella's butchers. I think my favourite was Evan Leigh Soles, the shoe shop.

The tiny shoes in the window display of Evan Leigh Soles was adorable, but I think my favourite was the window of the estate agents, which had a teeny-tiny house on display. A miniature house inside a miniature house! The one in the window was about the size of my thumb, and at perfect scale. 

There are lots of other things to keep an eye out for, like the penguin pool at the zoo (based off Berthold Lubetkin's famous London Zoo design), and the two ladies seemingly having a punch-up outside the WI.  

In fact, there's so much to see, it's no wonder they ask you to go around again.

More photos on Flickr.