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.

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. 

Last Saturday the Shabby Seaside Appreciation Society went to Canvey. This man-made island at the end of the Thames estuary in Essex was the subject of a recent documentary (which I've not seen yet, but which you can read about in a recent post on Fantastic Journal). It was quite a grim day to visit quite a grim place, but we had a great time, despite the poor weather and the air of neglect.

It's hard to believe Canvey was once a popular seaside resort full of people; not just because peoples' holiday tastes have moved further afield, but also because there's a hulking great chemical refinery in the middle of it all. Canvey is one of those places that would probably seem very boring to most people, but I found something pleasing or interesting to look at in most corners we explored, whether it was discovering graphic design in the amusement arcades, trying to work out the purpose of bizarre industrial pipework in the refinery, or spotting an elegant egret stalking across the mudflats.

Downtown Canvey is a tiny crossroads of small streets filled with amusement arcades and ice-cream kiosks, which is a haven of fantastic lettering design, so I was pretty happy there.

There's an adorably tiny cinema, which was showing Oil City Confidential, amongst more mainstream fare, and a couple of nice examples of seaside moderne architecture in the shape of The Labworth Cafe (still a popular venue) and the Monico (now a tacky pub). However, there was a definite dearth of any useful shops to buy everyday things like cigarettes (I don't smoke; one of the people I was with does though).

That's pretty much all there is to downtown Canvey, and the best pub in the area is a good 30-40 minutes walk along the coast, past a couple of caravan parks and the refinery.

I could have happily spent the day just exploring the industrial architecture if we could have found a way in that didn't include getting caught up on razor wire or mauled by guard dogs, but it's not exactly a picturesque scene for a holiday, and the sight of rows and rows of holiday caravans huddled up against rows and rows of gasometers was quite an odd one. (Sadly I didn't take a photo of that for some reason.)

When we eventually made it to the pub, it was a welcome respite, not just from the increasingly desolate view but also from the increasingly inclement weather. The Lobster Smack is a rather cosy old-fashioned pub, once a popular haunt of smugglers, and apparently the model for a pub mentioned in Dickens' David Copperfield. It was full of local families having lunch, but we bagged a table, ordered lunch and waited for the others to turn up. Lunch was very cheap (two portions of fish and chips for a fiver) and very good, with huge portions. Some of the others were tempted by the amazing-looking selection of very reasonably-priced puddings, including a gooey slice of triple-decker chocolate cake which could have served about five people, but lunch had filled us up nicely, and we headed off back to the bus stop to catch the bus back to Benfleet station.

On the walk back to the bus stop we passed an old man in tight jeans and shiny shoes, running erratically down the middle of the road. "I'm the fastest man on the island!" he shouted back at us as he ran past. Unfortunately, despite the fact that there was at least 12 of us with a camera, no one got a photo of him! We did however spot this sign from the Canvey Island Independent Party:

No idea if they're better or worse than the Tories, though. We also passed a tiny thatched cottage, which looked almost incongruous amongst the twentieth-century bungalows. It dates from 1621, and is one of two octagonal cottages on the island.

We passed the other one on the bus, a tiny pink house with a funny-shaped triangular extension. It turns out this was a local museum, which I would have liked to have paid a visit to, as it seems likely to be a while before I go back to Canvey again.

More pics here.

Pics also from: Jodi | Arty | Kathy | Dee | Paul | David | Chris |

The main reason to visit Bexhill is the De La Warr Pavilion, the modernist icon built in 1935 by Erich Mendelsohn and Serge Chermayeff. It's a lovely building; light and airy, even on a cloudy day, with a small but decent gallery space (currently showing a Joseph Beuys exhibition, on until September 27), and a nice comfortable-looking cafe (that we didn't actually try, as we'd brought a picnic lunch). The restoration has been done with a great attention to detail, making it feel simultaneously classically art deco and instantly contemporary — as all the best modernist spaces are. Like many seaside buildings, it sometimes feels like being on a boat — albeit a landlocked one — with its long balconies and a huge open sun deck.

There are some funny little temple-like seaside shelters in front of it, almost arcadian-looking. They seemed to be from an earlier time, but somehow don't clash at all with the Pavilion.

The same can't really be said for the eccentric terraces of houses nearby along the Marina, which are a wonderfully bizarre architectural mish-mash of Moorish minarets and classical English staidness. One terrace is clearly wealthier than the other, with a row of gardens facing the sea — this struck us as optimistic as we walked headfirst into a strong wind; especially the one with the overly manicured lawn. The other terrace is more rundown, and a quick peer into their courtyard showed lots of peeling paint and crumbling walls. There are also other different features between the two terraces, like the bay windows and mullions on the wealthier houses, and the social club and abandoned businesses on the poorer side.¹

Is that an urn with the dog's ashes in or what?

Notable things to glimpse from the bus were a cafe called The Coffee Pot with a badly-painted sign of a floating tablecloth on the gable wall, a gatepost painted to look like Toad of Toad Hall and, down on the seafront, a statue of two people either grappling or making love — the bus went by quickly, so it was hard to tell. We got off outside Marine Court, another example of 1930s seaside modernism that looks a bit like a boat. In this case, it looms like an ocean liner on the skyline, which comes as no surprise because it was actually modelled on that grand dame of ocean-liners, the Queen Mary, back when she was a young lady (as it were).

It's certainly a rather striking building, perhaps best observed from a bit of a distance (e.g. across the road), but when seen from the Hastings end you'll find it has a weird sense of perspective, where the bottom half veers away into the distance and the top half looms towards you. Beneath it is a rather sad and tawdry row of neglected shops that makes one almost long for the days when it must have been the height of glamour, especially when one considers that the kind of regeneration a place like that would get these days is to fill it with chains like Costa Coffee and Tesco Express, which would do the building no favours at all.

We wandered along the seafront and stopping to admire some lovely shelters and the Hastings weather station, which has some great cartoon illustrations on the barometer [click here to see all of them together in their full-size glory]

Hastings does have a pier, but it's currently closed to the public, awaiting restoration, so we veered off from the seafront and took to exploring some of Hastings' side streets, where we discovered a corner that could easily have been Manhattan in the early 1980s.

This insalubrious corner is in fact right next to Hastings Public Library, housed in the Brassey Institute, opened in in 1881 as a reference library by local MP Thomas Brassey. It's a rather nice example of High Victorian Arts and Crafts Gothic, although also in need of a bit of care. It would be great to see these wall frescoes restored to their full glory. (And I still don't know who Walter was; does anyone else know?) Close nearby is a rather odd-looking church and a truly hideous drinking-fountain. Also some shops and cafes, some of which still have some original features of the earlier businesses, liked curved windows and painted ceilings, which are rather nice.

On first glance, the centre of Hastings seems to have no character, being full of the same high street shops and chuggers as every town centre, but a little attention rewards you with a lot of interesting details.

Hastings Old Town has much more obvious character. We managed to arrive just in time to catch the last cliff train up West Hill (whoooosh!) to have a look at Hastings Castle, although it seemed to be closed, so we walked back down the hill and headed off to look at the fishing boats and drying houses at Rock-A-Nore.

This was the only part of Hastings that I remembered from our previous trip there when I was seven years old, and it didn't seem to have changed too much, except for the addition of a museum. That's all set to change very soon, though, with a couple of new developments going up: a new hotel building which looks intrusively out of place in the location, judging by the projected images on the hoardings (sorry no pics, I forgot to take one); and the rather more locally infamous Jerwood Project, which is the subject of quite a lot of local dissent. (It's unfortunate that the campaign website is so ugly it's not going to win over any of the design-conscious arty types that the Jerwood tends to collect, because some of their arguments are actually worth a look, especially the one that points out that they're not saying no to it all together, just in that specific location.) The location is, of course, currently home to the local fishing industry, and while it could be argued that it's not just Labour policy that's killing it (despite how the locals might feel), there's going to be a lot of bad feeling about any development which doesn't take that into consideration. (I'm curious what some of the architecture bloggers have to say about it, Owen in particular.)

For the time being it's a perfect photographic playground for someone like me, full of intriguing corners and a rich patina of weathering and grime. My camera battery was dying by that point, so it was a simple case of pointing and clicking instead of taking the time to focus on small details, but I managed to get a few wide shots that give a good idea of the atmosphere.

pic of Rock-A-Nore

Fish-and-chips by the sea is an essential part of the experience, so we headed off to the Blue Dolphin, as recommended by my friend Fiona, and excellent fish and chips they were too. It's easy to see why they're regularly touted as the best in town.

Then a stroll up the High Street for some window shopping (I remembered my phone has a camera that'll do in a pinch), where I discovered one shop selling furniture covered in Marvel comics, like this fantastic Fantastic Four one:

And finally, a horribly rain-sodden dash to the station to catch our train back to London, where I tried not to let the fact that I was forced to sit in sopping wet jeans ruin a lovely day (they were so wet, I left a puddle in the waiting room!). Hopefully it won't take me so long between visits next time.

More photos and anecdotes here.

In the middle of the lake is a funny little grotto. It's rather remarkable, although a very difficult structure to photograph. It sits on a tiny island in the middle of the lake — or rather in the island, as part of it acts as a sort of cave-bridge, with the lake running beneath it — filled with stalactite crystals that show up as all sorts of pretty colours when photographed. It was damaged by Canadian soldiers billeted at Painshill during WW2 and left to fall into further neglect after that, but is now being painstakingly restored, using limestone from the Cotswolds, fitting the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle. There's an on-site workshop at the top, where you can see people carving up huge chunks of limestone and trying to fit them together.

The grotto is only open at weekends, but there are still enough places where you can peer inside, and parts where you can stand and be surrounded by walls. It's a slightly eery experience, as it looks like a cross between a natural cave and an ossuary. The pieces of holey limestone look a lot like bones, and in many places almost like skulls. It seems to serve as the nightmarish counterpart to the fairy-tale dreaminess of the two hillside pinnacles, and it's not hard to imagine some sort of witchy goings-on happening there. I also discovered, looking at this picture on my computer later, that there are all sorts of funny faces to be found in the rock (link to them here because the image doesn't seem to show up when it's embedded)

There were two pretty bridges connecting Grotto Island with the mainland. The Chinese Bridge (above) has already been replaced, but the five-arch Palladian bridge that was made of wood and plaster rendered to look like stone has yet to be rebuilt, and the bridge that stands there at the moment is wholly unremarkable.

A popular design in folly-building is the sham ruin, and Painshill has two of them, both of which have the ironic history of having been built as a fake ruin, left to fall into neglect, and been partly restored. One is a ruined Roman Mausoleum, which really could do with a full restoration, to return the arch which joined the two pieces together. As it stands, it's not a very interesting building at the moment, but could be quite pretty if it more resembled the ruined triumphal arch that was originally there — even if the votive spaces could no longer be filled with Italian antiquities, as they were during Hamilton's time.

Following the path westwards takes you to a nice cast-iron Bramah waterwheel, which is still in working order. It was installed installed by a later owner of Painshill, William Cooper, High Sheriff of Surrey. (He also employed Bramah to build a suspension bridge over nearby Portsmouth Road.) The waterwheel sits by a lovely-smelling timbered shed, looking incongruously modern compared to the pastorally romantic visuals of the other structures; although it wasn't in use when we were there.

At the other side of the lake, The Turkish Tent (designed by Henry Keene) looks like something from a fairy-tale; with its white drapes and golden finial nestling in all the greenery, it looks far too exotic to appear in such eminently English surroundings. It's also reminiscent of a medieval tent, and one could almost imagine it to be possible to look out of it and see people jousting below (which is highly unlikely, as the lake is right underneath it).

The tent is — and always has been — a solid building with additional drapes. The original drapes were made of canvas and papier-mâché, but have been replaced with fibreglass to last longer, although they still look exactly like a tarpaulin. Like the Gothic Temple, the Turkish Tent sits on the tip of a hill, and and the view from it is rather lovely, with a long vista across the lake, with the Gothick Temple and the Grotto in sight below.

Leaving the Turkish Tent, we crossed the Elysian Plain, which is a peaceful garden, full of amazing colourful flowerbeds, to find the site of the Temple of Bacchus. Originally, this contained a statue of Bacchus that stood two metres high. There are no remains of the temple at the moment, but you can see what it looked like here. Although there's no structure at the moment, there is a spectacular hilltop view across the Surrey countryside. From there, we discovered a long walk to the Gothic prospect tower. It's not the most exciting building, but it was a nice surprise to suddenly come across it, looming out of the trees unexpectedly. (It's also the only site apart from the visitor centre which has toilets, which were much-needed by that point!)

There's a 99-step walk up the narrow spiral staircase to the very top, which can seem a little daunting after walking so far already. There's a small room on the third floor with a little exhibition about the tower, which suggests that, although built in imitation of a medieval watchtower, it was never used as one, and was probably used to house artwork from Hamilton's collection. It was accidentally burned out by some reckless schoolboys in 1974, and finally restored with the help of local artisans 15 years later. There are some nice views of the Alpine Valley from the top, although one side is less pastoral as it's filled with pylons marching across the countryside. I like the structure of pylons, though, so that was okay with me. Out on the roof you can't see so much because of the high castellations which protect you from falling off, which is a good thing, because it's a long way down. It would make a very nice private roof terrace if you lived in the building, though. In fact it would be a nice little building to live in, if it wasn't for the A3 motorway thundering past right outside, or all the steps, which weren't a problem to climb, so much as they made me slightly dizzy when I was going back down in circles.

We didn't make it to the Hermitage, which is quite nearby, but photos show it to be a tiny wooden cabin, barely big enough to live in. During Hamilton's time, it was briefly home to a real hermit who was contracted to stay there for seven years with "a Bible, optical glasses, a mat for his feet, a hassock for his pillow, an hourglass for his timepiece, water for his beverage, and food from the house. He must wear a camel robe, and never, under any circumstances, must he cut his hair, beard, or nails, stray beyond the limits of Mr. Hamilton's grounds, or exchange one word with the servants."

For this hardship, said hermit was engaged at £700 a year (a fairly enormous sum at the time), but was caught sneaking off to the village inn, and the contract was severed.¹

The last folly we did make it to was the ruined abbey, right next to the vineyard we'd seen when we first set out on our perambulations. It's the second of the sham ruins which has been restored, and as a result works better at a distance, as the white exterior is too bright and new-looking to work convincingly with the ruined edges, and it's a bit disappointing to see the supporting brickwork on the interior wall, because it reminds one too easily that the whole thing is a fake (which was a problem with the Roman Mausoleum, too).

Perhaps by this point, we'd also become a bit jaded by seeing so many wonders, or just tired from walking so far. Also, to be honest, after the magical romance of the Gothick Temple and the creepy mystery of the grotto, everything else felt a tiny bit like a letdown. (Which is not to say I didn't enjoy seeing them all, and all the lovely views, because I did!)

We managed to make it back to the visitor's centre just in time to order something before the cafe closed, and had a lovely restorative cream tea with a generously huge portion of clotted cream, and a handsome red-eyed pheasant wandering around the tables. A charming end to a charming afternoon.

More photos here and here.

¹It turns out that someone else tried to live in the Hermitage recently; in 2004 artist David Blandy spent two weeks living there as part of his Barefoot Lone Pilgrim project. He even created a minicomic!²

²Speaking of Painshill and minicomics, I got a nice comment on my first Painshill Park post, from someone I met at Caption who said they worked on restoration of the grotto — but I have no idea who it was! Do you?

There was a birthday cake to celebrate, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

First there was Friday night's gathering in The Angel & Greyhound, where Alex oxfordslacker and I bonded over a mutual love of — of all things — The Andrews Sisters¹. Alex also came up with a description of prog-rock which worked as a perfect analogy of why I hate HDR photography, but unfortunately I can't remember what it was now. Something about technically-adept musicians playing everything perfectly, all at the same time, just because they can, but it having absolutely no soul or character — which is what I feel about most prog-rock and indeed about most HDR photos I've seen. (YMMV.)

I spent most of Saturday in a state of hangover daze, which was really unfair because I'd only had two pints on Friday night — and I stopped drinking before 9:00pm. After popping into the town centre to get a new memory card and a bacon sammich from Browns in the covered market (right opposite the cake shop where the Caption birthday cake and Jeremy's Tatlin Tower wedding cake came from), I made it back to Caption in time for Kaz's talk about her current residency at the Victoria & Albert Museum. Having already been to visit her in her studio, some of it was stuff I already knew (in fact, photos with me in even appeared in some of her slides), but it was interesting to hear about the process of applying for the post, and how it's working out so far. Choice quote: "I had to be polite and pretend that I was a legitimate person."

I also enjoyed Garen Ewing's talk about his journey from 1980s zines to being published by Egmont this year. I've been a fan of his book The Rainbow Orchid since I first picked up his original self-published black-and-white version some years ago, and it was particularly fascinating to see how the work has evolved into the new book which has just come out. For me, the best part was seeing his preliminary sketches and pencils (in fact, I almost prefer the pre-inked pencils to the final result), but it was interesting to compare the original character sketches with the way those characters ended up. It was also interesting to see how some of the panels in the original version have been redrawn for the new book — to much improvement, both compositionally and historically (since it's set in the 1920s, it's important to get the period detail right). And the cover for book two is absolutely gorgeous — you're really in a for a treat.

elephant sketches by Garen Ewing

Another thing to look forward to is not one, but two new comics from Terry Wiley, both of which he let me have a sneak preview of, and I can't wait to get my grubby mitts on my own copies. There's a final part of Petra Etcetera, and a whole new story focusing on Verity Bourneville's acting career (or lack of), which is great 'cos I always loved Very as a comic character. (You can even read that one online) Terry also mentioned that he wants to get on with writing part two of Surreal School Stories at some point, so that's even more to look forward to!

Saturday evening was lots of fun, as Captionites descended en masse to new Chinese restaurant, Lan Kwai Fong. (Apparently it's named after a neighbourhood of Hong Kong, so it's a bit like calling your restaurant Cowley Road, which is where it is.) They have an extensive menu of stupidly-named cocktails, most of which I avoided, instead opting for a rather more sophisticated Singapore Sling. Unfortunately, I felt a lot less sophisticated drinking it when my charming dining companion, Paul Fryer had a taste and compared it to "drinking a Wham bar" because it was actually an accurate description. Oh well, posh alcopops will do the trick too! They also have a decent menu of dim sum options, which Paul got all excited about because it meant he got to eat tentacles for the first time¹. I love calamari, so it was fine with me, but he baulked at trying the tempura frogs' legs, which I've never eaten either. The folk at the next table were only too willing to get stuck in, though!

We made it back to the bar (which, due to unfortunate timing on the licence, was a dry one, which seems very wrong for a comics event, but people managed), in time for Tony Hitchman's annual comics quiz, which is always good fun — this year's was about Rampaging Robots. There are prizes for correct answers, but I always think it's much more fun when people try and come up with the silliest and most unlikely answers, instead. Mostly, it's just a great excuse to look at his slides of awesome vintage comic art from the Golden and Silver Ages of comics, and to hear the snarky asides from other people in the bar.

"Is his crotch a giant speaker?" asked Daniel Merlin Goodbrey

Sunday was pretty relaxed; the only thing I had planned was Sarah McIntyre's talk about the many similarities between comics and picture books, and her experience in both fields. It was really interesting, showcasing some amazing and wonderful children's books, many of which I'd never seen or even heard of before. Hopefully Sarah will put the slides online (Slideshare?) — or at least list the books on her blog — as almost all of them had some visual design appeal beyond just being "books for kids" (although I think regular readers are aware by now that I love kids books anyway). She also had a lot of useful suggestions about getting your work published, which is an area I think lots of small-press publishers could actually be pretty successful in, if the book examples she showed are anything to go by. She also talked about how many books are almost half the size of the children reading them, so when they open them, "it's like they're wrapping a whole world around themselves." She talked of wanting to do this for adults, which reminded me of the Alan Aldridge retrospective at the Design Museum, which had enormous versions of some of his illustrations for you to walk amongst. (I totally blanked on the name of the artist during Sarah's talk; only remembering it on the coach home, listening to Scott Walker!)

Although there seemed to be a few less people this year, it was still a great excuse to catch up with old faces like Gav Burrows and Ali Pulling, as well as meet lovely new people like Neill Cameron and Jason Elvis Barker. Least expected was seeing Jason Little, who was a long way from his native Brooklyn, but had arrived with erstwhile New Yorker Ellen Lindner. His Shutterbug Follies was one of the first webcomics I remember reading, way back in the day, but I felt like too much of a dork to go and say hello, because it's been years since I did actually read it. Of course, it's been collected in a book now, but unfortunately he didn't have any on sale — although I can understand why he wouldn't want to lug anything around.

I didn't pick up many comics this year. Partly it's because I'm watching my budget, and partly because I've been reading a few series and I couldn't remember which of the previous issues I already have. There didn't seem to be a lot worth picking up on spec (making me regret even more not making it to APF a couple of weeks ago, as those events usually have some amazing stuff on sale) or, at least, none of the cheaper stuff really caught my eye.

I did get a signed copy of the new edition of The Rainbow Orchid, which looks great in colour and has a gorgeously-printed cover; and I finally got around to buying Urban Beasts. I usually avoid anthropomorphic/"funny animal" comics but Urban Beasts plays around with anthropomorphism in an interesting way — and I'm not just saying that because it's by my friends! Now, where's issue #2?

I was also pleased to find a Jenny Everywhere comic, not just because it only cost 50p, but because I was there at her inception way back in the day², and I think she's a seriously underused character, so well done Nigel Palmer, whoever he is (there's no contact information). The final thing I bought was an untitled minicomic about a man in a hot air balloon, which was absolutely delightful. There are shades of Mr Benn, but it's no less charming for all that. It's by someone called Jack Brougham. And I would have picked up Paul Fryer's Ghostly Goings-On even if we hadn't been going off to dinner together, because the simple cover design appealed to me. I really enjoyed it, too; the first story, A Ghost For Tom Bailey, is really sweet and funny, and the second one, The Spirit of Winter, has a lovely denouement.

I do have to gripe about the Caption souvenir programme, though, as it was very disappointing. It was full of pin-ups and not many actual strips, and none of the artists' names were actually listed on the same page as their own work. Some people did sign their work, but many didn't, and as there was no contact/website information in the zine (huge oversight, people!), it makes it pretty hard to track them down to see more of their work. There was a list of names that referred to page numbers, but that was incredibly aggravating, as none of the pages actually had any numbers printed on them! So here's a tip: if you're contributing to any kind of anthology, make sure people know who the work is by. That means signing it and providing contact details on the work itself. That way it's much easier for people to find you! Simple.

Other highlights from the weekend before I sign off:

Ice-cream at George & Delila. For me, this has become a Caption tradition (they're just down the road; it would be rude not to!) This year I tried the green-tea ice-cream and the passion-fruit sorbet. Both were nice, although the portions were ginormous, and the green-tea made me feel a bit sick after a while. I highly recommend the passion-fruit sorbet, though; it's very refreshing.

The panel between Mark Stafford and Jamie McKelvie. They talked about different processes they use when collaborating with other people (mostly Bryan Talbot and Kieron Gillen, respectively — or disrespectively in Gillen's case, snark snark), which was quite interesting, and about the new Longbox initiative which is probably going to change the comics market for good (and I mean that in both the sense of positive and the definitive).

Drinking cocktails in a cabana. A damn fine way to end any weekend.

¹In honour both of my bonding with Alex over the Andrews Sisters, and of the first time Paul ate squid, I give you this mp3 of the Andrews Sisters singing Hold Tight, Hold Tight (Want Some Seafood Mama). Don't get icky with the one, two, three!

²Of course, seeing a Jenny Everywhere comic always raises the question again — whatever did happen to Steven Wintle (the guy who originally invented her)? Well, wonder no more, because I've found him! He's blogging with his brother Gary (who I seem to remember that I once agreed to marry once he got older) over at I Was Ben. Yay!

MORE REVIEWS OF CAPTION 2009 HERE:
Rich Johnston: "It’s a unique convention in that the comic book creators who attend far outnumber the non-comic book creators. And to be fair, even they have a dabble. That’s part of what Caption is about, a democratisation of the form, the realisation that everyone can create comic books and find their own inspiration."
Gavin Burrows: "One panel was titled ‘You Should Totally Run Your Own Con, Dude’. But that’s pretty much what happens here anyway. Like the kids from Fame, the attendees put on a show right here. Caption is a magnet and a playpen for people as mad as you. Then times by nineteen."
Neill Cameron (with ace sketches of attendees as pirates with dinosaurs.)
Garen Ewing: "so many creators compare themselves unfavourably with their colleagues, forgetting that no one will ever do what they do in the unique way they do it"
Sarah McIntyre: "I ate something called Wild Ants Climbing Trees Glass Noodles, which disappointingly turned out to be something better named Slimy Noodles with Little Quorn-like Bits Stuck to Them."
Jenni Scott has posted her review in pieces, you can see them all here:"the first part of the day, as usual with CAPTION, was pretty well stuffed with creativity structured and unstructured."

Lots of the plants in the walled garden are American, because the original garden had been planted with seeds sent by John Bartram, a farmer and plant collector from Philadelphia, who sent subscribers boxes of mystery seeds at a cost of five-guineas (you can't do that anymore!). There were several mysterious plants in the walled garden that we didn't recognise, like this odd berry plant — anyone know what it is? It looks a bit like buddleia, but with berries instead of flowers. It caught my eye, because the berries look like beads.

The route from walled garden takes you through a peaceful meadow and past a vineyard on a sloping hill overlooking a large lake. This lake is the centrepiece of the estate, which Hamilton himself created artificially, although it's been suggested that he may have had the the help of Batty Langley, who advertised that he could provide "Engines for raising Water in any Quantity to any height required, for the service of Noblemen's Seats, Cities Towns &c."¹ The lake was created with an elaborate series of locks and waterwheels that brought in water from the River Mole, although these are all now redundant as the lake has become a natural one that can sustain itself through rainfall and surface drainage.

Past the vineyard, you come out into the Amphitheatre, which isn't a theatre at all, but a manicured lawn, based on a plan by the map-maker John Roque, surrounded by trees and shrubbery beds bordered with round box hedges. (These border hedges appear all over the estate, often in long, attractive lines, but there's something comical and cartoonish about them, too.) The Amphitheatre is rather pretty, resembling a semi-formal garden, with lots of layers of green shapes to look at, and a couple of elegant cedar trees.

At the other end of the lawn is the delightful Gothick Temple, also attributed to Batty Langley. Although called the Gothick Temple, it has a distinctly Moorish feel, largely due to the colour and pattern of the interior, especially the pretty lotus design on the ceiling.

It's an utterly charming little pavilion, right on the tip of a hill, with carefully framed views stretching across the valley to the tip of the Turkish Tent which sits on a hill at the other side of the lake (more on that in a later post). It's the perfect place for a fairy-tale wedding, or perhaps for a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream.

It's also a good place to stop and ponder the view:

¹This information came from Headley & Meulenkamp's Directory of Follies; other information found via the BBC's Long View, here and here.

Painshill Park has one of the UK's largest collections of folly buildings all in one place, and had long been on my list of places to visit (along with many other intriguing places). Earlier this year, I mentioned to Nikki that I wanted to see some of these follies, and discovered she wanted to visit some, too, so we put together a list of places to see. We tried to see a couple on the day we had lunch at the Fat Duck, but both of them are no longer accessible to the general public, so we came away disappointed. Thankfully, Painshill Park is open to the public daily, for the reasonable price of £6.60, and we discovered that it's absolutely delightful, although it's fairly well-named, as there are quite a few hills and they are a pain — especially if you have a pushchair with a heavy baby in it, as Nikki did!

The park was the 35 year project of the Hon. Charles Hamilton, ninth (youngest) son of the Earl of Abercorn. Like many of his contemporaries, Charles made a Grand Tour of Europe, and returned in 1738 with equally grand ideas of recreating in reality the sort of pastoral landscapes that had been popularised by artists of the day, such as Nicolas Poussin. He bought 200 acres of unpromising land at Cobham in Surrey and spent the next 35 years turning it into one of the finest gardens in England, until the age of 71 when he was forced to sell the estate, having been crippled by debts and arthritis. The estate was split up after WW2, and neglected until 1981 when Elmbridge Borough Council managed to buy up 158 acres of the original estate, and set up Painshill Park Trust to restore the estate to much of its original glory. The restoration work is still ongoing.

The entire historic route between all the follies is about two and a half miles long, but feels like more, because of the aforementioned hills. None of them are very high, but most of them are very steep, and paths wind in a meandering manner, and some of the distances between follies seem very long indeed. The Gothic prospect tower at the far end of the estate — which you can see from the motorway as it overlooks the A3 — is much further away from everything else than it looks on the map they provide when you buy your ticket, and the route is all uphill. However, there are some stunning high views across the Surrey countryside; one at the top of the prospect tower and one at the site of the Temple of Bacchus (which is just as well at that point, because there isn't much else to see just there). You certainly need a few hours to really appreciate everything — we were there for about five hours and we still missed seeing the Hermitage and the Keyhole Plantation.

As there are so many things to see, and writing about them all will take time, I'm going to break it up into separate posts. Look for more on Painshill Park tomorrow! In the meantime, I'll leave you with some photos (I haven't uploaded them all yet):

¹ I've had my copy since the most recent printing came out in 2003, although most of the information dates back to 1999, and some seems to date back even further to the previous edition from 1986, which means some of the information is out of date now, but I still recommend picking up a copy if you can find one. For more information, check out the Folly Fellowship, too.