If I look out of my kitchen window in the winter, I can see a funny little tower way off at the edge of the horizon (I can't see it in the summer because of that tree in front the window). It's the only remaining piece of what was once a significant market space, opened by Prince Albert in 1855.

Next to this piece of Victorian masonry are — or were — a few blocks of 1960s council housing called the Market Estate. Scheduled for demolition this week, it spent its last Saturday filled with art installations and people sharing their memories. I only found out about it on the day and there were long queues to see inside, but met a friend in the evening to have a look around and there were only queues for a couple of the installations. It was fascinating; a cross between Psycho Buildings and Simply Botiful.

I almost missed this guy hanging off the roof, and only noticed him because someone else saw him first. I thought it was just a mannequin until I saw him move his head. It was really cold that night, and quite windy, so he must have been some kind of insane masochist to do that.

One popular art method was to cover all available surfaces in one thing. There was one flat painted all over in the same shade of grey, with shrouded lightbulbs, giving it a liminality that was a little disconcerting. People wore grey sheets which added to the visual weirdness, as their heads and feet became disembodied, as Paul demonstrates here.

Another flat was swathed entirely in blue plastic, which felt a little bit like being inside one of those old Dreamspace inflatables, but with 3D objects to circumnavigate as well.

One room was painted all in yellow, which did very odd things to the white balance on my camera, as well as to my eyes. There were people discussing whether everything was really yellow, or just looked that way because of the yellow lampshade, but if you look closely you can see one of the sugarcubes doesn't have any paint on it.

One flat was covered in tin foil and dedicated to growing cabbages.

Elsewhere, there were graffiti and murals, people making tea and giving out biscuits, and scribbled messages that felt like the walls were talking in code.

There were also some flats that had been left in their original state of decor, which gave an opportunity to have a nose around and get nostalgic about the interior design of our pasts. Some seemed so over the top as to feel like an art installation itself, and maybe that was the point of showing those flats to us.

There didn't seem to be any obvious information about what would happen to the former residents of the estates, though, and I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to them, as hundreds of strangers wandered through their former homes. In some ways it felt like a burial of all their history, with only our photos of the art to remember them by, which isn't quite right, since the art was only on show for one day, and some of the people had lived there for more than 40 years. But I'm not going to get started on the state of social housing in this country at the moment. Instead, I'll just point you in the direction of more photos here and here.

I mentioned the beautiful vaulted ceiling of Margate Station last time, but I can't resist posting another photograph of it, because it is so lovely.

The abandoned car park is attached to Margate's landmark towerblock, Arlington House, and looks over the abandoned Dreamland theme park, where fairground ghosts wait for their £3.7m resurrection. Whilst everyone else got out their DSLRs and had complicated conversations about f-stops and tripods, I was messing around with new photo apps on my iPhone.

(Last week, by coincidence, someone favourited my old picture of the station ceiling, so I had a browse through their other favourites and came across these great shots taken in 1963 when Arlington House was going up. Apparently it's due to be struck with what can only be termed "Noughty Cladding Syndrome" which I use to refer to the trend over the last decade for covering classic mid-to-late twentieth century concrete architecture in (usually awful and unsympathetic) cladding, a subject which I am sure Owen can rant about with more wit than I would. In fact, he probably already has.)

After a stroll along the seafront, a group of us headed off to the Shell Grotto, which I wrote about after my last visit there. I still think it's a wonderful, fantastic, bizarre place, but I got the impression that most of the others were indifferent and even bored by it. Well, boo, to them, they have no heart or soul. This time I got excited because I noticed that lots of shells had names and dates on them, some of them going back to the 1950s, and some going back even further nearer to the time the grotto was first discovered.

From there we wandered back down to the seafront to find fish and chips for lunch at Peter's Fish Factory, which comes recommended by us here at Mondo Towers. I had saithe, because I had never eaten it before, except it turned out to be the same thing as coley, which I have. With a generous portion of chips, plus mushy peas and a large and extremely juicy gherkin, it came to the princely sum total of three quid. Bargain. At that price I could have had seconds, if I could have managed to eat anything else after that.

At this point our small group split again, as some people wandered off down the seafront in search of a wrestling artist, whilst the rest of us had a stroll along the harbour wall and around the cliff to Lido Sands. The Harbour Wall seemed to have lost its pretty flags, but has gained a permanent bronze statue of one of Ann Carrington's lovely Shell Ladies, and we spotted a Thames estuary pilot ship chugging out to a large ship to guide it in to the shore.

We bumped into some more Flickr friends returning from Lido Sands, who told us to look out for the wrecked car being submerged by the incoming tide, and recommended a fine venue for tea (more on this later). More bizarre than the car wreck was the fact that it was the only place where there were any real waves to be seen; the rest of the time the sea was incredibly calm, with a slick glassy sheen and barely a ripple (as you can see in the photo at the end of this post).

Lido Sands was looking abandoned and neglected, but the shockingly red roofs of its car park led me to finding red in other places in the nearby vicinity.

On the road above, I found Bleak House (the real Bleak House is of course down the road in Broadstairs), and didn't realise as I took this photograph that one of its tenants was watching me from the window.

By this point, we were getting cold and thirsty, so we hied ourselves to the cafe recommended by our friends Steve and David, the inimitably eccentric Mad Hatters Tea Rooms, where we were warmly welcomed by the proprietor's sister, and had a lovely tea. My slice of homemade Victoria sponge cake was melt-in-the-mouth light, and our tea came with extra teabags in case it wasn't strong enough (presumably we could get extra hot water if we asked), and just look at the generous portions of cream and jam that came with the scone — none of your pre-wrapped-portions-which-are-never-quite-big-enough here:

The decor is quite something, too; loads of old framed photographs, various nick-nacks and sundries, including some which fit the inevitable Alice-In-Wonderland theme, but not as many as you'd think, although there's perhaps an overkill of tinsel, "because it's always Christmas somewhere," they told us. There's a fantastic Victorian toilet, which they are rightly proud of — as a lady (who I am assuming was the lady of the house) told me, not everyone had indoor plumbing in those days! She then went on to tell me about her great-grandfather (I think), who she claimed was the first white man to cultivate coffee in Kenya, and whose nearest neighbours were 100 miles away and all they had was a bicycle! Even if you take it with a pinch of salt, still a fantastic story, and a thoroughly recommended place to visit. (The Mad Hatters Tea Rooms, that is, not Kenya. I've never been to Kenya. Although I know people who liked it so much they decided to elope there, so it must have something going for it. Besides the coffee. Either that, or they really like coffee.)

And then we found the pub where Eric Morecambe held his wedding reception. I know this, because they have a blue plaque commemorating the fact. And again I got another surprise when I looked at the picture on my laptop, because I didn't realise I'd managed to include the bull's head in the frame:

After all of that, it was a disappointment to end the day in a horrible Lloyds No.1 pub, but that was where the others had all arranged to be, so that was where we went (and it did have a great name). Catching up with them, opinion on Margate's charms seemed to be widely divided and widely derided. Quite a few people dismissed it as grotty and horrible, which struck me as odd as that seemed to be their principle reason for wanting to visit in the first place — and for particularly wanting to visit off-season. Personally, I can find beauty and charm in lots of things that other people often overlook or dismiss as ugly and boring, but I'm not a big fan of taking a holiday in other peoples' misery (to paraphrase a famous song by an infamous band that a friend recently heard being played in Harrods of all places), and I get a bit annoyed with people who choose to spend a day visiting somewhere rundown and then complain and sneer that it's grim and boring.

I like Margate, though. I think it's been regrettably neglected in favour of the slightly posher charms of Broadstairs and Ramsgate up the coast (I remain ignorant as to why that is the case, given the proximity of the three towns, although I have one or two theories), and it's seen negative attitudes and neglect beget more negative attitudes and neglect, but if you look beyond the superficial tackiness of the place, you can find plenty of faded glamour and attractive detailing. One benefit of having been largely ignored is that many original architectural details haven't been ripped out as they have been in other places, and are all there to see if you pay attention.

Glenmorangie tasting notes Vinopolis 26 Jan 2010

1- 10yr old  
The "original" but has evolved. Fruity to start, slightly nutty on the way. With water it smells a bit like a sweet cigar/pipe. Becomes a bit more coconutty but still seems a little fiery. Had some left over at the end of the tasting – it's much better when left to mellow for a while and not necked in a hurry to get onto the next one. (think this is the one in pubs?)      

2- Astar ("journey") 57% proof. About 8 yrs old.
60% of flavour comes from the wood of "designer casks"
"it does sound a bit like marketing bullshit" she said.
They copied the wine industry by air drying wood. American White oak toasted and charred.
She called it "the Friday night dram" 
Sweet nose almost perfumy.  Not a fan without water, the alcohol taste is too overpowering/too fiery so it loses the subtle flavour. Water makes it more caramel in scent with green notes, but the taste is quite masculine and almost meaty. [I think this is the one Billy described in his notes as "meat and cakes"] 
"we haven't got lochs of the stuff kicking around… Because the Russians have drunk it"

[We are drinking these much too quickly - I still have some of them left over by the time we're on the next] 

3- La Santa 12yr
Smells crisp young and green – not caramel as she suggests. It's very smooth on the mouth but tastes older than it smells. With water it smells of burnt matches (suggested by presenter but noticeable) Slight flavour of them but still sweet and easier to drink. 

4- Sonnalta "generous"  
Smells like old fashioned perfume – old Chanel no.5 
"whiskies are a bit like lovers; sometimes you have to leave them behind and remember all their good points" 
Smooth, sweet, slightly butterscotch aftertaste, but alcohol fire is still there. Quite grand and classy. Really nice aftertaste 
Watered it's sweet and very sippable. Favourite so far!

5- unknown, aged 10yrs in a bourbon cask, 10yrs in a sherrycask 
smells green to me but should be chocolatey
Really nice after swirling for a while, it sticks to the glass. People actually talked to each other about it. A "marmite whisky" but not in flavour – just you either love it or hate it. I liked it a lot – the couple next to us liked the 3rd one best. 
Water gives it a slight matchy smell, but smooth and sweet and good.

6- Quarter Century 25yrs £250 a bottle 
"whisky to contemplate with"
smells smooth and classy without alcohol – dark berries (first time I've noticed the same things as "official" tasting notes )
Left to sit it smells like rich sweet tobacco 
Very smooth and velvety – exactly what I want. I got an extra bit from a member of staff who left early. 

Liked the last two the best, but not 100% sure if that's personal taste, or being mellow and perhaps tipsy from booze + no food. Typically my favourites of the night the were the two I'm never likely to have again – the mystery one and the very expensive one. Sighs.  
   
Good chum and whisky-pusher Billy has posted better notes over on his booze blog.

The irony that the core subject of his return post was about self-promotion isn't lost on me, though.

If you're desperate for updates, there's always Twitter.

Still, I got a few nice photos, and I knocked an item of this year's Uberlist (more on the Uberlist in another post, maybe, but for an idea of what it is, have a look at Danielle's).

Do meerkats like snow? Even Neighbourhood Watch meerkats? I'll bet not.

I've always wondered what this little house was for. My mum tells me that way back in the 1970s my dad made a film about it, though.

Kind of a "Hampstead Heath in the snow" cliche, but I still like it.

Someone built a snow fort. It was a bit too low for me to climb inside though.

Seeing the some of the fairground Winterovers at the Vale of Health, all covered in snow, was sort of amusing. This one is definitely not impressed!

Happy dog.

More snow pics here

Have some belated new year wishes from a pair of cats playing a mandolin and a banjo, which I picked up at last month's Ephemera Society Bazaar, instead.