Adventures in Kent: The Isle of Grain

So the bf took me to The Isle of Grain (the old English word for gravel) where he used to mess about when he was a young teenager.  He was worried that I'd be disappointed because there really is nothing there.  Growing up in a very large city, I didn't really know what to expect but being a on massive exploration mission at the moment, it seemed like a cool idea.

The drive up wasn't particularly impressive.  A few better looking houses than the squished up Maidstone terrace houses, and lots of greenery to be seen.  There were a few bunnies here and there and lots of wetland birds which Grain is apparently a haven for. Mostly though, the power station dominates the horizon.

My first impression on arrival was a bit like a ghost town tucked away in the middle of no where - a place that the world has forgotten.  The Google machine tells me the population is less than 1700 people which explains the absent feel.   

Other than the massive power station, a pub, a primary school and a coffee shop, it was completely empty and I found myself wondering where on earth those people shop for groceries.

Parking was easy as it was right next to the beach.   I didn't see parking anywhere else but then went early so there wasn't another soul about other than a few dog walkers.

The first thing that struck me was the huge hilly greenery.  It pretty much surrounds the coast and we went climbing over big hills and banks to get a good view of the water.  Of course we could have just used the path near the parking but what fun would that be?

Standing on top of the hills provided some awesome views.

Beach view with the Isle of Sheppey in the distance.

A very gray day but it was at least warm and not too windy.

The tide was way out in the sea!

All along the beach front are these pill boxes from past wars.  They been trashed by folk over time and add to the whole creepiness of the place.

This is the best thing about Grain.  It's called the Grain Tower and was built in 1855.  It is an old military fort in the middle of the sea.  There is a stone pathway from the shoreline all the way to the tower which you can walk when the tide is out.

We began walking towards it but the tide had already come in considerably which meant that the pathway was slightly submerged.  I wasn't about to let that stop me and continued to walk in the mud - until it swallowed my favourite trainers and I had to wrestle the mud like mad to get my shoe back! The sand is so soft it is almost like sinking sand and after almost losing my shoe I decided we'd have to purchase welly boots and go back again fully armed and ready!

Apparently it was sold to a private company so if you are planning to make a trip out to see it, you'd better not wait too long!

Before deciding to walk to the tower, we consulted the internet to find out what time the tide would come back in as we did not want to get stranded.  It was around midday and the website said the tide was expected to be back in close to 2pm.  Full of confidence and wonder, I was sure we'd make it back on time.  After the shoe incident forcing us to turn back, we realised with horror that had we not gone back when we did, we would have been stuck because the time on the website was when the whole tide was back to the shoreline and not to the tower - duh!  Below is a photo of how far out to sea the tower is and how much the tide had come in within the hour! That was close.

The power station cooling pipes. 

 

 When walking around the wetlands you have to be very careful because you don't see the random patches of lake and river in between the long grass. 

 
 The main battery tower in among the wetlands.

Views from the main battery tower.

A very steep staircase leading from the main battery tower to the grass below.  I'd hate to fall down those guys!

The battery tower is very secluded and scary and I fully expected to get attacked by some throwback super mutant from the power station.

Inside the biggest of the broken buildings, there is a burnt out carcass of which I'm told was once a caravan.  I have no idea how it ever got in there.

 We climbed over some barbed wire and went into the battery tower. It was on top of a hill and offered some cool views.  Check out those thorns though - ouch!  

A super spiky weed.  He looked quite angry, I thought.

 Broken power lines and other beach junk adds to the creepy feel of the place.

You can see here how much the tide was out.  This boat was on dry land when we walked past it but on our return it was floating upside down in the water.

This power station is massive.  We walked over 3 miles and didn't get to the end of it. This was our route  http://www.mapmyrun.com/routes/view/1084041556

How can they honestly put signs up like this with absolutely no fence or any other physical barrier to keep people out and then expect us not to go any further? It's like a BIG RED BUTTON!  Nevertheless, we behaved and stopped at this point - mainly because I didn't want to get some gross form of radiation poisoning or something from the power station and end up with a melted face!

 There's a fair bit of junk lying around the beach. 

Adventures in Kent: Whitstable

Every summer I promise myself that I'm going to spend a lot more time on the beach and yet every winter I kick myself for not doing so.

Those of you that live in England will know that it's a shameful waste to shy away from summery stuff as we only get about three months outside before it's piss cold again and we must retreat back to the safety of our central heating.

Anyway, at the end of April when the sun began to shine, I took my first opportunity to rush off to the beach.  I awoke at 6.30am to see the sun streaming happily through my windows and that was all it took.  I kicked the bf out of bed and we were off. It was so lovely that I vowed I'd make an effort to go to the beach at least once a fortnight throughout the sunny days in Spring and Summer.

I decided I'd go to the beach early on Saturday mornings to run.  This got me wondering if there are beaches any closer to Maidstone.  I found a website that confirmed there are in fact 4 beaches less than 40 minutes away.   http://www.nearestbeach.co.uk

The rest is history.  I have spent every Saturday or Sunday since that weekend exploring a new piece of the Kent coast.  Growing up in South Africa, these beaches are not exactly what I'd call 'stunning' nor are they always sunny, but they've all been fascinating in their own special way.

This one is the little town of Whitstable.

Every town has an Elm Street ... erm, I mean a Wetherspoons! The absolute best for a coastal breakfast.  Cheap and cheerful.  This is the Peter Cushing.

 Inside the Peter Cushing.
https://www.jdwetherspoon.com/pubs/all-pubs/england/kent/the-peter-cushing-whitstable

Whistable has such a quaint little high street.  They have some seriously cute things to look at.

We figured this must be an ashtray? Took us a while to figure it out. The locals must have thought us quite strange.

How cool is this window display?

Have you ever even seen tomatoes this shape? And look at the colour of those aubergines!

The what now? 'I'm just going to pop into Jojo Maman Bebe.  BRB!' :P

We thought this should be our motto at home.  Of course the point is to actually buy it but we took a photo instead.

More cool window displays.

Interesting high street.

Whitstable castle (which is actually a coffee shop).  We only had a coffee but apparently they've started doing afternoon teas.
Menu and pricing here http://whitstablecastle.co.uk/afternoon-tea-at-the-castle

The botanical gardens surrounding the castle.

... and how could I forget? Some actual pictures of the beach!

Blurred Lines

Okay.  So is it just me? 

There I was, drinking my Saturday morning coffee, having a lovely lie in, scrolling through social media all chilled and tranquil. 

BAM! First thing I see is Kanye West talking about and I quote 'a finger up his ass'.  

Annoyed at the unnecessary vulgarity, I ignore this and continue scrolling.  I land straight onto an article titled "Eating a vagina cures cancer ..." - along with all the lame and predictable 'free offers' in the top comments.  

Trying not to spit my coffee out in disgust, I move my eyes down the screen and literally the very next post down I come face to face with the rehashed-a-million-times 'Swallowing the truth: the many benefits of semen ..." article.

*names of friends have been cropped out for their privacy

Maybe I'm being a super prude but for a girl with an over active imagination, being mentally assaulted with images of West's butt hole, and then being forced to think of intimate dealings with a vagina is not the nicest way for me to start the weekend (did I mention that I'm straight? :P) .

I feel like a fish out of water.  I mean, is this just what getting old is, or have I suddenly just developed some weirdly different set of morals to everyone else? If so, how did this even happen? 

It's all too much for me. I thought social media was about connecting with folk, learning interesting things about the world around us, and keeping in contact with friends - not being force fed sexual acts that I assumed were only meant to be discussed on porn sites.

Is it really necessary to wake up to a full sensory sexual assault in the early hours of a Saturday morning? I like to think that as a species we are capable of more than Maslov's physiological level!

Please don't get me wrong, I'm not a total prude and am known to have my mind in the gutter as often as the next person, but jeepers, like where is the actual line these days?

Yesterday was no different.  I opened up my Cosmo magazine on a Friday night after a long week at school, and straight away find myself face to face with a semi naked photograph of some or other male celebrity with the quote line reading, "Doggy style is my preferred position".  What the actual hell?! Has the world gone mad? Am I the only person who is seeing this stuff? 

I'd be horrified if all the details of my sex life were on topic for the whole world to discuss - think about mom and dad!

Perhaps the rise of internet porn had blurred the boundaries of what is socially acceptable to discuss in public?  I don't mind dirty jokes and the odd awkward sexual encounter story, but when scrolling through an apparently family friendly social media platform becomes a dodging the c*mshot exercise, I feel like I'm being force fed sexual fantasy that quite frankly, I don't want to know about.

There are sites for that sort of thing, right?  Lots and lots of sites.  And if the need so took me, I would know where to look, but is it really okay to just have these things thrust in our faces? 

What do you guys think? Am I just getting old, or should we respect each other's mutual space by keeping these things in places where you want to see them?

#grossedout

#itsalltoomuchforme

Grave Robbers

My husband was five years younger than me.  When he left, I vowed that was the last time I would ever date a younger man.  I said to myself that no matter what ever happened, and even if I was single for a million years, and even if the guy could poop rainbows and cry unicorn tears, I would never do it again. 

And yet, my now long-term partner is twelve years younger than me.

I’ve dated younger guys since I was 21.  It has never been a conscious decision to do so; it just happens.  Also, believe it or not, I have never consciously pursued a man younger than me – it has always been them that have done the chasing. I’m often referred to as a cougar, or a cradle snatcher, but it doesn’t offend me as I know it’s not me that does the snatching.

As a teenager, I always dated guys that were too old for me.  My parents freaked, my brothers wanted to beat them up - I didn’t see the big deal … and then one day something just changed. 

I didn’t change it – I’ll have you know.  I have never wanted to date someone younger than me.  I find the whole idea quite strange.  Yet for some reason, younger guys seem to like me and we just seem to click.

Now it’s not like I date the first guy that shows interest in me; in fact I’m quite picky and it takes me ages to find someone I like.  Also, I am a serial relationshipper – I never see the point of one night stands, so I (mostly) choose carefully.  I admit to being somewhat shallow in this respect in that I have a very specific type, physically. However I also am a sucker for guys who make me laugh and especially kind men with big hearts.  I can’t resist it!

Often I have sat and wondered what on earth it is that the kind-hearted younger guys actually see in me.  I have become quite cynical and mistrusting through my experiences of life (hell, I grew up in a city that has fifty murders a day!). Seldom do I take things at face value and I often fly into a multitude of analysis when people quotes statistics and facts at me, always looking for the holes in the theories, and I am hellishly opinionated (my whole family is)!

I’m a meanie!

On the other side of the coin, men my own age don't get involved with me or even show interest - and the ones that do, don’t fit my type, or are total douche bags. Is that because of my difficult personality? Is it because they have lived long enough to have their own experiences and know to stay well clear: the sense to know what challenging looks like? Perhaps that’s what attracts the younger ones? Maybe their whole video game culture makes them enjoy the dare? Who knows?

I’ve been asked a few times if dating younger is all it’s cracked up to be. I can tell you that it’s not.  For starters, there is the generation gap.  The ideas, hobbies, music, and general outlook on life of the younger generations are odd and I don’t get it.  This means constant disagreements on even the simplest things.  Then there is the angst-ridden cr*p that comes with being younger … and the sulking – I won’t even begin to tell you how bad that can be.  

I remember my mid-twenties. Heck, I was a total asshole back then. 

At times I feel really cruel because younger people are full of optimism about stuff that I have long since learnt is absolutely worthless and feel I need to voice this.  They are only just learning awesome stuff about the world – things I have been through already and now find quite boring and often deploy the famous ‘Yes, dear’ technique.

In dating younger, I am consciously cutting myself off from the likelihood of my partner teaching me something about life; it means that I am almost always the teacher and never the learner.  It often also makes me feel insecure – I mean I am sharing with my partner the last of the best years of my physical appearance, right?  If we break up in 3 years’ time, I will be 40 and full of wrinkles (or Botox!). Not him.  He’ll still have his entire thirties to meet someone new, while I will be destined to die alone with my cats.

But here’s the thing.  Age is insignificant.  Not in the sense that 18 year old creeps say when they are dating 13 year old girls – my partners and I have always been consenting adults, but rather in the sense that somehow my partner and I just seem to fit.  Age is NOT just a number, believe me when I say it definitely counts.  However, my partner’s boundless optimism seems to take the edge off my cynicism; his playful personality reminds me that it’s okay to still have fun, and his tantrums and sulkiness remind me that there are problems in this world that are so much more serious than whatever silly thing we are arguing about – and therefore our relationship makes me grateful to be alive.

My relationship is about equilibrium and stability.  My partner and I have been together for two years.  In all that time, although I have a list of gripes as long as my arm (as I’m sure he does too), I’ve always felt safe with him. There are many things he is not (and neither am I), but what he brings to the table is tolerance, kindness and loyalty – three things that seem almost impossible to find in this world.

So maybe relationships don’t always have to be ‘normal’ to work.  Perhaps looking for Mr or Mrs Perfect is not the path to happiness, and the American Dream is as empty as ‘Of Mice and Men’, but find your happiness somewhere.  I’m not certain (and am somewhat doubtful) that my guy will stay forever – I mean the age difference is crazy, but I enjoy the journey because it’s our experiences of life that make it awesome, right? Whatever it is that you want in life, jump in with both feet, because standing on the side of the pool smelling the chlorine is never worth it.

A Day in the Life of a Secondary School Teacher

Image made by Michelle at http://cre8tive-hands.blogspot.co.uk/

Many people find it amusing that I'm a teacher as I'm not exactly the world's most likely candidate.  I was a total wild-child when I was a teenager - certainly a lot worse than many of the students in my own classes.  Also, I swear like a trooper; I find it hard to stick to the rules; I'm a rebel without a cause; and I have the emotional maturity of a sixteen year old.  Still, this somehow works for me.  I absolutely love my job and would struggle to find many things in my life that I am as passionate about as teaching.

Once folks have stopped laughing and I've managed to convince them that I am seriously a teacher, the next question they want to know is, 'So what's it like then?'.  As many teachers will tell you, that is an almost impossible question to answer in a few sentences.  

Teaching, even on a daily basis, consists of a series of extreme highs and drastic lows that are often too 'teachery' to fully explain. I mean how do you put into words the elation you feel when the boy at the back of the room who won't speak unless forced finally puts his hand up to speak to you voluntarily; or the girl that the whole staff body has warned you against tells you that you 'aren't really so bad - for a teacher'.

So instead of trying to explain it, I will let you make up your own mind.  Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my very own rendition of 'A day in the life' ... last Friday to be exact. 

The day didn't exactly start well.  I got into my trusty silver shark only to find that I had left the light on ALL night.  Of course the battery was flatter than flat.  Turning the key merely produced a desperate flickering sound from the tired electrics as they struggled to respond without any success.  There was only one thing to do: call in yet *another* favour from my favourite local hero, Jason aka big-brother.  

Twenty minutes later and some jumper cables, I was back on the road, off to educate the heck out of some students. Nothing else was going to stand in my way today.

Lesson 1: despite the delay, I managed to only be ten minutes late for my Year 8 class.  I skidded into the nearest parking space like I was the latest audition for the 'Fast and Furious', fumbled like crazy with the 400 bags I seem to carry around with me, grabbed my quickly emptying coffee cup and ran like lightening into my lesson.  

The person covering my class was surprised (and relieved, I imagine) to see me, but not as surprised as my students whom I had rushed to get to in a flat panic. The thanks I got was a very flat, 'Oh, Miss.  You're here.  We were just about to do something fun for a change' ... followed of course by the ridiculous, 'Can we watch a film?'.

A film? In the first week of term? Fat chance, cupcake.  Sit down and write down your learning objective and I'll *think* about letting you go to breakfast on time! 

Despite their protestations and whinging, I still managed to stick to the lesson I had planned and finish it too. Win!

Break: I was so looking forward to replenishing my now completely empty coffee cup but instead had to spend my break writing a report about some silly student behaviour. Fail! It doesn't matter: I'll get a coffee after next lesson.

Lesson 2: fun lesson! I was playing poetry games with my Year 7 class when one of my students said something so cool that we had to stop the lesson so we could all talk about it in more detail. I love those moments. Just spending time connecting with the kids on their own level. Win! 

Meanwhile, my empty, dry coffee cup looks at my longingly. I know just how he feels.  Don't worry my love.  Soon.

Lesson 3: I was meant to be free but the assistant headteacher ran into staff room looking totally panicked and asked me to please take over a Year 10 class as a matter of emergency. Of course I'm not going to tell him that it's not my job and that he needs to find someone else - I mean I *was* late for work and he *is* the headteacher.

Having never met the class before, and the fact that they were all about 3 times taller than me (don't laugh - I'm only 5ft4), I'm not going to lie - they were intimidating as hell and scared the cr*p out of me. In the end though, the lesson went okay. No one got hurt and *some* students actually did their work!  Okay, it was more like some students answered question 1 of the worksheet and stayed in their seats,  but that was good enough for me. Win. 

By the end of the lesson, my mouth was so dry that I thought I could hear a perfectly audible click in my sand paper throat every time I swallowed.  I swear I was dying of dehydration. Must. Get. Coffee.

Lunch: absolute and utter rookie mistake! I went up to the other classroom to set up the lesson before my savage Year 9 class came in and became trapped by some very sweet but very bored Yr 9 students who wanted to chat to me about their lives.  That'll teach me to try to be organised. Fail ... getting hungry fail. 

And of course: I *still* need my coffee! This is like torture.  Surely I can go to the union about this? 

Lesson 5: we were told we were having an inspection during the day.  I didn't expect anyone to walk into my room because almost every visitor in the whole world seems to be brought into my class room.  I was certain that, statistically speaking, it wouldn't be me today.  

I lined my students up outside and as they filtered into the room who did I see amongst them? Oh! None other than the inspector himself.  Now my Year 9 class are well renowned for being terrors but on this occasion they were perfectly behaved and sat in dead silence doing what they were told.  In fact, so impressive was their behaviour, that the inspector felt the need to stop my lesson to compliment me on my data collection and my class' behaviour. 

Is it coffee time yet? I stare at my coffee cup and whisper, 'Don't worry, Gerald.  You and I will be reunited shortly and I'm never going to let you go ever again!'.  The kids are looking at me strangely. 

Lesson 6: as always, I almost forget that I'm team teaching this lesson because it wasn't on my original timetable.  I sprint down two flights of stairs, throw my data collection folder and lonely Gerald  on the table of the staff room and tear down the corridor.  I get there just in time - sweaty and severally dehydrated.  Never mind: it's almost the end of the day! I didn't think I would make it.  

I taught my first ever Year 11 lesson to the biggest and scariest boys I have ever seen. We're teaching them Macbeth, and you can imagine how much kids *adore* Shakespeare, can't you? Especially last lesson on a Friday.  

For some reason, the students listened and completed all of their work. I instinctively corrected a few behavioural issues, despite the class teacher and I agreeing that she would do the stern stuff to begin with.  Surprisingly, the students didn't even argue with me. Win. 

And finally, the moment I have been waiting for all day: coffee time! 

I sit in the staff room to avoid the mad school run whilst the the learners and their parents leave the area.  I decide to quickly plan a lesson for Monday morning while I wait ... or so I thought.  After a 20 minute chat with someone who just wants 'a quick word' I decide to swiftly make my exit and wait until I get home to make that cup of coffee.

I'm home.  Time to put my feet up and reunite with my one true love, Gerald.  I flick the switch on my sleek, black kettle and pop a spoon of coffee in my mug.  It smells *so* good and I think this may be the best moment of my life.  I walk over to the fridge; my time has finally arrived. The door swings open; I am surrounded by its welcoming yellow light. 

To my utter disappointment there is no cream.  

I have been betrayed.  I get under a big blanket and endeavour to sulk all weekend until Monday arrives and I get to do it all again.