We arrived Chez Cockroft about 9.30pm, welcomed by Mr C and Nads' mum. Fish and chips arrived shortly after, kindly collected by Nad's dad and the lovely Mrs C, who is VERY pregnant indeed. Polished that off, and spent a couple of hours sitting round the table talking, drinking wine, having a laugh.
Saturday dawned, grey and windy. Nothing was going to stop me having that walk on the beach, so hats were pulled on (mine was a borrowed floppy black hat, just like the hippy hats I used to make for Purple Haze) and I set off with Nads and Mr C for a spot of aimless wandering. Many charity shops later, we gathered some coffees and headed for the seafront. Whitstable has a really pretty seafront, wooden clad cottages in pastel colours, gently sloping pebble beach. And then the sun came out. Lovely:
Then back for a nice relaxing film about a serial killer (!). We all got under the quilt on the sofa (very funny) and watched Tony, London Serial Killer. Grim. Then Mr C cooked a cracking mushroom risotto, drowned in parmesan - yummmmm...
Ended up in the pub, as Mr C mentioned that some cool old dude who owned a local guitar shop was playing a gig. Not sure what to expect, I was completely blown away to be hearing a setlist that comprised of Hendrix, ZZ Top, Small Faces, Focus (top marks for me knowing it was Focus) and a potted history of 70s rock. Mac is a lovely fella too - he has difficulty standing due to polio, but it can never diminish such amazing talent on the guitar. Honestly, he was just ridiculously GOOD. You just know that half the bands making it today will never be able to play like this man, and he really feels the blues. Completely brilliant, his fingers were a blur (not unlike my shit photography):
Mac's Diner
Next day, cobwebs needed blowing away, so more wandering on the beach, but not until after an eggy breakfast (not big on the App thing, but Nads told me about Hipstamatic, a retro camera for the iPhone - I couldn't resist):
Retro Cat Like Egg Too
More wandering brought us to a sweet little toyshop, and it actually is the very shop window that Bagpuss lived in. I forgot that the very wonderful Oliver Postgate lived not far from here - brilliant man, I wrote about him in my blog when he sadly passed away a few years ago:
One last film before we headed back to London. I'd wanted to watch Crazy Heart for a while, I love Jeff Bridges and as he won an Oscar for his portrayal of a drunken country singer down on his luck, I thought 'what's not to like???' And it was great. All wrapped up a little too neatly at the end, but hell, the soundtrack was good and it had Jeff Bloody Bridges and that's good enough for me (managed not to blub with great difficulty, as I was sitting next to Mr C, so sat with large lump in throat for a couple of scenes). Bizarrely, I found myself fancying Colin Farrell - amazing what long brown hair, stubble and a western shirt can do for a boy.
And then it was time to head back. Lovely drive in Nads' little Figaro - sun shining, listened to the soundtrack of O, Brother Where Art Thou? and some Ry Cooder (Paris Texas - dreamy stuff). And the trip had worked its therapeutic wonders on my messy head - clever old seaside...
