Lorries are backed up for 25 miles now on the arteries of Kent, turning every vein and every capillary into a coagulated lava-flow. This small corner of the UK has been slowly asphyxiating week-by-week over the summer months as savagely mistreated ferry workers in France air their grievances, and hundreds of desperate and dispossessed migrants try to make it to the UK in search of a better life. Much as I dislike the travel chaos that it throws up, I was reminded the other day of how just 80 people have the same wealth as 50% (that's 3.5 billion people) of the world's population. You could fit them all in a double decker bus. Then you could drive in into the English Channel.
I decided that the lure of sunset at Whitstable (camera in hand) was too strong a draw to ignore, and under ribbons of cloud I slowly edged across the county until I arrive at this lovely seaside gem at the mouth of the Thames estuary. Across the murky waters of the channel, you can clearly see the Isle of Sheppey, from which I used to set sail as a young man on a cross-channel ferry once a day, bound for Vlissingen in Holland. I'd be lying if I claimed them as fond memories, but they are part of my make-up, my life story ... and still, there is something magical about the open seas.
The clouds were closing quickly, and shortly after I took this photo the light was gone. Until tomorrow.