 diamond geezer
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Town Z: I wasn't planning on being here, in the third of this trio of historic towns. But a missed connection dumped me at the station for 55 minutes, so it seemed churlish to ignore the opportunity to explore. Just long enough to walk the mile down to the town centre and back, if quick. Through suburban avenues where dads and sons are Wii-ing wildly in their dressing gowns. Past the grammar school, past rugby-cheering pubs, past too-early restaurants. Down the high street, beneath blue fairy lights, where only the packed-up market traders remain. Through dim deserted Albert Court where some municipal wit has built a three piece suite out of bricks. It could be any of a hundred small towns across the UK early on a Saturday evening. But step out onto the seafront and a dark watery marina full of bobbing boats presents itself. To the left is the illuminated harbour museum (and a casino). To the right are two layers of tall thin arches, supporting a raft of hotels and houses above the harbour. And, somewhere out in the blackness, the terminal from which ferries once sallied forth. There's no time to explore further, it's back to the station and then two slow hours back to London. There can't be many places as close, but so remote, than it.
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