Today, off to Bearsted in Kent for a few day’s holiday. I can’t imagine how insanely expensive the houses are, but it’s like an English village theme park, complete with green and church, wobbly-walled medieval pubs and gourmet restaurants. And lots of signs saying no to the Kent International Gateway, whatever that is. TBH if someone plans to build something ghastly like that, they should stick it in Ashford-upon-Tory, which is already the most mind-numbingly ghastly town in Britain.
We were staying in the Marriott, one of those places where every style of internal decor from throughout the globe has been meticulously assimilated and averaged out. Which bothers some, but to be honest the room was nice, the staff were friendly, and the restuarant was okay (though fifteen quid for an English breakfast? You could have three English breakfasts at Maggie’s for that. But unfortunately going on honeymoon at Maggie’s was not an option.) Second night, we ate out – D had the most delicious lamb ever and I had some mmmelty chicken at The White Horse. It was so nice we plan to go there again for anniversaries.
We chose this hotel for pampering. A swimming pool, a jacuzzi, a sauna. I’m racking my brains trying to remember the last time I did swimming; possibly I dipped into the med near Venice, otherwise it must be ten years or more. I’m a terrible swimmer, have to keep my eyes out of the water – contact lenses, y’see – so could only do swimming froggy-style. Still, it was probably very good for all those muscles I hadn’t used in a decade. And after doing the Roman thing of getting wet, hot and dry, wet, hot and dry and wet a few times I felt so super-clean every pore was tingling with joy.
