We hurtle down the M2 to Whitstable on the North Kent coast. Two women falling asleep in the sun, Mr Hg behind the wheel. Will we make it in time for the table at noon?
17 degrees according to the sign on the rent-a-boat building, but it feels warmer. Upstairs in the restaurant’s a cinema — but the seats are stacked with boxes and the first floor is under construction. More seats for hungry customers.
A waiter cleans lobster at the bar. Outside on the beach kids play with the waves while daddies strap their bellies in a wet suit. Their grown up toys are catamarans, jet skis and motorboats. The need for speed. Where are their wives?
Steaming mussels, baked cod, Sancerre. Mr Hg laughs when I take a first bite of my pudding and light up like a four-year-old.
We buy sweets and books.