Rye

We've been in Rye all day, a large group of us, celebrating Meriel's 40th birthday. 

A curious water-coloured impressionist light has accompanied us all day. Standing on the beach at Rye Harbour, it was impossible to see where the sea stopped and the sky took over. The only thing which cut into the pastel blur were the dark silhouettes of boats out to see and the foreboding outline of Dungeness Power Station. 

It's a curiously lonely and empty place; strangely industrial and completely flat.   There are mud flats, and salt marshes stretching as far as the eye can see with dilapidated boats and rows of rusty trucks scattered all over the place. 

We sat on the beach grinding up little shells and pieces of brick to create war paint which turned us all into warriors. 

We've eaten almost without stopping, starting with a picnic on the beach before moving on to bonbons from the traditional sweetie shop on the High Street and finishing with a greasy plate of chips.  There's tea and cake to come. All very exciting but terrible news for the diet!