Stoke on Trent – The Glebe

Hard by Stoke Minster stands the only pub in the area I care to visit, tucked in a cosy corner by the Civic Centre, five minutes from the station, barely time to work up a thirst.

Carefully and skilfully refurbished, exquisite original semi circles of stained and painted glass depicting the months of the year – though there is no February, the lower panes a recent addition.

A tiled floor and broad stripped floorboards beneath your feet.

Sympathetically furnished, plainly, simply appropriate to a pub with pride.

In being a pub.

We and the afternoon sun, spill lazily in, in time for a pint.

It’s delicious so we have another

And another.

http://www.joulesbrewery.co.uk/pubs/pub_details.php?id=9

Margate – Batchelor’s Patisserie

Idly meandering through Cliftonville, along Northdown Road, I chanced upon the most delightful of cake shop windows. Being something of an aficionado of cakes, shops and windows it seemed like an ideal opportunity to snap away, with customary broad-smiling, wide-eyed enthusiasm. Furthermore why not go in? I was met with the most charming of receptions from the patron Stuart Turner and staff – not unreasonably inquisitive regarding my impromptu picture taking, I explained my particular interest in the patisserie. The interior of the 50’s bakery, shop and café is perfectly preserved, with a little sympathetic restorative work. Well upholstered and formica topped the furniture is the finest of its kind, each table graced with fresh flowers, condiments and loving care and attention. An exquisite array of breads, pastries and cakes, resting on delicate doilies, displayed in glass fronted cases. I encourage you to visit, take tea, take cake, take away the fondest of sweet memories.

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Margate – Car Park

There’s a world going on underground.

At ground level.

Fenced off, rather poorly though.

Not much here to deter even the faint hearted urban explorer.

Find a gap and get in.

Join the taggers and lollygaggers,

Underground.

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Margate – Turner Contemporary

Mr Turner came here way back when,

The same sea lapped a different shore,

A gallery stands where he passed,

If passing pop in,

Or wander the perimeter in search of a sense,

Of well being, or otherwise,

Seeking a link with some not too distant past,

When a different sea lapped the same shore.

https://www.turnercontemporary.org

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Margate – Arlington House

Arlington House is a 58 metre high eighteen-storey residential apartment block in Margate, Kent, England.

It was built in 1964, it has 142 apartments, and was designed by Russell Diplock & Associates, developed by Bernard Sunley Trust, and built by the contractors Bernard Sunley & Sons.

The sides of the building have a wave-like design, providing both inland and sea views.

It was initially advertised as Britain’s first park and buy shopping centre with luxury flats , incorporating a theatre, restaurant and rooftop swimming pool.

Arlington Margate

I’ll try anything twice.

So off I went to Margate, on a train, again.

Rushing out of the station agog, eager, looking for a long lost friend.

An impudent exclamation mark at the end of a rowdy Georgian row.

Arlington House.

A mad amalgam of angles, incautious concrete surfaces and glass.

Entranced, enchanted, we both stare out to sea and eye each other admiringly.

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Deal – Seaside Shelters

Two.

Parachuted from who knows where, onto the unsuspecting seafront.

Backed by a rambling range of well behaved Georgian terraces, facing a remorselessly mutable sea.

Affording space age shelter to the passing pilot of an ever imminent future.

Sit in, look through, out and beyond.

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Pottons – Cliftonville Margate

Should you, as I did wander down Northdown Road, Cliftonville, you will chance upon Pottons at 262.

By now however, ingress is more than somewhat inhibited.

It’s closed.

The most exciting and extant period fascia, once gave way to oak fittings and fixtures festooned with all manner of menswear, exotic and plain accoutrements, now inaccessible.

It’s gone.

A few sad remnants were on sale, administered in their final days by Lorraine, employed for 35 years in a family business, whose trade had once included made to measure, fine millinery and quality accessories for the discerning gent around town.

No more.

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Laundrette – Rhayader

There is a sign.

An Illuminated sign.

There are signs.

Handwritten signs – notices, instructions, scribbled hurriedly, underlined, highlighted, boxed for emphasis.

Taped up.

There are machines, top loaders, best left half empty.

Terrazzo floor, leatherette banquette.

Out of disorder comes out of order.

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Close the door when you leave

North Wales – B&B

Just two Bs and an ampersand, but what volumes they speak, secrets they contain, what does go on behind closed doors?

Bed and breakfast, an immovable feast.

Various does not begin to describe their variety, a cornucopia of dolorous decor, quizzical cuisine, curios, carpets and cohabitees.

So knock on, walk into the hall, up the stairs, open that door – who knows what fate awaits you.

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North Wales – Shelters

There are days when there is little else to do on the seashore than stare endlessly out to sea, seeking respite from the unrelenting rays of the sun, or conversely turning one’s back on the incoming squall.

Hunker down and hope.

For these very same and sane reasons, the urban district councils have provided you with the very means to realise the wildest of your wildest dreams.

The shelter

No two are the same, look carefully – they are nuanced, under financed, resilient and emboldened against the elements. Design applied by untutored hand, cast in concrete, stone and brick, glazed, unglazed and amazing.

Set a spell, take your shoes off.

Y’all come back now, y’hear?

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