She Sells Sea Shells

ca. 1946 ---

Lots to cover this week.  Thanks for all the views last week.  Some strange allegations knocking about on social media, but I can assure you I AM REAL.  I’ve got a Twitter account and everything!  I’m feeling those computer keys under my fingers all plasticy and I can feel my (very firm) glutes on my office chair all cushiony right now!  Lol.  See?  Real.

Well well well.  So the Savoy Snooker Club is going to be improved!  I actually can’t pretend not to be very very excited about this.  What a beautiful design.  It’s the absolute epitome of style that Whitstable should be aiming for.  The litmus test is this – would Prince Charles hate it?  Yes?  Then build it.  Snooker is an utterly pointless hobby.  Notice I say ‘hobby’ and not ‘sport’. It should be eradicated.


It’ll be interesting to see if they pull off the wine bar.  Whitstable has always struggled with late night places to drink.  It just can’t cope. Things get messy. Ears get bitten off. Let’s hope they manage to open an actual wine bar – not a pretend wine bar (you all know where I mean). An actual wine bar that is exactly like any of the millions of places you can drink after 11pm in London.  I’ll tell you what will happen though.  It’ll start out sort of ok, then drift into a Whitstable nightclub, finally morphing into a dodgy, dark, scary cavern like the one that used to be at the Continental years ago (never went in but saw it get raided once).  Or the one that used to be at the back of the big pub in the middle of town.  I had the misfortune to end up there one night a couple of decades ago.  I don’t want to talk about it though. *Shudder*.

On to other stuff.  My youngest daughter was laughing about the tongue twister She Sells Sea Shell on the Sea Shore.  ‘Dad,’ she said, ‘How does “she” get away with selling the sea shells on the sea shore, when her customers could just pick them up for free all by themselves?’

Pebble beach
Free pebbles if you can be arsed

An excellent question.  And the answer is that they are very stupid.  And “she” is very clever.

I remember coming to Whitstable in the early naugties when the DFL thing had turbo charged it’s way beyond the  critical tipping point of no return.  I was amused to see a shop (run by a DFL with a beard) selling pebbles that had been given a flattering coat of see-though nail varnish.  They were going for a stonking £1 each.  He was doing a roaring trade selling them to other DFLs who, if they weren’t quite so stupid, could have just picked them up off the beach all by themselves. This in turn brings me to the news today about attack by anti-gentrification protesters on the Cereal Killer Cafe for selling cereal at extortionate prices.

Genius at work. Keep Stoopid off the streets boys!

The attack was utterly barbaric and I’ll tell you why – the cereal peddlers were doing humanity a favour.  All the customers they had managed to corral into their shop were really really thick.  Those beardy meusli pushers had single handedly rounded up the top 2% of stupid in the whole borough and were holding them there, keeping the rest of us safe, preventing any number of idiotic actions they might have carried out had they had the sense to go to Tesco Metro up the road and buy a packet of Alpen and a pint of milk for a fraction of the price.  I actually think the protesters should have been praising the beardy brothers for keeping Stoopid (collective term for an entire strata of fuckwits) off the streets, preventing them from mingling with the rest of us.

Stoopid desperately lining up to pay £4.50 for a bowl of cornflakes.

On the face of it, It’s quite astonishing that this kind of protest hasn’t happened in Whitstable when you consider how the town has shape shifted since 1990, but there are two reasons it hasn’t happened.  First, it is because no one can be bothered.  The crusties that came here in the mid 1990s to stop the road being built either moved on to more exciting protests, are dead, or stayed and are too wasted to protest about anything.  Second, reluctant as they are to admit it, locals actually prefer the town now.  It’s better.  It’s less shite.  Fact.


Right, I’m off to the health food shop for some help with my hormones.  Not feeling myself a the moment.  I’ll dedicate another post to it but I honestly think I am entering the male menopause.  It’s very troubling.  And I’ve found grey hairs in my beard.  I don’t know what to do.  The bruvs at the Cereal Killer Cafe have silver hair, but their beards are mysteriously dark.  I wonder what their secret is?  Any advice would be most welcome.


2 thoughts on “She Sells Sea Shells

  1. Stumbled upon your blog, as we are leaving London for Whitstable. Can’t decide if I now want to move there even more or run back and weep into my almond milk flat white in south east London……


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