‘May I take a picture of your snake?’ I asked the tattooed man with a python around his neck, regretting it as the words left my mouth. He nodded. ‘What’s it called?’ ‘There’s two,’ he replied, gruffly. So there were! Two pythons comfortably coiled, glistening in the sunshine.
It was the hottest early May bank holiday since the day was introduced in 1978, and the Kent coast was in full swing. The sea looked murky, the sand muddy and there was not a palm tree in sight but that did little to dent our enjoyment. You can’t beat an English beach day.
On the scorching bank holiday in question, half of south London seemed to have disgorged onto Whitstable. Stalls, vans and boat clubs were doing a roaring trade in oysters, lobster rolls, pots of winkles, fried eggs in a bun, and ice cream cones.
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