Before last Friday, I was unable to visualise the nuclear power stations that creep behind the black wooden houses at Dungeness. Although I was always aware that they were there, looming, I had erased the image of their eerie presence from my mind. I suppose that when I last saw them, boats were more important to me than nuclear power.
Dungeness is vastly more popular now than it seemed to be when I was a child, but I was drawn back to "one of the world's largest shingle masses" after seeing photos and descriptions in various places, such as at Things Magazine. The poem-covered cottage and garden of driftwood and plants that belonged to film director Derek Jarman is one of the most popular attractions, as is Simon Conder's rubber house with a 1950s silver futuristic Airstream caravan outside.
In various ways, it resembles a desert and sometimes I imagine living there, constantly in fear of the nuclear power station, spending my days not dowsing for water, but instead counting the different plant species, hoping to spot at least a few of the more than 600 that grow there. I'd lie on the shingle to get a better look at them and then I'd glance over at the stripey lighthouse. Maybe I'd eat slices of bread and butter, because as a child with fussy tastes, Dungeness seemed to be the only place where bread and butter tasted not so bad.
( Photo: Standing on a boat in Dungeness. )
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