Skyberries and Voidmelons or Voidberries and Skymelons

I walked along cliff tops at Langdon Bay, near to Dover, and then downwards, through the chalky pathways to a stepladder, which led me to the beach. After traversing the shingle, and trying not to slip on seaweed, I stepped on to the rusty shipwreck, the SS Falcon. There were barnacles clinging, and rock pools full of seaweed, but considering the boat sank in 1926, there was surprisingly quite a lot remaining.

The sea was coming in, so I climbed back up the ladder and there were tunnels and little rooms, where searchlights stood. I looked out to sea from there, watching the ferries sail out from the port of Dover.

British seaside towns feel different in winter, as if it's okay that all the ice-cream shops are boarded up and the crazy golf courses are faded and litter-strewn. In the summer, it just feels sad.

In Folkestone, I bought fake leather trousers and artificial pot plants from charity shops in the high street before descending to the beach. As a child, my favourite shop was the joke shop, which is now closed, like most of the other shops on the cobbled street down to the harbour. There are signs around the town that mention regeneration and of creative quarters, so perhaps it will regain popularity.

My childhood memories of Folkestone are mostly from playgroup coach trips: of the smell of the stalls on the way to the beach selling pots of fresh seafood, of building sand-castles and rivers, of sitting underneath the arches and drying off from paddling in the sea, of eating sandwiches that were always a bit sandy, of finding pretty shells on the beach.. the usual kind of things that you might do as a child, when the beaches were crowded and full of brightly coloured swimming costumes, wind-breaks and buckets and spades.

On the beach in Folkestone last week, I walked through a number of the arches. Most of the arches were dotted with litter and some with graffiti, and looked somehow sinister and decayed, and not quite like I remember as a child. The beach was empty apart from a few people walking a dog, and a child on a bicycle. I couldn't see the sun itself as it set behind the other side of the harbour, but the beach glistened orange and the waves began to look mostly unreal, and that was what made Folkestone beautiful on that day - the sun and the sea.

I'm in Kent now and am tempted to play amongst the hay bales.
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I watched Before Sunset again recently and am thinking about the scene where Céline says, "Now that we've met again, we can change our memory of that December 16th. It no longer has that sad ending of us never seeing each other again. Right?" and Jesse replies, "Yeah, you’re right. I guess a memory is never finished. As long as you're alive..."

I suppose that's how I'm trying to think at the moment, about Southampton, that my memories of it aren't finished.
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I received the Open House London guide for September 15th and 16th and am trying to decide what to see. Is anyone else intending to go?

When I had visited King's Wood in Kent before, it was in the middle of winter and I was unimpressed by the wooden sculptures that formed a children's play area.

But this time was different..

Amongst the trees, there were bluebells everywhere you looked, such a density, and where they formed a thick carpet, the scent was overwhelmingly glorious. I was in awe. The bluebells seemed so utterly magical and beautiful and I felt deliriously happy.

Those moments just don't happen often enough, so tell me about the last time you couldn't stop saying "wow"?