Alex & Maurice get hitched.

Who knew that a mere five miles from the M25 lies some of the most beautiful countryside I've seen on the whole trip? Beps and I were racing through the lanes down by Edenbridge, trying to find the wedding of Alex and Maurice when we were pounced upon by a dingly dell of an area of Kent that cried H.E Bates like a skylark.

It was a really fun wedding with good people - all of whom seemed to love their chocolate...especially the chocolate martini shots. While Vee and I toiled away in the van, Beps set up shop on the stainless steel 'bar' (i.e. Gennie from the Box), pouring out those powerful little suckers to a constant stream of thirsty guests.

Supper #3 - Victoria Park, Dover

THE SET UP: Dover has a bad reputation. It is seen as being overrun by deadbeats, refugees, pramfaces, no-hopers and with little going for it other than a quick exit route to Somewhere Else. This is why my host likes it. Joanna Jones is a well-respected artist who moved here from Berlin over ten years ago. She fell for the light here, but she also fell for something else which would baffle many. She likes the idea that she can use art here in a way that would have little impact in other, 'better' places. Together with two other women, Joanna has set up DAD - a partnership for developing public arts projects throughout the town - and she's excited about something fresh being poured into the town which residents can get involved with.

There is something about the light in her house that is unique. You feel like you may be able to unravel your thoughts enough here to put something down of worth. I arrived feeling a bit fraught and out of sorts. I was starting to feel like I was already losing time and beginning to spin. She pulled me into her house and I felt calmed in an instant. Dinner was waiting in great pots on the stove, my hand was soon holding a glass of red wine (nothing particular and probably bought from Lidl) and we got stuck straight into some pretty mystical discussions.

WHO CAME: Joanna, me, another Petra who lives next door and one of her DAD partners, Clare.

WHAT WE ATE: Potato and mushroom curry, cooked with ginger and turmeric, chicken curry and coconut rice. Simple and soothing. Outside was still grizzly - a chilling to the bone tone to it and demanding of hot, spicy comfort food.



DINNER TABLE TOPICS: Clare's mum is a 72 year old Chinese woman who is about to return to her homeland to study at university. Imagine that. We talked about J's recent trip to Calcutta and the Western habit of sorting ideas dualistically, as opposed to the Eastern way which just is. Climate change and human greed came into play and the thought that perhaps we've gotten to the point where we've consumed so much that we've almost eaten through it and we're coming out the other side. Apparently foot passengers on ferries last year were at their highest level since 1992.

THE PUD: No chocolate! A pud was already made - poached pears and cherry ripple ice cream (again from Lidl and fairly synthetic in a familiar, childhood way).



MY BED FOR THE NIGHT: An old fashioned single room with an enormous sash window that looks out over the street below so I can keep an eye on Jimmy and any meddling dock workers wanting to leap in and sample the wares!

Getting lost

It is a luxury of traveling to be able to get lost without too much upset. I have always relished it in a way. My mum has admonished me on our road trips over the years for getting us lost on purpose and being a bit too perky over some potentially extreme wrong turns. This one occasion found us crawling through the Louisiana Bayou at dusk...swampland either side of us harboured a murkiness and threat that thrilled me whilst leaving poor Mama pulling out her hair.

So far my trip hasn't had quite enough of this. It's been very much dictated by the places I have to reach each day - which have all been great and a real joy, but just not leaving time for idling and misadventure along the way. I will loosen things up to make room for enjoying the mistakes on the road.

I did squeeze in a bit though - between Woodchurch and Dover I ducked off the A28 out of Ashford, through Wye and then well off-piste up and down some tiny country lanes. As I examined the map for the most straightforward meander I found nothing but a tangle of noodle-like roads, splitting and contorting in multiple directions. Suck it and see, I thought and crashed on regardless - despite a Biblical thunderstorm. The sky went sombre, the puddles swelled and it seemed as though every living creature for miles around disappeared into its hedge/nest/hole, leaving just me and Jimmy rumbling guilelessly along...

I emerged onto a proper, clear-cut, direct road a long time later, a little bewildered but engulfed by a sense that I had fought through a meddling conspiracy of lanes and won!....in a long, roundabout, would have been more sensible to take an easier route kind of way.

Sundae Sundae

A great discovery. Duncan took me there the following morning in his slippers. I love his casual appropriation of the town as an extended living room. On the website the opening times are listed as 'varied' so we swerve round hoping.



I know comparisons are odious, and I shall try not to make too many of them, but
Sundae Sundae reminds me of the kind of places you find in small towns all over the East and West coasts of America: A quirky, independent little ice cream parlour, come sweet shop (or 'ice cream delicatessen') that has been put together with a sense of humour and a bit more imagination than your average scoop-it-up-and-rake-it-in disaster. Inside were bags of homemade fudge, chocolate teacakes, toffee apples, cupcakes, real meringues - a sundae counter promising 'Dulce de Leche sundaes' (MMmmmmm) and a whole load of soda fountain memorabilia out back: banana split boats, Knickerbocker Glory dishes and lashings of Enid Blyton books. Brilliant.

I bought a Cider Refresher which refreshed me just perfectly.

Supper #1 - West Cliff, Whitstable

I was contacted through the Tour Facebook Group by Duncan who said that I must come to dinner in Whitstable. As it turns out we have some friends in common. Duncan lived next door to them in Bow when his family were part of a 'community'. I think Duncan misses that world a bit and was attracted to the exchange of kindness and treats of the Choc Star Tour.

I finished up at my pitch on the seafront - which by now was as sunny as could be - went for a little spin round town, bought a pot of prawns from Wheeler's, wandered around the beach and then headed for my destination. A slightly tight squeeze into the driveway ensued, the lead got fed through the window and soon enough Jimmy was whirring away and I was being ushered into the house.

THE SET UP: Duncan and his girlfriend have been renovating it for the last 18 months and are doing it all sustainably. I like the idea of the hemp insulation and the reclaimed glass floors. The whole place was dripping in evening sun and even the churned up garden looked kind of pretty in an earthy, moundish way.

After a swift pint in the Old Neptune (more old rockers and a UB40 tribute band), a look at their eBay-bought beach hut and a hearty hello with the wild lesbians next door it was suppertime!

WHO CAME: two twinkly-eyed couples who'd been to school/uni with D&H. One of the girls wore pearls and had the most lovely smiley way about her and a kind of innocence that seems almost old fashioned. Her husband was cut from the same cloth. The other couple seemed sweet too - the guy even offered a possible supper party in a cave down in Swanage (very Dead Poet's Society), D, H and me.

WHAT WE ATE: huge fat Whitstable oysters - the girls were pretty terrified of them...the guys not the most gung-ho either, whilst Duncan, a vegetarian, wasn't overjoyed by the mushroom and thyme pate Harry had picked up for him. Various other pates dotted the table as well as breads and a packet of butter. We ate on paper plates and drank champagne from wine glasses. Then came the main course - big, plump chicken breasts with discs of tarragon butter that melted juicily in, flageolet beans and peppery watercress. It was delicious and so touching to see all the effort put in despite the fact that they're basically camping and everything is in boxes.

DINNER TABLE TOPICS: Upcoming friends' weddings; booking hotels for these weddings; my tour; house renovation; Duncan's mum's sex life.

THE PUD: Then came my bit - the first of many chocolate puds to be offered up in exchange for all the kindness. I slipped away to the van to prep it - a chocolate mousse cake that was setting in the fridge. I'd made it the day before whilst still at home. I don't know if this is cheating or not but figure there aren't really any rules as long as I actually produce a pud somehow. I slid a hot knife around the tin to release the dense, creamy number and luckily managed not to drop it on the floor (I'd had a few). I carried it through the house and everyone seemed very excited in a hushed, reverential kind of way and Harry sliced it up into enormous portions...which everyone managed to finish. Just.


MY BED FOR THE NIGHT: I was struggling to stay awake from 10pm. Really struggling, yet I felt I absolutely couldn't go - it would be so rude. This is going to be part of my challenge - how to handle the dichotomy of being treated like a friend and yet being a total stranger. And should I remain neutral and journo-like or try and be the life and soul and thus earn my keep in entertainment value? Or is the pudding enough? Anyway, the bed was a series of cushions on the floor covered with a pristine white sheet and topped off with a big, cosy duvet. It was met by me with the kind of enthusiasm normally felt after a very long haul flight. I slept like a log.

Whitstable

My friend Ellis told me that Whitstable is like a cross between Weymouth and Aldeburgh and I see what he means. It is cute, full of gift shops and seems to have more than a passing interest in the gourmet side of life...yet its undercurrent of old rockers and barflies gives the place a funk in its thigh that delivers it from tweeness.

I arrived (after a detour through the pebble-dash cacophony of Bexleyheath looking for a carwash), found the spot I thought was mine and got settled in. The sun was ablaze, a skiffle band got everyone swaying and the place was teeming with kids imploring their parents for ice creams - the perfect spot!...then, as I was almost set up, came the most brimstone and fire hailstorm ever. I quickly battoned down the hatches and sat in the van getting pounded - the van shook, the noise deafened and all the people vanished into unknown places of dryness and warmth.


Then it poured with rain. Then the sun returned. Then it poured with rain. Then the sun returned - and so on for the rest of the day which found me serving hot chocolate one minute and white chocolate ice cream the next. Some people came to complain about my being there but when I explained what I was doing it was all smiles and good luck. One guy did point out to me that I was actually in the wrong place entirely but wasn't hard-nosed enough to make me move.

If my tour is an exploration of British friendliness and hospitality then Whitstable has passed with flying colours. A mixed group of punters - from proper hard-nut, spiky haired mums to old fishermen and high-flying couples from the city. Some had seen me and Jimmy on the telly and were delighted to be able to get their hands on Willie's chocolate some just wanted to shut their kids up. I loved it - even the hail - and would return in an instant if invited.

Thanks for having me Whitstable!

Whitstable - this Saturday

So Dave from the licensing dept. at Kent County Council has agreed to have us for the day down on the Seawall. It's our first yes - he sounds quite enthused in fact - and we're going to be by the coffee man and the cheese lady (should be easy to spot).

If you're in that neck of the woods this Sat 12th April do swing by for a Triple Chocolate Malted Bliss milkshake or some Black Millionaire's shortbread.