#14 Dartford
Gravesend-born Radio Kent DJ Paul James loves the sight of the Queen Elizabeth II bridge. I'll always remember his words from a special radio programme he presented a few years ago: it's subject was looking at the history of where we live. Being a county-wide broadcast, James travelled the length and breadth of Kent; but no matter where he's been, the bridge always has a special place in his heart for one simple reason: it means he's nearly home.
I think if I had to choose one sight that reminded me of home, it would have to be the chimney stack of Littlebrook Power Station. No matter where you are in Dartford, you only have to peek between the buildings, or look just above the hill, and you can see the great industrial spire that looms over the Thames. It's taller than the HSBC & Citigroup towers at Canary Wharf; it's the first thing you see when you cross the bridge into Dartford; living on a hill, it can clearly be seen from the front window of my house; but perhaps most importantly of all for me, it was built by my Grandad. Not single-handed, obviously, but it still makes me incredibly proud everytime I see it.
These pictures are of the view from my house today, and those he took from the top, before it was painted blue (as it is now). The pictures are blurry - but then again, he was standing on scaffolding at the top of a 722-foot tall chimney at the time: I'm not sure he wanted to take his "best" camera up there with him, and you can't blame him if his hands were slightly shakey!
Yes, this is my last blog to be written in Dartford for a long while. Tomorrow, I leave for Sheffield University, and to start the first 'semester' of my undergraduate life there. So this last week has been full of packing bags, filling-in forms and (in most cases, sadly) saying goodbye.
Last Friday was Sarah's fancy dress party. With a theme of the 1950s or the 1980s to choose from, I decided to choose an outfit that at first glance could be mistaken for either. God bless the fashion revivals of the Eighties! My black shoes, turned-up faded jeans, plain white T-shirt and black jacket - topped of course by a quiff/mullet - resulted in leaving people unsure if I was supposed to be The Fonz or the lead singer of Bros. Fortunately, Sexy Alan out-dressed us all, and took the attention off me for the rest of the night.
My Grandma is both blessed and cursed having a birthday on September 11. Granted, no-one will ever forget your birthday again, but what a drag to have to keep writing it down all the time.
Tuesday night kicked off the "farewell" parties, and we sent off Telfer (and probably some others I'll never see again) to university. Then, right up-to-date, tonight is my last evening in town.
I know it's easy to knock Dartford, but it's still my home and I'm really going to miss the place. Chimney and all. I've enjoyed this Summer: from Paris to tonight, I've had some great times. So if I haven't had the chance to say goodbye to you, sorry! Goodbye, good luck, and I'm sure we'll all be down the Tollgate again come December.
Song title of the week:
"I Need Some Fine Wine And You, You Need To Be Nicer"
(The Cardigans)
