Standing on the sands of Margate - watching plumes of black smoke filling the sky above the pier - I wandered whether we hadn't seen quite enough pier fires for a lifetime. This was our third, no forth because we saw both the Brighton West Pier fires, I mean we live by the coast and everything but, well, this can't be normal - can it?
Lucinda stood on the shore next to me, our little day trip to cheer my up, gone up in well... smoke. She wanted to takes up Mackeral fishing, had even made us a couple of pirate hats and a bottle of rum to make it all that little bit more jolly... frankly it sound extremely ominous to me and I was right.
The fire burnt and a small crowd gathered on the sands with us, surprisingly few considering that local pier was burning down - a lot of people seemed to be just bustling by - too busy to pause and take it in.
The only person I remember from the day was an unshaven and unwashed man with a long rain coat, with electrical flex spilling out of it pockets, he had greasy hair flicked across his forehead and a red drinkers nose.
He stumbled up to us... looked me up an down in a manner the sent the hackles rising on the back of my neck, and then stabbed a finger into my chest;
"You're wasting your time"
And that was it... he left...
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