Various rains, mists, hazes, dampness the entire day, and we still decided to walk from Whitstable to Canterbury, some 11 kilometers, I struggle to convert from the miles used here to what I grew up with. By the time we reach the open fields out of Whitstable proper, my trousers, so absorbent, are soaked, and remain so for the next few hours. Oh what else to say? It was beautiful, haunting in the quietness and saturated colours of the overcast and wet afternoon. Later in Canterbury, home of Marlowe as well as Chaucer, and stores for Bears Paddington and Rupert, we found ourselves in the low-ceilinged backroom of an old Old Fellows Lodge, now a café, bar, I imagine its tables crammed and loudness, drinking, bu for us, almost the only ones there, we occupy a sofa to ourselves, eat sandwiches, cakes and drink coffee, and later catch the bus back the way we came.