Suspended Judgement
I grumped into Canterbury to have some breakfast. But the suspended coffee sign gently reminded me that I had little to be grumpy about in the big scheme of things.
If you’ve not come across them, suspended coffees allow you pay for a coffee for someone else who needs one — they can just come into the shop and ask if there are any, and get a free coffee.
Along the way, I’d popped into a church, as I do religiously in a non-religious way. As well as an ornate offerings box, this one had some “bread shelves”. Better-off members of the congregation would bake extra loaves and leave them there for people to take if they needed them — though I wonder how this worked in practice, whether people made a big display of their public charity, and what happened if there weren’t enough. There’s a great photo of a fancier one here.
We are still doing this, with food banks, centuries later.
Arriving in Canterbury, you could tell it was a bit posh — just look at the sign above the public conveniences. Additional waterworks had also been provided; presumably there was a water fountain near this plaque.
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We’re halfheartedly reintroducing public water fountains now — another centuries-old idea we’re reviving — this time to try to reduce single-use of plastic bottles, of which the UK uses 7.7 billion a year, which is insanity.
I went into the cathedral precinct, and had an entertaining conversation with the guy on the ticket desk:
- “Are you a pilgrim? Have you walked a long way to get here?”
- “Well, yes, but not in a religious way.”
- “Along a pilgrim route?”
- “Not really, I mean, sometimes, but off and on.”
- “We’ll just buy the ticket, then?”
- “Yes, I think that would be best.”
I rested a little then met up with Ginney, who I used to work with a decade ago, and who has come to walk with me today and tomorrow. We explored the cathedral; I particularly liked the conservator painstakingly removing dust from a tomb using a brush and that most delicate of tools, a Henry Hoover.
Then along cycle route number 1 (I used to use this route in Edinburgh), here called the Crab and Winkle Way, to Whitstable. This is a coastal town which doesn’t seem to like the sea — it faces away from it, and it takes a little exploring to reach the beach.
But I can hear the seagulls from my window, preparing me for more coast tomorrow.
P.S. After writing about plastic bottles, I went out and saw this, from a local graffiti artist.
If you’ve read this far, please consider sponsoring a mile of my walk for Freegle. Click here to do that or see my route.
