There'll Be Bluebirds Over... (Gulls Actually)

Well, so much for my resolve to select one special day in Kent to tell you about, for I simply must tell you of my day at the White Cliffs of Dover.

The two miles of coastline to the east of Dover, known as the Langdon Cliffs, is managed by the National Trust, as is the South Foreland Lighthouse at the far extremity.

In Dover itself, I cycle along the landscaped waterfront area, the waist high retaining walls of which are cleverly designed to represent the White Cliffs. The beach is one of those extraordinary English pebble beaches, which I have to stop and crunch along just for the heck of it. No messy sand in the boot of the car after a day at the beach here.

I rejoin the hectic morning traffic and head out of town following the National Trust signs saying White Cliffs, and am delivered to the car park (free to we Trust members).

I collect my leaflet detailing the coastal paths leading to the lighthouse which, as it turns out, is not open today, so the reputedly spectacular view from the top will be denied me. Never mind, the view from the Visitor Centre is spectacular enough where you look down on Dover Port with huge ferries coming and going from France, like taxis at a station.

The day is overcast and a mist hangs over the Channel adding to the wild mysterious grandeur of this wonderful place.

Setting off along the path, the first sight of the cliff face is breathtaking. It's just as you know it is from photographs and film footage but the real thing, up here in the wind with that misty backdrop, is magical.

The path takes you quite near the edge where you can see the face of the cliffs ahead, then a little further inland and finally back nearer the edge as you approach the lighthouse. There are a couple of killer flights of steps along the way, fine going down, pulse elevating coming up. But you can always stop half way up and marvel at the view out to sea.

Gulls suddenly appear on an up-draught from the cliffs and swoop and dive overhead like kites in the wind, their haunting cry always the song of the sea. A tractor is ploughing a field beyond the cliffs area and the gulls settle on the newly ploughed earth for some tasty pickings.

As the lighthouse is closed, and the trek back another two miles, I decide to rest for a bit on a large square of concrete on the very edge of the cliff where you can look along the cliff face back towards Dover. A skin of soil, no more than a foot deep, sits directly on the chalk cliffs and the green grass grows on the soil right to the edge, which gives the look of a layer cake with green icing. Strangely there is no wind just here.

I am about to pour a cup of coffee when I have the bright idea to take a photo of my Thermos etc. with the cliffs as a backdrop. To get the right angle for this shot I have to lie on the concrete slab. It crosses my mind that any onlooker may think me totally deranged.

But I don't really care what anyone thinks because I'm sitting on the edge of the White Cliffs of Dover sipping coffee and looking out across the English Channel.