This morning we met a woman, who I nearly know. She enters local art competitions and I see her at private views at my local art gallery and things like that. Visually she is a very distinctive woman once seen you recognise her when you see her a second time. She explained she had walked three quarters of an hour to get to her beach hut because roadworks had blocked her car in. She said she probably could get her car out but knew her parking space would be gone when she returned. She then went to tell me she was preparing her beach hut for the annual Beach Hut competition. This year she was doing ‘Hoppers’…I was a little at a loss and said Edward Hoppers?
No she said ‘Oppers’ picking hops. This used to be big industry in Kent and poverty-stricken folk and working class families from the East End of London used to spend the end of the summer picking hops. It was described as the nearest thing to a holiday for east end families.
She’s turning her beach hut into a hop pickers caravan with cooking tins and what she described as tat, ragged clothes outside on the washing line. She was going to dress up in patched threadbare clothing for the day. There are some people who really take it seriously she said, with very elaborate designs. One year someone turned theirs into a bathing machine and had people inside a pantomime horse as if pulling it towards the water’s edge.
She had waked 45 minutes bringing a shopping trolley full of bits of wood and this and that in preparation. She told me it was good to plan and know exactly what you were doing on the day and was just starting the 45 minutes back to her house when we met her. I was impressed with the commitment for a fun event which is part of our local festival.
As for Fred I tried to get him to swim in the sea …… not having it for a moment.
