I LOVE MARGATE

In May, it will be three years since I left London after living there for twelve years and floated off to Margate. DFLs (down from Londoners) are not always welcomed with open arms here. For many local people, they signify gentrification, rising house prices and more unnecessary art galleries, as well as air bnb rentals and anti-community types who bugger off to warmer climes in winter. But for all those who would resist this change, there are others who recognise what the influx of Londoners has done for the town — boosting its reputation, tourism, and injecting culture and colour into what was becoming a drab place, especially since many high-street chains moved out of the town centre.

I first came here while I was an undergraduate studying English and American Literature at the University of Kent in Canterbury. Some friends and I day-tripped just as the Turner Contemporary was being erected. I felt an instant sense of connection with the town’s character. I returned alone several times in the interim, and with each visit felt a little more enamoured. One summer, I booked out a Guardian journalist’s air bnb for five days and felt completely at home.

I loved living in London. I would’ve been happy there forever, walking around and seeing new things every day, birdlife in Victoria Park, people watching on Broadway Market, attending any number of art events and exhibitions, excursions to Hampstead Heath…but after so many rooms, albeit fewer than many people I know, housemates, and the post-pandemic realisation that in order for me to feel like I was actually ‘living’, I needed more space, I felt like it was time to move.

It’s become a trend to couple up in London before making this move, and as such, towns like Margate and Hastings seem disproportionately populated by couples and toddlers. And for every attractive, educated single woman, I estimate there is a sixth of a vaguely compatible man / partner. What I’m saying is, this wasn’t a wise decision if I was expecting a romantic happily ever after.

I told everyone I was moving. Once I tell people I’m going to do something, I find it hard to go back on my word. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I like to think it’s my way of forcing myself to be brave and follow through. Of course, once I started looking, I realised it might not be as easy as I’d hoped. There were hardly any places to rent.

I must have sounded mad and naïve calling an estate agent, and when they asked me what I was looking for in a rental property, replying ‘a one or two bedroom, overlooking the sea with a garden for less than £800 / month’….Yet, miraculously, after jumping through what felt like an unfair amount of administrative hoops, that’s exactly what I found. Despite the couples queuing up before and after me to view it, I got offered the tenancy of a spacious maisonette with a big living room window overlooking the main sands, with a backyard (and functional privy), and it’s the best place I’ve ever lived.

Situated in the centre, it suits me and my depressive tendency to lock myself away and never venture out if there are several staircases or geographic distance causing an obstacle. I pop in and out throughout the day, whatever the season. The best thing about it is without a doubt the view out over the beach, and during certain months, the sunset shining directly in with its golden glow that turns pink then red. In the winter, tourists filter out, and there is comradery among the residual residents.

During the summer months, it’s easy to slip into ‘holiday mode’ and spend a fortune in Margate’s many bars and restaurants, or let lunch breaks stretch until you realise you’ve frittered most of the afternoon when you should have been working.

One of the nicest things is that people do seem to appreciate it. Friends text to see if I want to sit on the beach for half an hour on a sunny afternoon, or grab a beer and watch the sunset from the steps, or go for a cold swim. We remind each other how lucky we are to live here.

After a while living here, certain friends slipped away. Or if they visited on a grey weather day, it felt like that formed their main impression and they didn’t want to come back, as though they were putting pressure on it to be sunny. I also realised that these were the kinds of people who expected me to be sunny at all times too. Fair weather friends.

Running along the cliffs in the evening, or watching the sunset alone, I sometimes wish I’d stayed in London and waited to meet someone. But the likelihood is, I’d probably still be short-term dating softbois who’d already slept with several of my friends. Here, everyone knows everyone. It’s not for everyone – for people who prefer anonymity. But I love being known by face at least – in the café, in the bookshop; a woman about town.

I miss London sometimes. It feels weird going to an event and not being able to stay late and then simply walk or take an Uber home. I miss walking. Everything is so concentrated here; there’s no need to walk far. Exercise is something you have to consciously do. I like to put on an audiobook and walk from Margate to Broadstairs along the coast, and take a bus home.

Every time I arrive at the train station – whether returning to a blue sea, a red sun, or a moon shimmering over the sea, Tracey Emin’s ‘I never stopped loving you’ neon illuminated over droit house – I am filled with a sense of security.

Loving it as I do, as time passes, I’ve started to fear the inevitable call from my landlady telling me I’ll have to leave, but this sense of limited time only makes me appreciate it all the more. Thinking about that the other day, it made me want to take that feeling and apply it to all the people and things I love in life. Maybe that’s what happens when daily life is full of so much beauty – sentimentality creeps in like the tide.