I skipped the breakfast part (my body is a temple), and met the guys at the beach. Parking up, I lifted my camera off the back seat and headed off to the fishing boats. I'd got about half way there when I realised I was on my own, and looked back to find that Mick and Richard were still unloading the car. Oh My God. In my absence, Gull photography has reached a whole new level. It used to be a couple of loaves of bread, but no longer. The ante has been well and truly upped. Armchairs. Buckets of fish. Crates. 8m3 of popcorn, and enough bread to create a floating bridge to France. I watched, bemused - practically speechless in fact - as all of this was loaded onto a massive trolley (itself another new development) which was then hauled across the shingle and down to the shore. At the other end, it was all dutifully unpacked, carefully positioned, and then we all sat down, Mick having been kind enough to bring a third armchair for me. I hadn't realised, but Gull photography at Dungeness merely involves carting a shit-load of crap you don't need down the beach and then doing nothing.
|A small proportion of the epic amount of necessary gear|
|A whole new level. LOWER.|
|After witnessing the above, a Gull vomits into a sick bucket|