Margate Runs Out Of Rozzers

My spies in the Arsonists' Playground report that the gift shop on the Harbour Arm (pier in old money) was broken into on Friday night.

Apparently a call was put into the cops when some suspicious looking types were seen casing the joint. 'We'll be there in 25 minutes,' came the vapid response from Kent's finest. Sure enough, the burglary was soon in progress, and another call was made to the Peelers. 'We'll be there in 25 minutes,' repeated the automaton at the other end. Needless to say, the Bill arrived 25 minutes after the vagabonds had made off with their booty.

Judging by the number of flatfoots in Broadstairs for Drunk Week, and the van loads that were scooping deadbeats off the pavements here in the Millionaires' Playground during the simultaneous Ramsgate Week, it's not surprising that, er, 'resources were stretched' to use public sector speak. There again, this break-in happened in full view of Margate cop shop, so you'd think there'd at least have been one copper on a tea break prepared to put down their copy of Pensions Weekly and toddle over to take a gander!

Meanwhile reader Eddie reports that Thanet's favourite journo, Rachel Cooke of the Observer, has been writing up the island again, this time in rather more glowing terms than those in which she described Broadstairs recently. Admittedly her article doesn't start off that promisingly:

If Margate were a blind date, waiting for you at a bar, you would turn on your heel and run. Who wants to spend an evening with a man whose front teeth are missing, whose expression is permanently leery, whose tatty clothes smell of stale chip fat and worse?

But by the next sentence... And yet I fall for the town in the time it takes me to walk from the station to the prom.

Clearly Rachel likes a bit of rough, given that the saccharin charms of the Dickensian east side failed to woo her, but she's now fallen for a toothless, leering tramp. She then witters on for many thousands of words about the Turnip, fish and chips, crab sandwiches blah blah blah.

The PR types at Duffer Central will no doubt be going 'hurrah!' at yet another mensh of Margate. Rachel's staycation in Broadie was presumably subsidised by this piece, although like all good hacks she's managed to sell the paper two for the price of one after her nasty experience with the receptionist at the Albion Hotel. Maybe something happened to her here on the south side, and next week we'll be treated to an item on Ramsgate. If 'treat' is the right word!

Rachel does Margate
Rachel buggers Broadstairs
Even the Independent's getting in on the act!