Tate That

Apologies to the hoard (Degsy) who are clearly gagging for the next thrilling instalment of 'Dr Richdiet Says...' but I've been called down to the tip of Cornwall by my old arts chums at Tate St. Ives. Something about urgently needing something hung well. Or was it someone well hung? It escapes me now. So you'll have to wait a couple of days to hear more of the Teutonic apparatchik's valediction to Thanet Council. Crumbs! I think I might have swallowed a dictionary for breakfast!

The Tate has worked miracles for St. Ives and the surrounding area, just like the Turnip Centre will undoubtedly do for Thanet. When I was in St. Ives a couple of months ago I got into a conversation with the lady who's run the fudge shop on the front since Cocky was an egg, and she was positively effusive.

'They're trying to build an extension. We've all petitioned against it, but it won't do any bloody good,' she proclaimed. 'But it must have benefited the area?' I countered. 'Oh yes. You get the arty types and the surfers now. But they don't buy fudge. They come in and ask if they can have a small slice to taste it.' Proof, then, of the boom times ahead for Margate!