“YOU must be mad, love!” said an older lady as she walked past on the blustery beach.
She was right – who else would be nursing an ice cream on Whitstable’s seafront in January?
I’ll admit I’m more of a fan of the English seaside in the winter than the summer.
Not only are there fewer crowds but you often get a much better experience when the waitresses aren’t being rushed off their feet.
Sure, some places are closed off-season and the weather won’t be warm – but that’s what a cosy pub with a roaring fire is for.
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Which is why after licking the ice cream from my frozen hands, I headed straight to the Old Neptune, the Kent pub right on the beach.
Squeezing through the pub garden, I made a beeline for the cosy inside, complete with wood-panelled walls, strung up old helms and a jukebox.
I was both dry and sand-free – Whitstable has a pebble beach – as I nursed a pint, enjoying the sounds of the whistling winds while warming up.
Thankfully the weather eased after just one pint of Whitstable Bay ale, so I decided to make the most of it by exploring the quaint town where independent stores outnumber chains.
There is the famous pink Wheelers Oyster Bar, which sells, you guessed it, fresh oysters, plus The Lobster Shack on the seafront.
Make sure to go past the public toilets on the way – yes, really – to spot on the walls one of the many works of Catman, nicknamed the Banksy of Kent.
I strolled past the Bears Ice Cream Imaginarium, not quite ready for a second so soon, and instead lost both hours and pounds after being sucked into the tiny shops, leaving with hand-crafted necklaces and shell-shaped candles.
It’s a town for bargain hunters too. At a charity shop, I nabbed a jumper, worth £75, for just four quid.
To celebrate, I treated myself to a glass of Portuguese wine at the moody Porto Bar, named one of the best in Kent.
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Along with wine bars, the town is the starting point for a 25-mile walk from Whitstable to Ramsgate, part of the King Charles III England Coast Path.
I decided to join it, albeit for just one mile to get to my digs for the night, The Marine Hotel.
More than half of the rooms overlook the sea, and mine ticked all the boxes of the perfect seaside resort – shabby chic decor, a huge bathtub and lots of Twinings tea.
I didn’t fancy braving the cold again for dinner, and thankfully I was well looked after at the on-site restaurant.
Both the food and the brisk winds resulted in a deep night’s sleep, with my plans for an early-morning beach walk scuppered by the cosiest king-size bed.
Instead, I was greeted by the whole reason I was in Whitstable – a beautiful ocean sunrise over the English coastline.
Only this time with a steaming cup of coffee and bacon bap in bed to pass the rest of the morning.
There’s only so much cold weather I can take, after all.