Mr Pooter (the Diary of a Nobody) liked to spend his holidays in Broadstairs, as did Charles Dickens. One assumes that by Mr Pooter's day it was somewhat unfashionable and that if Mr Pooter liked it then there was something wrong with it. I think I can go along with that. The town certainly makes a little Dickens go a long way with plaques and busts all over the place although the main bust at Bleak House (that Dickens would have called Fort House) was covered with scaffolding when I saw it.
Never the less, it is a seaside resort with a lifeboat station dating from the 17th Century adorned with figure heads salvaged from ships.
Strolling around the bays was pleasant, even on a really busy Saturday although the crowd was rather chavvy as is often the case in Kent.
The hospitality industry also needs to learn a thing or two. Most people don't carry much cash these days and when a pub (named after the town's most famous visitor) sets a £20 limit for credit card purchases it is decidedly Pooterish!