N. 53°24’47” W. 02°58’78”
The Oleander slips out of the harbour into a still sea. The first rays of sunlight have just hit the top of the white cliffs. Above the chalk cliffs the people and dogs of Ramsgate are still deep asleep.
The Oleander is staffed exclusively by dark haired Slovenians catering to an empty ship. They are courteous and enthusiastic but understand little or no English – they smile and say please as they point to the English breakfast. The interior of the Oleander is dotted with bodies. Within minutes of leaving, the few lorry drivers are hibernating – curled in favourite niches throughout the empty bars and restaurants. From the windows at the front I watch the prow of the boat sailing into the sparkling water of early morning.