Bleak, windswept ranges on the Kent coast. Grimmer than someone who's habitually grim, who's received news that his dog has been run over, and his wife is having an affair, and who has just found out that his son is gay... and he's just been fired from his (grim) job. That's how grim it is. Some would extol the wild majesty of Hythe, and indeed if you're a twitcher, there's plenty of wildfowl around to shoot at, though it will win you few friends at the RSPB. Hythe is the traditional home of army gunnery. Toms have been letting rip at Seagulls since before Napoleonic times on the Hythe ranges. Unfortunately for them, Gore-Tex was two hundred years away.