Downstream of London, Kent's Hoo Peninsula awaits. Near the village of Cliffe there's a huge munition works, disused for over 100 years. Nearby, an expansive RSPB nature reserve is full of birdsong. As the tide falls, the creeks glow gold in the setting sun.

That's the one! And thankfully the peninsula's wildlife hasn't been flattened by a huge amusement park - as was the plan.

It was a joy to join you for this one, resulting in a beautiful sound capture in a special place, @rspbengland.bsky.social's Northward Hill. Even the distant cockerels are chilled out. An afternoon I won’t forget.

Likewise. The power station chimney is there in the distance of many of my shots, but I never focussed in until it was too late, during the demolition phase. I also recall the holes in the chain link fence - and the mess left by cable thieves who were sneaking in to nick copper.

A few more pics of the abandoned munition factory jetties on the Hoo Peninsula. Over a hundred years of tides and storms have left their huge, broken timbers scattered along the tidemark, but still the remnants stand.

Sometimes I scroll past wonderful images without liking them, cos I suspect they’re too good to be true - AI creations, dishonestly presented as genuine. Thankfully - I know you worked hard on these pics, and this is a fab example 🙏

Well, the offer’s always there, if you fancy a lift! The ambience was slightly spoilt at times by a chill northerly wind wafting 80s classics and bingo from a noisy, inland event. Not, I suspect, worthy of a Radio Lento broadcast, but otherwise, mostly birdsong (& occasional, low-flying planes!)

On the way back I detoured out onto a patch of landfill, pocked with rabbit holes amid shattered lumps of reenforced concrete. At the end, the ghostship, a boat I’ve seen out here before, still clad in bleached white.

As I retraced my steps a rising tide reclaimed the saltmarsh.

The route eventually terminates at a tall, rusting gate that once led to an oil refinery and later Kingsnorth Power Station. A huddle of decrepit boats sit here, including the Brandram, a large wartime landing craft dating back to 1915. She now rests here, well out of the way, safe and remote.