Artist Tracey Emin mourns Margate in the Sun:

Margate. Margate, my beautiful Margate. Where have you gone?

Every time I visit you there is something missing – something beautiful from a distant past has been removed, whether it’s the scenic railway, the neon on the Golden Mile or Victorian wind shelters.

As a child it seemed to me that every day from May to September was full of golden sunshine and beautiful emerald green seas.

There was always something to do. We swam in the Lido – a giant art deco half-moon pool with an array of diving boards. We would listen to Tony Savage play the organ while old ladies would dance together to Tea for Two.

There were hundreds and thousands of different coloured striped deckchairs always full, with people wearing newspaper hats.

For now Margate is still a perfect bolt hole for a dirty weekend, Emin suggests. “It can be really romantic, eating fish and chips, snogging and having loud sex in a really small guesthouse.”


Tracey Emin plans a museum of her work – to open when she’s dead

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