Letter: Bad oyster

HERE IN Herne Bay, we can spit as far as Whitstable, and often do. How we long to be DFL'D - Down From London'd ("Whitstable: the new Chelsea", Real Life, 12 December). Of course it would be hell - we'd be forced to watch our houses triple in value - but we'd bear up somehow.

We wouldn't weep any salt tears either over the loss of the clock- mending business. The only one we can remember in Whitstable gave us a gigantic estimate, kept our Victorian pocket watch for six months, before handing it back untouched, telling us, in some quaint Kentish idiom, that they couldn't be arsed. Dear little shops turned into chi chi restaurants? The lucky stiffs. If Jarvis is still about, I make the following emotional appeal to him. Get yourself down here as soon as you like with as many DFLs as one's stretch limo will bear. I tell you, sir, you've got to roll with it!