Originality seems to be lost in Devon.

If you haven’t been to Plymouth recently, a new monstrosity has developed on the Hoe, a fresh eyesore to grace the quasi-beauty of Plymouth seafront. And to add insult to injury, it’s been done before. This ‘Wheel of Plymouth’ is now a scar on the horizon.

To put the record straight, I have nothing against ferris wheels in particular. The Millennium Eye is a fantastic addition to the London skyline, providing us not only with an exciting way of soaking in the city in a way that you couldn’t possibly do on foot, or in a day for that matter, but also as a spectacular platform for the New Year fireworks. It’s just the idea of it. It’s like Plymouth is the slightly less intelligent schoolmate cribbing the answers to a test from London. In fairness, he is the Head Boy.

However, a city can’t rely on another’s ideas and assume they are going to work in the exact same way. While I can justify spending a few quid on the London Eye, on the justification of seeing the Thames sprawling beneath you, St Paul’s downriver, the Houses of Parliament in their Gothic glory over in Westminster, I can’t see how spending £6.75 on the Wheel of Plymouth could benefit my day. What are you going to see that you can’t see on foot, or at the top of Smeaton’s Tower? Which is a genuinely interesting place to go, if you haven’t been to the top.

Perhaps if Plymouth thought of a refreshing new idea for an urban attraction, they might have come across less flak. But this ‘Wheel’, half the size of the London Eye, just doesn’t cut it. Rant over.

Back in the gateway to England

I’m back in Kent for a brief respite before heading back to Plymouth to fully wrap things up there. The journey back, as always, was hellish, and a couple of hours in London without any money or phone battery is always an experience.

But I got there. And a foray into Ashford and Bluewater has concreted one thing in my mind, and the reason why I love my country so much – pubs. Bars aren’t the same, and nightclubs serve their purpose, but an afternoon searching for a beer to quench a parched throat is one of the easiest things in the world to a Briton. Just type in pubs on AroundMe and see if I’m wrong.

And I’m really going to miss Kent. Apart from the wedges of tarmac that cut through it on the way from London to Dover, and the inevitable backwater settlements that accompany that, it really is beautiful country, and an irreplaceable part of the UK. The perfect marriage of beauty, heritage and proximity to both London and France make it a pretty damn good place to live.

I’m pretty aware that New York and Sydney are going to be completely polar opposite to this sprawling greenery, and I’m coming to terms with that. But now at least, I can walk the dog in a beautiful forest carpeted with bluebells and feel at home.