Wanking on the Isle of Sheppey

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Alright, alright, I’ll get to that bit in a minute, you dirty-minded perverts. First, you’ve got to read my ever-so-exciting musings about the Isle of Sheppey, which sort of sets the scene for the stuff you really want to read about anyway.

So, the Isle of Sheppey. It’s a bit, well, crap, isn't it? I realise this will open up the blog and therefore me to a deluge of abuse from anyone from Sheppey who happens across this site, but that’s pretty unlikely to happen, so it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

I first made it to the Isle of Sheppey three years ago, with the pretty simple goal of walking around its coastline in two days. I failed, largely because large swathes of the supposed coastal path cut across private land, and the sheer quantity of ‘No entry / No through route / No access to the beach / Fuck off / Trespassers will be shot and then shot again’ signs was unreal. These were just the polite ones as well, some were really quite threatening. Even when the OS map made it quite obvious there was a coastal path, the landowners blatantly didn’t want any hikers traipsing across their land. Unwelcoming gits, the lot of them.

There were also miles and miles of caravan parks, and near Sheerness, endless car parks wth row upon row of newly imported, identikit white vans. Thousands of them. Throw in three prisons in the centre of the island (which I had no choice but to pass given I couldn’t follow the coastal path), and an unforecasted, bitingly cold wind coming in off the North Sea and it’s fair to say I didn’t have the best of times.

And then there was the wanking. Yes, yes, in a minute…

A few weeks ago, I read that the long-awaited King Charlie the III England Coast Path was now officially open. Even though it clearly wasn’t all open really. Still, I double-checked the Isle of Sheppey and the entire southern section was now open. Woo hoo! So I planned my return (for a much warmer day) and last week I was back, full of optimism for a far better day out.

Now, I could go on about how it still turned out to be a bit crap really, that I ended up dealing with bulls in fields, walking a long way down a fucking dual carriageway and crossing numerous roundabouts and Aldi car parks, but that’s not really of interest to you at all, is it? So I guess I’ll finally get to what you really came here for. Wanking.

So, the last time I was on Sheppey, towards the end of my not particularly brilliant first day’s walk, I dolefully trudged out of the strange little seaside town of Leysdown, heading towards what I thought was finally going to be the best walk on the island, the remote and ancient Isle of Harty. I was right, the landscape was far better and I was in for a pleasant few final miles before I made it to my overnight stay at the quite wonderful Ferry House.

But before that, I had to meander through some small sand dunes, in Leysdown Coastal Country Park. Up ahead, I saw a man crouching down in the long grass.

“Ah, he’s protecting himself from the biting North Sea wind,” I thought to myself. “Sensible chap.” I continued to walk towards him.

“Ah… that’s strange, he appears to have his trousers around his ankles,” I thought as I walked to within ten yards of him.

“Right then… that’s interesting, he appears to be wanking quite furiously,” I thought some more, as I continued to move ever nearer.

Now, at this point, being a sensible middle-aged, middle-class British man who hates any form of confrontation, I did the only sensible thing I could think of. I averted my gaze by looking to my left.

Whereupon, I immediately clapped eyes on another man crouching down in the long grass, directly opposite and just five metres from the wanking man.

This man also had his trousers around his ankles.

And he too was wanking quite furiously.

Now, by this time, I was almost directly between the two masturbating males, just a couple of metres from each one. So I did what any sensible middle-aged, middle-class British man who hates any form of confrontation would do. I fixed my gaze firmly ahead and walked calmly between the two men, desperately hoping that my mere presence didn’t help them to climax at that precise moment.

I kept walking, eyes fixed straight ahead until I was a good 100 metres clear. And then I still didn’t look back.

So that’s the Isle of Sheppey for you. Full of unwelcoming wankers.

Oh, I nearly forgot, but in the interest of making this a thoroughly researched and trustworthy blog, I googled wanking on the Isle of Sheppey. After avoiding a few very dodgy-looking links, I came across this well-researched report by the ever-reliable Kent Live on the county’s “10 hidden coastal dogging hotspots to avoid after dark". I suppose it’s slightly alarming that I seem to have been to most of them. But not, I should point out, after dark.

Of course, now I’m worried my shiny new blog is going to appear in dogging searches and I’ll get a fair few new followers who I’d rather be without. Then again, I’ve only got 48 followers in total so far, so I guess it’s a case of the more the merrier. So, if you are reading this for the first time, welcome to the wankers of Sheppey!

Now some pictures from the walk. They’re fine. No x-rated shots (sorry, if that's what you're here for).

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Unsurprisingly I suppose, the residents of the island are a patriotic lot.

I fucking love photographing beach huts.

It's been scientifically proven that 98.7% of Star Wars fans who own beach huts, name theirs 'Jabba the Hutt'.

An excellent stand for Leysdown FC Hom' and 'Way teams.

The beach at Leysdown

The beach at Leysdown

No electric, No power, No valuables, No point

A rundown beach cabin on Shellness Beach

An old boat on Shellness Beach

Leysdown Beach and nearby Shellness Beach are actually quite wonderful. One of the beach huts (one not so run down) is even available for hire. Great place for a small group of friends to take their best friend for a 60th birthday. Just sayin'.

If I had a pound for every bang average photo of a WW2 concrete lookout post I’ve taken on my walks I’d have (checks stupidly organised 30,000+ photo system covering 40 years of my life)… a surprisingly disappointing £34. But, if I had a pound for every stupidly dull photo of a WW2 concrete lookout post that I have subsequently deleted, I’d have at least, oooh, £487 I reckon. Anyway, this is one of my better photos of the hundreds of concrete things still standing around the coast. They’re usually full of rusting beer cans and smell of piss. I did indeed have a piss by this one.

The last section of the newly opened King Charlie the III England Coast Path. Pretty, isn't it?

Isle of Sheppey (southern coast): 20 April 2026 // Distance walked: A quite uninspiring 34.28km // Elevation gain: 49 metres. No, I haven't marked the wanking hotspot.

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