Dungeness is an inhospitable place when the wind is up and the rain sweeps across the shingle. It was early on May Day. The crew on the beach, poised like weekend paramilitaries on exercise, were not there for the weather. This was a stake-out.
Dungeness is not the middle of nowhere. There is a railway and a good road, with regular traffic to and from the power station, and plenty of huts and cottages. But it is on the edge of things, and on the edge of Kent and England.