If you were to ask someone to describe their fantasy beach house, they'd probably conjure up something that looks a bit like the Beacon House: weather-beaten white clapboard, a wraparound veranda with comfy sofa and artfully distressed wooden table scattered with seashells and pebbles, doors and windows that open on to uninterrupted views of the sea and the sound of the waves lapping against the shore to lull you to sleep.
Though it would not look out of place in New England, Beacon House is actually in Whitstable, Kent, a town that has seen a remarkable turnaround in its fortunes, from down-at-heel seaside resort for day-tripping Londoners to chic weekend retreat for second-homers attracted by its jaunty maritime air, narrow lanes and sweet fishermen's cottages.
On a good day Whitstable is an easy 75-minute drive from London. But set off, as we did, during rush hour on a Friday afternoon and it can take a laborious two hours. We arrive just as the sun is setting. As soon as I see the house my shoulders drop a few inches and my bad mood starts to evaporate. Set on a steep slope surrounded by woodland, it has nothing between it and the pebble beach but a narrow private road. To the east is a row of candy-coloured beach huts stretching to Herne Bay; to the west is Whitstable's fishing harbour. It's such a perfect picture that I am loath to park my angry red little Nissan Micra outside for fear of breaking the spell.
We have a reservation at Wheelers Oyster House in the high street, so we drop off our bags and walk into town. Whitstable is famous for its oysters, which have been harvested here since Roman times. Half a dozen obscenely large native oysters (the first time I've ever had to eat an oyster with a knife and fork), a perfectly cooked piece of sea bass and a few glasses of Sauvignon blanc later and the last vestiges of motorway angst slip away.
That night I sleep with the window open but when the tide comes in the sound of the waves sucking on the shingle is so loud - and so alien to my city-dweller's ears - that I have to get up and close it. In the morning the sea is calm and milky, the sky's hazy and there's not a soul on the beach. In the distance I can just make out the turbines of an off-shore wind farm and the outline of the Isle of Sheppey. I eat a bacon sandwich on the veranda and read the Whitstable Gazette (front-page story: 'Oyster numbers are on the rise').
As I look out to sea, something strange starts to happen. At low tide a narrow promontory of shingle slowly emerges from the water directly in front of the house, stretching to the horizon. This spit of land is known as the Street and this faintly Old Testament parting of the waves occurs daily. From where we are sitting the people standing at the end of the Street, half a mile out to sea, look as though they are walking on water.
The house is too lovely not to share, so we've invited friends for a barbecue. We buy sardines, cockles and samphire from the fish market, just a short stroll along the beach; homemade cakes and local strawberries from the organic farmers' market on the high street; and lamb chops from the butcher. As our friends arrive I give them the guided tour - the huge kitchen with its tongue-and-groove panelling and lovely pine dresser; the arts-and-crafts-style living room with its open fire, wood panelling and patio doors that open onto the sea; the beautiful oak staircase; the breezy white bedrooms with their tasteful nautical theme; the fabulous outdoor shower.
'I feel like I've stepped into a copy of Homes and Gardens,' says Lauren, and in a sense we have. When the house is not being rented out as a holiday let, it's used for fashion and interiors shoots. There's a stack of lifestyle and interiors magazines featuring the house and I'm just thinking how perfect this would be for a Boden catalogue shoot when I spot the Winter 2006 catalogue. And look, here's hunky David (vice: gadgets) with his stripy pyjamas and white teeth on the veranda (our veranda!) drinking coffee out of a big mug while his blonde girlfriend hugs him from behind.
We spend the afternoon on the deck, grilling sardines and soaking up envious stares from passers-by. Then it's down to the beach, where only Steph is brave enough to nip across the pebbles and into the murky waters for a swim. As night falls we light candles and sit outside listening to the waves and watching the lights of distant boats winking.
Next morning the sea is choppy and the sky menacing and the whole mood of the house is different. This is a day for curling up on the sofa on the veranda with a good book and a cup of tea. But, sadly, we have to leave. As we are packing up, Katrina, the owner of Beacon House, arrives to start preparing for the arrival of the next guests (the art director of Vogue, no less - she came on a shoot and fell in love with it).
Katrina tells us the house had been on the market for two years and was in need of some serious love and attention when she bought it in 1998. She knocked through rooms, added the decking and, with the help of friends who are artists and designers, she has breathed life back into it. I ask her how she can bear to rent it out to strangers and she admits that she finds it difficult. She has put a lot of her own personality into the house. From the books on the bedside tables to the soaps in the bathroom, the ornaments on the shelves and the well-stocked kitchen, this feels far more like a home than a rental property.
Before leaving we go for a walk along the Street then eat fish and chips at the nearby Continental Hotel. While I'm loading up the car outside the house, a woman walking her dog stops and stares at it wistfully.
'Do you live there?' she asks.
'No,' I reply. 'But I wish I did'.
Essentials
The Beacon House (www.tranquil-beacon.co.uk) sleeps eight to 10 and costs from £350 a night. For enquiries email tranquil_beacon@hotmail.com. Wheelers Oyster Bar, 8 High Street, Whitstable (01227 273311; www.whitstable-shellfish.co.uk). For more information visit www.seewhitstable.com.
