CONCRETE CANVASES

FOR A FLEETING MOMENT, FOLKESTONE SEEMS EVERY inch Britain’s response to the fabled resorts of the Mediterranean. The sea reclines flat on its back, beach pebbles bathe in the sun, and the beguiling chalk cliffs snooze along the horizon.

Then, suddenly, the rain return, thundering down violently. The waves swell and churn. Out of nowhere, a skinny kid with a skateboard sprints into view, screams at the top of his voice, and rides full-tilt over a ramp, contorting his limbs wildly mid-flight, before sketchily landing the kickflip.

Others soon swarm out of the woodwork. One lands a slick railslide. Another bails painfully onto his back. A third snaps his board in two after launching high into the air. But they keep coming. Hundreds of black t-shirts, beanies and baggy jeans: it’s like a scene from a zombie movie if the apocalyptic swarm was made up of gnarly skateboarders.

“I’ve been skating here since I was a kid,” says Joshua Lee, leaning both his tattooed arms against a metal fence at the edge of the pop-up event at Folkestone’s harbour. “It wasn’t always like this. I can guarantee you that.”

All around, energy pulses through the air – not