On summer weekends, Ramsgate in Kent is packed with holidaymakers. But as 6am metal detectorists give way to after-school picnickers and exchange students doing the Macarena, there’s more to the seaside than buckets and spades

4.26am The light is lifting over Ramsgate harbour. On a bench opposite the Royal pub and nightclub, Katie and Alicia, both 18, are waiting for a cab home. “We come to Ramsgate because this is where the clubs are, here and Canterbury,” says Alicia. Both are still immaculately made up, despite the early hour and the large number of vodkas and coke the night held. “I fell over in the Royal five times!” says Katie; she stands up to reveal the muddy seat of her dress. Alicia looks concerned: “Is my makeup still intact?” she wonders. “I’ve been sick a thousand times …”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘We come to Ramsgate because this is where the clubs are’ ... Katie and Alicia wait for a taxi outside The Royal.

4.41am The sun rises in a curve of fierce orange and a shroud of pinkish light over the water. From the Harbour Arm pier comes the bright sound of gulls, the hum of boats, the smell of salt and bladderwrack seaweed. To our backs, the moon hangs high and pale and round.

4.54am A small, white motorboat sets out to sea, moving beyond the buoys. Back on shore, the stalls stand shuttered, the beach empty, the new morning sun reflecting off the windows of the huge, new Wetherspoon’s that opens directly on to the beach. A gentle clunking sound comes from the harbour – a slow-rolling bottle discarded as a man in a grey hoodie sifts through the bins.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Sunrise over Ramsgate.

5.07am Along the arches, everything is still closed: the boat-builders, the harbour office, Thanet Diving & Watersports, the Sailors’ Church. A pallet outside R Cannon & Sons holds a delivery of white buckets, wrapped in blue plastic. Above, a row of pigeons on a red-brick ledge make soft, nestling sounds.

5.14am By the water, blue tubs and troughs sit bundled with ropes and anchors, trays for the catch, lobster cages, netting. The lighthouse light goes out quietly and a bus glides down Royal Parade.

5.37am Joe, from nearby Broadstairs, is a crew member for the wind farm, about seven miles off the coast. He enjoys the early-morning shifts. “I love it! It’s the best part of the day!” he says, before he disappears behind the metal gate and along the pontoon. The harbour wall is lined with algae, a joyous, iridescent green.

5.50am Outside Cannon’s seafood stall, a car sits with its doors splayed open, a bucket of fish inside. “Half past six, I’ve got to go lobstering!” says Michael Penn. He is busy washing and setting out the bream caught that morning, placing them on the packed ice, next to the prawns and jellied eels.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘There’s not that many distractions for her at this time of day’ ... Anthony with his dog, Honey.

5.54am Anthony, 22, walks past with his dog, Honey. “There’s not that many distractions for her at this time of day,” he says. “And she wakes me up at this time anyway.” Across the street, a man is cleaning the windows of Peter’s Fish Factory – the seafront chippy – using a long pole.

I’ve found Roman coins, Iron Age coins, medieval stuff. I’ve got back to people – jewellery, phones, memory cards Local detectorist Martin

6.05am The local Loop bus service has started up. Back outside the Royal, a large truck is collecting the empty bottles. The day is warming and the wind lifting, bringing a briny smell and a golden light across the sands.

6.40am On the beach, Martin, 61, has been metal-detecting. “I wish I came out every day, but it’s a couple of times a week,” he says. “It’s a lovely, nice-and-quiet two hours. Someone offered me a cheap metal detector probably 25 years ago – he was hard up, so I bought it. I don’t just do beaches, I’m also in a couple of clubs locally, so I go out at the weekend with them and I record all their finds for the national finds archive – writing them down, weighing and measuring. I’ve found Roman coins, Iron Age coins, medieval stuff. I’ve found bits on the beach I’ve got back to people – jewellery, phones, memory cards …”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘Friends come every day and have tea – or soup in the winter’ ... Derek sets up his gift shop.

6.50am Outside Gifts Galore, Derek Rhodes, 72, is putting up flags: Brazil, Wales, a Union Jack. “I’ve had the shop for 20 years,” he says. “It used to be around the corner, but the building started to fall down so I’ve been here for the last five.” He enjoys his days here, right by the beach: “It’s lovely, beautiful; friends come every day and have tea – or soup in the winter,” he says. His position opposite Wetherspoon’s has brought a surge in trade. “In November, it was like summertime,” he says. “I’ve never bought so much stock! We’ve sold a lot of England flags lately.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘It’s a good way to clear your head’ ... David, after a morning dip.

7.28am Two swimmers are out in the waves. One of them – David, 41, a tattooist – emerges slowly from the water and wraps himself in a towel. “I thought I’d be on my own out there,” he says. “My own personal swimming pool! But there’s someone else out there today. I normally go boxing at Golden Gloves, but I do swimming a couple of times a week. It’s beautiful, it’s a good way to clear your head.”

8am Down among the boats is Paul, 53, a fisherman. “I’m out at this time most days, taking anglers out on fishing trips. Wait here,” he says, returning with this morning’s daytrippers – including Ian, 50, a carpet-fitter from Rochester, who has headed down here with five friends because they “just fancied a day out fishing”. They are hoping for some skate and will be out for about eight hours. There is a gleam of sun on the green water. “Right! Let’s get fishing!” says Paul. With a heavy clunk of the ropes on the walkway, the boat pulls away softly.

8.45am Dawn McIntyre, 55, has just begun her shift, cleaning the showers, toilets and all around the harbour. “They’re generally not too bad,” she says, “because we clean them every day and they have to be immaculate for the mariners who come in. But today … I don’t know if you’ve seen the disabled toilet, but I don’t know what they’ve been doing in there. Holding a foam party, from the looks of things …”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘I don’t know what they’ve been doing in the disabled toilet’ ... Dawn, who cleans the harbour’s showers and toilets.

8.56am Three men are gathered by the fuel storage of the Thanet Fishermen’s Association, chatting and drinking mugs of tea. Roddy, 59, is delivering fuel – a job he does three or four times a week. “I leave about 4am and pick this up from Essex,” he says of his tanker. “I’ll spend about an hour and a half each time I’m here.” Beside him is Merlin, 49, who runs the fuel company for the commercial vessels. A former fisherman, he took this role when the company began to get busy with the arrival of the wind farm. There are few fishermen out today, he says, “because the weather’s against them. The wind’s a north-easterly; we call it a famine wind.” There are days when he misses fishing. “I’ve got to that point where I romanticise it,” he smiles. “I remember the good things.”

11.27am Peter’s Fish Factory is bracing itself for the lunchtime rush. Behind the counter, Jamie, 21, is saying how long the queues can run. “In the summer, it’s endless, endless, endless,” he says. Outside, a family of three eat boxes of medium cod and chips, bare-armed and bare-legged – determined, despite the north-easterly, to make the most of the sun.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘In the summer, it’s endless’ ... Jamie and Claire from Peter’s Fish Factory.

11.45am Michael from Sandwich in Kent is going up in the East Cliff Lift, a listed construction of red brick, with pilasters and architraves and an ornate plaque depicting a dolphin. It carries him up from Harbour Parade to Wellington Crescent. “I’ve never been here before,” he says, as it edges slowly upwards. “I’ve just come for a bit of a stroll. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

12.12pm The beach is quiet now. The waves have grown high, bucking against the railings with a soft boom and a flourish of foam.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘This house has been in the family for 50 years’ ... Jan cleans the windows of her Granville Marina home.

1.14pm At Granville Marina – a parade of houses built partly into chalk cliffs, right by the beach – a couple are cleaning their windows. Jan and John come to their door and explain some of its history: how Ramsgate was the first seaside resort; that these houses were once shops for the Granville Hotel on the top. Once, guests would come down Marina Road in their carriages to visit. Their house was home to the coiffeur. “This house has been in the family for 50 years,” says Jan. “It was my aunt’s and she left it to me because I loved it.” They are here semi-permanently now, splitting their time with their home in East Sheen, west London. It is the light they love best. “The sun actually comes up right in front of the window,” says John. “And the light will stay like this till 4pm. And the moon last night was an orange moon.”

1.50pm A coachload of Italian schoolchildren arrive for the 2pm tour of the Ramsgate Tunnels – the largest network of civilian wartime tunnels, carved out of the chalk cliffs alongside the beach. Inside, at the cafe counter, two men discuss the merits of the bread pudding.

2pm By the ramp to the sands, dressed all in white, is Dave, 77, who moved here last September from Croydon in south London. “People said Ramsgate was beautiful, they said it was out of this world,” he says. “But now it’s just fell to bits. It’s a shame, really. It’s all down to the government. They moved all the rubbish people in and that’s how it’s all deteriorated.”

2.06pm At the kiosk on the sands, Jane, 69, and Laura, 19, are selling ice-creams – two Crunchies and a Dream – to three workmen. “We’ve been here about 18 years,” says Jane. “Is that right, Eric?” she calls to her husband, barely visible out the back. “Before that, we were at Dreamland in Margate for 20 years.” Whippy ice-creams are their bestsellers, followed by slush. “We’ve not sold that many today – it’s quiet because of the north-east wind,” she says. Today, they will close about 5pm. Later in the summer, they will stay open as late as 7.30. “It’s not set in stone,” she says. “When the last person comes up for an ice-cream, the shutters come down.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘We’ve been here about 18 years’ ... Jane and Laura, with Eric in the background.

The new Wetherspoon’s along the Parade has changed this stretch of the front. “It doesn’t affect us when it’s sunny, but when it’s cold people who might’ve bought a tea or coffee from us are drawn in there,” she explains. “Quiet times are quieter, is what I’m trying to say. But we get the overflow.”

Tom rents deckchairs and runs a carousel. 'You see a lot of ​eastern Europeans with cash to flash around now,' he says

4.25pm From a small cabin on the sands, Tom, a retired firefighter, rents deckchairs and windbreakers and runs a trampoline and a carousel. “I’m here Easter to October and I love it, it’s a great office,” he says. Days like today are not great for business – although it is hot, the wind keeps people away from the shore. “August is the month we make money,” he says. Tom has lived in the area for much of his life. “I was in charge of the fire that burned down all this 20 years ago,” he says, gesturing to the awnings that shield a large stretch of half-begun building work. “It’s the old Pleasurama,” he says. “For the last 15 years, it’s been partially derelict.” He has noticed the demographic changing. “You see a lot of eastern Europeans with a lot of cash to flash around now,” he says. He is looking at buying a place in France. “A watermill outside Limoges, that’s the dream,” he says. “But I’ll need a few good Augusts for that.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘People said Ramsgate was beautiful, they said it was out of this world’ ... Dave in Margate.

4.35pm At a wooden picnic table on the edge of the sand, Emma and Charlotte, both 32, are keeping an eye on their children – they have three each – and catching up on the gossip. They don’t often come down to the beach. “I don’t like the sand – it gets everywhere,” says Emma. “But they love it.” She nods at her children, who are now in the water. “You’d think it would be cheap, but it’s not – I spent £30 on ice-creams, drinks, chips and buckets the other day,” she says.

4.52pm Nestling behind a large, striped windbreaker are Annie, 65, Reinhold, 66, Lindsey, 33, Steven, 32, Amy, 10, May, 9, and twins Abby and Katy, 2. They are here as a family, on holiday from Frankfurt. “We love England, we love the beach; it’s not too hot and it’s not too cold, there’s a nice breeze and it’s only a seven-hour drive to the ship,” explains Annie, who left Abram in Lancashire for Germany in 1974. When they are not enjoying the beach, they spend their time shopping, “for memorabilia and English things”.

5.02pm The sun is still high, but as the day has drawn on and people have finished school and work the beach has grown busier. Pippa, Bethany and Thomas, all 18, and Chloe, 17, are sitting on a step by the sands. They have recently finished their exams and have returned to school today to hand in old textbooks and meet up for a drink. In a few months, they will move away to different cities to start university. “We’re just making the most of the time we have left together, chilling on the beach,” says Pippa.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘We’re just making the most of the time we have left together’ ... Pippa, Bethany, Amber and Thomas.

5.35pm A young girl skateboards along the Harbour Arm in shorts and a T-shirt, zig-zagging her way past the fishermen. Meanwhile, in the boot of his car, Potts, 62, lies on a makeshift bed, reading. “I don’t fish, but it’s nice to get out of the house and enjoy life. I chat to everyone – Dutch, Germans, people from all over. I’ll stay and watch the sunset and the people taking pictures.” He pauses and then, unannounced, takes out a didgeridoo and begins playing. “I heard someone playing it once and I liked the sound,” he explains. “One time, when a thick sea mist came down, I started playing and the fishermen over there started wondering what was going on …”

7.23pm A gauzy mist has fallen. A man is still fishing off the harbour wall, his daughter crouched at his feet, still in her beachwear, playing Michael Jackson songs on a phone. At this hour, as the light fades, the sky clouds and the fishermen begin to pack up, the gulls’ call sounds more doleful. There are still kite surfers out on the water and children playing on the beach; two little girls run across the sand towards the sea line, coats flaring out behind them.

7.41pm The day drinkers have moved on now. On the Harbour Parade, the night is revving up. Two bouncers have taken up position outside the Wetherspoon’s; at Rokka bar, music spills out on to the pavement.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘I sit here because of the cameras, because it’s safe’ ... Lyall and his dog, Lacy.

8pm Not far from the harbour sits Lyall, 37, and his dog, Lacey, who live on the streets here. He explains how his other dog, Marley, died three weeks ago. “I used to come down here every Thursday and Friday,” he says. “But when Marley died I was quite depressed.” He has been out of prison for four and a half years, but has struggled to find work and has been homeless for about four months. “There are only about six of us who are actually homeless here,” he says. “The other people are aggressive beggars, heroin addicts, and they bully people.” Yesterday, he was five miles away in Margate. “There’s so many homeless people there sleeping on the beach in tents,” he says. He is on a list for council accommodation, but he does not hold out much hope. “It’s hard with pets,” he says. Not so long ago he was moved along from a spot he had by the waterfall. “Now I sit here because of the cameras, because it’s safe.” Soon, the lighthouse light comes back on, glowing red in the softening night sky.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Adwoa Asiedu, an aspiring screenwriter, visits Ramsgate as an activity supervisor for Churchill House School of English.

8.40pm Where this afternoon Tom rented deckchairs, a large group of exchange students are now doing the Macarena. When the music fades, Whigfield’s Saturday Night starts up, followed by Lou Bega’s Mambo No 5. Even when the stereo falters, the formation dancing continues. Others play football or leap about on the unattended trampolines. They are here with Churchill House School of English, explains Adwoa Asiedu, 27, one of the group’s activity supervisors. This is a summer job for Asiedu, who is studying for a creative writing MA at Brunel; she recently wrote a screenplay called Superstar, “about pursuing your dreams against obstacles”.

9.02pm Under the concrete boardwalk are Louise, 20, who works in a nursery, and Matthew, 19, a site supervisor. They are finishing up a barbecue and have spread out a large blanket away from the wind. They look cold, snuggled together in their hoodies. “I was at work and I said let’s go to Aldi and get some bits,” says Louise. “Even though it’s cold, we were like: ‘Let’s brave it! We can take jackets!’”

10.03pm The lights have come on in the boats and in the neon of the restaurants along the top of the cliff. Near the harbour office, Philip Louis, 51, a bar manager, is walking home after a night out “pubbing”. Tomorrow, he will take his teenage children to Bruges in Belgium. As he heads off, he points out a fox, pressed against the wall of the Sailors’ Church.

11.15pm There is a high, bright moon now. At the Queen’s Head, a cover band is playing Get Lucky. A young couple stands entwined by the shuttered seafood stall, kissing. A car pulling a boat moves quietly out of the harbour and along towards the main road. “You’re not in control!” one girl tells her friend as they sway towards the front. “You gave some mad guy your number!”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘Friday’s always the worst night. It’s notoriously quiet’ ... Brad mans the door at the Royal.

11.30pm Back at the Royal, Brad the doorman, 24, leans in the doorway checking his phone. “Friday’s always the worst night,” he says. “It’s notoriously quiet. Thursdays are heaving. It’s £1 a pint and last night it was the football.” But even on the busiest nights, he says, there is rarely trouble. “It’s always just a bit boisterous,” he says. “It’s never anything serious.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Done for the day ... the Loop bus service clocks off.

11.45pm Out to sea is the blinking of lights, the sound of the waves. The back of the lifeguard shelter is lit up by the light of the Wetherspoon’s.

12.01am A National Express coach pulls up. A couple make their way down to the pontoon. In Enoteca, a live band is covering the Cranberries’ Zombie as the crowd dances and sings along. “With their tanks and their bombs and their bombs and their guns …” the crowd sings. “In your head, in your head, they are crying …”

12.09am Two passengers alight from the last Loop bus. The lights go off in its belly and it sails off up the hill, leaving the front to find its morning once more.