The English Seaside

Day 10, Tuesday 27th March 2018

A friend kindly invited me to the coast this weekend, for Easter. It sounds idyllic, there’s an unquestionable, inherent quality of goodness about the coast. It’s A Good Thing, eh.

Well, it’s fake. Seriously, I don’t understand the English coast. It’s good for many things, such as dog walking, kite surfing and building sandcastles, but for an adult, it’s simply a place filled with outdated shops, retrograde furniture and a grit-your-teeth-and-enjoy-it weather system.

That’s why I don’t really want to go, I fail to understand what there is to enjoy about the British coast on a cold, rainy day. Of course, my friend’s company is nice, but I can also arrange that with less than a 2.5 hour drive in each direction, as he lives near London.

It seems that ‘The Coast’ carries an implicit message of relaxation and enjoyment without anyone stopping to question why. My own bed and living room are far more comfortable than those of every coastal holiday home that I’ve stayed in. The shopping and supplies available to me locally at home are also broader in range than in a small, backwards coastal town. So what’s the joy? The sea, of course.

Deriding the sea would be like saying that sexism doesn’t exist, people can make claims all they want but the fact is that…