One for the road

Fin de saison

The attractively layered cliffs are crumbling, like school roofs.  The world turns, the moon balloons and shrinks as the tides come and go.  The sun shines now, just as the holidays end, and the traffic builds south on our bypass as the birds return from the Arctic.

I walk Amanda along the Prom.  I like to think that the fresh air and the variety of scenery does her good.  But.....

There are those that shelter by the groynes:

And those who traipse across the flats to find the finest place:

It isn't hard to find a space:

Really, not hard.....

But there is also the funfair, for those who prefer a little excitement:

Oh yes.....  The fun of the fair.....

Oh yes, and there are refreshments:

Some of which just could be local.....

And then there are more 'traditional' delights:

All good stuff, if you are on holiday:

Whichever way you look at it....

The Le Strange family invented Hunstanton, a 'traditional' Victorian seaside resort:

And they did no harm.  We all need fresh air.  We all need respite. 

 

We need boarding houses:

And crazy golf:

And, lest we forget, the occasional War Memorial:

And, of course, we need a pier (though the original one blew down on January 11th, 1978)

Like it or not, the current one (almost destroyed by fire on May 18th, 2002) now lacks the audacity to stride the waves, sitting like a vast chicken roost between the grassy slope and the muddy beach.  A hanger of bad dreams.

The Golden Lion presides over the town.  Fish, chips and spilled beer reek of the English seaside:

Where the dogs even prefer to be caged, rather than to drink out of styrofoam mugs and read the red tops.....

I apologise.  I used to ride big motorbikes and loved that chilli hot spike as the tarmac whipped past at 100 mph:

I still wear sawn off jeans:

I love the open air, the sense of space, the draining of the oceans:

And, if I had a friend, I would be delighted to sit and chatter on the shore, half in love with nothing:

Or to romance a little with someone who could be sweet to cuddle while staring into the Lincolnshire distance:

Or sit and read a page turner to my floppy old dog:

Or to holiday window shop, thinking of those days (wartime?  rationing?) when you could afford to buy something....  Treat yourself....

But.  No.  She sits alone, watching the tide rise and fall, wheelchair bound:

While I, in my fine hat and jacket, strut my stuff on the boulevard, my belt buckle my simple claim to a place in this ever-so-slightly screwed society of ours:

Oh God! It's a sad old strand we find ourselves upon sometimes.

I'm out of here.....

Someone told me long ago 

There's a calm before the storm

I know

It's been coming for some time

When it's over, so they say

It'll rain a sunny day

I know

Shining down like water

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?

I want to know, have you ever seen the rain

Coming down on a sunny day?

John Fogerty