East Runton

We arrived at our destination, the Holyhead campsite in East Runton, early afternoon and after a quick lunch it was time to explore once more. Sheringham was about 3 miles in one direction and Cromer 2 miles in the other. So, to keep everything in the right order, we decided to visit Sheringham first.

“Its about a 40 minute walk” I said but the looks on the faces said it all; “or 10 minutes on the bus”

After about forty five minutes wait, we began our ten minute journey to Sheringham.

Sherringham

From the first moment we got in to Norfolk we noticed a very large number of Ladybirds. They were everywhere, both living and dead. This was confirmed when we got off the bus at Sheringham, when we saw a local paper headline which read “Ladybird Invasion threat to tourism” Of all the creatures in the bug world, ladybirds are about the most palatable. Laura and Kim generally shriek every time they come within 6 feet of a wasp, but a Ladybird is welcome to walk all over their hands and is viewed with some wonder. Apparently though, according to the paper, some of these pesky creatures had flown in to people’s hair and stuff and completely ruined their holiday. If that was enough to ruin their holiday I wondered what would have happened if a Godzilla type creature had come out of the sea and stolen their sandwiches.

“I don’t think much of Sheringham” said Kim as we were walking through. I could understand what she meant; the place seemed like a normal town with a beach on the side of it. The promenade had been beefed up to provide protection against costal erosion to the point where it was just one long slab of concrete. It had the feeling of being some sort of East European resort in the days of the Iron Curtain and, although they had recently spruced it up with some artwork, it still felt quite drab. We climbed up to a terrace that overlooked the beach and there were a number of benches with Plaques remembering various people who had spent many happy holidays in Sheringham, so it was clear that not everyone shared our view.

The bench I was sitting on was dedicated to a lady who had been coming to Sheringham for 50 years. I had to stop and wonder, what the hell do you do at the same place for 50 years?

One thing people did on the beach was build sandcastles. I counted at least 30 different sandcastles being built. I thought there must be a competition on but there were no signs to say so or any evidence of any judges.

Sandcastle building has been going on at seaside resorts for longer than anyone can remember. The formula is simple; Mum and Dad buy their kids, as a minimum, a bucket and spade, although there are numerous other accessories such as rakes and sand moulds. Once on the beach the whole sand castle project has to be carefully planned by the “Master Sandcastle architect” (normally known to the kids as Dad). The sand castle is built in theory by the kids, although the Master Sandcastle Architect is usually in close supervision to offer guidance, help and if necessary will take over the building personally. So where did the sand castle building skills come from? His Dad probably showed him who was shown by his Dad and so on back until the very first bright spark had this great idea of filling a fun day on the beach. .

We were watching one family below us who were absolute masters of the art of sandcastle building, so much so that they had brought their garden tools with them. Their structure was almost complete with dad putting in the final touches to the moat and defences whilst the rest of the family decorated the battlements. It was like something out of an Authurian legend, it was amazing. It felt such a shame that fairly soon it would be abandoned to the mercy of the incoming sea.


The kids had decided to go back to the campsite so Kim and I decided to take Ollie on to the beach. Walking on the beach at the end of the town it started to become obvious why they had built the concrete promenade. There was plenty of evidence of land erosion. Between the sand and the cliff there was a very neat row of pebbles about 20 feet deep which obviously didn’t belong to this coast. Sea defences is something they are taking very seriously here.

Once we’d walked about a mile along the beach away from the town I recalled a Physics program I was watching not so long ago about these particles that last for a mere millisecond and then are gone forever. There is a lot of debate over this as to whether they exist or not. At that precise moment I became a true believer as one of them left a message on my mobile phone. “You have a missed called from Tom” it said. It had to be one of these pesky particles because it didn’t matter how many times I walked over the same spot, waving my phone up and down there was no way I could find any kind of particle to send a message back.

“I wonder what he wanted?” I said, and immediately knew that was not a wise thing to do.

“I hope they are alright” Kim replied

At this point parents like us then have a tendency to go in to what I call “Neurotic Parent Disorder” and the conversation starts moving in a very sinister direction.

“Laura didn’t look too well, I hope she hasn’t been taken ill”
“There could have been an accident, you know how they never look before crossing roads”
“Two young kids on their own are a prime target for a mugger or something”

We started to walk very quickly back to the town, but no signal. We got to within a hundred yards, still no signal, we frantically started climbing the stones and for every 2 steps we walked forward the stones slipped and set us 1 step back.

“Which idiot decided to put these stones here, my kids are in mortal danger and all some town planner could think about was his precious cliffs being washed away”

We scrambled up to the path, no signal, on to the promenade, no signal. By this time the Neurotic Parent Disorder had totally enveloped us. We got half way up the main street and the magic word “Orange” suddenly appeared on the phone. I rang Tom’s number, it rang and rang, but of course if he was in an ambulance it probably wouldn’t work. Then I heard “Hello”

“Hello Tom, what’s up?”

“What?”

“I got a missed call, what’s the matter?”

“Oh, we couldn’t remember the name of the campsite, but it’s OK we found it”

Kids, don’t you just love ‘em!

The bus stop was opposite the train station. But this was no ordinary station, this had steam trains, and in the evening they have steam trains with carriages set up for evening meals with posh table cloths and bottles of wine and stuff. There were diners arriving all dressed up for an evening meal on the train. I felt so jealous as the train started to whistle and pulled out of the station. I also began to feel very hungry and was looking forward to going back to the van to eat the meal the kids were preparing for us.

Now when catching a bus anywhere, it’s always useful to check what time the bus is due to return. Suddenly finding out that the bus is not due for another hour and a half when the kids, for the first time on holiday are actually preparing a meal at that very moment, eagerly waiting for you to return so that they can show off their culinary delights, can come as a nasty surprise. It was no good, we needed something to alleviate the stress; thank heaven for pubs.

Cromer

One thing that is becoming very noticeable as we travel around the coast is the growing number of health and safety signs saying Danger don’t go here or don’t do that. In Skegness there was a sign with about 20 do’s and don’ts whilst on the beach. Thinking back this could be why there were so few people on the beach as it was obviously a very dangerous place to be. I had to smile at the one that said “No inflatable’s” when no more than 50 yards away there was a row of shops doing a roaring trade selling inflatable’s.

The campsite we were staying at, the Hollyhead campsite, was perched on a cliff that was gradually eroding, but did have fantastic views over the sea on top of a very tall cliff. It did however mean a long walk in either direction into either East or West Runton to get access to the beach, unless you went down a very steep but just about manageable sandy path. This was, however fenced off with a sign saying “Danger no access to the beach” At that moment a group of people came along carrying a couple of inflatable’s. They slipped under the fence down the “dangerously” steep path and in a few minutes were floating on the sea. Had he been there, the man with the hard hat, high visibility jacket and clipboard would have probably had a seizure.

Being the Health and Safety conscious people that we are we decided to join the beach at East Runton and walk along the beach to Cromer. The Cliffs were made of sand and were slowly crumbling away in the same way that we saw in East Yorkshire. Whilst sauntering along, we saw a few signs advising us to keep clear of the cliff face- above us were caravans perched very close to the edge of the cliff, and. I wasn’t sure whether this advice was warning us that I could be buried under an avalanche of sand or a 40 foot long caravan could suddenly fall on me. Either way I felt a little more comfortable rolling up my trouser legs and walking in the sea, away from the dangers overhead.

One thing that was very noticeable when walking in the sea was how much colder it was here. Whereas the towns we had visited earlier were in the sheltered area of The Wash, Sheringham and Cromer were right out in to the North Sea. Even in the height of summer there was still a chill off the North Winds and the sea was at a very refreshing temperature.

Walking through the town we came across a second hand bookshop, similar to the one we found in Snettersham. We had also found one in Wells but it was shut on both thedays we were there. Just like the Snettersham shop, this was run by a pensioner who looked to be in his seventies. As the closed bookshop in Wells was only open 3 days a week, it was easy to presume that this one was also owned by an elderly person. It got me wondering what would happen when these people finally leave us. Will there be anyone to step in to their shoes and run the shops like they have done. In this modern world of Internet book sales it seems likely these bookshop owners are quite literally a dying breed. Yet there is something quite special about going in to a bookshop like this one and being able to browse through books both new and old. It will be really sad if these places were to dissapear along with their owners.

Aspreviously done in Snettersham, we did our bit to support a dying trade and walked out having purchased a handful of books. This included a book entitled “The Longest Crawl” by a guy called Ian Marchant about 2 guys travelling the whole length of the country on one giant pub crawl. I had an idea; maybe we could incorporate this in to our mission and realised that we had already visited quite a number of pubs on our way round. I could feel another mission coming on.

Cromer was great and had all the charm of an English seaside town with the usual parks, sandy beach with beach huts and a pier. Most piers in England were built by the Victorians and Cromer pier opened in 1901 so was just about Victorian. The idea of a Pier was that people of Victorian times could get the sensation of being out at sea without going through all the nuisance of hiring a beach hut, which was then wheeled down to the sea so that they could take a dip without anyone seeing them in their bathing suits. A Pier meant that they could walk out over the water without any danger of anyone seeing their ankles. And very fine structures they were too (the piers that is, not their ankles). Today Piers contain amusement arcades, theatres and cafes. And Cromer Pier didn’t disappoint. This Pier, however, was unusual in that it had another Pier built on to the end of it which housed the Lifeboat. As I was standing on the end of the Pier waiting for Kim and Laura to come out of the RNLI shop, I found a flaw in the Victorians’ grand idea of walking out to sea. Even though this was a sunny day in August, with a stiff breeze coming off the North Sea it was bloody freezing!

So our summer holiday was drawing to an end. I tried to work out how far we had come so far and at a rough estimate we had covered about 250 miles of the English coast, but had reached the point where it was too far to come for a short break and so probably have to wait until our next summer holiday to continue where we had left off. According to the UK Coast-guide, the total distance around the UK coast is 7,723 miles, although if we stuck to just the mainland and ignored the islands this brought it down to just a mere 5000 miles. We had covered a measley 5% of the journey through what was probably the easiest stretch of coast to do. One thing’s for sure, we were going to see a lot of beaches, be eating plenty of Fish and Chips, and visiting quite a large number of pubs over the next 20 summers or so. Roll on next summer

Blakeney

We left Wells bright and early and took the road to Cromer for our next destination, East Runton, which is in between the towns of Sheringham and Cromer. On the way we stopped off at the village of Blakeney. Blakeney Quay was a lovely small natural harbour with a few boats moored on a small inlet from the sea, which meandered through the marshes like a river. In medieval times this was a major port, but the silting up of the river eventually prevented the bigger ships getting through. The remains of a medieval grain store can still be seen. These days the front has a small selection of shops and art galleries.

We were just thinking that it was a shame we couldn’t have stayed in Blakeney as there were a few activities planned for later in the week, when suddenly a large six foot yellow duck jumped straight in front of us.

“Would you like to have a go in a duck race” it said.

“When is it?”

“Seven o’clock this evening”

“ I would have a go, but we wont be here then.”

“That’s OK, leave your number and we will call you if you win”, at which point we were directed towards a lady selling tickets.

He then jumped in front of another family, startling the little girl with them, which resulted in her kicking over a pot full of live crabs. There was then a great deal of commotion as half the people on the quay went chasing after the crabs to throw them back in to the sea before they starting attacking people.

Later in the week they were going to have their annual greasy pole competition. Once a year a pole is placed across the creek, and then greased. All the local men then have to try and get across without slipping off into the creek. Tom and I really wanted to have a go but by then we would be a few miles further down the coast.

So far we had managed to get along the coast road really well in the Motor-home. We’d been told it could be a struggle, but as the buses used the route, we thought it would be easy enough. Until, that is, we went through a town called Cley next the Sea The road was plenty wide enough for traffic to go in both directions, but the road was made a lot narrower by the parked cars. We got almost right through the village until, on the last part of the road, we hit a problem. Our side of the road was clear but cars were parked on the other side. A car coming the opposite way decided to come straight for us and then pull in between parked cars. This in itself wasn’t a problem except a guy behind driving a Honda, instead of waiting a few seconds, decided to follow him. With cars behind us and no where to go he effectively blocked the road and caused a grid lock. There was then a few frantic minutes of cars being manoeuvred back and forth until the guy in the Honda could just pull in enough to give me the exact space needed for me to edge forward. With a brick wall on one side and the Honda’s bumper on the other, a centimetre either-way and my pristine Motor-home would be that way no longer. I gritted my teeth and pressed the accelerator and just got through, with some filthy looks and shaking of heads from a couple of passers by. As far as they were concerned I had the big vehicle and was so obviously in the wrong, even though I had a clear road until some prat in a Honda decided to change that.

A few weeks later I was watching an episode of Top Gear and they showed the most stupid car accidents that had been posted on the Internet.

“There is a theme running through these adverts” said Jeremy Clarkson, “ See if you can see what it is”

Yes, you guessed it; they were all driving bloody Hondas!

Ok, rant over; on to our next stop East Runton.

Wells Next the Sea

So far we have travelled down from the East Riding of Yorkshire, along the Lincolnshire coast and we’re now half way along the North Norfolk coast. We have seen plenty of sand, sea and luckily quite a lot of sunshine, three very important ingredients for a successful seaside holiday. But there was something missing, something that a large island like Great Britain is famous for and has in abundance. We hadn’t seen any boats! This all changed as soon as we entered the town of Wells Next the Sea. Wells is built on the edge of a natural harbour so it was a great place to see boats, even if it was low tide and they were nearly all beached waiting for the tide to come in.

It was great fun walking in between the many types of boat, some lying at a forty five or so degree angle and the two fin variety standing upright as though they were on stilts. Although most of the boats were abandoned, a few had their owners still aboard waiting patiently for the sea to return.

With the tide out, the whole harbour basin was a mixture of sand dunes and puddles of sea water left over from the last high tide. Laura and Ollie were having a great time with the dog jumping in and out of the puddles.

“He’s going to pull me in, the way he’s going” screeched Laura. So we all stood with our cameras ready waiting for just that moment. Laura spoilt our fun by managing to keep upright and out of the water.

Wells town itself is a very pretty historical town with a narrow shopping street selling some very tasteful souvenirs. According to a local historian, 41 pubs have at some time or other been registered in Wells. I was beginning to imagine one of the best pub crawls ever, but he then elaborated on the story and told us that most of them are now serving other purposes and he assured us that this also included pubs being renamed. This meant I had to abandon my plan of having t-shirts with “The 41 Wells Pub Stag Party” printed on them.

We were staying right on the sea front at a place called Pinewoods Holiday Park. Unlike all the other sites we have stayed on so far in Norfolk, this one had facilities. It had a supermarket, coffee shop, and even a boating lake. All the facilities for the van were on hand, including a tap with a constant supply of fresh water and a drain to take it away once we’d used it. But, at three times the price we had so far been paying, it was certainly a case of getting what you paid for. However it did lack the intimate feel of the smaller sites we had so far visited. What was really nice on the small sites was that everyone was really friendly and seemed to have a genuine interest in us and what we were doing. I’d had long conversations about the “Mission” to travel all the way round the UK and genuinely met some very interesting people. It wasn’t that people on this sight were unfriendly, far from it, but they all seemed to keep themselves to themselves and, apart from the odd brief chat about the dog, never really got into any sort of conversation. However, we couldn’t have had a better location, a 10 minute walk to the right and we were in the town, a 10 minute walk to the left and we were on the beach.

The beach itself was the best we had come across since we started which, considering the excellent beaches we had encountered up to now, this was really saying something. We walked through a Pine forest on to a vast expanse of sandy beach and, with the tide out, it was really something special. The channel to the harbour flowed along the one side and was an ideal place for kids to swim in and, with a bank of sand dunes on the other side of the channel, it had just about everything a beach lover could want. At high tide there was a the danger of getting stranded on the dunes, but a hooter would sound to let you know when the sea was coming in. So at this point everyone was alerted to quickly head back to the main beach.

The beach huts here were amazing, with many of them built on stilts, and a backdrop of the pine forest behind them. If I was ever planning to spend a lot of time here, then one of these beach huts would have to be a must. At £60,000 asking price though, they were not cheap.

Later that afternoon we were back in the harbour. If we had any desires of sitting on the harbour walls, these were quickly dashed as just about every spare space on the wall was occupied by a child with a crab fishing net dangling in the water on the end of a fishing line. The net was baited with a piece of bacon, which apparently the crabs are very fond of. This also explained why just about everu convenience tore and butchers shop was advertising their bacon prices.

“What have you caught” I asked one of the kids, He showed me his bucket with 2 small crabs in it.
“My brother has caught a really big one” He told me, and with that his brother proudly showed me a perfect specimen of Norfolk crab that was about the size of his hand.

It was great to just sit eating fish and chips and watching the tide come in. The first sign of this was the small stream that we previously had to cross to get on to the sand bank, becoming a fast flowing river. Then a slow trickle of water started to tease the boats by tickling their fins. The main entrance to the harbour where Ollie had previously enjoyed his swim was now deep enough for the fishing boats to return to base. They came in one after another filled with crates of fresh Norfolk crab. One at a time we saw the boats that were lying on their side on the sand bank slowly start to upright themselves as more water started to flow in. You could hear boat engines in the harbour start to roar in to life ready to go to sea. All of a sudden the whole area had started to come alive and it seemed a totally different place from the one we came to a couple of hours ago. Where there was calm and quiet, there was now the sounds of boats getting ready for sea, fishing boats being unloaded and boats arriving back after a day out at sea.

As this was carnival week there were a number of activities going on in the town. We saw advertised a walk through the town run by a local historian. We thought it would be an interesting way to spend a couple of hours, so we spent our Fiver and off we went. We heard a number of interesting stories of local deeds and misdemeanours perpetrated by the good and not so good people of Wells. The most famous resident, we were told, was a guy named John Field. His claim to fame was that he was the first mate on HMS Bounty who Fletcher Christian replaced on the voyage that became famous for the Mutiny. According to the guide, the infamous Captain Blythe was not as bad a fellow as he is painted by the Hollywood movie and he actually got a lot of bad press. Somehow, though, trying to imagine Captain Blythe as a good guy sort of spoils one of my favourite stories.

Holme next the sea

The Norfolk coast, like much of the east coast of England is suffering from coastal erosion which over time is set to dramatically change the landscape and, if the Climate Change models are accurate, then much of Norfolk could one day disappear.

However, back in 1998 at Holme Next the Sea, coastal erosion uncovered something very interesting, and caused a great deal of excitement among archaeologists. The remnants of an ancient wooden structure appeared out of the sands which they duly named “Seahenge”. This structure consists of a ring of split oak trees tightly fitted together to form a circle with a small entrance. Inside the ring was a tree stump which had been dug up and re-planted. Nothing too remarkable about this except it was re-planted upside down. This whole structure was built 4,500 years ago, just shortly before the Pyramids were built. Now I was always under the impression that, apart from the people that built Stonehenge, at this time Britain was full of primitive tribesmen with none of the technical expertise found in the more sophisticated civilisations such as Egypt. Yet with primitive tools and no modern machinery they managed to build this incredible wooden structure.

I pulled on to the field which would be our latest stop on the mission and paid my £6 for the pitch. I asked the owner where we had to go to find Seahenge.

“Peterborough” he told me.

“Peterborough ?”

“Yes, Peterborough”

“But I thought it was discovered here in Holme next the Sea”, I said in a rather distressed manner.

“It was” he replied “and then they dug it up and moved it to Peterborough because they didn’t want the sea and air to corrode it”.

I was gutted.

“They didn’t take all of it though” he informed me “Cuz I have a bronze axe that was used to build it in my shed”

I rolled my eyes, gave him the kind of look that says something like “yeah, pull the other one.” But then I saw his shed! If he didn’t have a Bronze-age axe in his shed then its about the only thing he didn’t have in it. This building, approximately 20 foot long by ten foot wide, must have had an artefact from every era since the dinosaur. It was amazing! It had old pots, farm machinery, furniture, and tools from every major new farming advancement since they invented farming. In fact, it had just about everything needed to start his very own museum of the complete history of Norfolk. Just to find this axe would probably take months, but I quickly informed him to let me know when he has a sort out because I would very much like to be there.

After finally getting over the disappointment of not seeing Seahenge we decided to walk down to the beach anyway to just get a feel of what it must have been like. It’s the 5^th August in the height of the holiday season on a lovely warm day, and here we are the whole family walking in a warm shallow sea on yet another deserted sandy beach. Behind us we can sea a handful of people about a mile away and the town of Old Hunstanton about 2 miles away in the distance. Ahead all we can see is sandy beach and a few people again about a mile or so in the distance. Just the feeling of all this space to us was amazing!

Ollie loved his time on the beach; what better for an active dog than a totally deserted beach where he could run, chase birds, and dig without disturbing anyone. This dog could dig for England, which was a bit of a problem if you were directly behind him as it didn’t take him long to cover you from head to toe in sand, as Tom could testify to!

I must admit I was disappointed not to find anything that even indicated an ancient structure was ever here, no plaque or monument, just an empty beach. We found a few bits of wood and stuff which we tried to convince ourselves were part of another undiscovered ancient structure but it just wasn’t quite the same.

We walked back along the coastal path. The Norfolk coast seems one long bird sanctuary with a combination of sand dunes and marshes. As such, it’s home to a number of birds, wildlife, flowers and some really smelly bogs. We crossed a small wooden bridge built over one particular black bog with small green things growing on it. I remember thinking something like “This is one hell of a smelly bog” and then the dog jumped in it!

“It doesn’t look to me like he’s enjoying that!” said a passer by sternly as I was trying to hold the dog upside down under the cold water tap outside the toilets.

“I’ll give the little sod not enjoying it” I half muttered in reply.

Back at the Motor home Kim and Laura spent hours cleaning him up in a more humane way. Only then was he allowed anywhere near inside.

Snettersham

When holidaying on a tight budget, the last place we needed to camp was close to somewhere that is likely to drain the wallet. So staying at the back of the Victoria Inn in Snettersham with its fine range of real ales did cause a few problems, but I was determined to put temptation aside, at least until later. The village itself was about 2 miles east of the Queens residence at Sandringham and was the perfect place to unwind after a busy 2 days at Skegness. We’d finally left Lincolnshire and were now in Norfolk.

“How far to the beach?” I asked. “It’s about a 45 minute walk, but it’s a beautiful route” replied the lady at the bar. Just over an hour later after crossing a busy road, walking through a dense wood, along the edge of a corn field, down a Farmers lane, through 2 meadows, over a river, through six foot high reeds and over a tall bank we were sitting on a fabulous deserted beach. Over in the distance across the Wash, we could see the wind farm opposite Skegness. It was hard to imagine a greater contrast from the noisy crowded resort 20 miles across the Wash to where we were sitting now.

We live on an island of 60 Million people and as this was now August and all the schools were closed it was the main holiday season. The recession and low value of the Pound meant that more people were staying at home this year and holidaying at the British Seaside. So where were they? We could see for about 2 miles in every direction, and not a soul. In the hour or so we walking we passed just 1 other couple. The dog loved it, he could run around, chase seagulls, dig in the sand and there was no-one to take offence. If he could describe paradise, this was probably as close as he would get. After about 20 minutes or so, looking out to sea we saw a canoeist battling against the tide and doing an admirable job, and then almost at the same time a couple of walkers came past on the coastal path. Where have all these three people come from? It was beginning to feel claustrophobic!

Walking back through the meadow, I’d almost forgotten just how pretty an English meadow can look in summertime. Along with the yellow and white flowers, there were more butterflies than I’d ever seen before; common White ones, Red Admirals and a beautiful blue variety. The sun seemed to reflect off their wings as they danced about. Not to be completely outdone there were these incredibly coloured dragonflies with either bright red or bright blue bodies. I could easily have spent hours just sitting there, but stomachs were rumbling and there was a long return walk ahead of us.

Back at the pub the temptation was too great and I had to sample the ales on tap. I made the mistake of taking Tom with me, who complained that, when I drink too much, I have a tendency to snore very loudly and have been known to pass wind. With this in mind I decided to do what any considerate father would do and had a couple more. It would serve him right for telling everyone that my blog was boring.

If Skegness was my idea of a holiday nightmare, then Hunstanton was probably closer to a holiday dream. After all the noise and fast paced entertainment we witnessed a couple of days previously it was so nice to be in a place where time seemed to pass just that little bit more slowly.

I particularly liked the large grassy area that stretched from the town to the promenade. Apparently there used to be a pier here but, after a series of accidents which first shortened it and the completely destroyed it, there now stands a new building which calls itself the Pier Family Entertainment Centre. Now here is where the holiday maker has a choice. Turn left and there is a funfair, amusement arcades etc, but turn right and there is landscape gardens and very distinctive multi coloured cliffs. I must have thought about it for a whole nano-second before heading towards the cliffs.

The cliff face has a very distinctive two tone effect, the lower half being a reddish colour which dates back over 100 million years, whilst the top white half is just a mere 65 million years old. Hunstanton faces the Wash, a roughly square inlet which measures approximately 10 miles across. As such, the water didn’t have the icy feel to it that the North Sea has. It was like walking in a heated paddling pool and was very pleasant, or at least it was until we stepped in the soft thick mud. Laura and I were trudging through this black treacle-like mud, which fortunately stopped at our knees. I must admit all those stories of quicksand swallowing people did briefly cross my mind. This didn’t seem to bother Ollie the dog who somehow managed to skim right over it.

We decided to take the much firmer route across the cliff top to get back to the town. The kids, being real lightweights, decided to take the road train with the dog whilst Kim and I decided to walk. It was lovely and firm with no mud and had great views across the Wash. We could quite clearly see the land on the other two sides of the square body of water.

When we finally got back to Hunstanton, the next job was to find the kids. As we have a very lively young teenager and an early twenty something,we naturally assumed that they would be over by the funfair or racing along the beach or something. But no, they were fast asleep on the green!

Before leaving Snettisham we had to look in the local bookshop. The lady who owns it is now in her seventies and so only opens Wednesday mornings, Fridays and Saturdays. As today was Wednesday we were in luck. She has been buying books for 33 years and the shop was amazing. It is basically a converted house with 2 rooms downstairs and a further 3 upstairs filled from floor to ceiling with books. I’d forgotten just how much fun it is looking through books to find something of interest, and the whole family found numerous books of interest. I asked her where all these books came from and she told me that when someone dies locally or moves away they sell the whole book collection to her. She has never been on the internet to buy or sell a book. It was so refreshing to see a place like this still exists in the modern world.

Ingoldmells

While growing up in Birmingham in the sixties, a holiday was one of the main yearly events we always looked forward to. To us in those days, foreign holidays were something rich people did and none of us had ever heard of exotic locations such as Disneyland. The ultimate holiday experience had to be Butlins at Skegness, but alas my parents were never able to stretch to such a holiday. I had to listen to my friends telling me about the all day entertainment, the huge swimming pool with slides, the direct access to the private beach, chips with every meal and best of all, the funfair which was totally free. I always put on a brave face and said that I really liked our holiday better which was usually spent in a caravan or less flashy Holiday camp such as Warners or Pontins. Inside though, I was seething.

Forty years later I’m driving past Butlins at Skegness and somehow it doesn’t quite have the mystique that I once imagined. The fun fair looks very small, the water complex doesn’t look that big, and the accommodation looks very basic. Either my friends greatly exaggerated or the rest of the holiday world has caught up and overtaken Butlins. Another explanation of course, is that I am still secretly very jealous of all my friends that used to go Butlins for their holidays. I must admit though, a week in Butlins is no longer one of my holiday wishes, especially as I now have the means to travel wherever I want to. “My Nan always used to take me to Butlins when I was little” Kim told me as we were driving away. “Did she now” I replied through clenched teeth.

We have holidayed in this area before, many years ago, and I must admit I hated it! This part of the coast just seems to consist of endless rows of static caravans, amusement arcades, fast food outlets, sweet shops and cheap clothing shops offering all the latest fashions from the sweat shops of Asia . I promised that on this holiday I wouldn’t spend time complaining about such things so as we walked in to Ingoldmells I promised to only look for the positives in this resort.

We came to Fantasy Island and a sign which said “The biggest open air market in Europe”. Putting aside the fact that it consisted of mainly cheap gift shops, sweet shops and all the latest fashions from the sweat shops of Asia, the amazing thing is that it is right underneath the roller coasters of Fantasy Island. Listening to people screaming and watching them being flung around on a corkscrew roller coaster almost made the shopping experience bearable (I did say almost). I think Kim and Laura would have really enjoyed shopping there but I momentarily dropped my guard and started complaining about the fact that all the shops seemed to be selling the same stuff as everywhere else on the resort and there seemed no evidence of any local produce. I think they were glad to get me out of there.

After a couple of hours in Ingoldmells , I’d heard the song “Blockbuster” by Sweet being played. I can remember hearing it last time I was here about 15 years ago, which got me thinking. I was about 12 When this record came out which must have been around 1973, and although I really liked it when I first heard it, after numerous plays on the radio and “Top of the Pops” I grew sick of it. Can you imagine living or working here for all that time and having to listen to the same crap record over and over every day for 36 years? It would be enough to send you clinically insane. All I can say is that I’m really glad that the Birdie Song has not passed the test of time. Quite clearly my mission to be positive was not going well. “It’s because you are a grumpy old fart” Kim told me, and looking round at all the smiley faces of happy holiday makers, she probably had a point.

We decided to go back to the camp site for a bit of peaceful relaxation. We were camped at a place called

Acres Farm which was about 20 minutes outside the resort and run by very friendly people who made us feel very welcome. Sitting outside the Motor home writing this it felt like a different world to the one we’d just left in the main resort. When we’d arrived earlier, we’d been greeted by another family on holiday and their 2 dogs, a Golden Labrador and a Cocker Spaniel called “Sparky” The owner of Sparky told us that they had picked him up from a rescue centre just a few days ago. The dog had been badly treated by his previous owner which was evident in the way he looked at you with those sorrowful eyes that made your heart melt. Whilst the Labrador bounded along, Sparky just stood there as if to say “I want to play but just don’t know how”. The biggest problem is that Sparky just wouldn’t walk on his lead, and we sat and watched numerous attempts by all the family to get him to walk. “I don’t know if we’ll ever get him to walk on his lead” the lady told us, “Yes he will” we all reassured her, and so we all tried our combined skills and ideas to get Sparky to walk. After about half an hour of offers of treats and encouragement the sorrowful eyes finally persuaded us to give up. “Poor Sparky, what a shame” could be heard as they carried him back to the caravan.

Skegness is the biggest resort along the east coast and as there is very little in the way of spectacular scenery on this part of the coast. Skegness has had to create its own holiday experience and as such it has taken the English holiday resort idea to the extreme. Between the main road and the beach is a row of fun fairs, swimming pools, crazy golf and a boating lake. The other side of the road is a collection of B&B’s, amusement arcades, bingo halls, and sweet shops. It has everything a family could need to keep the kids happy, and enough ice cream and chip shops to ensure there is enough sustenance to keep energy levels up to maximum.

We were there on the first Sunday in August on the first dry warm day we had enjoyed for a while, and the town was heaving. Everywhere that is, except the beach. Skegness has one

of the cleanest, sandiest, safest beaches in England and yet it was almost deserted. It seemed quite surreal, as soon as we crossed over the walkway which separated the town from the beach there was a real feeling of space and calmness.

When I was last here, looking out to sea meant looking at a flat empty horizon only occasionally broken by the odd ship passing by. Now, looking out to sea means staring at a giant wind farm. Wind farms have grown considerably over the last few years and are very much part of the Governments’ plan to achieve a bigger proportion of energy being derived from green sources. This has led to a lot of public debate, with groups on one side pushing for more wind farms and those on the other side of the debate who see them as an eyesore. “I quite like them” said Kim “It’squite therapeutic sitting watching the blades go round” I sat watching them for about 5 minutes or so and was just about to enter that calm meditative state where the universe all seems to fall in to balance when I heard a voice behind me say “You’d think they’d find somewhere else to put them instead of right in front of the bloody beach”. As I said, Wind farms are quite a contentious issue.

Despite all the advances in new and more thrilling forms of entertainment, kids still love a ride on a donkey. I started to wonder who it was that first thought of Donkey rides on the beach, because whoever it was, they created something that really has stood the test of time. These particular donkeys were not just any old beach donkeys, they were award winning donkeys having won awards 5 years in a row. Quite what is needed to win an award I couldn’t find out, they seemed to do what every other donkey does which is walk about a hundred yards and back carrying a smiling kiddie, but these Donkeys obviously did it with style.

There were lots of things for young kids to do in Skegness, but when you have a 22 year old and a 15year old it gets a bit more of a challenge, until we got to the pier. There was this harness suspended over a trampoline by four pieces of strong elastic. “I have got to have a go on that” said Laura, “and me” said Tom. I‘m not sure whether the screams were of sheer delight or sheer fright, but it kept them occupied for 10 minutes or so. “How about we go see the new Harry Potter film” was the next suggestion. “Is there a cinema in Skegness?” I asked the guy in the shop. “ It’s right by the clock tower”, he said, “You can’t miss it”. I wasn’t sure whether I couldn’t miss the clock tower or the cinema, as the former is very much easy to find but, look as hard as we could, we couldn’t find the 12 screen Multiplex that passes for a cinema down our way. After 10 minutes of being too embarrassed to ask for further directions we found a poster outside an Amusement Arcade advertising “Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince”. “You don’t think it’s in there do you?” We had found it.

We left the kids to their film and hopped on the bus back to the campsite. My phone bleeped to tell me I had a message “It’s like watching a film on a Plasma TV and listening to a dodgy old stereo in some one’s back room.” There is no pleasing some people.

After a day and a bit in the Skegness area it was time to reassess how I felt about the place. It had everything a family could want plus plenty of pubs and clubs offering entertainment, and of course it had a wonderful beach with a spectacular view of a wind farm and the award winning donkeys. After careful consideration and weighing up all that was on offer I had to grudgingly admit, I still really hated the place.

Back in Ingoldmells on the campsite we decided, as it was Sunday afternoon and afternoon naps were now something that was not just for old people, to have a nap. I lay on the sun lounger, opened a beer and then the 12 year old son of Sparky’s owner ran over, the dog following him. “Look - Sparky’s walking on his lead” He told us with a smile that went from ear to ear. You couldn’t help but feel touched, and at last I had found the positive I’d been searching for.

Trusthorpe

When I was a kid, going to the seaside meant sticking to a strict but essential agenda. First we had to find a place on the beach, then buy a bucket and spade to build sandcastles and dig very big holes. This was usually followed by a game of beach cricket, all briefly interrupted by the occasional venture down to the sea. For lunch we had Fish and Chips followed by a whipped ice cream with a flake in it. Later we would go to the funfair and then empty all of my dad’s loose change in to the numerous penny arcades. Before going home we would buy a jar of sweet pebbles and some sticks of rock for my mates.

We now of course live in a very different age, one of 24 hour TV entertainment, Game consoles, internet, and mobile phones. Things would now surely be very different for a kid of today at the seaside. But here in Mablethorpe, everything I wanted as a kid was still there, the shop selling beach toys, the fun fair and arcades, the chip shops and sweet shops. They were all exactly the same as I remembered it from my younger days. It seems that today’s generation has the very same agenda as I had at the seaside.

I can remember once buying my Mom a cheap shell ornament from a shop that sold almost exclusively shell related items, and here I was in just such a shop. I asked the lady if they still sold the big shells that, when you put them against your ear, you could hear the sea. “The shops full of them” she said and just to prove the point her husband picked one up and placed it against my ear. “It’s the blood in your ear making the sound” he told me, which sort of spoilt the mystery of it all, but at least I now know the science behind it.

I had recently been to a business seminar entitled “The only permanent thing in life is change”. Obviously the author had not just come back from a weekend in Mablethorpe.

We were staying in a place called Trusthorpe, which was positioned almost exactly between the 2 very popular seaside resorts of Mablethorpe and Sutton on Sea. The site itself was called “Old Garth Cottages”, which comprised of a field big enough for about 6 caravans or Motorhomes. The beauty of it, though, was it’s location to the beach. Quite simply all you needed to do was walk through a gate, climb up a bank and there was the beach. Next door was a holiday complex with a nice little club and, tonight being Thursday, was Bingo night. Now I normally avoid Bingo like the plague, as my experience is of a Bingo caller talking in a monotone voice and lots of old ladies saying “shush” to anyone who dare speak. On this night though, when I needed just 2 more numbers to win the star prize of £60, I was hanging on to the caller’s every word and telling the person next to me to “Shush”. Some very rich person who didn’t need the money as much as I did then shouted out that he’d won and I hated him. It’s probably best I leave the Bingo alone for a while.

On this trip the kids had both got better offers and decided not come, which left just me, Kim and Ollie the dog. We decided we were going to have a very relaxing few days just taking it easy. Unfortunately, Ollie had a totally different agenda. From the moment we pulled up he knew exactly where we were and the direction to the sea. Within minutes he was dragging me up the hill to the beach. In the short space between getting there and going to bed he had 3 runs on the beach and a mile long walk to Sutton and back. At least he will sleep well and allow us to lie-in a bit later. No chance! At 6 am he was awake and ready to go. By 6.45 I had given up all hope of pacifying him and got dressed for a mile long walk along the beach. At this time in the morning the beach was totally deserted. The beach runs from Cleethorpes in the North Down to The Wash in the South. A total of around 50 miles, and at this time in the morning it seemed we had the whole thing to ourselves. Not another human being or dog for as far as the eye could see in either direction.

On the way back I did pass someone. “Morning” I said, to which he grunted something back. I got the impression that on this 50 mile stretch of beach I was invading his space.

After a short breakfast Ollie was ready to go again. This dog was the Canine equivalent of a Super Duracell battery. Scientists have spent Billions of pounds in research to discover the sort of energy this dog has got. After half an hour or so of walking and throwing a ball for him, we ended up in Sutton on Sea, where a rest was very much needed (for me that is, the dog still had tons of energy left). We managed a cup of tea outside a seaside café before looking around the town.

From the seaside, Sutton is almost identical as Mablethorpe, however once off the beach it is very different. Apart from one beach shop, there was none of the shops selling Confectionary and beach gear, and no funfair or amusement arcades. The whole place just seemed that little bit more mature, and that was certainly true of the people wondering up and down the High Street. I may have got it totally wrong, but it seemed just the sort of place where people came to buy a retirement home. The people we met were very friendly and it seemed just the sort of place I would be happy to retire to. “It’s like God’s waiting room here” I heard someone say. It was hard not to disagree.

One of the things that became very noticeable in both Mablethorpe and Sutton was the number of beach huts. This is something that really intrigued me, so I did a bit of research in to what these were all about. Beach huts are either owned by the local Council and hired out for around £65 per week, or privately owned. A privately owned one costs around £9,000 and for that you get an 8’ x 6’ wooden shed. This works out at around £1.50 per sq foot per week to rent or £187.50 per sq foot to buy. This is serious real estate for something that can only be used for, at best, half the year and can only be used during the hours of daylight. If you are lucky, you get a tap and the facilities to make a cup of tea. If you are not quite so lucky, you get an 8’ x 6’ brightly painted garden shed. And even if you buy one, the land is still owned by the Council and so you have to pay £100 per year ground rent. But people seem to love them, and I can easily see why. On a summers day it must be great to sit and watch the world go by in the comfort of your own deckchair outside your very own garden shed right on the edge of the beach. And when it rains you just move inside and drink tea.

The coolest Beach Hut by far was a metal structure with a large glass sliding door. It was the sort of glass that was a mirror on the outside and clear on the inside, so you can see out, but nobody can see in. Just imagine sitting inside behind the glass and watching people walking past pulling their stomachs in as they look at their reflection in the glass.

After the excitement of the Bingo the previous night, we thought we’d wonder back to the club to see what entertainment they had laid on. Tonight was Karaoke, and the bar was full. The old dears were having a great time singing songs from the fifties and sixties. There were delightful renditions of songs by Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley ballads and the like. A couple in their eighties who had apparently only recently met and got engaged, were smooching around the room. “I wonder” I said “If anyone has ever had the nerve to go up there and sing Ian Dury’s Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll”. “Go on then I dare you” Kim challenged me. The looks I got reminded me of the ones I got when I first played the record to my Dad 30 odd years ago.

It was mid April and, according to the weatherman, we were enjoying temperatures well into double figures, however the northerly wind, although not particularly strong, was making it feel closer to zero. After three days of wandering up and down the beach, it had managed to force its way through my clothes, through my skin and was now gnawing at my bones. As we had a dog with us, we couldn’t just call in to a café to warm up. Fortunately, overlooking the beach was a pub (aptly called “The Beach”) which had a large sign in the window announcing “Dogs are allowed in this room”. We didn’t need a second invitation. The food was very basic but very good and reasonably priced. I would happily have paid a lot more for a lot less just to get out of the wind for a while. Ollie was finally showing signs of tiredness. It had taken us three days but I think the “Duracell dog” was finally starting to run low on energy.

I enjoyed the short break in Trusthorpe, but have to admit I was quite looking forward to moving back inland to where the weather actually felt like summer was not so far away.