I have no doubt that Weston has a certain appeal, in fact there is no denying that it has. In the summer months thousands of people descend on the town in weekly waves to holiday there. It is the closest seaside resort to the Midlands of England and that seems to be, if the accents you hear there are anything to go by, where most of its visitors come from. But, for me, Weston seems to sum up just about everything I dislike about my coastline. I like wild, remote places; quiet, unassuming coves and bays; uncrowded, refreshing seaside towns. I don't very much like the crowds, the tat, the day-long smell of fish and chips, the £4-an-hour parking!
Having said all that, it's sometimes fun to be dispassionate about somewhere and to go along and see it as if for the first time. It's interesting to try to find the gem in the sea of mud and frying oil. That's what I set out to do last Sunday morning. It was a gorgeous day with blue skies, warm sunshine and a gentle breeze. It was ideal for visiting Weston, and running away again an hour later when I had had more than enough.