April 22nd, 2009

Wanaka tree

The last resort - Weston-super-Mare

On the back of my little trip to beautiful, languid, serene Lyme Regis on Easter Sunday, I decided that I should show the other side of the British love affair with the seaside. It isn't all as relaxing and delightful as Lyme, there is a flip-side - part of the same thing but very, very different - and Weston-super-Mare illustrates it very well. I went south to Lyme and north-ish to Weston.
 
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.

 
After parking on the beach, the first thing that grabbed my attention was the kites being flown off the beach. In this particular instance, I was also amused by the photographers being really good, sticking to the rules and standing behind the barrier!

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