Sandy and Settled

I love living near the seaside. I'm lucky really because, man...have I lived in some shitty towns. The less said about Neath in Wales the better; I've never seen so many Red Stripe drinking chavs on benefits in one single town. Walthamstow, Romford, Ipshit...I mean Ipswich, Norwich. All have their own character and I do have some lovely memories, but they don't come close to the luxury of living in the countryside with the beach just a ten minute drive away. It's relative peace compared to living in Norwich and Ipswich, and definitely more laid-back than East London and Essex. I have found that over the years I've become less "towny" and more "greeney". I want to look out of my window at 10pm on a summer evening and see green fields and trees, pretty flowers, wildlife etc - not some bloke in fake Prada puking up my Begonias, or a "Wag" wannabe in gold lame screaming at her boyfriend/pimp for not holding her shoes. When I was younger I bawked at the idea of moving somewhere more than 3 yards away from a shop. I found the nightlife about as exciting as pottery. I cried out in despair "What do you mean the clubs close at 1am"??? Upon watching the local news I found it hilarious that the breaking news of the day was that an old lady lost her handbag in Tesco and somebody found it and gave it back to her. If we were still living in Walthamstow it wouldn't even be considered newsworthy if the old lady had it stolen and was punched in the face. It would be a way of life. Now I'm older and I long for news stories to be lost handbags, rather than the depressing stuff we have to hear about. I would also prefer a hot chocolate and duvet/film night over a night out clubbing, any day! Of course I enjoy going out and having the odd cocktail or three or ten, but at the end of the evening I'm dying for a cup of tea and a change out of my heels to my slippers. Netflix and chill eh?

Lowestoft beach is something I took for granted, I realised this when I moved to the boil on the arse of England that is Neath. All the time I'd lived in Lowestoft before I moved to Wales and I was surprised by how little time I'd spent appreciating the beautiful beach. I now live in the countryside and a little further away from the beach, but still within a nice driving distance, and that's where I spent my afternoon today with Darren and his son. I will say, as much as I lament, seaside towns have their drawbacks. Namely; tourists. Every single car park through July and August is bloody rammed. They all walk around, glassy-eyed and mouth-breathing, wearing clothes far too inappropriate for their body shape and sporting a shiny shade of pink across their whole body. They spend twenty minutes deciding which ice-cream flavour to buy and spend even longer  telling their fifteen children to stop chucking chips at the seagulls. Fuck off back home, towny wankers.

Lowestoft beach itself is pretty nice compared to most. Although I do remember it being much sandier when we first moved to this town. There are so much more stones! You want to venture into the sea for a dip, you don't want to soak your shoes, so you remove your shoes before tiptoeing gingerly across the shingle. Each little pebble feels like it's slicing it's way into your soul, getting seemingly sharper with each step. You are aware that you look like you've shit your pants, the look on your face is that of a person who feels like they've shit their pants, and your feet are screaming out for Savlon. You finally reach the sea after what seems like the longest walk ever, and you spot a brat peeing into the waves. Back through the walk of pain again. Why is there always some little gobshite chucking sand around you when you're trying to sunbathe? Or some twat with a football? There could be nobody else on the beach, not one single soul, and this twat will somehow manage to get the ball to land right on your face. You are not David Beckham; you are a wanker. Go find a football pitch and practise your poor skills there! Frisbees make me nervous. Especially when kids throw them. Kids throw like 'tards. I think as a general rule footballs and Frisbees should be banned from beaches. Kids should have a special section of the beach where they can't bother the sunbathers, who don't want to be covered in sand and dripping ice-creams. I have the over-whelming urge to stamp over their sandcastles. Seagulls are another obstacle. Those beady-eyed little tossers watching your every move and sizing up your ice-cream/chips/doughnut. I witnessed one actually dive-bombing a chip-eating tourist once. Although admittedly I did find that rather amusing. If they're not bullying you like a gang of thugs they're emptying their bowels down your nice beachwear. Cunts. There's no other word for them.

Despite my issues with beach life I still prefer it to concrete, Red Stripe and rising crime rate. It's worth the sore, sandy, clammy skin and knotted hair. All these hours later, even after a shower, I'm still finding sand in my scalp and ear. You could probably build a sandcastle with the amount of sand that came away from me in the shower. I'd probably knock it down though.