Fish and chips by the sea; a taste unmatched and unparalleled by any other.
Even if you’re not a seafood fan, anyone would be hard pushed to deny that this is most certainly one of the UK’s greatest cultural contributions.
And a distinctly delectable one at that.
On a par is the frosty feeling of ice cream on your tongue; best enjoyed whilst massaging sand between your toes.
The British beach experience is iconic and I never tire of seeing these seaside scenes.
I’m particularly fond of out-of-season trips to the coast, which I feel possess an eccentric charm lacking in their scorching summer counterparts.
Watching bunches of bundled up people valiantly braving the seashore come rain or shine is a testament to our desire to determinedly stride into the face of nature and have a jolly time no matter how damp the shingle.
Whilst it might play havoc with your hair, nothing makes you feel more like you’ve had a grand day out than a notorious sea breeze. Returning home and feeling the sting of the lingering wind on your face is a rousing reminder that there’s a wide and wonderful world out there.
It’s a feeling I frequently return to when I’m doubting whether it’s worth wandering into the elements.
It spurs you on, if only on the promise that once you’re back in the warm, you’re bound to sleep serenely after sundown.
One woman’s simple pleasure may be another woman’s elementary nightmare, but for me it doesn’t get better than being among those of us defying the whimsy of the British weather.
There’s something deliciously frustrating about misjudging your layers. Of inevitably being too hot or too cold.
It’s absurd to imagine a scamper to the shore not featuring a meticulous exploration of the temperature, humidity, wind direction, chance of precipitation and whether or not you need to bring a towel.
And then there’s pondering that eternal question; is it too cool for flip flops?
Being part of the ritual, this right of passage into our island life, is unglamorous, unsound and unapologetic.
Yet we do it anyway. Happily and with absolute abandon.
Those three words are perhaps all we need to understand the quintessentially quirky allure of the littoral.
They’re the closest I’ve come to pinpointing our mutual madness for outings overlooking the ocean; a madness I wouldn’t trade for all the money in the world.
Modernish 