Weston-Super-Mare itself, gosh, what a time warp. I was about 8 or 9 when I went there with my parents. My brother and I got stuck in the quick sand. I got stuck for a while trying to help him. I remember appealing for help from a passer by but the silver haired woman just looked on bemused. My brother brings up the incident every now and then to tease me. He accuses me of leaving him to die!
The town now is a real mixed bag. It's great as a cheap base to explore Somerset. Donkey rides on the beach, the pier, cheap cafes etc are quite charming at first. The sight of families fleeing from the B&Bs on Sunday morning, parading along the promendade looking lost was plain amusing. Nothing was open yet and the sea was too cold for swimming and the sun wasn't really warm enough for lying out in. Then I spotted something that just summed up a kind of Britishness I thought was lost in the mists of time. Just as you would step on the fag end infested beach, a middle aged couple had set themselves up on their green folding camping chairs, coats on, papers in hand, all their stuff for the day around them, the stiff onshore breeze blowing into their faces. How anyone can stay a week in Weston is beyond me.
There has been some attempt at regeneration, most eye catching was a strange bit of sculpture in the form of an upside down icicle with spikey bits growing out of the top. About 7ft up from the base was a strip around its circumference flashing up public announcements. It looked like a left over Christmas decoration. It probably got commissioned for the millenium.
The town now is a real mixed bag. It's great as a cheap base to explore Somerset. Donkey rides on the beach, the pier, cheap cafes etc are quite charming at first. The sight of families fleeing from the B&Bs on Sunday morning, parading along the promendade looking lost was plain amusing. Nothing was open yet and the sea was too cold for swimming and the sun wasn't really warm enough for lying out in. Then I spotted something that just summed up a kind of Britishness I thought was lost in the mists of time. Just as you would step on the fag end infested beach, a middle aged couple had set themselves up on their green folding camping chairs, coats on, papers in hand, all their stuff for the day around them, the stiff onshore breeze blowing into their faces. How anyone can stay a week in Weston is beyond me.
There has been some attempt at regeneration, most eye catching was a strange bit of sculpture in the form of an upside down icicle with spikey bits growing out of the top. About 7ft up from the base was a strip around its circumference flashing up public announcements. It looked like a left over Christmas decoration. It probably got commissioned for the millenium.
No comments:
Post a Comment