Published on January 9, 2024, in The Spectator
I’ve always had a soft spot for the English seaside. It’s idiosyncratic, a little kitschy, and a little gross. There are those pre-war beach windbreakers. There are tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches in packed lunches. There’s a mangy dog nipping at your feet as you run into icy waters. It’s always windy, often pebbled, and full of litter.
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