When is it a good time to visit a beach? Not when the weather is so foul, licking the bottom of a pair of shoes becomes preferable to travelling around the county. It's probably a damn sight safer too.
Since Christmas has gone on its merry way after popping in for a brief chat, the legions of hell have tried in earnest to leave a lasting mark all over the UK. The December saturation of the countryside has continued unabated, pausing only to produce a dumping of snow for a week or two, and we all know what happens when the British get snowed on - the stiff upper lip lights fires, draws the curtains and stays indoors. If it doesn't, it shall most likely find itself stuck in some god awful traffic jam wondering when exactly the world went to shit.
It also begs the question what is the point of going to all these beaches? If it is just to quickly run onto the sand, plant a flag and declare bragging rights that I have conquered yet another beach, like some kind of maladjusted two-bit colonial crackpot? Or do I want to appreciate the rugged beauty of Devon's coastline in full splendor? I hail from one of the wettest parts of Europe and so don't mind a bit of rain, but standing out in a torrential downpour in the freezing cold is just a tad bit sad. Besides, the locals are buggers to colonise when the weather's bad.
So between floods, snow and ice, the most epic voyage of the 21st century so far has faltered at the first hurdle. Which is a bit of a shame as I am dying to rid myself of the bitter after taste of Dawlish bloody Warren. Time, however, is not of the essence and I have given myself nothing as boring as a time limit (I think.... I'll have to read my first post to find out for certain) to get round all the beaches, so chances are I'll prevail sometime around my 90th birthday.
Till then I am content to keep the wood burner stoked and stare out of the window tutting at frequent intervals at the miserable weather. Indignant, but warm.
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