Summery conditions bring out the best traditions, of genteel English seaside kitsch, in Old Eastbourne town.
A Bet Lynch (Coronation Street's matriarchal landlady) lookalike strides purposefully from pub entrance to beer garden. Bearing her oversized wine glass like a Bishop's crosier. As a nervous posse, of youthful hikers, pauses at the threshold. Debating whether to attempt entry.
The golden cupola, of Eastbourne's stately pleasure-dome pier, glitters above shimmering opaline waters.
Whilst zephyrs, of pleasantly cooling sea breeze, set a Union Jack aflutter.
A long crescent of tawny sea smoothed shingle is retained by ranks of weathered wooden groynes.
It is topped by a broad bridleway. Which connects the Victorian facades, of the old town, with the newly built (1993) Sovereign Harbour. Their age gap bridged by leafy, bay-windowed, inter-war suburbia.
No comments:
Post a Comment