Take me to the beach

The weather is still forecast to turn colder soon, and I’m giving up hope for a late summer. It’s been annoying, hearing the national newscasters giving us advice on how to stay cool in this heatwave, week after week, while we huddle down in fleeces and hope it’ll stop raining before the house floats away. We’ve had perhaps twelve or fifteen hot sunny days this year in East Anglia, and can’t easily book a sneaky week somewhere hot without worrying that the rules will change before we land.

We made the most of this reasonably warm day. We went out to the beach. Two beaches. The first, we’d never been to; the second, we visited once, over thirty years ago.

First off, Walberswick. We parked up in an almost empty car park and went for a long trudge along the beach. An excellent beach it was, too. Soft, clean, pale sand and long stretches of deep, loose, large pebbles, the kind it’s difficult to walk through but really satisfying – loud and crunchy. When we reached the ferry, we’d reached the end of the world as far as Walberswick was concerned – muddy banks, a narrow river and the ass-end of Southwold on the other side. The ferry was a simple boat large enough for a dozen people and a man rowing it. It would have taken him less than five minutes to reach the other side, and it did look like fun.

Maybe we missed something – or maybe Walberswick is tiny. Two tea-shops, two pubs, two gift shops and a village hall – plus, some of the smallest cottages I’ve ever seen on the Suffolk coast. Definitely not tourist central, though from the quay we could see Southwold’s water-tower and lighthouse across the river, about a mile away and I’d imagine their streets are still busy.

The best part about Walberswick is the people. Complete strangers passing us said good afternoon, smiled, laughed at our jokes about their dogs thinking of following us home. We felt at home, and who knows, we do have a lottery ticket running so we might be able to afford one of those two-room cottages next week. Walberswick is a relaxing place to be.

Next stop – Dunwich. We came here in the mid-80’s with the bike club, and it hasn’t changed at all. We could still see Southwold’s lighthouse flashing every nine seconds or so, and a red boat on the shingly beach that seems to appear in every postcard and photo of the beach over the last decade. The chip shop had closed, so – definitely a repeat visit.

Home, getting caught in the rush hour and very glad not to be slogging home in it every night.

Home to struggle with the Scriptly commission. Horror. Not my thing. The piece I’ve written isn’t really horror, but if they wanted true horror they should have asked Stephen King. If I thought the horror was over… I do not even understand the brief for Day Five’s script, so they are about to get Gar Bij from me.