One cold and blustery saturday morning we donned many layers with our warmest hats and gloves and set off for Liverpool Street Station where we caught a train to Clacton-on-Sea.
We chose this unlikely destination for an outing because of its odd sounding name and because 2 of our favourite characters on Eastenders seem partial to it.
As the train approached our destination, we quickly realised that it is one of the many seaside resorts in this country that has fallen into steady decline.
Affordable package holidays to sunnier places abroad struck a massive blow to tourism for British seaside resorts and so it was that we found Clacton-on-sea to be a near ghost town. Empty streets, deserted gusty beached, redundant fair rides and if it weren’t for the seagulls, an almost silent pier.
I often forget that I live on a little island. I suppose people are more willing to associate islands with tropical paradise beaches rather than little towns haunted by ghosts of nostalgia, retirement homes and empty amusement arcades. I can’t help but like these shunned resorts. They have something special about them, something I am quite unable to accurately word….something quite like a beautiful, reticent sadness.
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