THERE IS SOMETHING quintessentially English about seaside towns – a charming, fun, and slightly dated tackiness that brings me so much joy.
The faded grandeur of Victorian buildings, a whole shop dedicated to selling buckets and spades, pensioners wrapped up in cardigans whizzing by in mobility scooters, shops selling sticks of rock even though nobody eats rock. Seagulls squawk around signs saying ‘Don’t
