I don’t know if I have that much to say about this weekend’s jaunt to Bournemouth, but when you’ve got a cracker of a post title like that you don’t keep it to yourself.
Um. Well, Flppy’s Mum invited us and so off we went on the coach and it was a hot day. Bournemouth is a proper seaside town, not your trendy Brighton-type place or your seedy, broken-down Blackpool. It’s like a 1950s postcard only current. A family resort, where you feel quite happy munching an ice-cream and paddling with your trousers rolled up without once thinking “Oh, is that clubby guy over there judging me? Are the natives even now loading up on alcopops and preparing to happy-slap me?”. I ate candy floss, dammit, and walked up a pier (50p to go on the pier! A scandal!). It was nice. And I think I may be slightly browner. Not a lot, but a touch, a shade.