Now there can few pleasures as great as a stroll on a beach on a chilly, cloudy
day in late February, especially when the wind is blowing at a steady 30 mph and
gusting fit to lift you off the ground and dump you in another county.
Such delights are best taken in short measures and so I didn't
overindulge my stay on Hunstanton's famous beach. It's a funny old beach for a
seaside resort; you might imagine miles of golden sand but this is split into
short stretches by numerous groynes and the sand is well peppered by
vast numbers of large pebbles in various sized and colours, red, white and
creamy, having come from the cliff
whereon sits the lighthouse. (I didn't have the opportunity to see the
cliff from the beach but I saw it many, many years ago and can confirm that it is indeed two toned; red and white). Generations of youngsters and oldsters have enjoyed the beach over the years so it can't be all that bad.
Don't ask what the poles with odd attachments at the end of each groyne are for because I haven't a clue.
