The English at the Seaside

While living in Los Angeles, going to the beach was quite the after-school activity. We sprawled across Santa Monica's sands, flipping through the latest Cosmo, sharing grapes and cola. If the sun evaded us, we played volleyball to warm up. And at night, we'd light bonfires. Going to the beach never disappointed us, but then, the weather was always decent, as it was LA.

When the English go to the beach, however, they go no matter the weather. They go to be by the ocean, they go to hear the waves. They go when it rains.

Zipping through the towns of Fillifoot and Wetwang, rain splattered our windshield. We were not deterred. We splashed through rain water on our stroll by the sea. Bailey the dog ran figure eights around us, barking at David to hurry up. Slickers, wellies, umbrellas. And a man wearing a hat made from a garbage bag. Tents, even! Rain gear surrounded us; no one had been surprised by the weather. Yet it hadn't stopped them.

Sandcastles of majestic scale mimicked the large white Georgian mansions perching over the sea wall: 1920s resorts turned into hotels.

Michael laughed.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that it'd be really nice to visit here in the summer," he smiled. "Then I realized... It IS summer."

The English have an affinity for the ocean that was lacking in the Los Angeleno culture. But in a city where '76 degrees and partly cloudy' is a broken record, they can afford to be picky.