Another heatwave and the seaside seemed to be the safest bet. Having parked the car on the promenade road shortly after 11 am we walked the High Street - parallel with the seafront and one block in. I really think Burnham is gentrifying slowly. Some of the shops on the High Street seemed newly redecorated and spruced up, and there are less charity shops.
In one estate agent's window I spotted a detached, four bedroomed house for less than £400,000 - we could afford that! I tried to tempt Clare in that direction - "The grandchildren would love it!" But she remained unmoved.
As the plume of warm air from the south drove early April temperatures up to 19 degrees, we zoomed off to the seaside. Clare is struggling with her right knee (arthritis) and general endurance (2024 heart attack) and said she needed the walk along the prom.
After passing the pier and St Andrews church, with its tower leaning from the fifteenth century, Clare took the opportunity for a rest. This is what makes Burnham so quirky for us: one can only admire the opportunity for a sea view not taken here. Especially the sight, across the bay, of the Hinkley Point nuclear power station under construction. Thanks to Alex for the photos.
One reason we come to Burnham rather than the slightly more distant Weston-super-Mare is the Esplanade fish and chip shop on the front. Never was this delicacy better or more consistently served. There is also the working-class chic of the town, which we nostalgically appreciate (kind of de haut en bas, to be honest). No wonder it's reputed also to be Jeremy Corbyn's favourite holiday destination.
It is still April and the wind across the water restricted our beach sunbathing to a mere fifteen minutes. I, at least, was well prepared.
Burnham-on-Sea is our nearest seaside town. This author-portrait taken in the recent micro-heatwave. I believe Jeremy Corbyn used to holiday here too; it has a period charm, reminding me of inner-Bristol in the 1950s.
Yesterday was that rarity in England, a late-summer Bank Holiday which was actually hot. And remarkably the tide was in at the beach here, just south of Brean Down (pictured).
Brean Down: reminds me of a Predator drone
We didn't make it on to the peninsula itself, settling for a Waitrose-inspired picnic at the top of the beach and a walk along the damp sand.
Refreshments (!) at the entrance
The rights to beach-parking are held by the local council. It's £3 for the day and the beach is plenty big. That's more than you can say for the toilets located behind the Burgers and Fries. The women were queued twelve deep and the facilities were rudimentary.
What economic incentive would be required to create first-class facilities?
The demographic is mostly lower-middle-class parents-with-families
Lower-middle-class parents-with-families sounds snobbish, but is observationally accurate. There is an osmotic social gradient running from north to south along the coast here. Burnham-on-Sea, four miles to the south, features large, tattooed people; the shops are poor and the general sense is of a benefits culture.
The beach where we picnicked fronts many caravan parks and was populated mostly with young families on holiday. I heard Birmingham accents.
Progressing north beyond the Down itself you get to Weston-super-Mare which, while still working class, is becoming increasing gentrified as a dormitory for Bristol; it has a Waitrose.
So here is my video panorama: the look and feel of an English beach afternoon in summer.
Temperatures hit 24 degrees again today. Time for a trip to the Somerset Riviera:Burnham-on-Sea.
If Weston-super-Mare (love the Latin!) just up the road has gentrified over the last twenty years, Burnham retains its authentic working-class culture: the mother chasing her recalcitrant toddler along the beach, shoulders reddening, crying "Jason, stop kicking over those sandcastles - they don't belong to you!"
I digress. Click on any of the images to make them larger.
Clare really enjoys the Somerset Riviera - the beach is such an improvement over Nice
This in homage to Jonathan Meades - lover of concrete brutalism in all its forms
One of the sights from Burnham: the Hinkley Point reactors A and B. I watched with fascinated interest for any intense flares of actinic blue light: Burnham is downwind of the reactor.
The sandy beach will be packed this summer.
Never let it be said that we don't delight in our beach experience. After our picnic, Clare read her John le Carré in the bright sunshine; I tried to read the screen of my Nexus 6.
You get a better class of beach graffiti at Burnham, perhaps inspired by Hinkley Point?
Your author on the promenade
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If you'd like to check out the beach and sea-front at Burnham-on-Sea, here's a bonus video.
On a whim, sunshine-related, we drove to the seaside today. Burnham-on-Sea was bathed in a chilly wind off the eponymous water which ruined the 'beach experience'. Our subsequent walk encompassed Morrison's, Lidl and a renovating pub which finally drove us out with over-amplified Jamaican ska.
On the way back we did the Burcott Mill tour: one thousand years of milling.
Clare, the concrete, the picnic, the cold wind, ...
I honestly thought that we would be the only two. But as we wandered down our street just after ten this morning there were already gaggles of oldies strolling towards the main road: it was like Glastonbury.
At the main road the kids from The Blue School were whooping and hollering and it was clearly shaping to a mega event. We walked the back roads into town to do our shopping. Quarter to eleven in the town centre, surrounded by a dense throng, we were treated to: insane young people careering the flame-route on quad bikes; self-important police bikes with their blues-and-twos (there was booing); and a succession of sponsor coaches trapped by the crowds: then it all went quiet. Ten minutes passed and I snapped Clare (below) losing the will to live.
When will my flame come?
We started to make our way home but as we walked up Sadler Street we met the elusive flame coming the other way. How the crowds loved it!
The torch arrives
And then there was silence and we all became festival goers on the way home.
But our day was far from ended. Minutes later we were en-route to Burnham-on-Sea for our first picnic of the year. If it had been ten degrees hotter and the bitter wind from the sea had let up it would have been truly idyllic!
A Picnic at Burnham-on-Sea
The author poses in front of our nuclear power station
Hinkley Point B is visible along the coast from Burnham - the arrow indicates the dull breeze-block which is the rapidly obsolescing fission machine.
I cheered Clare up by imagining a critical accident: the actinic flash, the EM and neutron pulse, the spherical shockfront then the ascending mushroom cloud, turning ashen gray as it blew towards us. All of this assumes, of course, that EDF have a secret weapons facility in the basement.
