Since the 1870s, Brits have gone mad for a bank holiday. Towns and cities empty; beauty spots are thronged with happy laughter. Come rain or shine, barbeques are lit, feet are paddled and we behave en masse as if these random Mondays away from the office are the greatest gift the capitalist superstructure ever gave us. Karl Marx would roll his eyes.
Once upon a time, a bank holiday trip to the seaside was practically de rigueur. By train, charabanc or motor car, people would descend on Britain’s beaches, from Brighton and Bournemouth to Blackpool and Burnham-on-Sea. Even though the sun of last week has mostly deserted us, you can bet your bottom dollar that coastal ice cream vans and hot dog vendors will be doing a roaring trade.
I love many part of the UK coastline, but for a whole host of reasons you won’t catch me at the seaside this weekend – or on any future bank holiday for that matter.
For one thing, it’s a case of once bitten, twice shy. On the couple of occasions I did brave a bank holiday trip to the coast, the traffic was terrible and the crowds were worse. Golden sands (or indeed pebbles) and blue seas are all very well, but they aren’t worth a three-hour stint on the M3 or a battle over space to put down a towel. Fights between Mods and Rockers might be a thing of the past, but arguing about who can sit on which patch of shingle can easily turn nasty.
There is a cost question too. Given the price of petrol and of rail travel, if you don’t live within an hour of a beach, even the act of getting there will set you back a fair whack. A day return for me to go to Bournemouth by train would cost over 70 quid – and that’s if I don’t mind leaving the family at home (not impossible). The heyday of budget airline travel is certainly over, but if you’re canny and book ahead, a random day trip abroad might not cost you a great deal more.
Most critically, perhaps, is the state of Britain’s coastal waters. Last year, sewage was released into our seas and waterways for a total of 1.9 million hours. The good news is that this was a 48 per cent reduction on the year before – but mainly because we had drier weather rather than because of vastly improved infrastructure. Water companies insist they are working hard to build a system that has greater capacity to manage the nation’s sewage and unpredictable rainfall – but I’ve heard too many tales of people cresting waves next to a floating turd to feel wildly confident.
A recent analysis by travel site Locals Insider suggests that 5 per cent of England’s designated bathing waters are effectively “no-go areas” for swimmers – including Dymchurch in Kent, Scarborough South Bay and Haverigg in Cumbria. I suppose that at least means 95 per cent of bathing spots are not designated “poor” by the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs – but I won’t be taking my chances.
Perhaps I’m just grumpy because the nearest bit of coastline to my house is about 50 miles away. I probably still wouldn’t fancy a dip in the chilly, sewagey swirl – but proximity might at least make more me likely to have a sunny snooze in the dunes.
As it is, I will be staying close to home this bank holiday. If I fancy an ice cream, I’ll get one from Tesco’s; and if the sun shines, I will catch some rays in my garden, or at least within walking distance of my house. And if the weather turns chilly, as the forecasters have predicted, then there is always the snooker world championship final on television. Now, that’s a British May bank holiday institution I can get on board with. Cues, not queues; baize over bays; and without a floating poo in sight.