By the seaside...

Normally I am shorn every 5 or so weeks. With 7+ weeks having passed since the last cut, I finally bit the bullet and made an appointment at the local Clifton hairdresser. This required some courage and faith. To subject what little hair I have to an unknown scissor-wielder was a scary prospect. The cut was fine but of particular interest was our conversation - which linked to comments my perceptive friend HB had made on her blog some days back. 
http://www.harvestbird.com/blog/2010/03/05/the-house-thats-on-our-nose/

 
HB had observed:

The thing that struck me about seaside kitsch in the UK was the extent to which people were enjoying it, the way in which it was an intractable part of the day at the beach. To New Zealand eyes it seemed to be impairing access to the key feature: the coast, the beach, but for the people from the provincial towns, it’s as if it were the beach!

As always my 3-month residence prompted curiosity and wide-ranging discussion. At some point, quite unbidden, the young hairdresser mentioned the English seaside and the fact that, because the sea is far too cold for swimming, a visit to the coast is synonymous (for her) with amusement arcades, fish & chips on the pier and suchlike. Thus confirming HB's hypothesis!

It reminds me of a visit to Brighton in 1979 when I was welcomed with several G&Ts and then whisked off to the Brighton Pavilion whose surreal splendour I passed through in an alcoholic haze...