There is something truly wonderful about living on the coast, and indeed most of my fondest memories (and albeit some pretty pants memories too) have taken place to the sound of waves crashing and gulls gulling. Barbecues and bonfires, numerous first kisses, hilarious drunken escapades, film making, song writing, it's all happened along the coasts of England, Wales and Japan.
I never feel more at peace than when wandering along the seafront, my nostrils filled with salty air and the maritime breeze billowing through my hair. It really is magical.
City life is great; sociable, musical and bustling with life, but I inevitably find myself succumbing to claustrophobia. Too many people, too much noise, and nowhere near enough manners. I genuinely can't deal with inner city life for any length of time; my recent adventure teaching in Leicester Square proved that to me. Sure, the job was great, and spending some quality time with old friends was a lovely respite. The stellar night out at a dingy Mexican club will also stick with me for years to come. But all in all I simply find the city far too constricting. I hate the crush of people, and as I grow older am finding it more and more difficult to stifle panic attacks during rush hour on the underground.
By the sea, however, I feel at home. The freshness of the air seems to make everyone's troubles dissipate, leaving a happier, friendlier populous with a genuinely more chilled outlook on life. Down here, we have the music, the theatre and the food, and you know what? It's half the price of Soho.
So keep your tube, keep your double-deckers, and give me the beachy life. 'Cause you sure as heck can't go paddling in the Thames.
No comments:
Post a Comment