Storm Francis came over last night, was pretty solid but passed through by late morning, so I wander down to the beach.

The car park is sheltered, and quite pleasant. On the beach, the wind is still very strong, in the gusts you’re struggling to stand up, the sand is whipping across, squalls of rain and spray, RNLI have the red flags out, it’s a very high tide and the sea is rough. It’s quiet when I get there, I’m one of the few hardy souls out and we’re all dressed for the conditions. By the time I’ve walked along the beach and back, got my feet wet, the rain has stopped and people are turning up.

I find myself exchanging wry smiles with the RNLI team as we laugh at people trying to put beach tents and blankets out, got to admire the tenacity of Brits on holiday I suppose.

As I go back into the car park, folk are heading over the dunes in droves, many carrying body boards for their kids, why they’re thinking it’ll be good to do that with a 40 knot wind I’m not sure, but one family, carrying said gear and obviously adventurous, then proceed to mask up as they need to go in the loo. One of them loses their mask in the wind and borrows one off the mother…

I head into the village to grab some lunch from the cafe. It’s like I’ve stepped into a scene from a Radio 4 play. Home Counties accents and John Lewis clothes aplenty. I overhear one lady complaining that they’re serving Almond Milk latte but the cakes aren’t vegan.

In an hour, I’ve been in the pretty wild outdoors, I’ve seen people determined to risk exposure on a storm battered beach, whilst others daren’t use a public toilet for fear of getting a virus that isn’t likely to be hanging around in a gale. Then i hear a complaint you could only get in a cosseted society.

I suppose it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry these days, but it feels very strange to me!