Pier Perambulation

More aimless meanderings from last Sunday:

In striking contrast to the soul-sucking emotional bleakness and appalling plethora of chav tat festooning Great Yarmouth's piers (see last week's distressing photoblog), where they appear to have aimed for the lowest common denominator, missed it and kept on falling 'til they hit bottom, Southwold's pier is a refreshing oasis of Edwardian gentility.

For a start, the buildings on it are clean and they sell nice things like teas. There's nary a carnie or a pikey to be seen, and no greasy chippie! Woohoo!

All along the railings are nice little brass plaques commemorating folk who loved it here (or in some cases were actually conceived on or beneath the pier).

From a distance you can see how quaint and uncluttered it is, compared to the hideous Yarmouth piers, redolent as they are of Carnie-sweat, mingled with the stink of stale chip fat and vomit (you saw the photos so you know I'm not exaggerating) and aswarm with slot machines and racist seventies "comedians".
We get a different class of tourist here at Southwold, as witnessed by the polygamous Mormon family taking their hunchbacked child for a walk on the sand.

The locals fish off the end of the pier.

And with a view like this, it doesn't matter if they don't catch anything.

Halfway along the pier is this somewhat alarming contraption. It's a water clock … of sorts.


I'll leave you today with this happy pair of gents, trousers around their ankles, behaving as only the British do at the seaside.