A Day in Eastbourne

Monday, 29 February 2016

On the last day of August, when our skin still sparkled with summer and we thought the world was ours, we jumped in the car and drove down to the south coast. We ambled around Eastbourne, my camera at the ready and mum, dad, brother and labradoodle in tow. The English seaside is a strange place and Eastbourne is no exception. Palm trees line its promenade, like a lazy drumroll to the pier and pebble beach. Elderly couples who’ve long run out of things to say sit on shiny white benches and stare out to sea. A bag lady with a bigger bag of pennies bangs and curses at the windows of an arcade game; if she makes enough noise, the burly bouncer might even escort her off the premises! Garish typography and pastel paint make up for lost sunshine. It’s so ordinary that it’s actually sort of exotic; so naff that it’s charming. Really, it’s Brighton: only less eccentric, more geriatric, with fewer gay couples and more mobility scooters. But it’s the kind of place that can convince you that fish and chips, slush puppies, and candyfloss constitute a balanced diet, and that’s good enough for me.

eastbourne polaroid


eastbourne polaroid

eastbourne polaroid

polaroid of eastbourne pier

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