Returning to Pevensey Bay by bike in search of an old friend, Beachlands Estate, a mini maze of homes developed between 1937 and the 1960s.
Predominantly bungalows, simple brick and concrete construction, linked by laid concrete roads, bordered by grass verges.
Once the province of East End migrants, happily escaping the City’s pull, now the playground of a newer Beachlanded gentry.
Over time they have been remade and remodelled in the owners image, no two are the same, few retain the original clean flat roofed lines and slim, elegant window frames.
This is the land of salty uPVC pragmatism, enlarged hydrangea, wishing well, wobbly picket, forecourt four by four, and lightly tilted windmill.
It’s easy to become disorientated here, service vehicles enter, soon stopping to ask the residents:
“Where are we?”
We are in an informal land of endless summers, slower time.
The seaside refuses to behave, a mild sense of anarchy prevails.
Take a walk around these houses, breathe in the sea air, relax – take your socks off, you’ll never leave.