Prestatyn in November

Prestatyn, it turns out, is a town of contrasts: a sheltered avenue of trees



and then a mill-pond (the mill, alas, tucked away behind 'No Admittance' notices) with dirty-looking ducks.


Then another walk down another lane and a school - peering through the windows I saw children with their hands up and I had the odd feeling I was truanting from life, doing nothing, just walking, or maybe trespassing


through a hushed estate of houses which added to my sense that I really shouldn't be here, that I should have something else I should be doing


then into town and its interesting vernacular architecture of old-time inns

and public houses, and chapels


converted so easily into curry houses; the arches above windows conveniently close to the curves of an Indian temple, and the listing of evening service and morning Sunday School quickly replaced - with the flick of a sign-painter's wrist - to the prices of a good tandoori.

Ah, Prestatyn dreams of being hot


with palm trees and lidos and beach huts which seem sadder still under grey skies and the cold damp air of November.


But still, there is the soul-soaring loneliness of the beach,


a glorious emptiness of pale sand


with the impressions of waves set hard enough to turn my ankle. And as I limped from them I thought again of all the ripples I have seen preserved in sandstone, and that moment: the one when something catastrophic happens, when everything changes - a sudden shift of the tide - and these tiny undulations are fixed, like these could be now.

Ha, back to the end of the world...

Which takes me, quite neatly to this.


Pontins.


It is a shock to come upon it and a shock to see how far it stretches behind its prison-like perimeter. Its resemblance to secure accommodation is striking. Are the bars to keep people out - or in? I imagined a few months from now: the noise, the enforced jollity, the group entertainments and the organisers with their determined grins.

But for more than half the year Prestatyn lives without it. Half the year the parks are empty


and life can continue unguarded.


Back in the town there is the bustle and cheer of a thriving and affluent place. The shops are full. The faces smile. Maybe it is a little like blanking out pain or grief. It is there - but there is no need to dwell on it.