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Welcome to todays diary entry! We decided to make the most of the day today and have ourselves a proper full-scale day out – the kind where you leave the comfort of the site, board multiple modes of public transport, and hope for the best with the weather.
We started off by hopping on the bus to Starcross train station – which is a bit of an adventure in itself when you’re juggling a toddler, bags, and the vague feeling that you’ve forgotten something important. From there, we caught the train to Torquay, ready for a change of scenery and a wander.
Now, Torquay is an interesting one.
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Once upon a time, it was the jewel of the English Riviera – a classic seaside resort that attracted Victorian holidaymakers with its palm-lined promenades, genteel hotels, and sea air that was thought to cure all manner of ailments. People came in droves, dressed to the nines for their seaside breaks, taking paddle steamer rides and enjoying cream teas with the kind of quiet British pride that made you believe the sun always shone.
It was a playground for the well-to-do – even Agatha Christie was born there, and you can still follow a whole trail dedicated to her. Torquay had elegance, prestige, and a steady stream of visitors that kept it firmly on the holiday map for generations.
But times have changed. A bit.
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The main seafront is still lovely – really lovely, actually. Wide open views, little boats bobbing in the marina, kids playing on the beach, and palm trees giving it that faintly exotic vibe (at least until the clouds roll in). You can still see flashes of its former glory, and it’s not hard to imagine how glamorous it must’ve looked in its heyday.
But – and it’s a big but – once you start to wander away from that main strip, things start to feel a bit… peculiar. It’s like stepping through a portal into another world. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people simultaneously smoking roll-ups and shouting at pigeons. And I’ve spent time in Glasgow city centre.
There was a lot of loitering. A few too many “characters.” You know when you turn a corner and just instinctively tighten your grip on your belongings? That. It’s like someone took the classic British seaside town and added a dash of 3am on a Tuesday outside a Wetherspoons. Still charming in places, but definitely rough around the edges.
That said, we still had a brilliant day. Rory was in good spirits, and every time the rain threatened to start again (which it did, about once an hour), we simply ducked into a pub for a pint and a sit down. Not exactly cultural exploration, but definitely efficient wet-weather management.
There’s something cosy about that, actually – bouncing from one spot to the next, watching the weather through the windows while the locals argue about pool cues and whether it’s their round. And as always, Rory managed to charm half the room wherever we went.
But what’s really struck me today is how fast this holiday has gone. Blink, and it’s nearly over. We’ve only got a few more days left here before it’s back to the grind – inboxes, awning stock checks, endless cups of tea left to go cold. It’s wild how quickly you fall into a holiday rhythm, only to be yanked back out of it just as you’re really starting to exhale.
And then of course, once we’re back, it’ll be time to start thinking about what comes next. What we do at the end of the summer. Where we go. How we stretch this lifestyle out just a little bit longer. That quiet planning mode always starts kicking in around now.
But for today, it was trains, Torquay, and tiptoeing around rain showers with a pint in hand. A proper British seaside day out – weirdness and all.
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