Anderby Creek is, according to its website, Lincolnshire’s hidden coastal gem. Or, to quote Julia, it’s “like the places we used to go in the sixties”. Even the name makes it sound like an Enid Blyton story.
The website admits to having five caravan parks and a chalet park, so I’m not quite sure what it will be like in summer – but I’m guessing that the word “unspoilt”, as used on their website, is relative. They are, however, free from amusement arcades and night clubs, though there is a cafe, a couple of shops, a pub, a Cloud Bar and a car park. In the high season I imagine it’s a badly heated version of hell.
Out of season, as one a warmish spring evening, it was a very acceptable way of spending an hour on the beach taking pictures and thinking of chips.
I didn’t go up to the top deck due to my creaky knee and a deeply held belief I didn’t need to see more sand. Julia went up because she’s more adventurous than me – they have mirrors for looking at clouds and information boards. Each to his own.
I liked the poem on the goose silhouettes, though I’m not sure why they didn’t use cloud shapes.
It’s part of a series of structures along the coast – Structures on the Edge. This is the second we’ve seen, though we didn’t realise at the time. The wave-like screen we saw at Frampton Marsh is actually one, called Reflector. I don’t have a photo, because it’s on the card I lost.
On the way to the beach we’d passed several sets of telegraph wires covered in hundreds of Starlings so we kept a lookout as the sun went down, and weren’t disappointed when three groups of Starlings started to whirl around the sky. It wasn’t a massive murmuration, but it was one, and there were just two of us to see it. The picture only shows one of the three flocks, by the time they’d joined up I couldn’t get a decent shot.
As I said to Julia, I may have my faults, but how many husbands would lay on a murmuration especially for their wife.
Then we went for chips.