26th-28th August 2006 Bank Holiday Weekend in Paignton

I had intended to get into character either as either

(1) The lone adventurer who enters into several unexpected and rather surreal episodes involving commandeering tractors, taking cover behind hay-stacks to avoid 'warning shots' from an old blunderbuss, defending remote lighthouses by hurling old cabbages from the parapet; and generally hop, skipping and jumping through various turns of events

or

(2) the whistful dreamer, disappearing into ethereal fogs blown inland from the sea, taking walks along delapidated piers or acrross wind-swepped pebble-beeches, meeting beautiful women in elaborate coats and scarfs engaged in acts of kindness (for instance, freeing small children from rusty man-traps, or wading in to help old men out of sinking barnacled rowing-boats)

but neither really could apply, and I felt very much more awkward than before when spending time in my own company: really rather a lost scarecrow.

I did however take some trips out, which I shall now present in outline.

Day 1

On the advice of my father I took the nostalgic steam train from Paignton to Kingswear. On board the packed carriages a girl of about seven and her mother were relating thier attemps to claw a soft-toy from a fairground machine, and how, despite being so very near to bringing it to it's liberty, the claw had inexplicably failed to thier bemusement, on repeated occasions. (The proprieters really ought to get the mechanism fixed!)

Although the hollidaymakers had been taking thier seats on the train for the duration of the previous hour, quite a number alighted at the first stop, Goodrington Sands, which must have only been a mile distant. The journey is quite a pretty one with views both of the sea and some wholesome countryside, and because the train trundles along at not much more than a few dozen miles an hour there is plenty of time to see them.

Breaking out at Kingswear was the sort of group anxiety, although kept under furrowed brows and clenched handbags, that grips human beings no matter whether they are waiting in line for the next bread ration, or as part of a holiday itninerary intended to be for enjoyment. There was a regatta (and running race, fairground etc.) taking place on the Dartmouth side of the river, and the crowds of people from the train were made aware that they were going to have to queue to meet one of the two ferries making the small crossing. The English are supposed to be renowned for thier ability to queue. Although I do still see evidence for quiet manners and reserve (at least compared to some barabrous activity that I have met abroad), it is unfortunately not a very good generalisation for the current age. The degree to which English manners are now evidenced is dependent on the anxiety of the person or the group and because people are so now often in a rush to get to places, and have a low tolerance threshold for cold and pain, there is often ugly behaviour, and the "do you mind if I just push in front of you" or "I am sorry but I am going to have to push in front of you" or a mere discrete sidling entry supposed to remain unoticed, is all too common. There were some impolite manoevres on the banks of the Dart and in the small lanes of Kingswear, and every inch of ground was coverted. Or perhaps I am exaggerating.