I used to live in Clacton-on-Sea, one of the now-fading seaside resorts that Britain is well-known for. A place where you could buy candy floss and sticks of rock, play on the amusements on the pier and then have an ice cream while sitting in a deck chair on the beach, or rolling up your trouser legs and paddling in the chilly sea water. Now, it is no longer a thriving town, since the British would rather go to the sun of Spain, North Africa or Florida than freeze on a British beach.