Spring had been and gone by the
time I got myself sorted and ventured out of the hotel on Saturday. It was
blazingly hot and every Londoner and his dog had migrated to Bournemouth to
enjoy the sunshine; perhaps some were relaxing after the big match that day. I
fancied an ice cream and took to the beach; but queues for these sorts of shops
were massive. After a walk round the pier and watching people zipline off towards
the beach; I decided to walk alongside the sea to as far as Boscombe to try and
find an ice cream vendor that didn’t have a massive queue. Along the coastal
path I was passed by the famous land train and cyclists on novelty bicycles
that were done out like giant motorbikes. The gaps between kiosks got shorter
and shorter, but the lines just got longer. Eventually I reached Boscombe and
got in line for the next vendor I saw. I queued for twenty minutes and the line
didn’t seem to be moving. But it was worth it; I got a double scoop of
Jaffa-cake flavoured ice cream.
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