retiredmartin

July 2024. Clacton-on-Sea.

Not much enthusiasm for the election last Thursday, except in coastal Essex, where posters advertising the arrival of Sir Nigel Farage greet you in Greater Clacton.

Nigel may be heading back to the States before he’s even had time to open the Jaywick fête, but it seems he’s already boosted the town’s profile if these (suspiciously identical) Booking.com prices for next Saturday are anything to go by.

Three fairly perennial Guide entries in Clacton, none of them on this blog.

I go where others fear to tread, a long overdue visit to the Tendring peninsula, which covers all bases from prim Frinton to up-and-coming Jaywick.

My tick wasn’t quite coastal, Great Holland an irritating mile from the sea amongst a straggle of villages whose pubs have been converted to curry houses and Chinese takeaways to service the culinary needs of residents of the ancient almshouses.

Great Holland’s Ship, the only allowed name for a pub round here, has just been rescued by the community, just like nearby Great Oakley. It’s a sure-fire way to get a Guide entry.

“Community pub” brings visions of inoffensive decor,

a warm welcome to all,

and a low-key gentlefolk dining operation.

Which is present and correct, but the welcome from staff,

and locals round the bar (nice Chas and Dave hat, Sir), and cool (cold, really), foamy NBSS 3.5 pint of Colchester win me over. Under £4 a pint, too.

The chat is of how frequently each of them visit the pub they co-own, and how much they drink when they come. I have a sixth sense that some villagers like the concept of a community pub rather than the reality.

“Ideal weather for pubs !” says one, noting the latest downpour bringing folk scuttling to the door.

Oddly, one chap walks towards me and says “You alright if I open the door a bit ?“, which makes me think I’d left it open, but it’s actually really muggy despite the showers. I felt part of the pub.

I leave them discussing the merits of Tiger bread, and admire the village for the statutory 15 minutes, starting with the famous abandoned car.

All Saints is down a dead-end lane,

which is my preferred situation for a church but does tend to draw attention to you through net curtains, as you clearly aren’t off for a wander to visit Clacton Carpets or the Karate Club, the only other enterprises in Great Holland.

Don’t worry ladies, I didn’t steal the golden eagle,

or damage your wonderful stained glass windows.

But if you’re really worried you can always have a word with Nigel about improving CCTV when he returns to his Clacton office.