Don’t Live Here! I came to Hunstanton for a ‘peaceful retirement in a Victorian seaside town’.
Built and designed from scratch by the Lord of the Manor – a ‘Mr Le Strange’. It has over the years evolved from the picturesque splendour of a retreat for the well heeled Victorians of London, seeking the health benefits of relaxation, bathing exercise and sea air. A stone’s throw from Queen Victoria’s Royal Retreat of Sandringham it soon exploited the fact, prospered then rapidly grew into the splendour that can occasionally be seen in parts of the town today.
Fast forward a few years and the town now has a population of about 5000 – divided into 4 distinct human groups –
- The left behind natives – (born and in-bred a-holes who think they own the place) on benefits or seasonal income, low income, low intelligence, poorly educated, poorly skilled, compensated for with an inflated ego and propensity to violence.
- Summer visitors enjoying a family caravan holiday or simply ‘a day out’ exhibiting their tawdry fashions in their perambulations around town.
- Thunderous motorcycle trippers ridden by anti-social, incel arseholes or ancient ‘Easy Rider’ fantasists.
- And finally – the ‘grey ghost retirees trying to end their days somewhere quiet’ – whose money keeps the town afloat.
Over the last 150 years the Victorian splendour has gone, the gentility has gone – Hunstanton like many seaside towns is a overrun with ne’er-do-wells, thugs, druggies, motorcycles. The architecture and layout are cruel reminders of its once proud past- stay away! It’s finished.
