Non-Fiction Travel Writing - Hastings

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July 14th

Tumultuous trip to Hastings, three-and-a-half hour car journey which can only be compared to a paralysed snail's expedition up a particularly high wall. Gridlock and pandemonium awaited us on the M25, as the throng of south-bound holiday-makers and the hoi polloi of London-based office drones collided like mighty armies, the traffic swarming like an ant colony around the busy metropolis of the capital. This onslaught of vociferous office workers and strident sightseers created tension within our small family vehicle, so I settled down to sleep out the remainder of our difficult drive.

After an extended period of repose in our admirable hotel rooms, the ceremonial matriarchal complaints about the most inconsequential of matters, several cups of tea (another complaint from mother here), and some intrepid exploration of the somewhat gargantuan hotel, we set out on the invigorating coastal walk to the abode of my cousins. The sea breezes are quite revitalizing at this time of year, although the shrill shrieking of frolicking toddlers somewhat corrupted the idyllic atmosphere.
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I enjoyed a hearty (and delectable) evening meal, a good 'catch-up' with the family, and a tad too much alcohol, said our goodbyes, and hailed a taxi to return us to our luxurious, yet temporary new domicile. I slept like a lethargic Viking that night, and awoke the following morning with a slight headache, yet still eager to experience the hustle and bustle of this family-oriented seaside settlement.

July 15th

I deemed the Full English breakfast I consumed this morning my best for quite some time, a drastic improvement on the over-fried carcinogenic fodder I am ...

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