Bournemouth- this heavenly seaside resort.

Bournemouth- this heavenly seaside resort.

Yesterday Bournemouth dozed sleepily in the remarkable heatwave of this long and beautiful British summer. For hour upon hour the sun settled in the most cloudlessly cobalt blue sky, resting and slumbering, simmering and sizzling in some of the highest temperatures ever recorded in modern meteorological history. Some of us could hardly believe what we were experiencing and feeling because quite frankly none of us could have seen this one coming. There was though again the element of surprise  reinforced by a wonderful sense of the unexpectedness.

But on quite a stunning early Sunday afternoon on the palm fringed promenades of this quiet and genteel Dorset jewel, the good people of  Dorset flooded the beaches of Bournemouth and Boscombe in a staggering mass of humanity. This is rapidly developing into the hottest and warmest summer since 1976. Comparisons will never be sufficient but 2018 has certainly gone a long way to equalling if not surpassing its deeply satisfying radiance and enduring beauty.

For as far as the eye could see Bournemouth was bathed in an impossibly glorious haze of summer sun that gradually gathered in strength and intensity as the day progressed. This had been only my second visit to Bournemouth's bejewelled necklace of blue and white, shimmering seas, gently rolling breakers with large swathes of people joyously splashing in endless, blameless waters.

From early morning to late tea time at roughly 5pm in the afternoon the whole world and the entire population of Bournemouth seemed to descend on this timeless and loveliest of seaside resorts. The British have always held an affectionate spot for long, hot summers by the sea-side where the paddling populace mixed easily with the more intrepid swimmers who fancied their chances. But this was no competition because yesterday British seaside makers just embraced their summer with the most heartfelt hug of love.

This was quite the most unique and compelling of spectacles. Very rarely have we seen the British so recklessly immersing themselves in an atmosphere they were probably convinced they'd never ever see again. More quickly than ever before they packed that vast carpet of Bournemouth's famous beaches with the delighted squeals of joy more commonly associated with kids on the first day of their six week summer holiday.

Wherever you looked along the entire stretch of yellow thick sand there were enormous umbrellas, sun parasols, discreet screens and thousands of families gingerly hopping across the sand and tip toeing over hot sand dunes with a fair degree of caution because it must surely have felt like jumping over hot coals. By lunchtime some of the kids looked as though they'd exhausted themselves, as if ready to re-charge batteries ready for the afternoon session.

Then there were the kids inflatable animals liberally scattering the whole of the beach like the colourful candy floss and ice-creams that must have been selling like- in a manner of speaking-  the traditional ice-cream along the Bournemouth front. It did seem that by the afternoon the temperature must have been nudging the 90s because some of us were beginning to suffer severe sun burn.

In the distance there were huge inflatable ducks bobbing carelessly on both the sand and sea, pink swans and flamingos in similar inflatable attire. Far out at sea speedboats tore around in ever increasing circles while more thoughtful yachts lazed languidly in a state of absolute contentment. Suddenly you felt the British had been released from their inevitable daily routines, exposing well concealed wintry flesh to the warm, record breaking sunshine that had been blazing down on them for much longer than any of them could possibly remember.

Everywhere you looked there were otherwise conservative men in working suits whipping off their buttoned up shirts and expressing relief, elation and delight in equal measure. For Bournemouth is, essentially, quite a wealthy, well to do seaside resort, oozing respectability, middle class gentility and a faint air of worldliness. Of course there are those who  will insist this is not the case for Bournemouth is simply a seaside resort that likes to do things with a touch of class. And why shouldn't it?

For years of course Bournemouth was for a number of years the venue for the party political conference where the combined forces of Conservative, Labour and Liberal Democrats came to air their grievances, gossiping furiously about their rivals obvious deficiencies and humiliating incompetence. The critics and cynics would tell us that Bournemouth has a faded grandeur about it, a tired, old fashioned look, drabness and dowdiness in every brick of its Victorian hotel and guest house.

But then you notice something quite eye catching on the Bournemouth pier. Bournemouth is quite spectacular. Right at the end of the pier there was that very modern de rigeur of sights. It's called the zip wire and a zip wire was the chosen method of transport of a certain Boris Johnson who took a shine to it when he was Mayor of London. The amusing sight of London's mayor hanging precariously on a slender piece of wire still leaves us with  an unrestrained chuckle in our throats.

Still there they were gladly whizzing down at a rate of knots speeding across the sky like those adventurous parachutists who love nothing better than that wondrous feeling of freedom in the air. At the far end of the pier there was the timelessly tiny fairground that has undoubtedly transported generations of children into some dizzying fantasy land.

Now the eye was cast irresistibly to the massive Observation Wheel. The Observation Wheel has dominated the London landscape since the beginning of the 21st century, a splendid piece of engineering and design that remains one of the most extraordinary pieces of architecture in our times.

The Observation Wheel is a big, white wheel that looks like a ferris wheel appearing as if it belongs more aptly at a summer fairground. Now Bournemouth has its very own Observation Wheel, something that the thousands of tourists who converge on the South Coast will rub their eyes with fascination at as they watch this vivid tourist magnet slowly wend its way around the magical coastline.

And yet the lasting sound of yesterday's day in the Bournemouth sun will be that of screaming, excited, excitable children, yelling and whooping for the thousandth time of the day, Indian families  dipping their feet tentatively into small puddles of water, more kids with more inflatables grabbing hold of their possessions and then running full pelt into the Dorset waters.

From time to time the summer peace was suddenly disturbed by loud, cautionary warnings from tannoy speakers. All bathers were reminded that at no point should they venture too far out to sea because this was a blatant violation of health and safety. Every so often men in red and yellow life jackets would rush out to the edge of sea to attend to a child in minor distress. Then the kids were told that they had to stay within direct view of their parents in case they drifted away and temporarily lost mum and dad.

The hours seem to fly past for some of us and before we'd had time to enjoy yet another hour or so of pleasant watching the world go by, it was time to pack up for the day with now the almost obligatory ice cream and family pizza. After an almost effortless stroll through the pleasure gardens, the birds, parrots and parakeets of Bournemouth at her most natural and unspoilt, it was time to depart this sceptred isle where the sun gradually and reluctantly sunk, the sultry heat of the day now a distant memory.

If it sounds as though I may be waxing overly lyrical about bracing Bournemouth then I make no apology. For a moment you looked up at that soft, blissfully benevolent blue sky and thought of Dorset's greatest poet and hugely celebrated classic author. You wondered whether the spirit of Thomas Hardy was still lurking behind one of its playful souvenir shops or the historic pier alive with its resonant one armed bandits, ringing noughts and crosses machines and more machines that shunt out hundreds of tickets.

Oh we love the British seaside resorts where all the cares of the world are forgotten and summer becomes a rich tableaux of picnics, hampers, family fun, food and drink and not forgetting the sweet music from summers gone by. Bournemouth began to nestle peacefully on the horizon, elusive swallows and gulls darting and diving daringly into a hundred human chip packets. It is the way Bournemouth has always conducted itself, always doing it the way it's always done it.

One morning we shall wake up and find that this memorable summer has now gone for a while, like a bright, translucent light that suddenly disappears. But we'll fondly remember 2018 because just for a few months it really was a scorcher, a real humdinger of a summer. The sun kept shining for day after day although it may have gone in from time to time. It seemed to shine incessantly and continuously, properly and impressively with perhaps the occasional shower to cool everybody down. Mungo Jerry had it absolutely right about the summertime.