Today the Grand Pier at Weston burned down. (This is slightly regional, so forgive my indulgence.)
First let me state that nobody was hurt, so I was surprised by the fact that I am so saddened by this story. It has probably been 4-5 years since I last went and I am currently living over 200 miles away. Chances are it would have been another 5 years before I returned, but this pier is pretty much a staple part of my childhood holiday memories.
I spent almost every one of my childhood holidays in Brean, the next bay along, so Weston was the “Big Town” to go to on days out. Goodness knows how much of my pocket money left me on that pier, not to mention the coins that dropped between the floorboards into the mud below. Then as an adult, I drove to Weston and had donuts on the peir the evening that I got my driving licence and I can remember taking my son onto the pier and playing Air Hockey, video games, and getting sick on candy floss and toffee apples.
It was bad enough when I found out that they had closed the Tropicana! But for the pier to be gone makes me more than a little sad. Now that I live away from where I grew up, it seems like every time I go back another slice of my childhood has been consigned to my memories alone, and in the process of
my therapy writing this blog post I think I have determined why the story saddened me. It is not because we have lost a historic and arguable quite aesthetically pleasing building, nor is it empathy to the loss experienced by those that work there etc … It is something far more simple … far more selfish …
It is making me feel very old and I don’t like it.
hmm … not sure I’m overly proud of that discovery, as it does make me
seem rather shallow