In the 18th century, doctors prescribed a trip to the seaside for those suffering from tuberculosis, fever, hysteria, and melancholia. It was thought that the sea air was more oxygenated and that the cold sea water would shock the patient back into a state of revitalised health. Even drinking the sea water was said to have benefits, a belief dating back to Galen and Hippocrates.
The sound of waves crashing and the sight of gentle ripples on the shore ought to heal the mind as well as the body. In short, the seaside was a cure for most ailments. “The fresh air just made me exhausted” What a load of waffle.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve hated the beach. The feeling of sand in your toes, in your sandwich and in your hair. The seagulls swooping down to snatch your overpriced chips.
The bitterness of the sea as you’re dunked in by an older relative. I’ve never liked ice cream, or fish, or searching for winkles. I’ve always felt that the “luxury” of living next to the coast was wasted on me.
The fresh air just made me exhausted. However, with less than three weeks until I moved back to this landlocked city, I felt as though I was suffering from hysteria from being stuck in the same place all summer, from turning twenty, from my mother’s silent treatment, I decided to give the beach another go. It was a better historical alternative to a lobotomy, anyway.
“Usually found in South America, these common marmosets were now honorary Geordies” After an hour-lon.