There's a beach in London. Yeah, you heard me, a mother flipping beach. And I'm not talking about paddling in the Thames either (NB avoid). Ok, so there are no azure waves lapping against a tropical shoreline, nor is David Hasselhoff striding around in a pair of scarlet Speedos, but there is a massive great expanse of actual sand - proper fine white Caribbean-style sand! - and a tiki hut, deckchairs, buckets, spades, icepops and frozen margaritas. Let's be honest, the sea itself is overrated anyway; it's full of jellyfish and used nappies and man-eating sharks, so the Roundhouse did us all a favour by jettisoning the crap and just presenting us with the good bits, without the grumpy car journey and endless echoes of "are we there yet?" from the back seat.
Unfortunately when we arrived there were still a few anklebiters polluting the place and they'd stolen all the buckets and spades, the ungrateful little pint-sized gits. But it turns out that the humble plastic cup is a workable alternative. I'd dug half-way to Australia and created an impenetrable fort before the threat of an ocean storm sent us back to shore and we headed into ye olde Camden port for vittles. Those sea breezes don't half work you up an appetite. read more