Shore Thing

The proof is in the pudding, right? Well, consider this – I had a temperature of a 100 and over, I was feverish, sweating and sneezing like someone with plague, and yet I still LOVED Bournemouth...

But if that weren’t enough, the January weekend I chose to go was cold and stormy.

Yet who cares? When your beach of golden sand is almost seven miles long, you can be forgiven anything.

Plus, throw in a terrific nightlife of bars, clubs and restaurants, as well as a train journey from Oxford of just two hours – no changes – and frankly you’ve got an unbeatable recipe for fun, sand-in-your-shoes and childhood dreams revisited.

But just why the beach in January?! Well that was the point of my weekend away; to prove the irrelevance of weather when your destination is, to all intents and purposes, weather-proof (at least for adults).

In fact, resorts like Bournemouth – and trust me, they are few and far between – while lovely in summer are somehow ‘enhanced’ by rain, sleet and sub-zero temperatures. So much so that the simple act of walking along a shore becomes a classic BBC period drama, converting a ‘gust’ into a ‘squall’, a ‘gale’ into a ‘storm’ and a roll of thunder, miles off shore, into an aurora borealis of lightning bolts.

Which meant when I arrived at around noon on Saturday, the dark clouds and ice-cold front stabbing in from the sea made for a perfect reception.

Staying at the Park Central Hotel, quite literally a stone’s throw from the beach, I lunched first at Harry Ramsden’s, about 200 yards from the breaking surf, before strolling off for two or three hours towards Sandbanks and Studland Bay. Wrapped tightly in four layers, with a furry hat to boot, it was invigorating rather than chilling, although the onset of my cold left every limb aching after this saunter across the sand.

But when the sun did finally break through in short, narrow shards, the beach seemed to... ignite.

Fiery and stunning, it warmed my path back, and two or three Horses Necks (cognac and ginger ale) later, I sat, staring out from the window seat in my room, completely content, watching the light dim and encroaching darkness glow.

I ate that night at the hotel’s Crab Restaurant, and very chic it was too, but I could have eaten out at any number of decent joints as the city is rather spoilt for choice.

Next morning, and my temperature creeping ever upwards, it was back to the beach and pier (a mere four-minute amble from the hotel).

The weather was, to say the least, bracing, with every blush of warmth whipped away by a knife-edge breeze, but it was impossible not to feel energised by the beach, the sun and the cry of the gulls... (see what I mean about period dramas?).

And so to finish – and hopefully stay alive too despite the shivers and sweats – I took afternoon tea at the Norfolk Royale Hotel, just 10 minutes from the sea front and a little like Downton Abbey but in a polka dot bikini. From 5pm onwards, having used wine to slow down the infection, I collapsed on to my sea-view bed, happy, near death and surrounded by tissues. Had I’d been well, it would have changed little, save for the strange looks people gave me as I sneezed continually in the resort’s small oceanarium.

* HOW I GOT THERE: Cross Country trains. And it was slick too. Two hours, station to station, no changes, clean, almost prim even, and just £52 return.

crosscountrytrains.co.uk. In the summer, it means if you leave Oxford on a Saturday around 7.30am, you’ll be on the beach by 10am. Who could resist?

WHERE I STAYED: parkcentralhotel.co.uk Call 01202 203600 Facebook: facebook.com/pages/ Park-Central-Hotel-Bournemouth Price guide per night in February: A special winter promotion of £69 BB, an average room rate £103 BB for classic double outside the summer months WHERE I ATE: Harry Ramsden’s. Perfect, quaint and great value. harryramsdens.co.uk/bournemouth. 01202 295818 The Norfolk Royale Hotel. Afternoon tea, is spectacular. Richmond Hill, BH2 6EN.

Call 01202 551 521.

norfolk-royale.co.uk