A Weekend in Weston-super-Mare

Last week I was assigned by the St Dunstan's Review, after a discussion with their editor, to write a piece on the Lauriston Hotel, a hotel for visually impaired people located in Weston-super-Mare. Lucky for me, this little seaside town in the Westcountry is also the home of my blog-fabulous friend Sam who I had not seen since before my trip to Australia. So, once Friday rolled around, I set off on the National Express with my laptop, SLR, dictation machine, notebook and pen and copy of Michael Palin's New Europe, on the M4 and out of London. I arrived late in the evening and, after dinner, set out to sample some of the nightlife of my home for the weekend with Sam, Alice and Mr G. My favourite part of the night was a cafe/art studio/live music venue called Loves. It was a cosy little place with live acoustic music, a friendly atmosphere and the winning combination of booze and home-made cakes. We sat on the top floor so that we could talk, in between the art displays and the book exchange. If this place was in London it would have already been ruined by the inevitable crowds of hipsters and extortionate prices, but in Weston-super-Mare, it was a gem.

The next day I accompanied Sam to the hotel in the morning to write my piece, photograph the building and interview the guests. The staff of the Lauriston, particularly the lovely ladies in housekeeping, were fantastic and made me feel more like a new friend than a jobbing writer. After she had finished her shift and I had refused the advances of a group of 'lads on tour' nursing their hangovers, we took advantage of the afternoon sunshine and walked around the town. I always have a romantic vision about growing up by the seaside of long, sunkissed childhoods and wholesome teenage parties on the beach - I grew up in a city then moved to a city, so really had little experience beyond day trips. It was so great to walk along a beach, eat ice cream, watch children taking donkey rides and sift through stall after stall of little boxes covered in shells and souvenirs. That evening, Sam, Mr G and I went for a delicious dinner at The Red Cow, before returning back to the house to hang out with Alice, Iza, Nicki and Xav and drink a little more Westcountry cider.

So this will always be the story of my very first travel writing commission - it wasn't Zanzibar or Peru - but I had a fabulous time and suspect it will be the first of many trips to Weston-super-Mare.