Heatwave

Beach Journal 23rd June 2026

West Pier, Brighton. 9am. 25°C and rising. Sunny, some cloud, feeling very warm. Tide going out.

It’s Tuesday, cloudy and a bit grey when I walk down to the beach. Any other day I might think rain would come later but weather maps of Europe have turned to a dark red and the heatwave is on it’s way here.

The city traffic is a steady stream of noise pierced by occasional sirens. I dodge taxis that don’t like to stop for pedestrians and take narrow streets down to the West Pier.

I’m surprised that the shore isn’t streaked with sunbathers already. Instead there’s a line of people paddling along the edge of the water. The gulls have taken up their usual spot on the slope and are soaking up the early summer heat.

A small group of swimmers are chatting in the water. Occasionally one separates off with arms reaching out, rolling over in the gentle waves before rejoining the group.

I take a snap of the gulls and people on the beach which has a sort of bleached out quality. It reminds me of holiday pictures from the 70s where the colour fades into an atmosphere, a mood.

In the short time I’m at the beach, it gets hotter. The air feels heavy despite being by the sea. I take off my low tops and step into the shallow water. I’m shocked by the cold at first on my hot skin, but the water softens into a refreshing bath. I go in up to my knees before the stones get so sharp that I retreat. The shingle is warming as I sit to let my legs dry in the sun.

As a child I remember warming my bare feet on the hot paving, sitting on uneven slabs hunting for ladybirds in the flower bed, feeling the heat on my bare legs. When I was a teenager, I would take a towel out into the garden and lay out like a lizard, absorbing the heat until I feel asleep face down onto my book.

As it is, the heat of the city will turn out to be a challenge for me for the next couple of days. I don’t revel in the heat in my 50s and my south facing, top floor flat is like a greenhouse in summer. (As it turns out, the temperature and humidity will rise so remarkably, that most people in the UK don’t do particularly well.)

Over the rest of the week I avoid the beach and the city centre. If I have to go out I stay in the shade, choose a tree lined road. I stop to cool off in the air conditioned bookshop. I go slower. Luxuries I think, as another ambulance wails past.

But the coast draws hundreds of visitors every day in the hot weather, swimmers in the early morning, friends gathering after work and couples walking at sunset, holding their shoes and each other. Summer at the beach can be beautiful.