1 . Bournemouth in Dorset has always been my favourite seaside town. When I was growing up, Mum and Dad didn’t have much money, but they’d saved enough for a few days in Bournemouth. I was four years old at the time. I don’t actually remember much about the trip, apart from being devastated when we had to leave. Mum said I fell in love with the place and insisted on waving goodbye to the sea when it was time to go. So I grew up believing Bournemouth was a wonderful place.

Forty years on, my wife and I returned for a week’s break. I was nervous, wondering if I’d be able to bring back that delight I’d felt as a child. I needn’t have worried. We had a fantastic time. It helped that the British weather had decided to provide us with high temperatures and plenty of sun. But it was Bournemouth that kept me spellbound, making me feel like a child again.

Bournemouth and its neighbour, Boscombe, are always busy, alive with chatter, music and other lively sounds. But as we stepped into Boscombe Chine Gardens, all the noise faded away. A sense of peace spread through us as we meandered along the paths, delighting in the squirrels climbing up and down the trees and the bright colours of the pretty plants.

One morning, we made a short trip to Poole Quay and took the ferry to Brownsea Island. Owned by the National Trust, it’s a feast for the eyes, from its mock Tudor entrance, to the many peacocks walking around, to the magnificent views of the sun sparkling on the shining waters and boats bobbing up and down, seen from the island’s highest point.

Before we knew it, it was time to return home—but not before waving goodbye to the sea.