If you want to enjoy the best people-watching this side of Capri, head to Hastings. Given that the primary purpose of this antediluvian pastime is to look on, smug in the knowledge that there are people more appalling than you, I venture that the East Parade of Hastings is Shangri-La. Hastings has the best high street in Britain, lined with real junk shops and AJ Hendy’s mock haberdashery. Incomers and bohemians, faux and otherwise, are desperate to distract us from the aggressively down-at-heel, ‘could-be-so-nice’ seafront. We’re drawn to its humanity. Here, one can feast on semi-naked men, rejoicing in their girls and girths – real men who would have kicked back the Normans before their first breakfast pint. Overweight readers will be made to feel as light as Fred and Ginger as they waltz between triumphant fatties. The joy of this diet-denying orgy is best seen at the Old...
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