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Given that nobody in the UK lives more than 75 miles from the sea, I’m fairly sure it gives the British some innate, hard coded affinity with open water. When things aren’t going too well, which happens with alarming regularity, my first instinct is often to get to the coast. There’s something about the random chaos of crashing waves tied to the predictable regularity of the tides that soothes and balances my soul.

Of course my second instinct is to just go to the pub, so when there’s one at the end of the beach, all the better.

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