The following are some of the most effective ways to reduce your risk.I remember my mother crying when she lost her memory about Devon. I was in junior high school. I had a friend whose mother was described as “vague” – this was the 1970s, so that could have been code for almost anything. My mother, who is normally very organised, was given directions by the vague mother to a remote home where my friend spent his summers. We were just “popping in”. The directions to get there were, “Turn right after South Zeal and pass the dirt road, then follow the direction of the sheep.”
My mum burst out in tears after an hour pretending that we were still on track. She then made a rare denigration of another human being. “That stupid woman!” “That SILLY woman!” “We have no idea where we are.” “Nobody knows.”
Were we lost? Or lost-lost as in humans disappearing forever. This 10-year-old thought “Nobody Does” was serious. In those days there were no mobiles and only an old-fashioned spiral-bound map with the country’s entire territory in the footwell. This never happened. I believe we were on Dartmoor.
My mother pulled herself together. Eventually, the tears dried up, she found a purpose for her life, her son was reassured and the house was located. For many years, the word “Devon”, in my mind, was synonymous with “lost” and “weeping”. It wasn’t a place I chose to go. Nobody does.
But 25 years after that, I returned. It was a matter of choice, as my beautiful fiancee Rachel Schofield had chosen the place. Her parents retired to an expansive house near Sidmouth. The house was cobwebbed and had bells from long-dead ladies. On the wedding day, they suggested setting up a marquee on their backyard. I was not about to answer: “Have your thought been on Hammersmith?”
This time not lost, but found. We got married at the Church of St John the Evangelist, Tipton St John. My mum wept again, this time for a different reason. Over the years we came down summer after summer, Christmas after Christmas, for R&R in the muddy Devon air. Our two children arrived. It became the bucket and spade location of choice for our two kids.
The east Devon coast has some wonderful spots. Seaton offers a spectacular view of the Jurassic Coast. You will be amazed to learn that Jurassic is “200m years old”. There are almost-private beaches too (just don’t picnic in the shade of the rock face – I never trust a bit above me not to break off and I don’t want to be killed by the Mesozoic era). Exmouth has arcades that are not exactly Jurassic, but are still very old-fashioned. Play penny drops and the impossible Lucky Dip. Visit the “Excape” room The most adorable young couple you’ll ever meet runs and manages the shop.
Branscombe Beach is the site where the “scavengers of Branscombe” descended. A freighter shed its cargo, the goods were washed on to the normally deserted beach, and about £1m-worth of cars, motorbikes, spare parts, bric-a-brac and countless items of treasure trove were liberated by people who came from all over the country. Newspapers called it “Branscombe booty bonanza”.
Here I am again, letting the news head run my life. Devon is an ideal place to get away from the world. You can walk the coast path from Axmouth all the way to Lyme Regis. If you like a cliff, but don’t mind the pebbles, then Budleigh Salterton is for you. Beer village is the place to go for Pecorama You can take your children to see the model train. Ottery St Mary offers Wildwood It’s the biggest challenge to safety and health laws that I’ve ever seen. If you’re looking for pure walking, Newton Poppleford to Budleigh Salterton Six miles is six kilometers. Seaton Wetlands Three miles of trails are available. You can also walk around Colyton in a circular pattern.
Sidmouth is where I always return. It became our summer home after we got married nearby. The area has many attractions. Jacob’s Ladder Historic wooden steps and supersize me cakes at the Clock Tower cafe Or the famous Donkey SanctuaryOne of the world’s most popular charities is. It’s not a classic sandy beach – a single triangle of brown sand is revealed at low tide, and that’s your lot – but you feel you’re facing proper sea, with heavy weather triggering waves that crash against rocks by the promenade. Murder on Line One was my first whodunnit., In the town I included in chapter two a scene where a huge wave sweeps her radio station manager into the water with the DJ she just fired. He must rescue her and fish her out of water after she fired him.
Sidmouth makes me feel like I’m in a city that is going places. Once, it was cruelly called “God’s Waiting Room”. Recently, Radio 2 was forced to report on a huge lump of congealed lard, wet wipes, and dental floss which had clogged the sewers. It was described as being the size of two double-decker buses. The sewage was removed using a reverse fire hose. Some were dejected, but I thought this was Sidmouth making a statement. It was fatter than Blackpool. There are more families, jobs and more things going on. It is chintzy at times, and drab at others, but the feeling of reality is there. By the sea, real is a new kind of beauty. Brits require proximity to the sea. Sidmouth puts you right in the middle of it.
Jeremy Vine’s debut mystery, Murder on Line One (HarperCollins, £20), is out now. Order your copy of the Guardian to support it guardianbookshop.com. There may be delivery charges.
