A thing I wrote for somewhere else.
I arrived in Hunstanton this Monday, or possibly Tuesday, I forget which, in search of The Hunstanton Monster. After parking in the car park just south of the Esplanade I immediately sought the advice of locals. I met a gentleman who's name I forgot to ask, for the best place to see the monster. He gave me a confused look and denied ever hearing about any monsters before continuing his way towards the Esplanade. Why was he so reluctant to give me information?
I passed the bandstand as I made my way across the green to the Esplanade, passing discarded polystyrene chip trays, empty pop cans, sunbathing couples, and other rubbish. I stopped to talk to a possibly married couple who were looking out to sea and old. Maybe they were monster hunters too?
'I've lived here 77 years and I've never heard of any monster!' pledged the man who's name began with a J, or possibly an M.
The woman, who had her own name, agreed and said she'd lived in Hunstanton over 5 years, which is a pretty lousy amount compared with her probable husband.
Why were people being so secretive about their monster? Are they ashamed? Maybe they were engaged? Although that's kind of gross at their age.
I went to Hunstanton Museum which I found had been downgraded to a 'heritage centre', and was unfortunately in the opposite direction to the Esplanade.
My eyes ran across display after display, though room after room until exhausted, they came to rest on a table by the exit. A table which had nothing on it. The nothingness shone like a black hole. What was supposed to be here i wondered? Has something been removed in preparation for my arrival I speculated? Was it evidence of the monster I conjectured? A model of her/him I queried? Go to Loch Ness and you can't move for images, cuddly representations, or pencil sharpeners of their monster. With this proof of an official cover up I made my way to the Esplanade.
In the Esplanade gardens I was once again met with a hedge of silence. I quizzed old person after old person, wrapped up against the North Sea cold, with biting wind causing ripples across the baggy skin hanging loosely on their faces. All either said they had never heard of a monster, or called me weird and asked me to go away. Maybe I would have had more luck talking to the youngsters on the Esplanade, who were yet to be indoctrinated into this monster denial cult, but they looked scary so I didn't try. I tried using my mobile telephone to search on Bing but to no avail. They have control over the internet as well it seems.
I left the Esplanade and made my way back to the car to leave, knowing that my hour of parking ticket was nearly up. I had hoped that the sunlight of my investigative journalism would burn through the fog of secrecy onto to solar panels of honesty to power the food blender of truth, but no. I filed my receipts for expenses and headed south on the A149 away from this secretive corner of Norfolk. It looks like the mystery of the mysterious monster will forever remain a mystery, or at least a conundrum, or both.