As children we would look forward to the long stretch of summer spent in Harlyn Bay in North Cornwall where we spent hours swimming and rockpooling.
We would drive down from our home in Bisley in the Cotswolds, the same village as Jilly Cooper.
And we weren’t the only ones. Cornwall was practically Cotswolds-on-Sea in those days with the whole Gloucestershire set making their way down, many of whom may have inspired some of my good friend Jilly’s characters.
Friends would come and stay and we would occasionally go to the Trevose Golf Club disco but most of the time we were knee-deep in sand and dogs – it was all very Famous Five. The adults would chat in the sand dunes with flasks of tea and watch their offspring frolic on the beach, and POSSIBLY got up to some shenanigans themselves.
Back then Harlyn Bay was referred to as ‘The Other Side’, with Polzeath and Rock being the places to be. When we got a bit older we would beg my poor mother to drive us 40 minutes (there was no ferry at night) round to The Mariner’s Pub in Rock where a bunch of blonde and shiny teens would drink until Mummy and Daddy came to collect them.
Eventually my mother gave up driving to ‘The Other Side’ and started looking into holiday rentals there instead to save her the midnight hassle. We swapped one sandy holiday cottage for another and had a whale of a time, going back year after year.
The village of Blakeney in Norfolk, which Sybilla compares to the London borough of Richmond
Cornwall was practically Cotswolds-on-Sea back in those days with the whole Gloucestershire set making their way down, writes Sybilla Hart
When I started having children, however, I knew it wouldn’t be long before we had to ditch this part of Posh Cornwall – I used to joke that you can’t mix infant bottles with beer bottles. It had become more and more of a party destination, which was not something I needed when I was more invested in Sudocrem than Sambuca.
We tried the south of Cornwall but got a bit put off by the adders on Kynance Cove and the jagged drops around The Lizard which looked like a recipe for broken legs (and the rest).
Plus everyone was in tears by the time we got to Bristol – Cornwall was just too far from Essex so in the end we had to ditch it.
So when I read that Polzeath is the epicentre of a real-life version of the cocktail Sex on the Beach, I felt more than a little relieved at my choice of Norfolk as a holiday destination. For Norfolk is the new Cornwall, at least among the grown-up smart set. It’s far more civilised and authentic than its southern counterpart, which has become raucous, downmarket and a bit last season.
Now that I am responsible for no fewer than three teenagers it is a blessing that we are not in Polzeath which I hear is transformed into a drunken playground by night for two weeks in July – with residents having to appoint a ‘beach ranger’ to patrol them.
Here in north Norfolk you are more likely to bump into a seal on the beach than a drunken teenager and most of the people who holiday in Cley-next-the-Sea are young families or retired people.
My children have made some friends over the years and occasionally sit in someone’s boat at night while sharing a can of Tesco Pear Cider but that is about the extent of it.
Norfolk, as I have come to realise, is just as smart as Cornwall but miles less populated. There’s no battling the crowds to find a tiny sliver of free sand to lie your towel down on, as you have to in Polzeath these days. The posh villages in Norfolk vary hugely and I find the best way to describe them is by comparison to London boroughs.
For example, Blakeney is like Richmond, well-heeled, beautiful with fantastic walks. Burnham Market is Norfolk’s version of Belgravia and has all the shops and smart restaurants.
Burnham Market in Norfolk is appreciated for its shops and smart restaurants – in a similar way to Belgravia in London
The Gunton Arms, found four miles from the beaches of Norfolk coast, is an award-winning traditional pub and restaurant
Brancaster is Fulham, full of families and labradors walking on the beach. Burnham Overy Staithe is Chelsea-on-Sea and full of blonde teenagers wearing the same clothes messing about on boats.
Cromer is more like Hackney, Holt is Barnes and finally, Hunstanton with its famous tennis tournament is best described as Norfolk’s answer to Clapham.
The restaurants in Norfolk are a case of Rick Stein eat your heart out with The Gunton Arms near Cromer scoring high as well as The Moorings in Blakeney, and we’re spoilt for choice when it comes to nice cafes selling flat whites.
There are hidden beaches to be found at low tide with only a tern for company; mudflats that look like works of art; windmills peppering the horizon and you can almost imagine former Norfolk resident Admiral Nelson striding out of the waves towards a centuries-old watering hole.
On the beaches you will find pebbles instead of beer bottles, shells instead of discarded vapes.
And the only creatures I’ve seen copulating on Norfolk beaches are the birds.

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