I was walking along Cromer seafront recently and tripped over Oscar Wilde. Literally.
Inlaid into one of many stone hoops looping across the surface of the promenade like a time-travel special effect from 1960s TV, in gold lettering that shone even on a murky winter's day, the great wit declared:
"I find Cromer excellent for writing, golf better still."
Hmm. Not his most thrilling bon mot, but the experience did remind me of an excursion to another British coastal town a few years ago in search of the site of one of his better known creations.
