Not everyone loves the great British seaside (sand getting in everything and sticking grittily to sun-screened legs), but the idea is rich with promise. It makes me think of special moments, just me, my brother and my grandma, on Gwithian Beach in Cornwall. In those days we didn’t have to think about much apart from splashing in rock pools catching tiny crabs, competing over who’d brave the cold Atlantic water first, and how cool the sand felt when you dug your toes down into it. Food was significant, too. Usually there was a pasty, still warm, made by my baker grandad and wrapped in a paper bag, see-through on the bottom with grease. And, if we were lucky, a 99 Flake from the ice cream van on the…