The British on the beach.
Took me back to summer holidays with my nan. We'd sit on the sand near the beach wall; her with her chiffon scarf pulled tight over lilac-rinsed hair, fag in the corner of her mouth and copy of the Mirror flapping in the sandpaper wind haring down from the West. We didn't have a wind-breaker but we did have a thermos and checked blankets. I loved it, especially when she promised chips on the way back to her bungalow.