The island that isn’t an island

On seaside life, Old Bats on the Box and a terrifying new novel by Abigail Dean

Eleven years after moving to the seaside, it’s still a constant surprise to me. As regular readers know, we moved here on a whim. Actually, that’s putting it mildly. We’d only visited it twice, didn’t have a clue about the Jurassic Coast and knew virtually no one. It was all quite mad.

We first clapped eyes on the house in May, when the sun was shining a…