Chris picks his best...

Rooms with sea views | Food and drink spots | Beaches

Follow Chris in our camper van man travel special

In my notebook at Weston-super-Mare, I’d written that the fabulous Grand Pier is “putting the super back into Weston”. Brilliant. Then, last Monday morning, the whole thing went up in flames, leaving a blackened, twisted, dripping skeleton where once stood the hopes of this once glamorous resort.

Multimedia

• Camper van man Week 6 gallery: Salcombe to Whitstable

Multimedia

• Camper van man Week 5 gallery: Weston-super-Mare to Salcombe

Multimedia

Multimedia

• Camper van man Week 3 gallery: John O'Groats - Southport

Multimedia

• Camper van man Week 2 gallery: Skegness to John O'Groats

Multimedia

• Camper van man Week 1 gallery: Southend to Skegness

Beach of the week

Chris selects his favourite beaches from his camper van man tour of the British coast

Catch of the day

Chris selects his best food and drink tips from his camper van man tour of the British coast

Rooms with sea views

Chris selects his favourite places to stay on his camper van man tour of the British Coast

• Beach of the week

Camper van man week 2: Skegness to John O'Groats

On his round-Britain coastal adventure, Chris Haslam takes in England’s windswept northeast flank, then heads for Scotland

• Camper van man week 1: Southend to Skegness

• Camper van man's tour of the British coast

On Friday, I returned to Weston to find the prom packed with sightseers, snapping the scorched structure and chatting up the firemen. Locals say that the fire has been good for business – visitors are buying chips, taking donkey rides and visiting the brilliant sand sculptures - and there’s a fervent belief that the pier will be renovated and reopened. Until then, for Weston’s sake, indulge your prurience.

Notwithstanding conflagration, the West Country - from the wilds of the Somerset Levels through the lollipop lanes of North Devon to the schizoid coasts of Cornwall and back to the smug perfection of the Hams - drives British tourism the way Italy led the renaissance.

These days, the formula is simple: entice a celebrity chef to open a shrine; revamp local hostelries to accommodate the pilgrims; paint any combination of “fresh,” “organic,” “locally caught,” and “sustainable” outside your property; then laugh all the way to the bank. If you can’t find a celebrity chef, use Ainsley Harriott instead.

Or a controversial modern artist. In the upbeat resort of Ilfracombe, our plan - after navigating the eye-wateringly beautiful and heart-stoppingly precipitous scenic route from Lynton’s Valley of the Rocks through to Combe Martin - is to have lunch at Damien Hirst’s 11 The Quay. Instead, we become engrossed in exploring the Tunnels beaches, a series of pocket-sized strands of slate-grey sand reached through tunnels blasted by Victorian entrepreneurs braver and more resourceful than any of today’s seaside saviours.

From here, the Devon coast swings south into Barnstaple Bay, through bustling Woolacombe, to Croyde, a chocolate box stolen by surfers. If you come from the Home Counties, or your name is Ollie, then it’s against the law to learn to surf anywhere other than Croyde.

Come on a sunny day, when high pressure has forced the water flat and the bay is awash with flailing, neoprene-clad walruses on soft yellow boards. Come in winter, when the swell looks as if it flew in from Hawaii with the sole aim of kicking your head in, and you’ll probably have the beach to yourself.

Next stop is Westward Ho!, which has been using its exclamation mark to entice tourists since 1863! These days, it’s a shabby spot at the southern end of a two-mile swathe of sand and shingle, but watch this space. Luxury apartments are springing up where once were caravan parks, and there are rumours that a “celebrity chef” has been eyeing up property, though we’re too hungry to wait that long. Bypassing Clovelly - a village so saccharine sweet, it’s like getting drunk on Parfait Amour - we cross the border into Cornwall.

There’s a healthy three-footer breaking as we eat noncelebrity fish and chips on Bude’s Crooklets beach. Couples are gazing dreamily into the sunset, a handful of die-hard surfers are paddling out for one last wave and, beside a driftwood campfire, a girl in beads is playing Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Freebird on a 12-string guitar.

Times recommends

• How to get a cheap flight: just clear your cookies?
• The experts' guide to off-piste skiing
• The 12 best music festivals this spring