I am sitting at the Kit Kat Cafe, perched on the dune at the back of Camber Sands, a vast stretch of sandy beach in East Sussex. The beach is full of people enjoying the warm Autumn sun. In the distance there are kite surfers, and along the shoreline riders are galloping their horses in the shallow water.

Behind the dune is Pottins, my retro home for the weekend. I am here for the second year running with a group of friends for Rhythm Riot, a rock’n’roll dance weekender. For three nights bands and DJs will play from mid-afternoon to 5am. All day, people walk around in vintage clothes, drive vintage cars, dance to vintage music, eat vintage food (go to the vintage dentist?) and watch vintage TV. The dancing is great, but during the long daylight hours it is a bit much, so I have escaped to the beach to catch up on some reading for work.

My roommates have nicknamed me The Doctor for the way I have been wearing my mac with its collar up-turned, which is appropriate, because I just caught myself thinking of time travel, and how the beach will have looked, and will look at different times.

Starting with the 1820s, I am slowly making my way through Vanity Fair at the moment. The character Rawdon Crawley, largely ignored by his wife Becky, now spends his time galloping around the Sussex countryside. It is easy to imagine him being one of those riders galloping along the shore.

Now from the nineteenth century to the 1950s. With all the rockabillies who have escaped from Rhythm Riot it hard not imagine that I am on a holiday in the 50s. The family cowering behind the wind break are my grandparents in their 20s; those toddlers could be my parents – although it would be weird if they knew each other at that age.

And now to the year 2100. The Guardian reports today news of the IPCC’s Special Report on Extreme Weather, which brings stark warnings on extreme weather events that are likely to become more common in the event of on-going climate change. Even on a calm day the sea in the distance is fairly rough. It is easy to imagine a storm surge tearing up the beach and washing the Kit Kat cafe away.

Looking up from my screen, I see escaped rockabillies who have also chosen to escape Pontins for a bit of a breather. It is hard not to imagine that I too