I recently woke up to an email that gave me a mild existential crisis. A PR agent had gotten in touch to tell me that Poole, Dorset was the most most popular Spring holiday hotspot in the UK by one company's estimation.
The email explained: "Poole in Dorset, according to [UK holiday provider Independent Cottages], has witnessed a 494% overall uptick in enquiries between 2022 and 2024 for spring breaks, making it the company’s most popular spring holiday destination in recent years.
"And it’s no wonder why, as this picturesque coastal gem has a lot going for it. Home to Europe’s largest natural harbour, Poole originally developed its reputation as a commercial fishing port and shipbuilding centre.
"Now, it’s a popular resort town with a gorgeous and historic old town filled with Georgian houses, as well as a buzzing quayside that visiting Brits love to explore."
My flabbers were entirely gasted. My sister was born in Poole and I in neighbouring Bournemouth. We grew up closeby in the seaside town of Swanage, and me and my friends took the bus into Poole pretty much every weekend.
As someone who frequented Poole basically every Saturday for most of my adolescence, I remember it as a desolate void of loitering teens, closed up shops, and fading former glory. The Bridgwater of Dorset, if you will.
In Swanage, there were two bus routes out of town: one terminating in Bournemouth and one in Poole. This gave me and my friends limited options for a day out before we were old enough to drive, so we'd ride the bus for an hour to reach the dying Dolphin Shopping Centre.
As I recall, the bus station was dank, dark and rather menacing past a certain time of day. In the shopping centre there was a KFC, a Subway, a Primark, some video game shops, and a fair few empty units.
Down the road we had Taco Bell, charity shops, McDonalds, charity shops, The Works, plenty of empty units, charity shops, and a Scientology centre. Also charity shops.
A Scientologist quizzed me once on my way to the bus station. Being courted by a cult recruiter was probably the most exciting bit of that particular outing.
Me and my friends would walk in circles around the declining shopping centre, sit about in fast food places, and wait for when we could go home. I have a vivid memory of a male friend snorting a sachet of sugar at a McDonalds as I watched on in quiet horror. Such was the general malaise of the Poole-bound teen.
Then we started turning seventeen and were suddenly old enough to learn to drive. Journeys to Poole fizzled out as we got the opportunity to drive literally anywhere else.
Since leaving Dorset, I certainly hadn't heard anything about Poole turning its fortunes around. Actually, the last I heard of it, a pair of protesters defaced all the signs going into town so it read "Welcome to the Borough of Poo".
I soon got a polite follow-up email from the PR agent, anxiously asking if this was something I would be interested in covering. I had no idea how to explain to her I was scared her email had shunted me into a parallel universe where Poole was trendy.
I tried to shift my perspective. What's nice about Poole? Well, you can go windsurfing in the harbour.
It also has Sandbanks, also known as 'millionaire's row'. Sandbanks is an alcove of modern mansions perched by the sea: it was beautiful, but made me feel a little morose as a kid. Even then, I knew I'd never be able to afford to live anywhere like that.
There's a ferry between Studland and Swanage: that's pretty novel! Of course, being an old ferry pulled by chains, it had a bad habit of putting itself out of action. Poole park is pretty and overlooks a glittering lake.
Maybe this is just a classic case of the grass always being greener on the other side. Maybe Poole isn't so bad. I do hope tourists aren't pinning all their hopes on the Dolphin Shopping Centre, though.
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