Oi kids, leave sandcastle construction to the experts

The primaeval human instinct to create shelter takes many forms. In 21st-century Britain, it can be seen in the intrinsic belief of many men that they could – despite having no training – turn their hand to a bit of architecture.

When viewing possible homes to buy, men will tap on walls to find out which are load-bearing and which could potentially be removed so that the kitchen can be knocked through into the living room. When the time comes to undertake the actual work, a man will sketch out a broad plan on a piece of paper to explain to the builder – or indeed an actual architect – just what he wants. The builder might look perplexed, but the sketcher will be confident that his design makes perfect sense.

The same man may indeed resent the builder a little; sure that, if he only had the time, he could probably do a decent chunk of the construction work himself too. A quick brick-laying course is surely all it would take to hone the innate skills.

Many of these wannabe architects-cum-builders can be found on British beaches in the summer. You’ll see them arriving early, setting out their pitch for the day while their children wander about with bucket and spade, making a desultory effort at a sandcastle or two. Really though, this is their father’s favoured domain – a place in which the grandest home-building ambitions can finally be realised.

For a really high-quality construction, the right kind of sand is critical. Too coarse and it is liable to collapse under its own weight; too fine and it will dry out and blow away before the tide’s in. Time, indeed, is of the essence – but it doesn’t do for a middle-aged man to show excessive enthusiasm for fear of being thought an oddball, which is why a half-arsed start from the kids is useful. It creates the justification to put some more mature building skills into action – just to help the little ones out.

But once dad’s in charge, it would frankly be preferable for the children to move on. They just don’t have the eye you see, or the patience to play the long game. They can also get too easily distracted by the digging aspect at the expense of the all-important aesthetics; and a tantrum can boil over into brutal kicking of key walls.

Needless to say, when it comes to specifics, it’s different strokes for different folks. Some men are focused only on size: a decent moat surrounding a mound that is as tall as its builder; impressive in its way, but without nuance.

Others opt for a series of linked monuments, each with its own identity, perhaps adorned with shells or pebbles. These have a sort of fairyland appeal but lack cohesion.

Truly, however, neither of these models is a castle per se, for which there must be both a single, surrounding wall or moat, and sufficient intricacy to distinguish it from a mere sand hillock.

On Sheringham beach last Thursday, there were examples of each of these styles, but only three true castles. One was half-ruined; nice perhaps in the morning but, left unattended, it had fallen into disrepair by mid-afternoon. The second was an impressive, triple-moated affair, walls hand-smoothed and straight-lined. The interior, however, was a disappointment, lacking height and excitement.

And the third? Well, it would be immodest of me to say it was the best on the beach. But it was the best on the beach. A circular outer moat contained a further rectangular ditch, itself divided in two. Individual castles dotted the area between them, with a taller motte to the rear, rising above the rest of the bailey. A stone sea wall faced the oncoming waves – at once a practical necessity and an aesthete’s delight.

Construction had only begun after lunch and I looked on the whole with a degree of regret. The ambition of the design had been set too low; the building had been a little rushed. But it was a more than solid effort nonetheless.

Tide and time may wait for no man, but on this occasion, we didn’t wait for the tide, hurrying for the last train home before the sea could put paid to this architect’s dreams.