Le Touquet is pleasant enough but it's up it's own arse, a bit like a Tunbridge Wells on Sea.
When I first went there I expected to find the streets paved with gold. In reality, they were paved, like anywhere else, with concrete slabs; slabs liberally smeared in dogshit. All the high falutin' women have those fashion-accessory miniature Yorkshire Terriers perched in their Burberry handbags. It's that kinda place, all kippers and curtains.
It's a poor relation to Deauville if you ask me.