Perhaps we'll be rediscovered in due course. Bristol can be the new Doggerland. Up from the millennial slime a broken tower will stand revealed by some future tide, or a pedestrian crossing unsilt itself, like Borth's new wattle walkway. Perhaps the sea will fall away again, and we'll be discovered by rabbits, weed-wound iPhones in our bony fingers.
It's not such a bad way to go, and I'd rather the curse fell on this generation than on some future cohort of our guiltless children. But I do regret the loss of the line at Dawlish, that lovely stretch of Devonian littoral, passage along which (in a chariot drawn by herring gulls) was once our bucket-and-spade portal into Cornwall.
"Logres is before you," Merriman tells Barney when he and the other Drews disembark at St Austell in Over Sea, Under Stone. Perhaps, now, he would say Lyonesse.