Name that Tune: “Hope the chip shop isn’t closed cos their pies are really nice. I’ll eat it in the taxi queue, standing in someone else’s spew” – Friday Night, Saturday Morning, The Specials

Movie Quote of the Day:
“There is a place. Like no place on Earth. A land full of wonder, mystery, and danger! Some say to survive it: You need to be as mad as a hatter.” Alice in Wonderland

Friday:- 1½ hours each way on a double-decker to Hull with 48 kids. I was thinking G&T minus 6 hours & counting let me tell you!

It went a little something like this…

“Miss, what time is it?”

“Its 10 o clock”

What time is it now Miss?”

“It’s 3 minutes past 10”



What time is it now?”

“It’s 16 minutes past 10”

“Miss… how many more minutes till we get there?”

“I don’t know, a while yet”

“What’s the time now Miss?”

“18 minutes past 10”

This went on throughout the course of the journey until we arrived at our destination. My face ached by then from much gritting of teeth and biting of tongue. We also had a couple of barfers so the bus reeked by the time we arrived.

After having to do the Rivers Information Workshop by looking though a window in the restaurant because of the abysmal weather conditions (relocating diners & shifting furniture in the process so everyone could get a decent view) and then running round after the Guide at a 100mph because we had arrived an hour late due to traffic issues I was more than ready for my packed lunch and mildly surprised and extremely grateful for the Styrofoam cup of tea brought to me by a sympathetic crew-member. Without my midday hit of caffeine the likelihood of my snapping on the way home if asked more than once any “Are we there yet?” type questions would have been at DefCon1 for sure.

After lunch it was pretty much “Follow me. Look there’s a fish, Whoop there’s some more, Yay there’s a shark, No, we can’t swim with them, Right it’s 1:30 everyone back on the bus. No! we are NOT there yet cos it’s only 1:37”.

Arrived back half an hour late and more than ready for a G&T. Unfortunately I would have to wait as we were then on our way to the Boro (pretty much the way I had just come from). In the car and away we went…


Ahhhh Boro. Hometown of my birth.

The sea crashing over Marine Drive . Jaconnelli’s ice cream. Florios’ Happy Hour. Luna Park. Slim Jim Corrigans. The Naval Warfare. Café Italia for one of Jeanette’s espressos and now… home to a brand spanking new ‘Poundland’ in the old Woolworths store. A Grand Opening for this premier retail establishment was scheduled for Saturday morning by none other than Becky from Coronation Street!
Let me tell you that the word on the pedestrian area of Westborough around ‘Thomas the Bakers’, ‘Claire’s Accessories’, ‘PoundBargain’, ‘PoundsRus,’ ‘Crap4aQuid’, ‘Fuckme-its-all-a-Quid’ & ‘Girostretcher’ was that if you hadn’t been into ‘Poundland’ and said “Hya” to “Becky off of Corrie” then frankly you weren’t worth knowing. They were giving away packs of batteries no less so what’s not to like? Free packs of double A’s? Not an offer to be sniffed at & well worth getting out of bed earlier and waiting in line in the rain. I have an eyewitness who reliably informs me that the queue at 0930 hrs waiting for Becky’s 10am ribbon-cutting was 10 deep and stretched right past the bakers, a good 50metres down the street.

Apparently the store took almost 20K on Saturday. Phenomenal. That’s a heck of a lot of bottles of Herbal Essences and boxes of broken biccies! *

I didn’t go into ‘Poundland’ to gawp at our Wetherfield friend but I did stand outside and eat my veg pasty in the rain, cursing as I got to the last mouthful of the pasty without actually having tasted a single scrap of veg whatsoever. Damn you ‘Thomas the Baker’ I should have gone to Woodheads.

Saturday night came and flying in the face of tradition and in an attempt to actually catch up properly rather than bellow at one another through the strobe lights & booming bass of Lady Gaga and JLS on a permanent loop, me and Al decided to forego the joys of St Thomas Street and St Nicholas Street and went to a Bottom Enders pub instead. (BTW that isn’t some Northern parlance for a Gay Bar – Bottom End is the Old Town part of Scarborough where the Fishing Families live/lived).

Despite looking at us, when we ordered a pineapple juice, as if we’d demanded a Pan-Galactic Gargleblaster & the fact that the only other clientele were 3 old dudes and a dog, it made for a most pleasant drinking environment. Fishing nets festooned with fairy lights are a much underrated interior design concept and I will be going there again next time.

I won’t name the establishment as I wouldn’t want it to get all busy and go all commercial with shite DJ’s, 2-4-1 lethal alcopops & pole-dancing bimbos on the bar because that would be a darn shame.

When Al had gone home I met up with the Bman and we had one drink in a bar before braving the partially clad masses of St Nicholas Street. Cutting a swathe through the acres of glitter covered flesh, cleavages & underarm swings of the hardy, coatless lasses of Scarborough, sucking down their Superking Menthols outside the likes of Blue Lounge and Barracuda. Skirting passed the freshfaced youths vomiting in the doorway of Barclays Bank and peeing up the windows of M&S. We took a view, shared a sideways glance of disdain, linked arms and sloped off like George & Mildred into the night to towards the nearest cab rank.

”Where to love?”
“Anywhere but here my friend, anywhere but here”.



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