Moan, Moan, Moan, Moan, Moan.

It's been a bit rough for the past month so my wife and I (Very royal if you like), my wife and I went Skegness way for the weekend. I like Skegness, no pretensions. All sticks of rock, car boot sales, warm beer and fish and chips. (One street is actually known as Chip Alley by visitors.)

Talking of visitors, our favourite past time is sitting eating chips outside a 'caff' whilst 'people watching'. I was going to say 'all shapes and sizes' but one shape, one size predominates. 'The big people' rule in Skegness. If you're big, nay massive Skegness is seemingly the place to be. Every obese, large, rotund, overweight individual from Leicester, Derby. Nottingham and Sheffield seem to make for dear old 'Skeggy'. And I've not seen so many smokers for many a day. Add tattoos by the dozen, on heads, necks, backs, arms, legs (I daren't guess what's fortunately hidden from view) and you get the picture. And the men are just as bad! Nevertheless It's a cheerful place, at least I thought it was. Now I'm not so sure.

I bought the local paper, the Skegness Standard. Its front page banner headline read. 'United in Wind Battle'. Now Skegness and district is dominated at the moment by news of a proposed 'wind farm' to be situated on land near Anderby Creek. Feelings apparently run high, but are know where near the 'united front' suggested in the headlines. (I actually stayed at Anderby Creek. I met many, including locals who held a different viewpoint. I also noticed 'anti' signs a long distance from the proposed site.) There is even an anti-windfarm organiser, a certain Melvyn Grosvenor who will help organise your protests if you so wish. I could go on, but minds are made up, the word NIMBY springs to mind.

Moving on, I noticed something interesting; happiness in Skegness and district is not in abundance. Letters to the paper are a case in point. Apparently motor vehicle parking on the pavement is rife. Tradesmen, taxis, the general public, all park on the pavement. Not that it's any better when they take to the roads. Buses clog the roads outside the Embassy; parked on zigzags, double parked, and what's more, evidently the police don't care! And if you don't drive but merely walk about, what happens. The seafront shelters you pass are full of foul mouthed drunken men at all hours of the day. Are people born moaners or does the place do this to you?

No, not a happy place, Skegness. The newspaper's Facebook is full of irate moans concerning overflowing litterbins, dirty waterways and overgrown roadside verges. A visit to Skegness really is 'slit your wrist' time. Never mind, a walk up to jolly old Ingoldmells will surely do you good. Nope, not really. People on sites near to the Bolton Lane Sewer Works have been moving out because of the smell. ('Anglian Water is working hard to identify the source of the odour.') Try the Sewer Works, fellas.

If all these problems aren't enough, I'm sure we can find other reasons for a good old moan. Croft residents in particular have got moaning off to a fine art. A delegation from Sycamore Close complained about children skateboarding. (' They didn't skateboard in my day.' Of course they didn't, skateboards weren't invented!) And more radar gun useage requested in Church Lane please, motorists are speeding through the village. (Are you sure it's not machine guns you require? That would cure the problem.) As if all this were not enough, it was reported than the swings on the playing fields were being used by 'certain children' (are they aliens?) and drunk adults. Plus they are leaving litter; serious stuff indeed! Mind you, you will be pleased to know vehicles over seven and a half ton are to be banned from around Croft. (No vehicles, no deliveries, surely; or is that different?)

I wonder if there is something in the water around Skegness that affects people; or maybe it's a misery 'gene'. Is it an age thing? Perhaps its parochialism gone mad. Perhaps the Standard just likes to be miserable. Some Skegness and district citizens make Grumpy Old Ken look positively,

ecstatically happy.

Do you remember Mona Lott, Mrs Mop of ITMA fame. Her favourite saying was' It's being so cheerful as keeps me going.' I wonder if she came from Skegness!

A Peaceful Weekend at the Seaside

The strain of the our forthcoming move is beginning to show. A couple of days away usually does the trick so we load up the van and, hey presto we're away. Three hours later and we're walking down Skegness High Street.

Dear old Skeggy, full of obese, cigarette smoking, often tattooed individuals of both sexes, many day trippers from the Midlands: Derby, Nottingham, Leicester, Sheffield, Rotherham and Barnsley. A pilgrimage their parents and grandparents made in the non too distant past.

Although it is barely afternoon the effects of alcohol and the warm sun combine to make the expletives flow and I wince at the lack of self control shown by some with small children in tow.

We buy a bag of chips, obligatory in Skegness and eat them outside the shop. Skegness never did stand on ceremony; the place has a certain charm, though many would not be seen dead there, an unfortunate phrase considering what was to happen only a few hours later.

We elected to stay overnight on a caravan site in nearby Anderby Creek. A pleasant enough choice amongst the static caravans much loved on the East Coast. Plus the bonus of a pub nearby. A toilet block on the site plus a pub nearby, life is good at times as long as your expectations are not too high! We cooked a meal by the beach, returned to the caravan site in good humour and retired to the pub.

The place was full and it was immediately apparent the average age was high. (The average age of motorhomers evidently is sixty three. The average age of people in static caravans is probably higher.) It did occur to me an OAP bus trip had called in except that it was fairly obvious that most were ensconced in the best seats, suggesting they were all 'regulars'. No matter, my wife and I took a back seat, literally a back seat and surveyed the scene.

The bingo was approached by the regulars with enthusiasm, the caller screeching the numbers with deafening gusto. My original enthusiasm was tested and the production of a karaoke machine set the alarm bells ringing. Thus commenced the worst karaoke singing I have ever heard. Whether it was the sheer age of the participants, (whom I doubt had ever seen never mind used such modern apparatus) or the choice of song, inevitably Country and Western, the end product was excruciatingly bad. Plus they did encores, perhaps a case of senility rules. (One old gentleman definitely 'away with the fairies' insisted on regaling us with his rendering of an entirely different song (we were in a side room and viewing through an open door).

By now my original euphoria had all but gone, and I was beginning to wonder whether our visit was a good idea. I glanced out of the window and did a double take so as to be sure as to what I was actually seeing. A van was only yards away, its rear doors open. An unusual vehicle in a way, it took only a moment to realise it was in fact an undertaker's vehicle. Fascinated, singers ignored I watched in morbid fascination. Lo and behold, a stretchered body appeared from a nearby caravan and was carefully placed in the waiting vehicle; and the karaokers continued to karaoke. Quite a shock of a Saturday evening, not exactly designed to lift the spirits if you'll pardon the pun. The karaoke was bad but I hadn't realised it was that bad! (Evidently an elderly gentleman had died in the caravan overnight and had been discovered only minutes before we arrived for a 'fun' night out.)

The rest of a most unusual weekend passed without incident, but a weekend we would not forget in a hurry. Who said you can't beat a weekend on the East Coast for getting rid of stress!
Coincidentally I write up this post as the television announces new government plans to allow people to die in the place of their choice. Great news, except that you need to know in advance the time of your demise. No doubt the old man loved his caravan at the seaside. I wonder if he knew something we didn't.