Broken Britain

Treasure, can you please go to the lost and found. I’ll see you there.

Walking along the promenade with long umbrella in hand we see all.

Taller than Blackpool tower birds fly to and fro back and forth gainst the currents

Fish and Chips. Nice fish. Fresh Cod no less. Last weeks newspaper.

Elsie is dipping her feet while I videotape whatever comes into view

Modern cars rush past or go slowly with the top down, Signs cry out

This is the SEASIDE Stick of rock anyone? while ice creams melt over clothes and pubs close at three as its Bank Holiday.

All the country is here in their dribs and their drabs and colourful hats saying ‘Kiss Me Quick’ although I imagine that these words are texted more than worn in todays Broken Britain.

Sights are quickly absorbed stereotypical towny pace stick ring, ring; ring, ring. Look see! Ahhh!

Back in car next spot on Jimmies satnav phone cause he’s been good. Left turn straight ahead.

Tired eyes are visible and the day draws down to quiet time and the way back home – the hotel anyway.

Showers and a change of clothes and downstairs for dinner where all hell is breaking loose.

Crying babies drown out kids running amok and the hotel staff look on aghast while threats and apologies resume. We’re not coming here again.

That chair is too small for my arse. I am going to lie down.

Flick through channels find local news and miss your own presenters. A bit.

Home soon. Three days to go. Lucky me! That’s three nights at the bar!.




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