English Seaside Resort
 

Great Yarmouth to be specific.

It's in Norfolk, and is on the extreme East of the country.
Norfolk has its etmology as North Folk, as opposed to Suffolk and along the same lines as Essex (East) Wessex (West - although only in comparison) and Sussex.

If you're looking at a map, go as far right as you can, then up a bit. You'll probably find Great Yarmouth.

Now, the only overseas seaside resorts I've been to have been colonised (not literally) by the British. This is about a working town, on the coast, in England, which also caters for holiday makers. And this is my personal spin, which is staying in a Holiday Camp about a mile out of town, called Vauxhall Holiday Park.

We first went when I was about 9 I think. Prior to that we stayed at boarding-houses, now called Bed & Breakfast (then known as Room & Board from the medieval phrase, when food was literally laid out on a board).

It's generally a good site, town is walkable, there's two BIG supermarkets in walking distance (the camp shop is small and expensive) and the things that are free are bloody good. There's a lot you have to pay for, and the extras would cost a fortune if you have demanding children. But then I guess if your children are demanding you'd spend a fortune anyway!

The indoor and outdoor pool are free, as is organised entertainment during the day and in the clubhouse in the evenings. And the Adventure Playground which has a fantastic zipwire. I envied. ETA there are free sports and activities for children during the day, and plenty of mini-playgrounds. We barely left those as children.

So. Time for some pics I guess.
I now wish I'd taken more, but I was in a bit of a sulk. My bad.

Pic one - one of the corridors in the complex. I think the ladies in front are going to swim, but they might be going to shower - I don't remember what time of day I took it.

Pic two - the Sports Bar. Air Hockey, Darts and Pool (all paid for) as well as a couple of fruit machines and sports on the TV. The quietest bar on the park, so we went there.

looks nice

So. Why were those ladies walking around in their towels?
They may have been going to the spa (wrong direction though) or more likely the pool. Or it could be that they were going to the shower block. Even more unlikely as they don't have bags.

Vauxhall is a full-on camping site. Not many people here have RVs. But they do have caravans, caravans with awnings and tents. None of which have proper washing and flushing facilities. So Vauxhall have toilet blocks and shower blocks. Which might give some of you The Fear (from one direction or the other!) but they are bloody amazing. They claim to clean them once an hour - and I believe it - they are spotless. Dani & Limey know I am a bit twitchy about sharing bathroom facilities. Nothing to do with germ-fear, just I think if I can take my smells and thrashing about (hair-washing) elsewhere then I free up the facilities for everyone else.

Also, I can create a bit of a mess when I have bright hair colours. It was lovely to take myself away, with my own (washable towel) and not think about the destruction I might be wreaking on tiles or mortar. And as it turned out there was nothing that could not be rinsed off.

OMG I LOVED my showers. HUGE L-shaped cubicle with a hook and a slatted seat beyond the super-serious-warm-spray. I wore flip-flops, as years ago my Mum saw a turd float past in the gutter that takes off the shower water. That was in Italy, but some things just stick in your head. And it felt SO kinky - being naked in what is really a public place (yes you are behind a locked door) and only wearing footwear while cleaning your treasures...

Okay, so I can't match pics to this encounter. I took none of me in the deluge wearing only flip-flops. So instead you have a shot of a really creepy performer. I mean - he must have approved this photo as being likely to pull people in?!

And the second pic is greedy seagulls on our walk into town.

Beach pics.
For three days it was Typical Robinson Family Weather.
Which means it's what I grew up with.

Gt Yarmouth is like the little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead
When she was good, she was very very, good
When she was bad she was a cold drizzly bitch....

Beautiful beaches, strong wind off the sea.
Bracing sea air.
And when I say bracing, I mean it will make your teeth chatter when you're a youngling.
Or an old 'un.
I persevered with strappy tops, despite Mum's horror.
I did not shrivel up and die, I loved it.

Two shots of the beach au naturel.

Great Yarmouth is not a young place.
So it has old buildings.

Leisureland.
And detail.
If you can't make it out, it's The Arcade - 1902.

There are still donkeys on English beaches!
Yay!

Maximim weight of passengers, 8 stone (112lb)
I was just too close to want to risk it...

They seemed happy and well-cared-for.

Bar pics. Well, it happens.
The 'rents and me sitting in the indoor bowling centre.

Mum & Dad were just too cold to walk home without stopping to warm up.
I was loving it. Note the disparity in clothing.

More Yarmouth architectural detail.
Just a public toilet. But lovely tiling and details.

Given the sea air, both Mum & Dad had to stop regularly.
They were both very impressed with the facilities.
When I was a child you had to pay, and Mum's insistence on not letting the door close (which would mean an extra penny) probably led to my insistence of privacy when... well, you know.

Although it turns out I refused to go to the toilet in the boarding house when we first went on holiday to Yarmouth, and had to go across the road to the public toilets. On being told this story (quite recently) all I can remember being afraid of is the dangerously heavy doors in the Pay-For toilets, and the fear that they would shut, meaning I was wasting money, or being trapped; at this remove I'm not sure which fear was foremost.

Pic two shows the empty beach, and the attempt to draw people in.

I'm happy for you! Looks like you had a blast!

The English at play.

We walked past this group of people on the seafront.
After we'd passed I said to Mum that I'd have LOVED to take their photo, but I was just too close to be polite about it. They had rented out two beach huts, and grouped together under a series of umbrellas, well tethered against the wind. When we walked past they were drinking something hot out of a flask (my guess is tea) and trying to read flapping papers.

All I have is a distance shot, but I say Here's To You, Ahab! (ref to waiting)
In the background is the defunct Winter Gardens.
Even deserted, it is a gorgeous structure, but it turns out that this is the best shot I have of it.
Imagine if you will - there are plants running wild inside, and saplings where my father tried to perfect skating backwards to attract the girls.

The next pic is a lad making the most of being the first on the beach. Lonely.
I cropped out his bald-headed tattooed Daddy - simply because I didn't ask his permission to take the photo. He was so obviously proud of his boy though.
I might already have said, but Yarmouth was full of hands-on Dads. It was lovely to see. Because these were working class Dads, like mine.

A brief comic aside.
I did not know that we (the English) had an unholy obsession with peas until I came to the Cellar.
Now I see it everywhere.

Detail of menu to show that everyone gets peas, but also the prices of seaside meals.
And if you've made it this far you're probably committed.
Or should be.

Next pic is one I took especially for you.
Yes, I mean YOU.
Because even when I don't love you, I can't stop thinking about you.

Oh, it's executive!


(A bit of NSFW language)

Lots of Peas on that menu !!!

Except with the peazza.

:smack: imona go play poker now. with peas. i mean chips. :D