ABU GHRAIB, SKEGNESS, LINCOLNSHIRE

ABU GHRAIB, SKEGNESS, LINCOLNSHIRE

It was a much needed break – a bit like the one you get in your leg after a skiing accident.

THE THEORY

I thought that my days of camping had been consigned to the dustbin of my memory but a growing realization that our non existent budget meant that we either had to bite the bullet and camp, or stay at home, rekindled my enthusiasm. My brother Sean, offered to lend us his caravan so we thought that a couple of weeks in Lincolnshire would be a chance to relax and vegetate at minimal cost. Although I’m now pretty much useless at anything physical, Tom is as strong as a bear and could act as my surrogate muscle in anything which required pulling, lifting or bending skills. Kim is an old hand at caravans (no choice after I stuck us in one for 6 months in France) so the project was doable and we booked what appeared to be the nicest campsite in Skegness. As a child I went to Skegness and didn’t really like it very much. It is completely beyond me what sort of twisted logic made me think it would have improved in the intervening 40 years. Perhaps I should see a shrink.

THE PRACTICE

Remember the sea and rain in "A Perfect Storm"? It was like that when we got about 30 miles from the coast. Visibility was down to about 20 yards, the car and caravan were floating aimlessly along the road and we were still looking forward to our quiet, idyllic vacation despite the danger that we might miss the coast altogether and just drift onward to Holland. In my experience, one of the worst things that you can ever do, is to lapse into the "things can only improve" state of mind because there is some Law of the Universe which dictates that they will sure as hell get much, much worse. We lapsed - they did.

If anyone has connections in the military could they please whistle up a tactical nuclear strike on the North Shore Holiday Centre, Skegness, Latitude 53.15571°North, Longitude 0.34242° East. I would count this as a personal favour to me and it would be a great service to mankind. I have given exact grid references so that if nukes aren’t available, a couple of smart bombs should be able to take out the brickwork.

The web site advertises "excellent shower and toilet facilities" and I have no doubt that when their construction was just finished they were perfectly acceptable. Despite the fact that "Cleaning in Progress" signs frequently appeared, they were always filthy, smelly and downright unhygienic. Floors were mopped over, but only the parts that you actually stood on, with the result that the filth was just moved to the edges. Even my cast iron constitution won’t allow me to go into the detail of what we saw there but suffice it to say that we paid to use facilities elsewhere rather than enter these sewage hovels unless it was absolutely necessary. Because of my condition it often was unavoidable, during the early hours of the morning and just the recollection of it is putting me at grave risk of being reacquainted with my breakfast. You really don’t want to know.

There is an entertainment complex which is "specially designed for family holidays". If you wade through the litter and filth outside you find that this consists of a large bar area (from which children are absolutely prohibited) and a smaller children’s area which has an inadequate handful of seats for adults and mind numbing music organised by a totally bored looking children’s entertainer. On the 2 occasions that we saw this entertainment it consisted of the children being told to lie as still as possible whilst the music played. After half an hour a good number seemed to have fallen asleep which was presumably the aim of the exercise. Rita is 9 and when tongue in cheek, I asked if she wanted to "play" she replied with the sort of disdain and language that I thought was reserved for steel erecters. I could neither disagree nor criticize her judgement or choice of words. I did however manage to take one memorable photograph. It is of the fire exit to the children’s "entertainment" area. It was securely closed with the type of chain used to attach anchors to battleships and a padlock which Tom Ridge would love to get his hands on to improve homeland security. It would secure the whole Mexican border. Yes, I’m way ahead of you and have already contacted the relevant fire authority. Presumably this establishment was hoping to attract families of the Macbeth ilk.

Although the facilities appeared somewhat limited (no pool) on the website there was at least a mini golf and a 9 hole pitch and put course which we thought would keep us occupied for a couple of hours a day. As we were on a very limited budget we took the precaution of phoning in advance to specifically to confirm that their use was included in the price we were paying. Wrong. When we tried to use the run down mini golf we were told that the price was £8 ($14.75USD) per hour for the four of us. No doubt a novice receptionist who didn’t know the policy. We decided against enquiring about the pitch and put course because I really didn’t want to have to sell the car.

As befits our attitude to life we found all this highly amusing. The morning after our arrival we looked around to find a better camp site but although most seemed to have better facilities there was the slight drawback in that thanks to the somewhat inclement weather they were under water. We were therefore counting our blessings that although many of the people on our site were stepping out into 6 inches of water, we were at least were on a fairly dry piece of ground. 30 yards away people were desperately bucketing water out of their caravan awnings but sadly it was just filling up their neighbour’s pitch and then seeping back. We aren’t sure whether it was just the rain (it does have a tendency to get a tad damp on the Lincolnshire coast – a bit like Tierra del Fuego so they should be able to deal with it), or some unspeakable event in the shower block but our main entertainment of the vacation was about to happen. In what seemed to be a low budget supernatural takeoff of Dallas, near liquid shit began erupting from a drain cover and flooding into the adjacent pitches. Efforts by the staff using mechanical diggers and other means were apparently not enough so after we had endured the smell for 24 hours they called in the professional shit men to deal with the problem. There is only a one letter difference between a hit man and a shit man and whilst ostensibly they may seem to be in different leagues of "cool", from now on, the shit man will get my vote every time. You have no idea how much children of 5 or 50 can be amused when poo defies gravity.

Skegness itself has an antique quality about it. This a reference to the all pervading stench of very old cooking oil in which everything seems to be fried. I normally find the smell of freshly cooked doughnuts absolutely irresistible but one bite of a Skegness doughnut has cured me of this for life. Even Tom, who is normally happy to eat apartment blocks, threw his away in complete disgust. You will no doubt, be incredulous to learn that we decided to cut this dream holiday down to 6 days. This was because we had been ripped off at every turn, were running out of laughter and money and were completely bored stiff. We will return 2 days after the Pope’s first legitimate son is christened.