"One Does Not Simply Walk Into Bognor..."

I just worked four-days at a Butlins holiday camp. We knew the event would be a bit crap before we went there so the real shock to the system was the venue itself. If you ever had the misfortune to see (lame 80s Brit-com) Hi-De-Hi! then count yourself lucky that you never had the misfortune to stay in such a place.



We had "basic accommodation", which pre-dates (or maybe just dates) the above advertisement. It should more accurately be called "basic inconvenience" because you get two draughty rooms, plastic-covered mattresses and no shower. We bought towels for our entourage of sixteen people because none were provided. Apparently we needed to bring our own toilet paper too because I later had a phone call from the person I was rooming with, asking if I knew where he could find a new roll and could it please be a place that he could reach from where he was sitting. The empty can of beer wedged in the ceiling of the walkway outside our chalet was the icing on our shitty cake.

The site was a ghost town until Saturday, when it exploded. Fireworks brought the animals out of hiding and you couldn't move for fat, chavvy parents and their stupid, chavvy children (though the jailbait on the Dance Dance Revolution machine was genuinely entertaining). When you can fly a family to Spain off-season for less than a week's wages you have to be some kind of masochist to go to Bognor Regis in November instead. Or "Mordor Regis", as it shall for evermore be known.