Ah, the Great British Holiday (also Grevious Bodily Harm, if you're legally minded)
Can't be beaten.
Aside from being hung upside down with your head in a bucket of donkey poo. That generally gives a more rounded experience than many of my trips around Britain.
The Seaside Holiday is another British favourite. I was spared this owing to the fact that I spent much of my childhood within spitting distance of the coast, and a town called Brighton (a little like a UK version of San Francisco, just a bit grubbier.)
I like the sea, and so often pop back for a stroll along the pebble beach (barefoot not recommended owing to razor-sharp stones and a slightly careless drug-using beach community.) The other weekend I ventured onto the Pier.
Its a tacky place and not something I'd recommend for anyone seeking cultural enlightenment (one of the mad Prince Regent's palaces lies at the centre of town and is a much better bet in that regard.) A 12 foot Elvis Presley impersonator (I suspect stilts may have been involved) dribbled out ballads to entertain those caught between the entrance and the end of the Victorian structure. At the gates another Elvis (this time depicting Elvis in his little known 'fat bloke from Wales' phase) bellowed some funkier numbers.
I glanced at a sign on the seaward railing. "Please Do Not Feed The Birds" it said. Judging by some of the chip-eating tourists waddling towards the funfair at the end, the sign was too little, too late.
Tomorrow - the mystery of the naked green woman.
