National Lampoon’s Scarborough Vacation

I’m back. My epic dissertation is over; our holiday has ended. What the fuck am I going to do with myself now?
A visit to Tesco has again become the highlight of my social calendar.

Handed my work in on Thursday. Well actually I handed one page in because it was a blog and I refused to print the fucker off because that would be beside the point. So I handed in a single page telling the marker where to go (I mean the URL not off a short pier) and what to do when they got there. I had to get it bound too. Like totally ridic, man.

Friday passed in a blur, then Saturday was taken up with sitting around waiting to get drunk. Went to the Shakespeare and then Club 60 with Lisa, Dom and lapsed cockney Frank. Had I been the aristocrat I wish I was, I would have got unspeakably blotto, but as it was I just got sordidly pissed. Sunday passed in pain and packing.

Went on hols on Monday. Esther had finally agreed to a proper holiday abroad after weeks of goading; no more retirement boating vacations in East Anglia for us I thought with glee, we can travel the world like young and fancyfree types. Then I realized that both of our passports had expired so we booked 4 days in Scarborough in a hotel wall to wall in purple rinses. Our Super Saver room turned out to be a windowless sarcophagus on floor Minus 2. Even with the fan on all night it was sticky and breathless and all those word that sound sexy unless you’re trying to sleep. The next day we managed to upgrade, probably because the occupants had died in the night. Now we had a window and a spare bed should I complain any more about being bored. Also a bubblebath, which I used to titivate my bits when Esther wasn’t looking. Cheap thrills are a must in these situations.

I can remember everywhere we went from how it tasted: a free fry up every morning in the hotel, fresh donuts with sand on them from the beach, clotted cream tea and sample shots of blackberry wine at Scarborough Castle, steak and chocolate pudding served by an Italian Robert Winston lookalike, fish and chips on the strand surrounded by ASBO teenage gulls, toasted teacakes dripping with butter at Peasholm park. What we lost in excitement, I made up in calories.

The 2 main emotions were greed and injustice. We got addicted to the chubby thrill of pouring a quids worth of 2ps into arcade slots. For, after piling 50+ tuppences into the slots, 10 coins would fall into the slot and only 3 would come out because they had been mysteriously siphoned off en route to our greedy paws. “I demand to play fair, with Queensberry Rules and handshakes” I wanted to shout at the slovenly attendants smirking at us dupes in the shadows. And then we won a disgusting little keyring puppet which disappeared too. Esther turned it into a military operation of course.

“Quick put yours in now”

“No, you idiot, do it again”

What need for saucy postcards with this running commentary? Eventually we were synchronized but I would always fumble at a crucial moment. As in the arcade, so in the sack.

I didn’t think about my dissertation once, poor thing. I know how that feels; my first girlfriend Alice went away for the weekend, and when we next met she said “I didn’t think about you once” and gave me the cold shoulder. Literally, I tried to put my arm round her and her shoulders went all hard and frosty. Unfortunately it wasn’t early onset arthritis, it was me getting dumped.

Esther spent the time going gooey over every kind of dog and complaining that Goldie wasn’t here. The seafood stench was enough to remind me of her breath. Plus when we got back, she ignored me and lavished her love on mummy. Fuck you, dog, that’s the last time I get up at 7.45 and let you out for a wee.

Now I’m fat and poor and bored. It’s Sunday, my least favourite day, soon to be followed by Monday, my second least favourite. Now we are watching Harry Hill’s Who’s Been Framed.

“It’s getting me all excited” says Esther with a subtle tremor of fear in her voice. “Should we be getting so excited over a programme like this? Is there something wrong with us?”

For fuck’s sake woman, just laugh.