Well, Where do I start? What a weekend! I’m super proud of my son and his team mates at the football tournament which I’ve been at over the weekend. We played 8, lost 3, drew 2 and won 3, and as ever the support from the sidelines (the parents) and the coaches (Craig David) was superlative. Well done boys!
Due to the chaotic nature of weekend breaks with a bunch of lovely mentalists the timeline is probably more randomised than normal, I’m not going to tell the tale of the weekend, not because of “what goes on tour, stays on tour” more due to the fact of not being able to remember each bit of it in detail, so it’ll be more of a smorgasbord of mixed tit bits, a feel of what Butlins holiday camp was like for me.
First off it was bloody cold, and windy and even a little bit rainy, no woodland flowers or trees to be seen, the predominant form of life on camp aside from the marauding lunatic parents, drunk in charge of children, trying to squeeze themselves into dresses or t-shirts a little too small, was infant the gull. Massive sea gulls, more interested in raiding the bins for chips and fish wrappers. This is England my friends, this is what we live for.
Not for decades have I had the slightest interest in WWF (wrestling), not since seeing Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks top the bill at De Montfort Hall in Leicester when I was perhaps 8 years old. Giant Haystacks refused to come out of the dressing room to fight Big Daddy to the chants of “Easy, Easy, Easy!” from the home crowd. This was one of the oldest rivalries between competitors, I’m sure they were mates out side the ring, Big Daddy’s signature move was to steam into his competitors with his massive stomach, the fat knacker! He probably could have been a professional darts player, such was the physique of the 70’s sportsman. So finding out there was some wrestling on at the holiday camp piqued my interest for a return to the glory days of 1970’s World of Sport wrestling, Saturday lunchtimes on BBC1 with Dickie Davis (Non uk residents could probably google all of this).
So the wrestlers were introduced first the baddie, Diablo or something I think he was called, then much fanfare and a chap covered in Tats called Adam Flex, or some such, came through the door, down the stairs and made his way to the ring, leaping over the ropes and flexing his muscles all over the place. My God, the mums in front of me, 5 of them, all from our group practically creamed their jeans! Talk about the objectification of men! All in all the actual wrestling was pretty poor and very predictable, going to the last seconds to build the tension and to wring out the maximum amount of time the parents can watch plying them selves with watered down lager and their kids with sugar. Notably a wrestler called Robbie X, who was quite the acrobat, had a big rash all over his face, probably syphallis, and another guy, self professed greatest wrestler in the world, had a gimmick in the shape of a whistle which he blew, we certainly knew when he arrived! So my view of the wrestling has changed, it wasn’t for me, but the kids loved it, maybe my view of the wrestling hasn’t changed, maybe it’s that i’ve got bigger, it’s really for the kids.
Secondly I have an enormous amount of respect for those folk who clean up after us, some people leave more of a trail of destruction than others, but there is always someone there to attend to the dirty glasses, food wrappers, to wipe the tables, etc. I’m not saying I throw rubbish all over the place when I go on holiday, because I certainly do not. But after leaving a pub or restaurant someone is there to clean our spot ready for the next revellers or whoever it might be. Readers of a nervous disposition need certainly look away now. I was in the gents loos, at the urinals, near the end in front of the sit down loos. A chap was cleaning the toilets out and talking to himself in an agitated manner, nervously repeating what he had to do, “This one is blocked, This one is blocked, etc etc”. Another bloke came in and stationed himself at the far end, we didn’t get eye contact, you don’t do that in these situations. So the cleaner guy was complaining about the state of the toilet directly behind me so I briefly turned around to see him shove his whole arm, not in gloves, his bare arm down the loo, into the U-bend and shunt it back and forth! The guy at the other end had turned and seen this too. As quick as a flash the cleaner had unblocked the loo, flushed the loo and was rinsing his whole arm under the tap, soaping himself clean! Hats off! I’ve never seen that before, I doubt I ever will again; if I could award a sunshine cleaner award to anyone, he would be the man, i’ll take that image to my grave and I’d wager the other bloke in the toilets will too. We shared an unintentionally intense sanitary moment.
I witnessed 2 of my friends completely swap over their clothes in the toilets of a pub, tracksuit chap became jeans and jumper man and vice versa. They were in the toilets for ages and the punters coming out from the toilets all had broad smiles and looks of utter confusion on their faces, didn’t know where to look I don’t think. My mate mentioned that seeing my other mates bits twice in a very short timespan was far too much to tolerate!
From the nature of this post you may assume that I have some swinging tendencies, rest assured that is not the case and to assume makes an “Ass out of U and me”. But Butlins does strange things to a person. Like going to Amsterdam or Thailand or I suspect Vegas, we all tread a chaotic path, but now its all returned to normality.
My son is back to killing people on Fortnite, I am back to avoiding e-mailing or calling my boss, and my bathroom is back to not being ready to use, but we’re getting there.
Cheers, here’s a splendid tune summing up the whole mighty session, theres talk about a footy tour to Spain next year; Bring it on!!