Those of you who keep up with my blog and TripAdvisor postings (60,000 devoted followers at the last count) will know that I have been rocketing about the country this summer exploring the hidden treasures – or not – of our Sceptred Isle.
I have already delighted you with my trips of Broadstairs and Sarfend but I have also ventured to Winchelsea and – a drum roll here methinks – Skegness! My hotel of choice near Rye, the very excellent Gallivant, being full I was forced to stay at somewhere called The Lodge. To give you some idea of how dreadful it was check out my review entitled ‘Step aside Basil Fawlty’. Sidney at the Lodge left Basil as far behind as Usain Bolt’s challengers.
Next stop, and I know your brows are knotted already, if Botox doesn’t prevent all movement, was Skegness. To put you out of your misery a girlfriend of mine has moved there to be near to her recently widowed mother and has duly purchased a four-bedroom house in a cul-de-sac leading to the beach for £160,000. And that’s not a typo with a zero missing. It is approximately half of what you would pay for a one bedroom flat in Richmond. Short lease. Needs updating.
There may be unrelenting miles of caravan parks to the north of Skeggie with blatantly inaccurate names like Honeysuckle Farm and Cherry Blossom Acres, instead of the more descriptive Gulag, No. 1 – 50, but go south (No, not as far as London) to the wild life sanctuary and it is actually very nice.
Needless to say there is NOWHERE even remotely nice to dine, unless you are a devotee of the full English Breakfast three times a day, except for one Italian eaterie in a rather grubby lean to in a car park. The maitre’d, blessed with almost as little charm as Sidneyfrom Sussex, looked incredulous when I asked for a table.
‘People book up to a week in advance to get in here’ he growled.
‘Bit like the Chiltern Firehouse?’was my wasted riposte, making a mental note to ask Quintessentially to sort it for me next time.
All of which has at least taken my mind off the house building next door. The other day I noticed that the builders were replacing the fence between our houses and in an ill-advised quip I ask them to build a chalet for my dustbins with any surplus wood. Novice mistake. In a rather sweet attempt to curry favour they had built an edifice that Beidi would have been proud of. All I need is a few goats and some cow bells. Toblerone anyone?