Grillers in the mist E-Book

Geoffrey Peyton

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

This is basically a sequel to short story called 'That walk' that I wrote the previous year. I returned to Cleethorpes once again to complete that long walk that I failed to achieve back then, and this time I was determined to conquer my quest. These are my memoirs of my return, and also to find a little more history of Cleethorpes and its surroundings.

Leseprobe

Geoffrey Peyton

Grillers in the mist

Conquering that walk

Thanks to all the staff at Thorpe Park Cleethorpes who are all wonderful servants. BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Griller’sin the mist.

Once again I selected Cleethorpes as my first vacation for 2012. Last year, and at almost this precise time (late March), I visited Cleethorpes for a solo weekend in an attempt to achieve an almighty long walk through the Lincolnshire coastal countryside. I failed miserably, only ended up traipsing a mere minor field or two. So I suppose this was a little 'I’ll get you this time you swine' scenario, along with the namby-pamby of revisiting old towns.

The weather forecast for the weekend was blisteringly hot for ninety nine per cent of Great Britain, with the remaining percentage (about one I’d say) being donated generously to.....you guessed it – Cleethorpes. But I was not to be outdone by this minor skirmish of a brisk easterly wind that would harden the most hardened of nipples, forcing great balls of snot to dribble down my chin, or perhaps send my baseball cap on an unforced tour of the neighbouring Derbyshire Peaks. This is the only time of the year when I take a vacation on my own, where I can do as I darned well please, and besides, it’s my birthday you see.

Whether or not I take that walk through open fields of plenty, you will have to wait and see (or read). If you give up on me now, you will never know will you, so I suggest you persevere and read on.

I had already written down the weekend’s manifesto of places (not) to go while I am here on the East Coast, which will involve a Saturday trip into Grimsby (Mmm, not sounding too good is it). I do plan on visiting the Sunday market at Cleethorpes promenade which also contains a car boot, so it’s not all doom and gloom here you know.

Of course the promenade itself will be blessed with all the attractions that only promenades have, and that is the view of the sea and plenty of fun-rides for all the kids.

There are of course the arcades where one can play the one arm bandit (which of course are armless now), push-a-penny (which as now inflated to 2p), and of course that grabbing machine where you try and win a teddy, but in reality, those grabbers would not lift a feather. And the day would not be complete until you have topped it off with a visit to the comfit stand to feed the kids with enough concerning sugar content that will only progress denture replacement therapy.

So where do I start; at the beginning I suppose, and that would entail leaving the house in good old Brum to Pam and the cat. Good riddance.

Waking up at a specified time has never been of worry or concern for me; ever. So this Friday morning was no exception when my eyes took gander to the dark bedroom, wandering if I was late for my train. My calculations told me that it was roughly 4.00am. My mobile phone however, told me that it was only 2.00am. With butterflies riddling inside my reunited infant belly, I shot up from under the duvet, making as much noise as I couldn’t help, which included kicking a cup of water on the bedroom carpet and subsequently upon my track suit bottoms. I started immediately on cursory expletives, with the forerunner word beginning with F and ending with uck.

Once I had had a cup of tea and an excited visit to the toilet, I was ready for the off. Unfortunately the time had not moved further forward a great deal. But I was packed and ready at 3.45am and quite simply left the house with still six and three quarters hours until the train left Birmingham New Street for Doncaster. I could of course catch an earlier one, but that would have set me back another twenty six quid, as I would have to pay the excess peak prices. But I had all the time in the world to kill, and a slow early morning walk to meet brother Rion (no, he’s not a monk, he really is my bro) and to accompany him to work which would kill much of that time.

The walk was indeed very slow, but a very genial one. With almost the whole of the country still in a slumber of sweet dreams or nightmares, I tasted the sweet freshness of a dark and quiet morning amongst the wild habitat that would be racing each other to catch the better bite for breakfast. I stopped and sat in the local park for a cuppa from my thermos, smoked a cigarette and pondered lonely with my thoughts, knowing that I will be at the coast within the next eight hours or so.

Time evaporated quickly, and I was soon whistling morning Dixie’s to Brother Rion who was well prepared for his days work. He was supposed to accompany me on this trip but we decided on a later break, maybe when the weather was a bit hotter. The country was actually experiencing a mini spring heatwave right now, so my Lincolnshire walking should be a pleasant ordeal.

Rion made his way through the work gates at 7.30am and I marched about Birmingham City Centre until 9.30am. During that time I was able to observe the morning rush of prosaic commuters desperate in haste to get to work because they couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed five minutes earlier.