Skegness >
Sep 2016
skegg (personal name), beard(ed) + nes Old Norse headland. Population - 24,876.
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Lincolnshire
Sep 2016
Some old, beardy Norseman may have given his name to this place but it's this fella here that's associated in most people's minds.
That includes SlyBob's although the jumper was red and the figure a chubby schoolboy, a false memory due to not having been here before, probably.
Neither had artist John Hassall when he was commissioned in 1908 by the railways to promote Skegness as a holiday resort. It's a testimony to his talent that this one's still going strong and here's the Jolly Fisherman in real life.
He's of a portly stature with a merry disposition and quite a few of today's visitors were doing a pretty good impression. That'll be too much palm oil in processed food, nowadays, and £2 a pint, probably.
A study by the Office for National Statistics in 2013 identified Skegness as the most deprived seaside area in England[1] but, on the surface, it certainly doesn't look or feel like it.
The Queen Victoria Diamond Jubilee Clock Tower has stood here since 1899 and is as iconic an attraction as the Jolly Fisherman, apparently.
Grand Parade could be described as 'traditional' but it's clean and well maintained and the Tower Gardens, set just behind, play host to numerous outdoor events, when in season.
The only experience of any deprivation was the lack of an empty table outside of a public house. The place was still packed despite having just flipped into September.
[1] They clearly didn't go to Great Yarmouth then?
Bar in the Grosvenor House Hotel with a 'turn' on most nights. He's no Joe Longthorne but he had his audience's attention and at least one of these feet tapping... 'Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to let, 50 cents...'
Over four million people visit here annually, bucking the trend for towns like this and just like the fairground rides, the money looks to be going round.
Down on the front, nothing lies disused or derelict and the bright lights of the slots have earned Skegness the nickname 'Skegvegas'.
They've even gone all faux Art Deco on these refurbished 'musements, mimicking the dominant style on Lumley Road.
A fairly cheap camera that doesn't handle an encroaching dusk too well means you'll have to take someone else's word for that.
Indian restaurant that you'll have to head up Lumley Road for with a 12-year old Maître d' bossing around the temporary staff who are currently at home from 'uni'. This made the whole experience more precocious than delicious.
The Spoons have a tradition of naming their pubs based on the history of the town or the old building they invariably inhabit. The inevitable offering in a town of this size is called the Red Lion from, in a former life, the Lion Hotel.
The building originally had a large, sandstone statue on the roof, hence the Red, before Leo was brought down to earth for safety reasons, the East of England being a famously active area for earthquakes, no? Decades of children climbing and rubbing left him in a shabby state and he's yet to return from a supposed 1980's makeover meaning he's now sat in a garage in Grimsby, probably.
There are no awards for their nearly-out-of-date ale and none for the Director of Contrived Waterhole Naming, neither, who, just like the lion, was nowhere to be seen that day. Whoever deputised on the decision is getting an immediate (0/5) for a lack of imagination and they might as well have stayed in bed themselves that morning.
Of course there's a pier here and it's called Skegness Pier or rather what's left of it. One careless captain who went and caused a collision and a succession of storms have seen the original, T-shaped, 600-yard structure significantly shortened.
One particularly choppy day in 1978 saw it cut in half and Hurricane Skeggy also did for the piers at Margate, Herne Bay and Hunstanton. An inevitable fire[1] followed and most of Lincolnshire's starlings then had to arrange alternative accommodation.
What is left, however, is still an attraction even though that's sand you're looking down at through the gaps in the decking, it barely makes it to the sea now.
[1] See also every other pier in England apart from the one at Saltburn.
Because you're just a little bit of a snob, you've probably forsaken the portmanteau-named guest houses[1] in town and chosen to stay in a hotel, a little way out, with outdoor seating for a nightcap and a golf course next to it.
Now, it's known that the town is traditional but is it still the '70s here where Ladies, and Visitors, have to enter by a separate door? Relax kids, that's the ladies lavs but a check still had to be made.
[1] Typical examples are 'Pambarry' or 'Gordelsie' or ' Trelinda' now it's been thought about.
There's a bit of a walk into town along a path next to the beach and having taken a wrong turn later on, you'll end up walking back on it.
Only this time it's dark, pitch dark. There sounded to be some kind of nighttime activity in the dunes, some kind of voluntary marine conservation helping hatching turtles to the sea, perhaps?
That seems to be a serious business so it's not really known what all the giggling was about?