Wrong

Evening all,

well, it's December, so therefore it must be Cleethorpes.

It was, and it was bloody freezing too.

The number of people who totally doubt the veracity of a visit when it's in a seaside location, and offer you loads of sensible/ advice and make well meant, unfunny assumptions:

"bet you have a game of crazy golf"
"don't run into a windmill!"
"ooh, buy me some rock"
"he's only going to get some sand between his toes"
"enjoy your day out at the beach, don't get sunburned!"

they don't give you these little nuggets of gold when you go to somewhere a bit more urban...

" bet you have a game of shoplifting fags from a supermarket"
"don't run into a pub"
"ooh, buy me some crack"
"hes only going to get some dog poo between his toes"
"enjoy your day in the urban sprawl, don't get car jacked"

For the record, two hours there, pissing down rain and sleet, nowhere open at all, patient not in, sand grubby and more like mud, and couldn't find a pub or a drug den either!!

night all.

depeche mode