Not so grim up North.

We went to Blackpool the weekend just gone. Now, the last time I went to Blackpool I was ten. That’s 22 years ago. In all that time I’ve retained fairly strong memories of it. I remember adoring the Pleasure Beach, loving the Sandcastle, watching the dazzling Illuminations, being on the Piers, up the Tower. Hell, even enjoying a visit to Madame Tussaud’s (although I was too scared to go through the horror exhibit). Feasting on rock, sugar dummies, candyfloss – enough sugar to fell a horse. The donkey rides on the beach. All those things, and probably more that I’ve forgotten. The overwhelming memory is one of joy.

It seemed that as I got older, I became aware of a different type of reputation Blackpool has. An unpleasant place full of stag nights and hen parties, where drunken fools with condoms on their heads rule the streets, a scummy beach and a sea full of, literally, shit. While I accepted that this must be the case and that the Blackpool my ten-year-old self loved so much had gone, I never forgot what it was like to visit that place as a child.

It was, therefore, with some trepidation that we began to approach Blackpool that Saturday morning, invited by family. In my childhood memory I remember seeing the Tower, and feeling the excitement it generated, and a nostalgic echo of that resurfaced upon seeing it on the road this time. Before long, also from some distance out, the Big One came into view. The Big One is around a decade old now, but is still a hugely impressive sight. I remember reading about it when it premiered – the tallest and fastest roller coaster in the world. I adore Alton Towers and love roller coasters, but I could well imagine myself chickening out of going on this beast. It’s no longer the world’s tallest or fastest, but it still holds the record for tallest in Europe.

The views along the promenade are much as I remember them, the Tower and the Central Pier on one side, and the Pleasure Beach, Sandcastle and South Pier on the other. I don’t think I ever went to the North Pier, and it remains a mystery to me. Yes, it’s cheesy, yes it’s typically English, yes the beach really isn’t up to much, but the giddy rush of pleasure I got from revisiting one of my most treasured childhood memories was enough to get me excited all over again, 22 years on.

It was shocking just how much the Pleasure Beach had changed. The Pleasure Beach is the most visited theme park in the UK, surprisingly more popular than Drayton Manor Park, or Alton Towers. When I was last there, the Big Dipper dominated the park, and was by far the highest thing in sight. Standing below it was dizzying, riding it looking below even more so. Now, it is surrounded by more than one ride that makes it look a little fish in a big pond. It doesn’t reach as high as Infusion, and barely stretches a third of the height of the Big One. The Revolution, which once seemed so mighty, is dwarfed and seems rather paltry by comparison to its newer cousins.

The first stop was Nickelodeon Land, newly opened this year, as it was really for Katie we came. Katie’s current favourite TV show is Dora the Explorer, so it was to Dora’s World Voyage we headed first. Rach took Katie on while I stayed with Emily. I did feel quite bad for Emily who had no choice but to sit there and watch everybody else have fun. Katie had been buzzing with excitement for days, so finally getting to try a ride out made her grin from ear to ear. What I’ll remember mostly from this two-day trip is Katie’s blissed-out smile barely leaving her face. As we moved from Spongebob Squarepants-themed rides to a Rugrats-themed log flume, Katie looked like she couldn’t have conceived of a place where it was possible to have so much fun. Meeting Dora left her quite stunned, so we had a bit of a break there, lest we break her and spoil her for good. Also, it started to pelt down. As we walked off, it was quite funny watching a three-piece girl band come on after Dora and with no audience whatsoever due to the pouring rain, launch into Walking on Sunshine. There is almost nowhere in the Pleasure Beach to shelter from the rain, so we all got thoroughly drenched, including poor Emily who, thanks to her absent-minded parents, had no rain cover for her pram.

After drying off and waiting for the rain to ease, we ventured back out, where Katie tried the biggest ride so far, the Flying Machines. They work a bit like the Flying Dutchman, and, obviously, Katie loved them. We moved on to one of a few carousels, which moved rather fast, had horses that were bloody difficult to hold onto and made me very nervous trying to ensure nobody fell off. Katie was oblivious, totally fearless and loving every second, shouting “Giddy up Horsey!” and “This is the best ride ever!” as we flew round.

I had been staring at it all day, and I was eventually persuaded to go on the Big One. The thing about roller coasters is the build up. The nervous excitement as you get pulled up the ramp, and the way your stomach flips as you go over the crest just before plunging down the other side. The Oblivion at Alton Towers is particularly cruel, as it pauses for a moment right on the edge of its vertical drop, just to extend that terror. And then, you’re over and the adrenaline rush comes. It’s addictive. The Big One is so high that much of the joy of the anticipation dissolves, leaving you with a terrifying pit in the middle of your stomach. The climb is horrifying. It lasts forever. The signs don’t make it easier, helpfully informing you when you pass 100 feet, then 200 feet and you just keep climbing. The view is astonishingly spectacular, and is something you would usually only get from the window of a plane or a helicopter. Going over the crest is sickening. Mercifully, it doesn’t pause at all. Then comes the 205-foot plunge and it all makes sense. When the anticipation is that much worse, the adrenaline-fuelled pay-off is that much better. It is incredible. My body was buzzing so much from the release of chemicals that my legs had gone warm. After all of that fearful build up, your stomach doesn’t flip over as much as you expect – not even as much as it does on the Oblivion. The rest of the ride is also very good, including a second crest nowhere near as high as the first, but still higher than anything else in the park. It’s also much longer than I’m used to. The rides at Alton Towers are great, but they are over extremely quickly. The Big One gives you an extended ride after the initial drop.

After taking Katie on a few more rides, we headed back to our hotel. We walked back through the Illuminations, which Katie did enjoy, but as she was already an hour past her bed time she was a little too tired to really enthuse about them. Emily, on the other hand, after a cold and wet day suddenly came alive, and was utterly mesmerised by the sea of flashing colourful lights. The Tower looked particularly impressive.

The next day we took Katie to the Sandcastle, which is the largest indoor water park in the country and just over the road from the Pleasure Beach. Katie loves going to swimming pools and playing in the water, but this was the first time she had seen something like a water slide and that look of surpassing happiness became once again fixed on her face. There are few things that please a parent like that kind of face on your child. We started gently, with the smaller slides, and gradually got to the bigger stuff. Each time we went down a slide, she would jump up and down in excitement and shout “Again, again!” Even Emily could have some fun this time.

Afterwards, Katie was utterly knackered, and we made plans to set off, but not before experiencing some of the other side of Blackpool. We had lunch opposite the Central Pier in ‘family friendly’ pub Uncle Peter Websters, with shit-stained toilets and menu with almost nothing available, which didn’t appear very friendly to our family at all. We then had a quick trip onto the beach, as the weather had been sunny and warm all day, the polar opposite of yesterday’s downpour. Well. Maybe it’s because we were so close to the Central Pier, but the scummy brown foam coating the tidal pools and being washed up on the beach was certainly in line with the reputation Blackpool’s beach has got itself. I do wonder about parents just letting their kids play in the scum pools. I do not lie; there were kids playing in the scum pools.

On the whole, the weekend was as expensive as a week in a caravan park, and at times the Blackpool I hear people talk of in disgusted tones definitely made itself known. However, the memory that will mostly remain is again one of joy – some mine, most Katie’s. And I did come home with some rock and a sugar dummy.

What the hell happened to Aberystwyth?

So we went on holiday for a week to Penbryn, which is on the Welsh coast about 30 miles South of Aberystwyth. The holiday was marvellous and the place is lovely - quiet and relaxing with dramatic scenery and plenty of beaches. On the way there we stopped for a while in Aberystwyth. For a long time, Aberystwyth was a bit like a second home for us because Rach got her degree there and we'd spend most of our weekends there before I went back to my University in Stafford. There's an old assumption that the English aren't fond of the Welsh and that, well, just about everybody hates the English. Anyone with half an ounce of sense can see these for the bollocky generalisations they are and that while there are a few people who act that way, they are in a retarded minority. Which is why YOU SHOULD NOT TAKE THE TITLE OF THIS BLOG POST SERIOUSLY.

Anyway, we came to love Aberystwyth, and while there was one local shop close to the University buildings where the shopkeepers would start talking loudly in Welsh every time you walked in the door, most people were lovely. We loved going out of an evening, we loved spending time on the beach, and generally being together there. I will spare you the mushy romantic bollocks, but it's safe to say that the time we spent there was very special to the both of us.

Cut back to our lunch stop en route to Penbryn. We attempt to park, but the only free space has some pleb standing in it like some kind of statue erected in honour of pricks. We stop and Rach opens the window and politely asks if he's saving the space for someone. I think his unfriendly grunt was supposed to be an affirmative response. Instead of pressing the matter, we just move on - there's no telling what the crunt might do to our car if we argue or force him to move.

We find another car park - the fee is a £3.00 flat rate whether you're staying for 10 minutes, 2 hours or all day. This is infuriating and as it turns out seems to be the same for every car park in Ceredigion. This is bloody ridiculous, but that's another subject, which I won't waste time writing about. We need cash for the car park, so me and Katie head off to find some while Rach and Emily stay with the car. The first place we come to is a Co-op where I buy some chocolate and get some cash back. No fucker in the vicinity smiles at me, Katie or anyone else. It's seems grim and unhappy compared to what I remember. When walking back to the car I see the first car park we tried - the crunt is still standing in the place. Maybe he's mental and not actually holding it for anyone.

While there, we also see a hen party in full flow along the sea front, with a group of girls staggering around and generally acting up. This is at lunch time. It will only take a few more of these to turn our beloved Aberystwyth into Blackpool.

I'm not an idiot. Not completely, anyway. I know that this doesn't mean my Aberystwyth has gone, but just that I got a bit annoyed at some dick standing in a parking space and let it colour the whole visit - after all, why should I have a problem with a group of women celebrating their friend's upcoming marriage? I don't and I got a bit annoyed at myself for getting annoyed at them. If you follow me. It's just that this visit has kind of tarnished the place for me a bit now. I'm going to go back one day I think, just so I can reacquaint myself with the Aberystwyth that my wife and I found and loved when we were teenagers.

Impressions of Zakynthos.

The Greek islands are undoubtedly our favourite place to go on holiday. We've been to four so far - Kefalonia, Samos, Thassos and Skopelos, each one being quieter and more remote than the last. That's how we like it - not touristy, just secluded and peaceful, with long walks to lose ourselves in. This, obviously, was before we had Katie. We've recently been to Zakynthos, our fifth island, and it wasn't what we were used to. It was actually a present from my parents, who also paid for my sister and her partner and their son, making eight of us all together. With small children to consider, we stayed in the resort of Alykanas on the North of the island. This resort is clearly designed with the family in mind - our complex had several pools, one of which had a slide, a park on site and was built literally on the edge of the beach - built to make things easier when managing a family. It's also very noisy, with the on site 'entertainment' echoing through the evenings and making it nearly impossible to enjoy a little quiet time on the balcony after Katie's gone to sleep. Greece is much more expensive now than it used to be as well, but the people are mostly just as lovely as ever.

The weather was odd, with the first week being cloudy for much of the time with occasional rain, and the second week being dry and consistently in the mid thirties. In a way, it worked out well, as the first week gave the kids a chance to acclimatise themselves to the heat before the scorching second week. The resort seemed to be designed with the intention of attracting a particular type of English family, and in fact during the second week almost every man I saw was shaven-headed, white, massive and covered in tattoos. Thanks to the World Cup (yawn) almost every bar had huge wide screen TVs blaring out tedious football matches. The way there were so many people on the streets trying to give you leaflets and attempting to get you into their bars and restaurants reminded me very much of a holiday a friend and I took in Ibiza in my dim and distant teenage years.

I knew that this was simply the way this resort had been designed and I knew that my Greece was still out there somewhere, but I couldn't help feeling like my Greek holiday experiences had been tainted a little. This all sounds extremely ungrateful for what was in essence a free holiday I know, but there was also much to recommend. Between all the noise there were many small moments of bliss when the Greece I know and love came back to me - the food was as outstanding as ever (backlavas - drool), and a day exploring the South of the island at Porto Zoro and Gerakas (where the turtles come) was a highlight, as was a trip by boat to the famous Zakynthos shipwreck - that beach is extraordinary.

Katie absolutely adored it and spent her time playing on the numerous parks, splashing about and swimming in the pools and the sea, digging holes and building sandcastles on the beach or scoffing her face with ice-cream and Greek salad. And this, I guess, is the point. Our holidays won't be for ourselves for many years yet - they'll be for Katie and soon Emily. Even though I've been fairly critical and I've pined for the Greek holidays I used to have, as long as Katie has so much fun, it's worth it.