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• Sarfend seafront’ – An enjoyable parody of itself
  Date 29/10/2009

  Something rather strange happened to me on Southend seafront this weekend. I really enjoyed it. And the reason was simple – I put my prejudice on pause and went back in time, all David Tennant like.

   

  Bundling the kids and dog into the ageing war-horse, we set off around mid-day in beautiful early autumn sunshine. Now, I have a bit of a soft spot for Southend, as it’s where I was often taken as a kid for a special treat with my beloved grandparents. This usually involved a visit to the arcade slot machines, a Rossi’s ice cream and a frolic on the beach and a trip up the pier. I remember being particularly excited to see the creepy mannequin advertising the Pirate ship, who every time he tried to get up from his place of torture, a large mechanical sword swung over him, forcing him back down again.
   
  Well, the only pirates now appear to be the local authority that charges a small fortune to park. Reassuringly, though, the overwhelming odour of chip fat, candyfloss and slot machines lingers still. And so it should. Let’s face it. You don’t go to Southend and find too many delis’ run by people called Jocasta or Araminta, selling ciabatta and hand made fondant fancies served on Cath Kidson tablecloths. What you get is chips, chips and more chips, served on a bed of lard. With a side helping of, ooh, chips. Indeed, the very pavements glistened with fat.
   
  The beach was out of bounds as we had the dog, a rule which seems to apply to any breed except fighting dogs, so we sat on the wall and had our Rossi’s. And for a fleeting moment, it was the1970’s again, and I came over all warm and sentimental (and no, it wasn’t ‘my old problem’). Until my wife told me how much the Rossi’s were - £1.65 each! I was explaining to the kids that the Rossi family was the same as the guitarist in Status Quo when they replied “who are they?” and I knew time really had moved on.
   
  My children then insisted I join them for a couple of vomit inducing rides in the revamped ‘Adventure Island’. Even the smallest of rides, those normally reserved for toddlers, looked terrifying. I already had a headache, had a stomach full of chips and ice cream, but there was no going back.
   
  Afterwards, it was time for the Sealife Centre (five minutes looking at some sad looking pond-life (that’s just the other visitors) and two hours in the gift shop. I left them to it and wondered northwards, where I discovered a different world. Brightly painted sailing boats and sandy beaches so clean and deserted, I wondered if I had walked through a rip in the time continuum and ended up in Aldeborough. The streets were Georgian and nicely painted, the solitary candyfloss kiosk was retro and all in all, it was wonderfully peaceful. After a wistful few moments gazing out over the sunset, the little shrimp-boats bobbing about like the front cover of an old Essex Countryside in a dentists’ waiting room, there was one last request, this time from me, namely, the pier.
   
  Poor Southend pier. It’s been bought and sold more times than a dockside tart, vandalised, burned, rammed, burned again, burned some more, and still it clings on. I love piers, all of them, and this, perhaps the most famous of all, is no exception. The little train still operates and there is a new looking swanky museum/entrance hall. Sadly, the no dogs rule applied here also (“for health and safety reasons” – oh, paleese) so it was back to the car for sugary drinks and a good row over who’d bought the best bit of tat from the gift shop. Marvellous. All it needed was a stick of rock in the shape of a sexual organ and the day was complete.
   
  Southend seafront has much to offer and, if you’re prepared to shell out for the wristbands, parking and ride tickets, it’s a great place to take young children who don’t mind the tackiness, the cacophony of the bingo callers and pimped up cars pumping out rap. It’s a fantastic place to just sit and people watch and it’s pretty much how I left it all those years ago. And long may it remain so. As long as it’s kept away from the ad-men and image consultants, my kids will be coming here in years to come and saying to…”see that, that’s where dad threw up, that is”.