Days in and out: Going to the Pier

So, it’s time to allow the kids to have some fun on the Pier at Clacton (just putting the town “on the map” so to speak, not advertising it, honest), and it takes the usual planning and the sort of execution you would find in the background of our latest military “intervention” abroad.


Making sure I have the rucksack for the back of my wheelchair, as I KNOW my kids will need baby wipes, jumpers, more baby wipes and probably even more, as they eat ‘like people in town take notice of wheelchair users’ – with total abandon, taking no notice of the consequences!

Time to hit the arcades, after trying to find somewhere to park (the dreaded parking space hunt), and as I look I’m rapidly losing the will to live, and when I find one I aim my car, like a bullet, at other traffic simply to get the last remaining disabled parking space!


Bloody hell, I’m on a roll here…maybe I should try my hand at the “grabber” machines to win my carer a loving teddy bear, just for the hell of it!!!

3 hours of parking? WTF? WHAT can you do in 3 hours in a seaside town nowadays? Bear in mind everything is about 30 mins from the parking space and the traffic wardens now circle the cars like vultures waiting for their final breath!

Pier-Ho! We get to the Pier by going down a gradient that most skate boarders would balk at trying, and I have to do it holding onto my push-rims and hope that my gloves hold out before I lose several layers of skin and muscle in my arms and hands before I reach the bottom and shoot straight out the other side and off the end of the pier!!!

We have arrived at the pier, and my girls are now “ticking” like mad waiting for a chance to get onto the rides and into the arcades and start spending all our money, probably before we actually get a chance to draw any of it out of the bank, but then, that’s what being on holiday is all about, isn’t it?

They love the rides, and watching their faces light up from within as they climb onto each ride and wait with their version of patience (otherwise known as shouting out ‘Get a move on’) and then watching them enjoying the ride makes all of it worth while, in my book!

We have fun, getting a blessed 5 mins break from our girls as they give the “ride runner” or person in charge their version of happy, meaning screeching at a level at least 30 decibels above normal, acceptable limits for human hearing, and probably high enough to give a bat a migraine! Oh, it’s such a joy to see the girls enjoying themselves, but it’s short-lived for me, as my 3 hours are nearly up, so I have to go move the car to another “vulture” hotspot, and hope like hell I can find a space big enough for my car, but small enough that no one parks up my boot and stops my carer from being able to get into the boot to sort out my wheelchair!

Car moved, time taken: 20 minutes (seems like a bloody lifetime, or longer!) and I’m back, to find that the funniest moments involving my kids happened when I wasn’t there and my carer didn’t get the chance to film it on her smart phone for me to see later, but as we say…ce la vie! (or in English, simply put…bugger!)

Now, it’s time to go, and time for the usual “don’t-wanna-go” tantrums, and for the security people to stop people coming in so that the people coming out can get out of the pier building and allow the rides to be closed up and covered, meaning it’s time for me to dodge the “wheelchair-blind” and the “zombie apocalypse” of people more interested in their mobile phones, reviewing their recently shot footage or the ones who have no control over their over excited offspring, who nearly end up on my lap, but there you go! Time to head home and enjoy a much needed ciggie/coffee/alcoholic drink after the girls have gone to bed, and trying to unwind and re-charge prior to the next round…tomorrow!