The Seaside and Garden Camping Round 2...

After the roaring success of adding culture to the mix a couple in earlier posts, and spurned on by the good old fashioned fun I had trying to fly a shitting kite the other day, I decided that what I, and indeed this already pretty powerful blog needed, was a good old British trip to the Seaside. With this in mind, the long suffering Mrs Dickfingers, who contrary to popular belief is real and has opted out of making her first blog appearance for professional reasons (she doesnt want to the school she works in to know her alterego-by-proxy is "Mrs Dickfingers") jumped in the car and drove the lovely Suffolk town of Aldeburgh. For those of you unfamiliar with the location of many of my childhood holidays, its a lovely little place on the East Coast of England, which has somehow managed to bypass the rest of the quaint ways of the region meaning that unlike Norfolk, there are more than 3 surnames and almost all of the kids there are born without gills.

In keeping with the Great British Traditions theme, we took a picnic and ate it in a Force 3 gale on the sea front because...er... thats why we drove all the way there... (Thats Mrs Dickfingers foot to one side, I doubt that will betray her identity)

We had everything a triumphant picnic needs: Bread, meat, crisps, cheese, a strong head wind and nothing even vaguely resembling cutlery. 

Here I am eating a cheese ham and pickle sandwich after spreading the pickle with the ham.

Revolutionary... 

After our delicious all in one meal, we decided that it wasn't enough to drive for 2 hours to turn around and go back home again, so partly due to my stubborn and stereotypical behaviour of an idiot near a large span of water, I rolled up my britches and waded up to the knees into the cold cold cold cold cold shitting cold North Sea and stood there for just enough time to prevent my toes dropping off. Then got back out again...

Then, hungry again, we went for fish and chips. By the sea. Which somehow, inexplicably made it taste ten times better.

Returning back to Dickfingers HQ, with very little time before our impending summer expedition, I miraculously persuaded my poor lovely missus, that we should have another night sleeping inches away from the ground in my Mum & Dad's garden. Descending with tents at a pace that could scare the shit out of every Daily Mail reader within a 5 mile radius, we (I) converted a small, pretty patch of grass behind a house into a sea of nylon, gas stoves and golf umbrellas...

We then cooked tea, got shitfaced, went to the pub and saw a band of men that sung Led Zepplin songs and all looked like plumbers, watched a guy in a wheelchair that looked like the Fonz rock out to Stairway to Heaven and then had a cup o tea in the morning rocking a pretty suspect headband...

Bring on Cornwall... 

Next time: What's Daisy sitting on? and Mad Mad Monk's Game of Skate...

Stinging...