The old codger has a holiday

The Old Codger has not been on holiday for sixty-odd years. When he was a boy his parents took him to Blackpool on a charabanc trip, but he moaned so much during that week that they vowed never to take him again. He moaned when they tried to feed him treats like rock, jellied eels or whelks because he just wanted his favourite bread and dripping. He moaned when they tried to entertain him with the Punch and Judy show or the rides at the fairground because he just wanted his play stick. He moaned when they tried building him sandcastles because all he wanted was the pile of dirt he played with at home. They tried to get him to swim in the sea with a rubber ring but in the middle of moaning a big wave caught him unawares and he swallowed so much sea water that it swilled round his stomach for days. Eventually his parents despaired and took him home but he did not stop moaning about it for years.

One day on the allotment the Old Codger found a tatty piece of newspaper wrapped around one of his leeks. He was about to throw it onto Mr. Jones’s leeks when something caught his eye. In big writing which, his old eyes could just read with a bit of squinting, it said “Special offer, coach trip to Blackpool”. “Blackpool”, he thought, “I haven’t been there since I was a boy. What a wonderful time I had. I think I will go again”.

So he went back to the shed he calls his home, found an old battered suitcase under his bed and went round all his carefully arranged piles of useless rubbish looking for things that would come in useful on a holiday. An old car tyre inner tube would do as a rubber ring. His garden trowel and a flowerpot would do as a bucket and spade. In his clothes box he found a large handkerchief that could be tied to hide his bald head from the sun, a pair of worn corduroy trousers which he cut  the legs off to make a pair of shorts and a shirt so patched up that it looked like a quilted bed spread. And from his treasure trove of lost property, collected over the years, he found a pair of ancient sunglasses bent and cracked which barely stayed on if he kept his head still.

He looked round to see if he had forgotten anything and saw a big black Stag beetle on the window sill. This was his pet beetle Boris, and the Old Codger thought he would like to see the seaside, so he picked him up and put him into his pocket.

He finished off his packing with a piece of string tied round the suitcase to keep it shut. Now that he was ready he began to feel quite excited, almost as excited as when one of his pumpkins won the funniest face prize at the annual garden show. Everyone except the Old Codger knew he won because his turnip [pumpkin] looked just as miserable as he did.

The Old Codger picked up his suitcase and stepped out of the shed that he called his home and turned towards town. The sun was shining and he felt more cheerful than he could remember. “Good morning Mr. Jones,” he said to the owner of the neighbouring allotment who was tending his leeks. Mr. Jones did not recognise the voice, yet when he turned round he could only  see the Old Codger. For a moment he thought someone else must also be there because the Old Codger never said “Good morning”; if he said anything it was a grumpy groan like “Grmmph!”, but there was no one else to be seen and therefore it must have come from the Old Codger. “Oh! Good morning”, he said hesitantly, in case it really was some kids playing a trick. “I’m going to Blackpool on holiday”, continued the Old Codger. “How lovely”, said Mr. Jones not quite sure what to say, “but don’t worry I’ll look after your leeks while you’re away”.

Suddenly the Old Codger’s cheerfulness slipped away and his gruffness returned. “Don’t touch my leeks”, he said sharply, “I know you, you’ll stamp on them or stunt them so yours will win at the show”. “I won’t, I promise”, said Mr. Jones.

The Old Codger did not believe him and thought about calling off the holiday to guard his leeks, but then he thought of a plan to protect them. When Mr. Jones was not looking he picked up an old football lying behind his shed and went up onto the roof. He lined the ball up with Mr. Jones’s leeks and let the ball roll down the roof. It hit the guttering, bounced up, sailed through the air and landed smack in the middle of Mr. Jones’s leeks. The Old Codger clapped his hands and smiled smugly. He then went back into the shed, found a large tin of paint, some wooden pegs and some garden twine. He loosened the lid of the paint tin so it could be easily knocked off and took it up onto the roof. He lined it up with Mr. Jones’s leeks and stopped it from rolling down with a peg. He tied the twine round the peg and climbed back down. He then went round his garden patch laying out the twine and keeping it tight with the pegs. Having completed the trap he was happy. If Mr. Jones walked through his patch he would trip on the twine, which would pull out the peg and the paint tin would roll down the roof and land in his leeks, covering them all with Pastel Pink paint.

Happy that his leeks were safe the Old Codger picked up his suitcase and set off again for the coach station.

Even though he did not have a ticket the Old Codger expected that the coach would wait for him so he did not rush. However when he reached the station the last person was getting on and the driver was revving up the engine to go. The Old Codger was halfway  through the door as it closed and the folding doors trapped him by the shoulders. “Aaahhrgh”, he said. “Sorry”, said the driver releasing him. The Old Codger straightened himself and said, “are you going to Blackpool?”. “That’s right”.

The Old Codger climbed up the stairs of the coach pulling his suitcase sideways through the doorway. “You will have to put that suitcase in the boot”, said the driver. The Old Codger looked at his battered and now bent suitcase like it was the family jewels. “But someone else might take it”. “That heap of tat, I don’t think so”, said the driver getting off the coach and relieving the Old Codger of his case.

The Old Codger went and sat down not at all pleased that the driver thought so little of his suitcase. When the driver returned he approached the Old Codger and said, “Have you got a ticket?” “No”, said the Old Codger. “Well then, that will be ten pounds please”. “Ten pounds! It was only sixpence when I was a boy”. “Well in those days the horses could eat grass along the way, unfortunately we have to buy fuel”. “Hhmph”, said the Old Codger. “I’ll have you know we went in a charabanc and the driver was jolly nice too”. “You have to pay extra for a jolly driver”, said the not so jolly driver.

The Old Codger did not want to pay extra so he pulled out his purse from his pocket and unfolded a ten pound note. The driver took it and gave him back a ticket. Then they were off on their way to Blackpool.

The coach was full of excited holidaymakers, none more so than the Taylor’s; Mr. And Mrs. Taylor and their two children Tommy and Tammy.  They lived behind the allotments and Tommy and Tammy often helped the owners with their gardening. The Old Codger thought they were pesky, troublesome kids, who if they were not causing mayhem were noisy and bothersome.

After a bout of excited fidgeting on their seats they decided to go and greet the Old Codger. “Hello, Mr. Curmudgeon, we’re going to Blackpool”, they said together. In reality they were good kids and although everyone knew him as the Old Codger they were polite enough to use his real name. For a long time no one knew his real name but one day the postwoman delivered a letter while he was out and because his shed did not have a letterbox she left it propped on a barrel outside his door. It was addressed to “O. C. Curmudgeon, Railway Allotments, Wiggington”.

The Old Codger did not dislike these children anymore than any others, he simply disliked children. “Uurrgh, hello”, he mumbled hoping they would go away. “Are you going to Blackpool too?” said Tommy. Before the Old Codger could answer Tommy and Tammy’s parents called them back to their seats and he was left in peace for the remainder of the journey.

The coach drove along the front at Blackpool and everyone eagerly watched the sights go by. The fairground, the amusement arcades, the beach and the Tower. The Old Codger could hardly believe his eyes. It had all changed so much he hardly recognised it.

The coach stopped and everyone jumped off excitedly wanting to breathe in the atmosphere. There was a stiff breeze blowing and a strong smell of the sea hung in the air. Overhead seagulls squawked noisily. “Hooray, the seaside”, said Tommy and Tammy Taylor. “Whoa you two”, said their father, “we have got to check into our lodgings. There will be plenty of time for the seaside”. Finding out what their lodgings were like was almost as exciting as the sea and they rushed off after their parents, completely forgetting about the Old Codger.

The Old Codger suddenly realised he had no where to stay. A tramp in a bus shelter saw him with his ragged clothes and battered suitcase. “Hey man, want somewhere to stay?” the tramp said pointing at a cardboard box big enough to crawl into. “Get lost. I am a respectable gentleman”, said the Old Codger annoyed. “Fallen on hard times by the look of you”, said the tramp. “Hhrrmph”, said the Old Codger stamping his foot and marching off with a face like a pickled beetroot.

The Old Codger could think of no better plan than to follow the Taylor family to the bed and breakfast where they were staying. It was an old house, older even than the Old Codger, with an untidy front garden and unglamorous appearance which suited the Old Codger’s style.

The Old Codger waited until the Taylor’s had checked in and then went inside. The hallway was dark and gloomy and at the end a small window like a serving hatch had a registration book and a bell in the shape of the Blackpool Tower on the shelf. The Old codger rang the bell and after a minute a small old woman appeared behind the window. “I would like a room”, said the Old Codger, “but nothing extravagant because I do not have much money”. The old woman had a face as wrinkled as a walnut and hair almost as wild as the Old Codger’s. She had thick round-rimmed glasses that made her eyes look as big as pomegranites. These eyes looked out on a blurry world like looking through the bottom of a gold-fish bowl, and through them the Old Codger appeared distinguished and handsome. “I have got a lovely room at the top of the house that will suit you perfectly”. “As long it is a long way away from the noisy kids”, said the Old Codger. “Don’t worry it is as quiet as a Sunday on Mars”. The Old Codger did not have a clue what she meant but accepted the room anyway and signed the registration book which she held open for him.

The Old Codger went up the three flights of stairs to room number seven and opened the door excited at what he might find. The room was small  with a bed, an armchair, a dresser and a cupboard, decorated heavily with floral patterns. To the Old Codger it was like a palace. He had never seen a bedspread with crinkly edges or an armchair with a napkin over its back.

The bathroom was next door and it too had luxuries beyond the Old Codger’s wildest dreams. The bath was pink with two taps, one marked hot and one marked cold which amazed the Old Codger because he still used a tin bath with hot water heated on the stove. And the toilet was next to the bath, in the warm, with thick carpet on the floor instead of in an outdoor shack with the wind whistling through the joints, and cold concrete on the floor.

The Old Codger went back to his room and looked out of the window. If he leant right out he could see part of the tower and beyond a flash of the blue sea. It was late afternoon with the sun shining bright and his stomach gave a deep grumbly rumble which meant tea time. He locked his treasured posessions in his room and went downstairs. As he opened the front door the landlady poked her head out of the hatch and said “Are you going out Mr. Curmudgeon”. Before he could answer she continued, “In that case would you mind leaving your key here. Otherwise we will never know if you are in or out so we can clean the room”. The Old Codger had never seen a cleaner room and wondered why she would want to clean it again. Then he thought she might want to look through his belongings and decided to keep hold of the key, but the stern look she gave him, with her face creased like a wrinkly cabbage made him change his mind.

He walked down to the front where people were milling about having left the beach because the tide was in. He was looking around for somewhere to eat when his stomach gave a grumble like a thunderbolt that was heard by everyone nearby. Someone laughed, then someone else, then it caught on like wildfire and soon everyone was joining in, not laughing at the Old Codger but laughing because they were happy.

The Old Codger looked around and saw people emerging from a building eating contentedly with their hands out of bags so he went over and looked through the door. Inside lots of people, many of them kids, were waiting by the counter. The Old Codger pushed his way through the queues to the counter where a bunch of teenagers in red baseball caps were serving. One particularly spotty youth came up to the Old Codger. “Yes sir?” The Old Codger did not know what to ask for so he said “have you got jellied eels”. “Jellied eels”, the youth said in a high-pitched squeak, “no sir”. “Oh well I’ll have some cockles then”. “Cockles”, the youth said trying to stifle a laugh at such a funny word, “No sir none of them. What we have is on the board”. The youth pointed at the menu on the wall behind him. The writing was too small and far away for the Old Codger to read even by scrunching his eyes up, but he thought he could see whelks on the menu. “I’ll have whelks then”. “Whelks”, the youth said almost choking to keep back a mammoth chortle, “No we don’t have whelks. We have burgers, nuggets, fries or shakes”. The Old Codger did not have a clue what he was talking about but he saw something that looked like chips so he said “OK, I’ll have fish and chips then”. “I can give you golden plaice nuggets and fries”. “Is that fish and chips?’ said the Old Codger wondering if they spoke a foreign language in Blackpool. “Close enough”, said the boy, “do you want a drink with that?” “Oh”, said the Old Codger slightly surprised at his directness. “I’ll have a half pint of Guiness then”. “Sorry sir we don’t serve alcohol. We have coke, sprite, juice or shakes”. Nothing from that list appealed to the Old Codger so he took his food in its bag, went outside, and sat on the breakwater to eat it.

He opened the bag and pulled out a chip. It was as thin as a straw and about as tasty. He tried a couple more but they did not improve. He then tried a piece of fish but that tasted like glue. He was about to throw the lot in the sea but another rumble reminded him of his hunger, so he stuffed the lot in his mouth as quickly as he could and then crumpled up the bag and threw it over the wall and onto the beach. “Hey you, litter lout”, a voice called behind him. The Old Codger turned round to see a policeman looking at him. “You should be setting the kids a good example at your age”. The Old Codger felt like telling him to mind his own business but he always had a fear of the police ever since he was a boy when he built a model boat with a battering ram to sink the other boats and sank the police seargeant’s prize two-master. He thought he was going to be locked away for good when the police seargeant took him to the police station while they rang his parents.

The Old Codger sneaked away from the waterfront, looking behind him to see if the policeman was following him. He hid in doorways and behind lampposts until he had made his way back to his lodgings. He checked once more that the policeman was not following him then hurried inside.

The Old Codger tried to be as quiet as possible as he walked up the stairs, but the second step creaked terribly and at the sound the landlady opened the doors of the hatch and stuck her head out. “Good evening Mr. Curmudgeon”, she said warmly, “been out for a walk have we?” The Old Codger had no intention of stopping for a chat and continued up the stairs but the landlady had other ideas. “Mr. Curmudgeon don’t stand on ceremony, call me Arabella please”. The Old Codger understood the danger of calling her any such thing and ran upstairs to escape any more embarassment.

Later when the Old Codger was ready for bed in his Micky Mouse pyjamas a knock came on the door. Before he could do anything the door opened slightly and Arabella’s head peeked round. “Oh Mr. Curmudgeon what lovely pyjamas. I’ve brought you a mug of hot cocoa to help you sleep. And I’ll tuck you into bed so you are as snug as a bug in a rug”.

The Old Codger looked at her and there was a power in her eyes. The way she looked with her wrinkled face and those deep dark eyes he thought she was a witch. “Go away you old hag”, he said retreating back to the wall, “I don’t want any of your potions or spells”. “It’s just some lovely warm cocoa. I’ll leave it by your bedside”. She might just have well said, “It’s just some eye of newt and skin of toad”, for all the Old Codger cared. When she had gone he went to lock the door behind her but he knew she would have a spare key so he took the bedside chair and propped it under the door handle to stop her getting in. Only then did he dare get into bed.

In the night he dreamt of when he was a boy travelling on the charabanc to Blackpool, but when his mother turned to kiss him the face he saw was the haggered, witch face of Arabella, it was a nightmare. He woke up in a sweat and could not sleep again for thinking about it.

Next morning sitting down for breakfast he was almost glad when Tommy and Tammy Taylor came over to say hello because he could pretend to ignore the landlady as she fussed around him bringing him the tea, then toast, then egg and bacon. When he had finished his meal and the Taylor’s had disappeared the landlady came over and said to him. “Oh Mr. Curmudgeon you are so good with children, you obviously adore those two”. The Old Codger thought she must be mad as well as a witch. “You’re bats, I hate kids, especially those two, you old crone”.

The Old Codger ran upstairs to get away from the attentions of the landlady. From his window he could see that the sun was shining and by leaning right out he saw the deep blue of the sea. He was excited to think he was going to the seaside and he got out his beach wear, his shorts, his sunglasses, his sunhat, the rubber ring and  the bucket and spade, and put them all in a carrier bag. He found his pet beetle Boris under the bed and put him in his pocket.

He did not want to meet the landlady again and he knew the creaky stairs would give him away so he looked for another way out. He looked out the window but he was far too high to jump. He went out into the corridor and looked for another way out that avoided the creaky front stairs. At the end of the corridor was a sign that said “Fire Exit”. “Perfect”, thought the Old Codger, “a fire escape”. He went to the door and pressed the lever that unlocked it. At that point all hell let loose. A deafening screech in his ear went “whoop, whoop, whoop”. He had not read the sign on the door that said, “Warning: this door is alarmed”.

In his fright he pushed the door open and ran as fast as his old legs would carry him down the stairs, afraid that a policeman would jump out and arrest him. He ran out of the yard, at the back of the house onto the street and headed for the sea. As he rounded the corner he was startled again by a loud alarm, “eee orr, eee orr, eee orr”, and a big red fire engine went whizzing past him. The Old Codger was naturally curious to see where the fire engine was going, and when it stopped a few doors down the street he walked over to have a look. It was only when the landlady came out of the front door that he realised it was his house. “Oh Mr. Curmudgeon”, said the landlady seeing him, “someone let off the fire alarm”.

The Old Codger had a nimble brain when it came to getting out of trouble. “It was those pesky Taylor kids”, he said, “I saw them fiddling with the fire door outside my room”.

The Old Codger escaped as soon as he could because he did not want to risk meeting Tommy and Tammy’s parents in case they caused a scene. He hurried down to the beach and mingled with the crowds who were all happy because the sun was out.

The Old Codger sat down on an empty bit of beach and looked in his bag of belongings. He found the broken pair of sunglasses but they only stayed on his head if he lay down with them resting on his face; so that is what he did.

When he was bored of lying down he sat up and his glasses fell into the sand. Now his empty bit of beach was not so empty because lots of people had settled down around him. The Old Codger did not like crowds and when a middle-aged couple looked like they might sit near him he gave them a scowl as deep as the Grand Canyon which sent them on their way. To prevent any further invasions he pulled his bucket and spade from his bag and started digging. A sandcastle or two was not his aim he was building Curmudgeon’s Wall, a huge excavation with ditch and ramparts completely ringing his encampment. It was not pretty, others might have put towers and battlements to smarten it up, but all the Old Codger was interested in was bulk. When he had finished the Old Codger was tired and he lay back down and rested his sunglasses on his face.

He was stirred from his reverie by two shrill voices. “Mr. Curmudgeon, what a great sandcastle”. It was the Taylor twins, Tommy and Tammy, peering over the wall. The Old Codger thought they might have been locked up for setting off the fire alarm, but here they were to annoy him. “Hhrrmph”, the Old Codger spluttered, “it’s to keep pesky kids away”. “Come on Tommy”, said Tammy, “let’s build one”.

The two of them started to build a castle nearby. It was a traditional design with turrets, towers a moat and a bridge, and easily put the Old Codger’s to shame. He thought it too fancy and when the twins went down to the sea for a swim he emerged from behind his wall, took a run up at it and jumped straight into the middle of their sandcastle knocking down the walls and scattering the towers.

The Old Codger was feeling quite pleased with himself and was getting into the holiday spirit. People were splashing about in the sea and it looked cool and refreshing after all his exertions. He put on his shorts, took off his shirt and pulled out his rubber ring. It was a large ring and took a lot of puffing to blow up. He pulled it over his head and struggled to get his arms through the hole. The ring was round his chest but he could not push it any lower because his bulging stomach got in the way. People nearby smiled at the sight of him because he looked like a pink and wobbly spamburger.

The Old Codger went down to the waters edge and stood in the shallow water wriggling his toes in the sand. The Taylor twins were running into the sea and jumping over the smallest waves. When they saw him they shouted over, “Oh Mr. Curmudgeon, come in, it’s lovely”.

The Old Codger thought the waves they were jumping over were too small and he would show them what jumping over a real wave was like. So he took a long run up and ploughed through the small breakers heading out for the deeper water. On its way in was the seventh wave of seven, much bigger than the rest, with white spray licking its lips. As it neared him the Old Codger jumped up to keep his head above the water but it thumped into his chest and knocked him backwards. The wave broke on top of him and he was tumbled over and over like a bundle of clothes in a washing machine. When it stopped he was left a long way up the beach on his back with his legs over his head. The Taylor twins rushed over as he sat up. “Oh Mr. Curmudgeon what brilliant fun”.

The Old Codger was still winded from the rough and tumble handed out by the wave and did not think it was such brilliant fun. “Hhrrmmph”, he said, “you little squirts want to be careful in such rough seas”. “Oh we will be”, they said as they skipped off back into the shallows to jump over their little waves”.

The Old Codger went back to his fortress and lay down. After a snooze he felt better, although he could feel a tingle on his shiney pate where the sun had shone down on it. He looked around for something to do. He could see donkey rides taking place down by the shore, but he did not like donkeys, and they did not like him, they always snarled and hissed at him when he went near.

Up near the promenade he could see the brightly coloured tent of the Punch and Judy show, and in front of it a crowd of people sat on the sand waiting for it to start. Now this was more like it, the Old Codger liked Punch and Judy shows. He went over and stood at the back of the crowd and scratched at his head which was now beginning to itch.

The curtains opened and the show began. Punch came on with his great hook nose. Standing at the back the Old Codger could not see very well even if he scrunched his eyes up, so he walked round the side of the crowd to get closer to the booth. He was now next to the tent but he could only see the puppets when they poked their heads beyond the stage. So ignoring the children who’s view he blocked he edged round to the front. He now had a very good view. When Punch hit the baby with the stick he cheered and said “That’s the way to do it”. Some of the parents of the children were shouting at the Old Codger to get out of the way. “Hey, you’re blocking the view”, but the Old Codger thought they were joining in with the show.

Inside the booth the puppeteer sensed something was wrong and peeked out through a gap in the curtains to see the Old Codger standing in the way and thought of a way to get rid of him. When Punch started looking for the sausages he turned to the Old Codger instead of the crocodile. “Who’s got the sausages”, said Punch in his squeaky voice, “the baldy old coot has got them”, and Punch started hitting the Old Codger over the head with the stick. Crack, crack, crack.

Everyone laughed at this new twist in the story, the children and parents alike. The Old Codger was not amused, he turned and glared at the audience rubbing his head where Punch had hit him. They carried on laughing and smiling so the Old Codger let out a massive “Hhrrmph”, and stormed off back to his fortress.

He lay down and fell asleep but he forgot to cover his head and when he woke up his bald head was even more sunburnt than before. He took out his old grey handkerchief, tied a knot in each corner and stuck this makeshift hat on his head.

It was well into the afternoon and the Old Codger had had enough of the beach, besides his stomach was calling out for food. He packed his belongings in his bag and looked around for somewhere to eat. In the distance he saw a fun fair and the memory of some pink and fluffy candyfloss came back to him.

It was very busy at the fun fair with people running back and forth excitedly. Lights flashed and rides twirled making the Old codger giddy just looking at them. He saw a candy floss stall some way off but between him and it was a long queue of people. He saw a large family heading for the end of the queue so he pushed his way in front of them because he knew they would take ages to buy their candy floss.

The queue moved forward slowly and the Old Codger kept close to the people in front so no one else could squeeze in. After a while the queue bent back on itself and the Old Codger saw the Taylor family close in front of him. The Taylor twins saw him and shouted over, “Hello Mr. Curmudgeon, we’re waiting for the Big Whipper, are you?” “Hhrrmph”, said the Old Codger which meant “a big candy floss is just what I’m waiting for”.

The people at the front of the queue were disappearing into a big doorway decorated with monstrous snakes and scorpions. He could not see where they came out the other side with their candy floss in their hand but he did think it strange that he had to pay in advance and was given a ticket. “This is for my candy floss isn’t it?”, the Old Codger said to the ticket man. “Yeah, sure”, said the man uncertain if he was being set up for a joke.

The Old Codger went through the doorway and was then quickly shepherded into a carriage. He was about to complain to the attendant that he had two perfectly good legs and could walk to the candy stall when a big black safety bar came down and pinned him to the seat. He was about to object when the train shot forwards. At the same time he heard a painfully loud shriek in his ear. He looked round and saw to his surprise a large middle-aged woman strapped into the seat next to him. She had big hair, thick makeup, bright red lips and a grim face made hideous by the act of screaming. It was a gruesome sight and he tried to move away but was stopped by the safety bars over his shoulders.

The train moved slowly up a steep slope and the ground disappeared below them. The Old Codger looked down on the candy floss stall and people licking at huge sticks of pink candy floss. The higher the cars went the smaller they became and the further the Old Codger was from getting that candy floss.

The Old Codger was not watching where the cars were going and did not forsee that what goes up must come down. The cars reached the top of the hill and the Old Codger suddenly noticed that there was no track in front of him, only a big space, filled with sky.

The cars kept going forwards then started to go down and the Old Codger thought they were going to plummet to the earth. The woman beside him thought so too and let out a monster scream that could be heard on the moon and deafened the Old Codger for days. But worse was to follow. In the moment she stopped screaming to take breath her hand reached over and clasped his. It was a fiercely strong grip that crushed his bones together. He was too scared of women, especially this one, to make a scene and all he managed to say though teeth clenched shut by pain and fear was “unhand me madam”.

The woman was not interested in unhanding him and he struggled vainly to pull his hand free as the cars hurtled down, round a corner, which rattled the teeth in his head and shook his bones from their joints. Up they went again then down with the woman screaming in his ear and clutching his hand so tight it cut the blood off.

This time when they started to go up they did not stop. The cars went steeper and steeper leaning over backwards until they were upside down. Even the Old Codger let out a shriek. At that moment the woman surprisingly let go of his hand, however it was only a momentary relief because she let out another monster scream and threw her arms around him pulling his head so hard it banged against hers. He briefly lost control of his senses and let go of his bag which he had been clutching close to his chest. The contents of the bag spilled out into the car and out of his pocket, and into space, fell his pet beetle Boris. The Taylor twins travelling in the car behind saw the beetle fall to the ground under the track.

“Madam, please!” the Old Codger said as he tried to wriggle free, but she only tightened her grip as they plummeted earthwards again. The ride continued up and down and round corners but still the woman would not let go and kept up the screaming which was now even louder with her mouth next to his ear.

Eventually the ride slowed to a halt back where it started and the safety bars lifted to release them. The woman finally released the Old Codger from her vice like grip and he could straighten his crooked neck and rub the lump on his head. He repacked the contents of his bag which he found scattered round the car and stumbled out. The woman was waiting for him with a wild fire in her eyes and she said to him with deep satisfaction in her voice, “that was fantastic, let’s do it again”. The Old Codger could think of nothing more dreadful and ran off as fast as his old legs would carry him with the woman chasing after him, clattering along on her high heels and shouting “stop, wait, I want another ride”.

Everyone who saw it thought it hilarious, an old tramp with wild hair being chased by a very prim woman with hardly a hair out of place. The Old Codger kept running until he was out of the fairground and lost in the backstreets of the town. He looked round fearful that the woman was still following him but she was not to be seen. He tried to find his way back to the boarding house by keeping away from the bright lights along the front, in case he was seen, but the backstreets looked much the same and soon he was hopelessly lost. He was wondering how he could find his way back when he heard a clip-clopping of heels. He looked around for somewhere to hide but there was only a low bush in the next garden so he dived into that. The clip-clopping of heels came closer then stopped. The Old Codger had his face down in the soil under the bush not realising that his bottom was sticking up into the air. After a little while he looked up to see if the woman had gone only to see the landlady of his lodgings looking straight at him. “Oh Mr. Curmdugeon, what are you doing in that bush”. The Old Codger had to think of an excuse quickly. “I’m looking for my pet beetle which I lost earlier”. “Pet beetle! Oh Mr. Curmudgeon I hope you haven’t been keeping it at Shagri-La because we don’t allow pets there. You are naughty”. The Old Codger was at a loss what to say, the landlady looked stern but her voice was cheerful. “Come on I’ll walk you home”, she said pulling at his arm.

The Old Codger was too scared of this witch to resist so he followed her like an obedient dog back to Shangri-La. Once inside he ran up to his room and barred the door with the chair to stop anyone getting in. He stayed in the room all night too afraid to go out even for food, and too afraid to sleep in case the landlady or the woman from the fair managed to break down the door.

By the morning he had decided that holidays were not for him. He did not like the food, he did not like the crowds, women waited on every corner to ensnare him and kids ran wild creating noise and trouble. In comparison his allotment was an oasis of peace and quiet.

He packed his bags and went downstairs. He was going to sneak out, leaving the key at reception, but the landlady heard him coming down the stairs and came out to meet him. The Taylor twins also saw him from the breakfast room and ran out. “Oh Mr. Curmudgeon we’ve found your pet beetle. We saw it fall out of the rollercoaster at the fair and went to find it afterwards”. Tammy Taylor held out a matchbox and opened it to reveal his pet. The landlady forgot her fear of beetles and said “Oh Mr Curmudgeon isn’t that kind of them. Say thank you”. The Old Codger was about to snatch the box away but he saw the landlady glaring at him with a look that reminded him of his mother. He sheepishly said to the kids “thank you” before taking the matchbox and putting it into his pocket. The landlady clapped her hands together and smiled because she did like a happy ending. She was so pleased she leant over and kissed the Old Codger on the lips. The Old Codger leapt back in horror. “What are you doing woman!”, he said as he rubbed his hand across his mouth trying to erase the memory of that kiss. “Oh you looked so hunky I could not resist it”. The twins laughed as did their parents who were standing in the doorway. “Hhrmph”, said the Old Codger not at all impressed. He picked up his bag and made a dash for the door before the landlady could grab him. “Do come back soon” she shouted after him.

The Old Codger would never come back to Blackpool. He took the coach to Wiggington and was mightily glad when he finally got home to the railway allotments. His first thought was to check his leeks in case Mr. Jones had tampered with them. As he went to look a piece of twine got caught round his legs and almost tripped him up. There was a rumbling sound above him and he walked round to have a look. He saw a paint pot rolling down the roof of his shed and remembered his booby trap for Mr. Jones. He knew he would be in big trouble if someone saw him at the moment the paint landed in Mr. Jones’s leeks so he ran to stop it. The paint pot flew through the air and the Old Codger got ready to catch it. He positioned himself under it with his arms up and clapped his hands round the tin at just the right moment. However the lid of the paint pot was not on very securely and it fell off and all the Pastel Pink paint went over the Old Codger’s sunburnt head and down his neck. It was a far from perfect end to a far from perfect holiday.

© Nick 1999