Jay Cool’s Hubby shares his impressions of Wales, in a series of daily letters to his work colleagues (now, with permission granted, shared with the world)!
Saturday in Rhyl?
We’ve managed to rig up some sort of rudimentary generator, powered by the car, and now, at last, we once again have contact with the outside world. Oh! … Jay’s just found the MCB – seems we had had electricity all along, I feel so stupid (especially, so soon after that ‘Electrical Networking’ course)!
Turns out the caravan not in Rhyl, but in Towyn, looked down upon as seedy even by the residents of Rhyl.
It consist of caravans on a Biblical scale, stretching to the horizon in all directions
Ghostly remnants hint, Planet of the Apes styles, of an earlier civilisation, engulfed by a caravan cataclysm
Rumour has it, it is so big you can see it from space, though surely no one has ever bothered.
Sporadically, the monotony is broken by islands of neon decadence, wherein appetites for gambling, thrill seeking, and lard based cuisine – can be indulged, but where fruit or vegetables could not be had for love nor money, and a man could lose his life in a fight over a single grape.
Needless to say, we do not venture out of the caravan after dark, much less the site. As I write this, we are hunkered down watching Love Island Reloaded (or whatever) at the lowest possible volume, with the curtains drawn and lights off, lest we should attract the attention of the marauding hordes of undead, engorged on fast-food and lager, that roam the site.
When the kids got up this morning (I use the term loosely) I feared they must have become infected, but then I remembered, that’s just what teenagers look like in the morning (Picture Carly any time before 1730.)
Amazingly, it is unbroken sunshine today. We tried to buy some sun cream but, whilst the concept of cream was familiar to them, that of Sun was a completely alien. Eventually, a wizened old shop assistant said she had heard tales of ‘The Sun’, as a child, but that no one really believed it existed. On the bright side, I think I may have sold them on the idea of a new product called ‘Rain Cream’.
We were almost forced out of the caravan when the water supply failed (I know – In Wales!!!) We had enough booze to last the week, but there’s only so many time you can shit in a toilet without flushing it before the situation becomes critical. Fortunately, the water was restored in the nick of time. On the plus side, with the water back, my shampoo lathers up beautiful, and it makes a cracking cup of tea (and we flushed away ‘Shit Mountain’, of course).
We while away the monotony with a parlour game of our own devising called ‘Rhyl Tourist Board’, whereby we have think up slogan for the thankless task of promoting Rhyl. e.g.
Rhyl – A cut above Towyn
Rhyl – Not as bad as Towyn
Rhyl -Thank God it’s not Towyn
Rhyl – If you’ve got out of Towyn, and made it this far, you might even survive your holiday (but for God sake, don’t look behind you).
Towyn – Twin town purgatory
Towyn – World in need of an enema? Stick the pipe here!
Also, we’re competing to get the following fake news onto the 10 o’clock news –
Refugees, washed up in Towyn, steal a boat and try to sail back to Libya.
Should be a piece of piss! I made it up, but after a day in Towyn, even I totally believe it.
See you all in a couple of weeks, If I get out alive.
Copyright of text owned by Hubby Cool
Photography by Jay Cool