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My Holiday Camp Faux Pas
A misstep at the fancy dress competition
For three summers, my family and I took our annual holiday in a camp at Cayton Bay, near Scarborough in North Yorkshire. This was a proper Hi De Hi place, from its bing-bong tannoy announcement that breakfast was being served in the dining hall, to the chorus of Goodnight Campers at the end of the night.
As a seven-year-old, I loved the holiday camp experience, not least because I was allowed to go out exploring on my own, providing I didn’t stray too far from our chalet. You could find me splashing about in the bright blue paddling pool, bouncing on the trampoline, or watching older boys play snooker, taking shots with cigarettes hanging from their lips.
I befriended a boy of a similar age, called Keith, and we went around together, squirting all and sundry with our plastic water pistols. I thought I was the coolest kid on the block when I squirted water into my own mouth to quench my thirst, despite the water being warm, and tainted with the unpleasant taste of plastic.
Fancy Dress Competition
One day, my dad got his eye on a poster that announced a grand fancy dress competition for children, and he immediately made plans for my participation, whether I liked it or not.
