The occasion of my Wife's birthday in January always introduces a challenge to find something interesting and engaging to do to celebrate it even though she is the first to advocate austerity after the extravagances of December.
It is a difficult balancing act involving detailed research and calling upon my somewhat limited imagination and inspiration. The process this year was no different. I should know by now not to buy anything based on a picture in a brochure. It can only lead to disappointment, or at least in the vast majority of purchases.
This flaw in my character can be traced back to my childhood years.
I spent a good couple of years saving up tokens from packets of Bazooka Joe Bubble Gum for the purpose of sending away for a camera which was attractively depicted in their catalogue. I was too innocent to comprehend that the equivalent spend to amass the required number of tokens would be a direct reflection of the quality of the item. Sure enough. It was rubbish, a cheap plastic thing and it just didn't work.
Nevertheless, the six months it took to arrive after posting the tokens was one of intense excitement for me. Every day I would await the click of the front gate announcing the passage of the postman up the garden path only to have my hopes dashed.
I did not learn from that bitter experience.
Even today the shop window that is E Bay and Amazon, although glossy and detailed in its presentation of products, is no guarantee, for me, of a completely happy transaction. There is consumer law and legislation about defective goods and services but I base my level of customer satisfaction on the difference between that initial surge of adrenaline on pushing the "BUY NOW" key and what subsequently arrives in the mail a few days later.
I am not saying that sellers seek to bamboozle and hoodwink, rather I have unreasonably high expectations of the shopping process.
There is one stand-out purchase in my 50 odd years as a member of the western capitalist ideal. That was a week ago. It was the hire, for my Wife's birthday on a Saturday in January , of a seafront Beach Hut overlooking North Bay, Scarborough on the Yorkshire Coast.
I am not sure where the idea came from.
My in-laws, on a Christmas stay in Scarborough a couple of years ago had use of similar as part of their accommodation but otherwise me and beach huts have no connection.
Out of season the array of Promenade positioned wooden structures are almost invisible, doors usually boarded up against the ravages of storm surges and salt sprays, primary colours dulled and shrouded in fog, mist and graffiti.
Those owned and managed by the Local Authority remain dormant until at least Easter when bookings can be made. In recent years a swanky development of holiday apartments at North Bay included construction of a few rows of brightly painted, traditional timber clad and felt shingle roofed beach huts.
These sold rapidly to those for whom a beach hut is an essential part of a British seaside holiday, a place to be enjoyed and cherished out of the wind and driving rain but also appealing to an emerging culture of investors who could generate an income from rentals.
A phone call to the number on an on-line sales brochure elicited that the privately owned beach huts were indeed available even in the damp and cold conditions at the beginning of a New Year.
For the sum of £25 it could be hired from 9am to 6pm on the chosen day.
What was included? I enquired of the sales office. "an electric kettle, a lightbulb, a cold water tap over a sink and two canvas deckchairs" was the answer.
The written confirmation of the booking, received a few days later, was two pages of conditions and restrictions with quite severe sanctions for misuse or misappropriation. I understood why as a prime sea front location could serve as a great pitch to vend fast food, hot drinks, dog walking accessories and to cater for the brave souls striding out over the sands blowing away their own cobwebs and excesses.
The birthday girl and four of us guests arrived early on the Saturday.
The key would not work in the lock but a workman was summoned and arrived with his miracle WD40 spray. This expelled the corrosive moisture from the mechanism and we were in.
It was a small space. In metric units, about 3 metres square including, on the back wall, a worktop with stainless steel basin and cupboards beneath. The interior was spartan with a rustic wash effect painted planking and linoleum floor covering. Last occupation was indicated by a small string of Christmas lights, an artificial tree and a faint but distinctive odour of plum pudding and mulled wine.
We crowded in, or rather just got out of the wind and heavy cold air. This was an instant relief although we were well prepared with multiple layers of clothing of thick winter coats, hats, gloves ,scarves, blankets and rugs.
As first priority the kettle was filled and emptied into the two hot water bottles and rationed out for ten minutes per person. The contracted two deckchairs were actually four deckchairs but I had to perch on the worktop. A cup of tea followed quickly although I had only packed three cups in the wicker picnic hamper.
The tide was out giving a broad view of sand and rock pools with the silhouette of the historic Scarborough Castle on its clifftop to the south east and the white tented effect roofs over the Sea Life Centre to the north.
Although early on a saturday it was busy. Free out of season car parking was a bonus and there were large family groups on the beach and everyone seemed to have one or more free ranging dogs. One of the beach hut doors was left open by which to soak up the atmosphere but also to retain as much bodily generated warmth as possible within the thin wooden walls.
We had planned on a fish and chip lunch or early tea and so just took snacks and a birthday cake made by our son. I gave in to the cold and on a trip to a seafront supermarket under the posh apartments found the essential items of Pot Noodles, savoury filled pastry slices, crisps and chocolate.
The kettle was not allowed to get cold for the duration.
A few of our party went for an hours walk along the Bay. I stayed behind in the sentry box and tried to get comfortable across two deckchairs under blankets and with both, refilled hot water bottles. This proved impossible. It was a restless sixty minutes that seemed so much longer.
With everyone back we sang Happy Birthday to my wife and finished off the great home baked cake with our second or third gallon of tea. Word association games and people watching passed the time. To onlookers we must have resembled a Care Home outing huddled in our sensible clothes. We laughed at little bit of self imposed adversity but were grateful for the shelter and companionship.
It was a happy and relaxed few hours but inevitably we came to the mutual decision that we had had enough of the experience.
We were by now chilled to the bones and awash with a combination of tea, cake and curried noodles.
The twin attractions of the Scarborough South Bay Amusement Arcades and Fish and Chip Shops were calling out to us.
We must have looked a bedraggled sight making our way back along the Promenade rosy cheeked and stiff limbed to the car but all agreed that we would return, but only on the hottest day of the year.
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