There’s no salad bar at the end of the pier. Fizzy drinks, Sugar, Cholesterol soaring food set in this magical azure sparkle.
Garish grinning hotdogs line our way past Amusement Arcades all flashing lights, bouncing beats and tumble of coins.
A toddler wails. Tired, not wanting to leave.
Another shrieks, spiralling round the Helter Skelter on a well worn mat. Actually just doormats when he’s spat out at the bottom.
I go alone. Into the Fortune Teller’s mystical shed
She tells me you’re bad news. And I leave, watch you waiting outside ‘Chip van Winkles’. Not knowing what to believe.