I've been on holiday recently, I paid visit to one of Mr. Billy Butlin's attractions. It was bad - the two things that got me through it were my book and the dodgems (NO bumping). I had low expectations from the off, but I was completely dumbfounded by the accommodation. In a word? Crap, with grime included in the cost. I was surprised that flies weren't making passionate love in the oven. In fact, I was surprised the bloody roof hadn't eaten itself.
In my area roofs tend to be very emotional creatures, prone to nervous breakdances and spontaneous combustion. That was a lie.
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