The brochure sets me yearning to see the waving palms

And all the golden sand and seas so blue.

I'd be afraid to fly there, and there's just another snag,

My cash won't stretch so far, I'll have to think anew.

Now there's a rustic cottage amid the fields so green,

So picturesque with roses round the door.

No microwave or TV, just cows to meet my gaze.

No one to say "hello there" - what a bore.

To try a murder weekend and hope to tease my brain.

I've always felt I was as good as Morse.

But is it worth the effort when I really need a rest?

I will think of something easier, cheaper too of course.

Pony trekking, golfing, or fishing, perish the thought.

I can't ride or swing a club, and water makes me reel.

There must be something simple to keep within my means.

I'll think again and find a better deal.

I've got it, should have known it sooner -

It's good old Blackpool, in a caravan.

A deck chair on the 'prom' to see all life go by,

A holiday to savour and affordable, my man. By Mary Heppenstall

Ainsworth Square, Bolton

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.