And so begins the summer, a time for us all to scratch at the surface of our lives, in the vain hope that there may be something better buried beneath.
Many of us shall descend upon the seaside in the months ahead, those resorts that dot our coastline like benign tumours - a warning to any foreign invader that there is nothing here worth invading for.
Here we present a gallery of such resorts, with a specific focus on the faded glory of their arcades... WARNING: This might be the most depressing article you ever read.
Many of us shall descend upon the seaside in the months ahead, those resorts that dot our coastline like benign tumours - a warning to any foreign invader that there is nothing here worth invading for.
Here we present a gallery of such resorts, with a specific focus on the faded glory of their arcades... WARNING: This might be the most depressing article you ever read.
Huddled beneath the sign, the machines seem to cower like creatures under a rock, shying away from daylight's glare. They dangle their lures, hoping to ensnare some distracted prey.
These two appear to have taken the bait, reeled in by the soft toys, unaware that they are stumbling into a trap...
These two appear to have taken the bait, reeled in by the soft toys, unaware that they are stumbling into a trap...
"Amusement Centre" they had to call it, for "Mental Health Drop-In Centre" was already taken...
"Family Fun" declares the sign, assuring respite from the domestic purgatory you otherwise find yourself chained to.
"Funland, Funland, Funland/The country where I want to be/Pony trekking or camping/Or just watching TV/Funland, Funland, Funland/It's the country for me..."
"Have fun at the palace", it seems to implore, the desperate, disinvolved, plea of its burnt-out management.
Behold the Noo-Noo, forlornly scouring the seafront for discarded fag ends and dropped coins.
Behold the Noo-Noo, forlornly scouring the seafront for discarded fag ends and dropped coins.
"Get your 2p coins here."
"Win me... WIN ME" the stuffed things shriek, desperate to escape this hellhole.
"TAKE ME AWAY FROM THIS," cry the yellow bears, a deafening chorus of hoarse rasps, spat out between the sobs.
"TAKE ME AWAY FROM THIS," cry the yellow bears, a deafening chorus of hoarse rasps, spat out between the sobs.
"CHANGE HERE"... as much hollow promise as it is instruction.
See her reading her novel, her 50 Shades of Grey, inured to the stuffed things hanging from the ceiling, like felt carcasses in a puppet abattoir.
Every day is Derby day at the arcade... for you shall never attend a horse race. You shall never brush shoulders against the hoi-polloi, for you are not worthy.
This is the closest you shall ever get to seeing a real horse; to you a creature so exotic it may as well be a myth.
This is the closest you shall ever get to seeing a real horse; to you a creature so exotic it may as well be a myth.
Behold the penny falls of the Rio Carnival. See the shining tuppenny bits. The Playboy keyring. Oh, how you thirst for it. Were you to win the precious, it would be the finest jewellery you own...
Sweets. So many sweets. The Refreshers and Parma Violets. How long you have craved their candied embrace. To feel the fizz on your tongue as they dissolve... the sensation of something more than the endless, meaningless, drudgery that defines your time on earth.
"One day, son, those ancient sweets could be yours..."
All roads lead to "Loopy's Fun Zone". See how Loopy himself has his arms raised, as if confronted by an armed robber.
"Put your hands up and nobody will get hurt..."
Please. Do not make promises you cannot keep. Loopy is already hurting. Your bullets would provide divine release.
"Put your hands up and nobody will get hurt..."
Please. Do not make promises you cannot keep. Loopy is already hurting. Your bullets would provide divine release.
A slice of Vegas glamour crammed into the corner of some dismal resort, the equivalent of wrapping tinsel around the neck of an unconscious meth addict.
The shooting gallery. A Wild West scene as conceived by the paranoid delusions of a ruptured soul. The mummified corpse of a sheriff. The pirate skull. The jail and hotel as one - for the residents of this town such establishments are virtually interchangeable.
The polythene Minions seek shelter from the rain, for they have no home to go to, and the underpass is flooded...
The amusements unite us all... Young and old alike, diverting minds from the pointlessness of their lives, the tiny voice which seeks to remind us that we are naught but reproductive flesh-bags, scrabbling around on a celestial orb that wishes us dead.
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