I’ve been to the funfair, the wife, and two kids in tow. The funfair is great. I love it. But have you noticed how funfair rides no longer take old-fashioned hard cash. Nope. They only take tokens. Now why is that?
Well, lets see. Would you go on a fairground ride that looked like it was built by the Soviets and maintained by an Irish Tarmac Gang? Thought not. But, what about if it was only 4 tokens a ride. Four measly tokens. That doesn’t sound so bad after all.
So, I bought twenty tokens for £10. Sounds very reasonable and I was always fond of those Irish lads with a bit of extra tarmac left over from another job.
My boy was desperate to go on the rollercoaster. My daughter was not so keen but being 2 years older was not about to be upstaged by her sickly kid brother. Me, being considerably older, I was quite happy about being upstaged by two scruffy kids, no problem there. Unfortunately, neither was old enough to ride without the supervision of a suitable blood-rush donor. The wife wants to ride too, what fun!
Strapped to the back of a 40mph rusted cart, built on a track that even Stephenson would have been concerned with, masquerading as safe, fun, family entertainment.
“16 tok’ins please mayte”! Why is it, no matter where you are in the UK every fairground ride attendant speaks with a south London accent. Mind-boggling! Now the token system starts to make sense. Having tokens means that you don’t feel like you are being fleeced for 8 quid for one ride. What do you do with the remaining 4 tokens, 2 screaming kids and nagging wife? Buy more tokens. Brilliant!
Chips! (You don’t get French fries at the funfair). “Freshly cut every day”. You can’t argue with that. Until you taste them. Funfair chips, freshly cut every day, maybe, but not necessarily used for as couple of months. Sour ice cream. Chewy candyfloss. Grab a teddy machine’s, which never quite made it through the quality control checks. Those grabbers! I’ve seen more strength in the fist of an old age pensioner with Parkinson’s. One tiny shabby teddy made by a disabled Korean Grandmother in 1976, cost me £7 in 20p coins.
The most interesting bit about the funfair is the sudden change of clientele at about 4pm. Off go the families for tea and the teenage couples head off for the back seat of a 10 year old Ford Fiesta. In come Dean and Tracy from Mandela House and the White Swan Estate. Dean with his top shirt tied around his waist showing off his beer tub torso, tattoos of his football team logo and an ex called Lisa forever, on his forearm. Not to mention a strut the size of a tall ship in rough seas.
She, with a copper bronze fake tan from Pound Stretcher and ten pounds of McDonalds saturated fat hanging over the top of her two sizes, too small jeans. Nice. My Daughter tells me they are called Chavs.
I love the funfair.