Visiting Bognor.

            Only one male Bognorian I have ever met has been an exception to this rule.  He is my Grandma’s husband or my Grandpa. He goes out of the house on a regular basis, he walks as well.  The only problem is that he goes to the pub; so he can get completely pissed and put on even more weight.  My gran thinks he is amazing because all her friend’s husbands never leave the house.  She take pride in the fact that he gets drunk every night, so drunk that most days she a woman of sixty-seven

has to carry him a ball of lard into bed.  They are an inspiration to all Bognorians .  

        Bognor’s most irritating aspect from my perspective is probably the arcades.  People go in so that they can get away from the wind and perceptual rain.  Plus the chance of winning 2p on the twenty pence machines is irresistible to say the least.  These arcades are situated on the beaches, they are there because people go to the beaches thinking sea sand sun what can go wrong.  With their first step on the beach it hits you, bird crap! the birds are everywhere crapping and pecking all over you.  Once you have overcome the birds you realise that the beach is actually made of pebbles, the pebbles are covered with seaweed bird shit and pollution. The thick, gooey, slimy surface reflects a spectrum of colours.  the bird crap, some fresh, some old, sticks to your feet, leaving a scent of moulding used toilet paper.

        Most people will now have gone to the arcades, but some bring themselves together, block out the pollution and dare to take a dive in the heart stoppingly cold water.  Murky is an understatement. The old tin cans floating on the surface smack you on the face whenever you try to do a couple of strokes.  This forces you out of the sea, off the beaches and into the mankey arcades.

        If you are a tourist coming to Bognor, there are about seven every year, you will probably end up staying in a B&B.  Bognor’s B&B’s are some of the worst in the country.  They are usually owned by dying grannies.  The Grannies are always very nice, they have to be to make up for the appalling living conditions.  You get one room for between two and six people and the beds, what beds, every small movement causes a bruise from springs which dig into your every move.  These beds were probably the same beds the grannies had when they were children. That makes the beds more than two hundred years old.

        Once again the all of Bognor’s inhabitants wake up to the stench full smell of Bognor.  Mrs Branbells , my gran pokes Mr Branbells with the broom until he wakes up with a huge groan, and the smell of beer.  The tourist family staying in the B&B roll over to get a poke from a loose spring in their bed; one local decides to go to the beach and get a mouth full of bird poo, and everything is dull in Bognor.