Essex Comes to Norfolk - Part 2

While I was flattered and delighted to see how many people enjoyed my piece on "The Julies" last week, I do have some disturbing news to report on that front. Some of you may recall that "The Julies" were the “better ‘arfs” of a couple of Braintree based armed robbers who had been on a “Have-it-away-on-your-toes” weekend at the location of the health club which boasts Grumpy as a member.

 

While "The Julies" were hugely entertaining it transpires that they were also the sinister vanguard (the boys would assume that this means a security man) for a hoard of Essex Lovelies who would make their way up the A12 and A140 over the Bank Holiday Weekend. Well let’s face it, if the Banks are on holiday there isn’t much point in robbing them. Judging by the assembled multitudes in the swimming pool I can only assume that my health club hosts had popped an advertisement in The Essex Travellers Weekly. From the smell that greeted me as I entered the pool area yesterday I think many of them had brought their black and white horses along for the trip and probably had them tethered and grazing on the lawns at that very moment. If I had wanted to share water with a bunch of dirty smelly people I'd have changed my religion and jumped into the Ganges or, more practically, have taken a holiday at Centre Parcs.

 

It was wet Bank Holiday Sunday. As usual the Brats had managed to organise invitations to anyone’s house to avoid the Sunday roast and Mrs G and I were left on our own. Normally she wouldn’t want to be seen dead with me but the incessant rain and boredom caused her to ask if I would take her as my guest so that she could use the gym while I had a swim.

 

There was little evidence in the Car Park of what was to follow and I suspect the management, inspired by the response to their Essex ad, had set up a caravan park at the rear of the building. The changing room was quiet but I could hear quite a bit of noise coming from the pool area. I may be grumpy but I have no problem with kids enjoying themselves or making noise. But this wasn’t just kids. The noise was being made by a mass of heaving, mostly adult Essex humanity. The first think I witnesses was a man, with more tattoos and body piercing than I would consider safe around water, clearing his nasal passages into the spa pool like a Premiership footballer just before the camera switches away from him. He climbed out and wiped what I can only assume to have been residue off his leg and deftly flicked it back into the spa.

 

Disgusted? You will be. It got worse. I began swimming my lengths in the roped off area only to find Wayne and Waynetta  wrapped around each other at the far end of the pool. It didn’t take X-ray vision to see that he had his shovel-sized mits down the back of what was a sort of bikini made for someone at least three sizes smaller. Then, to heighten my disquiet, I realised that she wasn’t just big – she was heavily pregnant.

 

Four lengths later I could take no more – they had actually started making grunty noises and even the other "Travellers" were beginning to notice. I decided to make for the Steam Room when Waynetta announced that she needed to go back in that “squirty barf fing to get cleaned up a bit”. Swimming somehow seemed a bit grubby now so I made my way through the rest of Jeremy Kyle’s audience and ducked into the steam room.

 

“Cor, that don’t ‘arf clear the old tubes out”, declared an exiting elderly gentleman who looked remarkably like Albert Steptoe, “careful of that floor mate – it’s a bit slippy”. Maybe I’d use the Sauna instead.

 

I opened the Sauna door and………it was empty. Peace, perfect peace. Now if only I could find some way of wedging the door shut. Believe me, the thought actually went through my head. It was peaceful for all of two minutes before at least ten Artful Dodger candidates came in and started to run amok. I plucked up the courage to speak to the seven year old who I calculated was the least likely to be carrying a knife.

“You want to be careful in hear with them earrings on you know”, I whispered in a voice that sounded disturbing like Bob Hoskins with a sore throat.

“Why”?

“Well, the temperature in here gets to ninety degrees and if you stay here for more than three minutes your lugs will catch fire”, I whispered, “Honest”! I added for authenticity.

For whatever reason (but mainly because he was incredably stupid) he believed me and, after a hasty conference with his mates, they left with their hands over their ears. For all of fifteen seconds I was smugly satisfied. Then the consequences of my actions dawned on me as I imagined an adult rabble arriving any minute to take revenge. I quickly departed the area imagining small boys pointing me out to the tattooed John “Spitter” Terry as soon as my back was turned. I have never, dear reader, showered and changed so quickly, eventually arriving at Mrs G’s designated meeting point a full one hour ten minutes before the appointed time. Unfortunately this was right next to Reception and I had visions of JT and his mates arriving every time the door opened. I received over an hour of funny looks from the “Hi Guys” on Reception but at least they would be able to witness any damage that was done to me.

 

Eventually Mrs G arrived.

“Been waiting long”, she enquired, although not in the least bit interested.

“Nah”, I said, “ Five minutes maybe”. The “Hi Guys” stood with their mouths open as we passed but I was never so glad to get outside into the rain.

Have I learned a valuable lesson? Well, yes actually, I have – Never go to the Health Club on a Sunday – or a Monday until after the cleaners have been in!

Is Norfolk really becoming the playground for Romford's Finest or was this weekend untypical and I'm worrying unnecessarily? Maybe Norfolk has always been the playground for these people. Perhaps the rising price of petrol combined with cheap weekend deals at our finest hotels has caused them to stop short of Great Yarmouth. Maybe it's just another phenomina that can be blamed on Gordon Brown. Another reason for him to do that funny twitching thing he does with his mouth everytime he lies.......but that's the subject for another blog.