Every summer holiday was spent in the Essex seaside town of Walton On The Naze. I still hold alot of affection for this place. The Martello camp with it's endless rows of caravans and calor gas bottles. To be woken every morning with the sound of seagulls stomping on the roof of our rented four berth and that wonderful musky smell you would only find in caravans. Whilst mum and dad played bingo i would be forever pestering them for a penny or two for the slot machines. At the end of the evening jellied eels. Doughnuts on the beach, always wanting to ride the ghost train when we trod the boards of the pier, candy floss, sticks of rock that we always bought the family to take home and give as a gift, always peppermint. I remember when i was fourteen and a school friend was going the same time as me. Buying a bottle of cider and getting a little bit tipsy together on the cliffs, meeting two girls from Plaistow and trying to impress every time we bumped into them.
The last time i ventured there was back in August 1991, dad was very ill, and all the family took him for a day out which he really enjoyed despite the suffering he was going through. Those holidays in Walton when i look back the sun always seemed to shine.
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