It sounded like a great idea: Sun, sea, long white beaches and bars overlooking them. Free house and alcohol too. An all-inclusive holiday to the Bahamas? Maybe Barbados? No, this was Dorset. Specifically, Weymouth; a small town populated almost entirely by the elderly, very young and fish and chip hunting tourists. So rocking up on a Tuesday night looking for a busy club was possibly an optimistic (drunken) idea too far.
Anyway, Tuesday morning came and we jumped in the car for the three-hour slog down south. Rain slashing against the windows, we’d chosen the best day. When we got there, the distinct lack of parking in the admittedly pretty narrow streets was an issue. Having found a space, we got to the house, left our bags then went out for an exploration.
Though quiet in the torrential rain, it was easy to imagine many happy family holidays on the sea front during a hot summer. Arcades, cafes, pubs and fish and chip shops as far as the eye could see. A hot summers day this was not, and with the attraction of the sea and beach expiring fairly quickly we headed back into the shopping area of the town. Thinking about, later on, we started counting how many people our age we saw. Running out fingers was not going to be an issue. “They must be in bed”, we thought (well, hoped). Flocks of grey-haired elderly people roamed the streets, and I’m not even joking. Considering one of my best friends has just moved to the town, it’s hard to imagine what he does with his days without being bored senseless.
Having been round the bulk of the town centre, we headed home and decided FIFA might be a better means of entertainment, as pedalos were looking out of the question. Entertainment it was, despite the drubbing I received from my far superior friend (who wasn’t even playing on his home console). 4-2, 5-0, 3-0: the dismantling continued until thankfully our host came back from work. We munched on Domino’s and then started planning our night. We’d done some research and going on experience from our home city, weekday nights are normally pretty good. So at around 11, we headed out.
The first bar was if anything, encouraging. It wasn’t exactly buzzing but for this early on a weekday in this place, but fifteen or so people were pretty good. We had a few drinks and then decided we could chance it at another place. The other places we knew about were on the seafront and promised post 3 am closing times. This, it turned out, was heavily misguided optimism. A grand total of 4 people (including barmen) populated these establishments. Our night out was in tatters. We dragged it out for a bit longer, but at this stage, the money we were spending could have been better spent on socks, or even printing paper.
We went home, having already at least doubled the Lazy Lizard’s profits for that night (maybe the year?), drunker than we should have been considering the ‘night’ we’d had.
As sure as night after day, FIFA has booted up again for some much-needed entertainment. Quality was lacking, goals coming from extremely poor defending rather than from exquisitely executed counter attacks. We were ready for bed. It’s safe to say that our trip to Weymouth was lacking in entertainment. Nevertheless, spending time with great friends was what was most important. I have hardly travelled to different places in the UK but this was definitely a unique journey. At least we managed to downsize the average age to at least 65 whilst we were in the town for a solid 24 hours.