Best Of Luck Mick & Carole

Great story told to me last night. I thought I’d share it with you.

Now, normally, when there’s a funny story to tell, I’d be expected to hide the names of those involved, but for this, I think I’m gonna name the names. It’s about time they had a real good laugh, even if it is at themselves.

Mick Basterfield has recently been in hospital. He has been having heart problems and will be going in for bypass surgery in October (all being well). Of course, we all wish him the very best of luck and we pray that God is on his side.

He’s been taking various tablets to help him, one of which, thins out his blood and prevents it from coagulating too rapidly. This is all good and above board. All very well for his heart and everything, but…… what if you get a nose bleed? How about you cut your hand open? Or, as in Mick’s case, what if you get an abscess under one of your teeth and it starts bleeding in the middle of the night?

4 O’clock in the middle of the night, and Mick is hovering over the bathroom sink, trying to stop a bleeding tooth that simply will not stop.

When the daytime eventually arrives, Mick and his partner, Carole, take a trip to Sandwell General Hospital. Mick, at this point is feeling very down. His health has been poor for a while now and this feels like another kick up the arse that he doesn’t need. Carole is tired. She’s done enough worrying for the two of them. Her employers have been complete arseholes and have made this time that she needs to be strong for Mick a difficult and more stressful time. Anyway they soldier on and take the trip to Sandwell Hospital where there is the inevitable waiting game.

Eventually, Sandwell Hospital’s staff, have to make the decision that they can’t treat Mick’s problem themselves. A dentist is needed and the best solution, as far as they are concerned is for Mick and Carole to get on the next bus to Birmingham and visit the Dental Hospital. Mick, at this point, is resembling Dracula, as blood runs constantly from his tooth, down his chin and all over his collar. He’s holding a bandage to his face and a collecting cup, to try to collect the blood and spittle, but it’s a mess. He doesn’t want to have to go by bus. He doesn’t want people looking at him on the bus. It’s embarrassing and he knows he’ll feel uncomfortable but he has little choice. He’s feeling weak now and needs to be sorted. Besides, Carole insists that they go.

They arrive in Birmingham slightly lost. Birmingham is a big place and like most of us, they had no idea where to find the dental hospital. They took directions from passersby and eventually saw a newish looking building that had been described to them with the legend “DENTAL HOSPITAL” in large, friendly lettering. What they failed to notice was the arrow beside the sign which was indicating a building about 100 or so yards away.

This is where the Gods of Comedy & Tragedy swapped rolls and allowed Comedy to take hold of the situation. Comedy (with the help of tiredness) blinded their eyes to every sign other than the one that said “PATIENTS ENTRANCE”.

At last, they thought, they were finally here.

They approached the receptionist and explained that Sandwell Hospital had sent them there for treatment, as they themselves didn’t have the qualified staff to deal with the treatment needed.

The receptionist nodded and with a slight note of confusion added that Sandwell should have checked first, because they “only had one appointment left for a “walk-in”, but never mind, take a seat, we’ll call you in as soon as someone is able to see you….”

They sat at the nearest available spare chairs and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Carole & Mick sat patiently waiting for someone to come and see them. Mick was still nursing his bandage and cup. Carole was absent-mindedly looking around the room and wondering, quietly to herself about the advertisements on the walls and the Television set hanging on the wall.

All of the adverts seemed to be about HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases. Posters for Condoms. Phone Numbers you could call for help and advice about dealing with your partner – if you have AIDS. The TV set was on a loop of advertisements all about the same thing. HIV, AIDS, GONORRHEA, SYPHALIS and CHLAMYDIA, PUBIC LICE and SCABIES. Puzzling. Very puzzling.

Carole’s mobile phone rang. It was Davina, Carole’s daughter, enquiring as to the situation.

“Oh Hello, Dear. Yes, were okay. We’re at the Dental Hospital now, just waiting to be seen”

The receptionist looked sharply at Carole, as if she’d heard her say something that she didn’t understand. Carole didn’t stop talking to find out what the strange look was for, she carried on relating the day’s events to Davina whilst next to her, Mick continued to hold his jaw.

A while later, a strange Asian gentleman came and sat next to Carole. He was smiling and wobbling his head in the way that some of them do. A bit like those toy dogs in cars where the head is free to wobble in an exaggerated way. He was smiling and looking and wobbling his head. Carole shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Mick clenched his jaw. Poor bloke. He was properly miserable.

After a while, Mr Wobble-Head moved away and the receptionist called for Mick to go through to the next room, where someone would deal with him. At last. After a hour and a half’s waiting. Hurray.

Carole waited and watched the Chlamydia advice video.

A deep voiced doctor in white coat sat Mick down and asked the nature of his problem.

“Well, I’ve been sent by Sandwell Hospital because they cant help me.” Doctor Deep-Voice nodded. “My mouth has been bleeding since 4 O’clock this morning and I need it fixed.” Doctor Deep-Voice started to look a little bemused. “ They said to come here to the Dental Hospital”

“Mr Basterfield” said Doctor Deep-Voice, “This is not the Dental Hospital”

Mick looked at the doctors face to see if he was hearing this correctly.

“Mr Basterfield, this is the SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED DISEASES CLINIC”

Mick and Carole eventually found the Dental Hospital and after 3 teeth out and 12 stitches, he’s fixed. Well, as far as his bleeding gums are concerned, he’s fixed.

Mick. We all wish you well with your forthcoming operation. Thanks for giving us a good giggle.

Rhyl.

When I was a kid, Rhyl was one of the places you went to as a bit of a treat. Either as a whole week's holiday (Wow!) if you were lucky, or for a day trip.

Rhyl was almost on a par with its big brother, Blackpool. I say almost, because it was never quite as cool as Blackpool. Blackpool had the Tower and three Piers, which in kids calculations, put it higher in the TOP-TRUMP rankings that you played out your life to.

Rhyl had plenty going for it though. The Fun-Fair, Beach, A Pier, Promenade Sweetie Shops, a Replica Sydney Harbour Bridge over the Estuary, Fun-Fair, erm.......... , Fun-Fair....... well, I guess our expectations were lower then.

It was enough for us though. The very mention of the name Rhyl had you all begging at your parents knees.... “Can we go? Pleeeeeeze? Pleeeeeeeeeze? Can we? Can we go Pleeeeze?”

We had great times there.

My junior school, Locarno Road, in Tipton, took us on a school outing there once. We went by train. It was a great adventure and would never, ever be allowed, in these modern times where health and safety squeezes the bejesus out of life.

Can you imagine the scene? Two school teachers in charge of thirty or so nine-year-olds, marching from the school to Tipton, Owen Street Train Station. One teacher leading the way, the other at the back, making sure everyone kept up. We were all Duffle-Coated, Scarfed and Hatted. The teachers made us all hold hands as we crossed the roads. It was excellent. The train was one of those with the corridor running along the one side and individual compartments for 6 or 8 passengers. We had a brilliant time.

I remember a trip my family took in the late summer of 1977. There are reasons why I know precisely that it was 1977, but I don't wanna go into that too much here, for fear of digging up ghosts, but to paint a little picture – here's the scenario:-

In the Summer of 1977 (Jubilee Year) my Mom & Dad had an acrimonious split-up that resulted in my Dad burning the house down. Unbelievably, and for reasons she can never explain, my Mom accepted my Dad back.

My Dad's parents took us (the whole family) to Rhyl in a maniac attempt to patch a leaking dyke with sticking plasters.

We “holidayed” in a tiny “Chalet” (more like a garden shed) on the holiday park (“Sunny-Dale” or something like that) to the East of the town, on the way to Towyn, just over the replica Sydney Harbour Bridge.

None of them (The Grown-Ups) had any money. The “Chalet” was powered by an electric metre which swallowed 50p's at an alarming rate. This meant blackout for the majority of the time.

My Grandfather wasn't beyond turning his hand to a bit of dishonest work to pay his way, so the idea was hatched set up a little business venture for the week. I became an early morning cockle-picker. Bright and early every morning, I was awoken and sent to help the old bastard clear the beach of any cockles left washed-up by the receding tide. This amounted to quite a few, actually. I remember struggling to drag the great big bags of cockles back to the “Chalet” which was now turned into a cockle processing factory.

Memory fails to tell me exactly how the cockles were disposed of, but I imagine the old turd going from pub to pub, doing the rounds. Selling his cockles for a shilling a bag.

The funny thing is, my memory of that holiday remains quite a fond one. Its a little like an old film that captures a certain time and place that can never be again.

Anyway. The point is, Rhyl was a great place to go. Accessible, clean and fun.

As young adults, Austen, Too-Tall-Tony, Phil The-Fluter and me went to Rhyl for a jolly-boys weekend.

I say young adults. Austen and I were about 20ish. Tony and Phil were a good ten years older than us, but supposedly “up for the crack”.

They weren’t up for anything at all, as it turned out, but Austen and I were of an even more mischievous nature than we are today. We went out on the piss and took Tony and Phil with us.

At about 1am, they called time and we all went back to our digs.

After wrecking their beds and making enough noise to raise Satan, let alone the rest of the hotel, Austen and I decided to go back out.

More drink. More girls. More fun. That, at least, was the plan.

We exploded from the hotel onto the promenade to find that Rhyl had gone to bed.

Now. I don't know whether you've ever been to Rhyl yourself, but along the promenade, on the beach side, there were a series of water features. In my mind's eye, it was like a long, snaking, paddling pool that weaved its way from one of the major amusement buildings to the roadway on the promenade. A couple of hundred yards in length. It may not have been anything like that of course, as I was smashed out of my skull. It may well have been two or three separate features. I really don't know.***

We decided to go for a midnight swim. Skinny dipping.

So, we folded up our clothes (in a heap) on a bench and took to the waters.

Starting at the one end, we paddled and swam and ran through the water, climbing over the obstructions that separated the pools every thirty or so yards. Laughing our heads off, freezing our tits off and making a right bloody row.

We were having the time of our lives when the police turned up.

A young shy policeman and a very confident young WPC shouted to us that we should get out of the water.

We did and went straight over to them, still in our nakedness.

First they made us fetch our clothes and then, just as I was expecting to get arrested, they sent us to our hotel room with a stern warning.

We went quietly. Until we reached our room that is. As soon as we got in the room, it was time to wreck Tony and Phil's beds again.

We had a wonderful time. Tony has since passed away (God bless him) and I haven't seen Phil for donkey's years but I bet Austen remembers our adventure. How could he forget?

*** I have since looked, without success on Google, Google Images and Google Maps to see if I can work out what this water feature thing was. It certainly wasn't recognisable on my later visit with Chanel. I have no idea other than I recall it being between our promenade Hotel and the sea wall. I have a feint memory of us going behind the sun centre building, onto the sea wall to have a piss into the sea but even that is a very poor, dull memory.

Many years passed and I forgot all about Rhyl. I started a family and even had a brief career. Rhyl was never mentioned and never thought about.

And then one day I bought something off Ebay which I had agreed to collect (it was an Ice-Making Machine for the pub). The address was Betws-y-coed which ain't very far away from Rhyl.

I had the splendid idea of collecting my Ebay purchase on a Sunday, which was a day when I would not be needed at the pub until evening. I usually took Chanel (my daughter, who was then about 10/12 years old) out on a Sunday, and this looked like a great opportunity to take her to see Rhyl for the first time.

So. That's what we did. We set out for Rhyl, via Llangollen (to see the “Horseshoe Pass”) and Betws-y-coed. On the journey I told Chanel all about the many times I had been to Rhyl. About the Cockle-Picking, The School Trip, The Skinny Dippers and explained how I had always seen Rhyl as Blackpool's little brother. She was very excited about the fun-fair and I must admit to a feeling of excitement myself, for seeing the place again.

The route I had taken, had thrown me beyond Rhyl and so I came upon the town from the west, heading eastwards, first through Towyn and then on to Rhyl.

The first of many memories came bouncing into my conscious as I saw first of all, the caravan park, “Sunny Vale”, ah yes. That was it's name. “Sunny Vale”. Hmm.

And there was the little club-house belonging to the caravan park, where we used to share a bag of crisps and a “jubblie-pop”.

I looked, but couldn't see, the sand-dunes, beyond which I had Cockle-Picked.

And then came the Estuary bridge. Oh.... I took a double take at what I saw.

It had two Arches, in the Sydney Harbour Bridge style not one. Hmmm.

Funny how the memory paints it differently. I remembered my brother, Paul, catching a small, flat, fish from off the bridge. Our Grandfather claimed this, the only catch of the day thus far, and promptly cut it into 4 pieces. The catch had now become bait, with which we proceeded to catch a couple of eels, which became that evening's meal.

I drove on past the funfair which wasn't there. It wasn't a funfair any more. It was a development site. I looked at where the motorised go-carts once entertained us. Not there.

The no-longer-there Log Flume which towered above the far side of the no-longer-there funfair, failed to catch my eye.

I found somewhere to park the car and we had a little wander around. We were both devastated. Chanel was broken-hearted that there wasn't the funfair that I had promised. In fact. There wasn't anything. Rhyl had become a ghost.

I had the uncontrollable urge to get away. I couldn't bear to see the place in such ruin.

Every other building, along that once proud promenade, was boarded up. The whole town ached with decay.

On the way home, we stopped for something to eat and I apologised to Chanel for wasting her time.

“It's okay Dad” she said, “It's not your fault – you should've bought an Ice-Maker Machine from Blackpool, shouldn't ya Dad?”

I understand that the towns committee for Rhyl has eventually woken up and things are being done to restore some basic tourism to Rhyl. Too late though, I think. Far too late. And yet Rhyl has a lot to offer, the beaches are great. The surrounding area is steeped in history, just around the corner is Rhuddlan, a magnificent castle, built by Edward 1^st (Longshanks) in the 12^th Century, to control the Welsh. There's plenty to see with the many seaside resorts, one after another along the coast. Prestatyn, Towyn, Colwyn Bay and the spectacularly frozen-in-time Llandudno.

I'm gonna make a promise to myself that I'll visit the area again, probably next summer. Spend a few days there and capture whatever memories are left over before its too late.