I briefly worked
on a permanent children's Fun-Fair when I was in my teens (no, nothing like that ever happened, you at the back). Actually it was owned by the widow of the company's founder and she loved her two sons who ran it for her for 20 years so much that she left the whole shebang and other businesses to her useless (and fucking hideously ugly) in-bred, pikey daughters and her equally hideous ex-daughter-in-law when she died last year). Yes, I'm talking about Masons of Cleveleys (if you know the area). Possibly the most dysfunctional family that ever roamed the North West. One of the grandsons whacked himself rather than work for them and the other one fucked off to London never to be seen again (their sister and niece are the local town bikes, the mother is a fully mental born-again nutcase - you get the picture. I actually feel quite sorry for them.). Anyhow, I had the pleasure of working on their promenade death-trap for a year and the particular brand of humour that sprung up amongst the staff was pretty white-knuckle. A gentleman placed his young son (dressed as a fireman) in the front seat of their 'Vintage Cars' ride one afternoon with the words "Do you want me to hold your helmet?" Not as funny in translation but the sight of the staff member in attendance falling to the floor holding his sides (followed by the rest of the staff including the ride operator) will stay with me forever.
( routine has perfected burgers, Sat 14 Jun 2008, 0:51, Reply)