Most people have heard of Kew. Think of gardens, and automatically all becomes clear. However, not many people are aware that there's a similarly named place, located on the north east coastline of the UK. Actually, there is a difference - this place is spelt Queue. In accordance with the spelling, there is a propensity for visitors to queue for most things. In fact, it's not so much a propensity as a cuntin' necessity.
Today, a trip to Queue was in order, seeing as the weather was so good and it wasn't far away. The car park was likely to be full, and we were not disappointed in this regard. The frustration, though, was not the fact that the car park was full, but the painfully slow progress made to get round the tarmac and back out again, because the car in front wanted (seemingly) to inspect the paintwork on every vehicle left between white lines, such was the slow trawl in the vague hope that there was space, or someone about to leave. After escaping, we were able to find a space at the top of the hill. Mission accomplished.
The descent towards the pier and seafront was easy enough, and there was little need to boost the coffers of the local 'cliff railway' by paying a quid to travel (after queuing of course) the 150 yards or so down the steep embankment. The steps sufficed, and we clocked the Fish & Chips opportunity. So, despite the pain of standing for ages in direct sunlight, we commenced what was to be a wait of about 50 minutes to get food. It would have been foolish to wait until we were actually hungry before considering food, as the name of the game is queuing. Eventually, at the counter, there was a single woman serving. Now, I am no retail expert, but a permanent/rolling queue of about 40 people rather suggests that one fat cunt serving is not quite going to be enough!
After eating, it was time for a walk along the pier to burn off a few calories, and it was nice to have the chance to move freely rather than watch the back of some fucker's head from a distance of 24 inches. However, this was to change upon leaving the pier, and opting to have an ice cream. You're ahead of me. There were two sellers, and I chose the one with the substantial queue rather than the one with the forget-it-you're-having-a-laugh queue. My choice meant just fifteen people in front of me. Slow progress was made, and when I was nearly at the head of the queue (clocking the £1.80 for a single scoop of ice cream) I became irritated with a woman from somewhere where they breed unnecessary children. The ones in question who were part of this particular family were annoying in a "strangle-them-now" kind of way. It was the mother, though, who annoyed me most because not until she was at the fucking window did she start to enquire of her family what the precocious little shits might want! As soon as I realised the main walking tic was called 'Jacob', I rather gave up there being any point in breathing again, let alone eating ice cream.
The establishment at which I was queuing was named "The Little Big Shop" but it was certainly anything but that. No, it was "The Little, Pointlessly Fucking Cramped Shed with a Serving Window Like a Pissin' Milk Hatch". I think that putting this in sign format would have complied better with trade descriptions requirements, but of course it would demand either small writing, or a bigger sized shed to carry the sign (making it also counter-productive, although the idiots wouldn't know a counter if they walked into one bruising their midriffs). I could not understand how a shop would choose to hamper its interface with customers by having a single tiny opening on to the promenade. Still, I believe it is most likely one of the conditions in owning a retail establishment in Queue.
Alongside the queue for ice creams and lollies was an equally sized queue (though with a quite different movement pattern) for the cliff railway journey back to the top. Apart from the disabled, who get concessions, there's no great benefit in using this facility at £1 a go (kids at 50p) unless individuals are lazy.
We left Queue after an enjoyable 3 hours or so, much of it spent queuing of course. By the way, am having you on, as the town is not called Queue, but is actually Saltburn-By-The-Sea. "Queue-By-The-Sea" sounds rather better to me, and more amusing than the so-called 'amusements'.
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