I’ve heard there are families that don’t stop at every crazy golf course they see when driving around the country. I’ve heard about them but I’m not sure they exist. How would they fill their seaside days if they’re not knocking golf balls through windmills, houses and into top hats? I just can’t imagine. Anyway. Suffice to say that we are quite the crazy golf connoisseurs and you should believe us when we assert that this crazy golf course in Mablethorpe is as close to perfection as you’ll ever find. Well worth traversing the barren nothingness of Lincolnshire to get there.

As you’ll know from your extensive experience of crazy golf courses, there’s an increasing tendency for course owners to get some off-the-shelf, plastic holes from a warehouse somewhere, blot them to a bit of concrete and call it a top-flight course. We’re always disappointed by this approach. We’ll always play on them but there’s nothing as exciting as a truly individual home-made course like this one. It’s not just amusements, it’s folk art. The colours, the ideas and the friendliness make it a lovely place to spend half an hour.

Our favourite hole is probably the enormous Humber Bridge, a vast hole which provides a challenge for even the most skilled minigolfer. But you can’t fault the house with boots and a moustache, the fat boy or the cannon. And the coup de gras is of course the final hole which will squirt water at you when you get your ball in. Genius. Andy Miller in his marvelous book Tilting At Windmills, chronicles his time attempting to get good at crazy golf. He visits a lot of courses. And he shares our enthusiasm declaring Mablethorpe Crazy Golf to be ‘the best in the country’.

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Posted by Russell on April 19, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Childhood doesn’t belong in a museum - it’s noisy and fun, not quiet and organised. When you walk into the barn-like space that is Childhood Memories Toy Museum the overall effect is of a chaotic bedroom that’s had a last minute tidy up for visitors. The name really fits, as soon as you come in the door it’s like being a kid again, looking at a whole heap of exciting things and wondering what to play with first.

There’s obviously been an attempt to organise the huge number of toys on show. There are neat displays showing an impressive array of toy guns, robots, doll’s house furniture, Sooty & Sweep, ventriloquist’s dummies, Sindy dolls, Mr (and Mrs) Potato Heads, it goes on and on. But outside these collections toys spill everywhere. Bizarre board games such as On The Buses and I only arsked: The Bernard Breslaw Game balance on the display cases, and anything that can hang dangles from the ceiling.

In the middle of the floor large dolls and cuddly toys of all ages are corralled inside miniature vehicles. Some of the old ones would give you nightmares, their glass eyes staring at you in the dark. A teddy sits in a Sinclair C5, not actually a toy car even though it looks like one. And everything is equal here. Although many of the exhibits are highly collectable there’s no indication that that makes them more important. Classic toys are on show alongside tiny disposable things and famous names jostle with others that have been long forgotten. That makes sense – kids don’t discriminate either.

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Posted by Anne on April 15, 2007 | Permalink

Even some of the most experienced south Londoners will furrow their brows and scan their mental A-Z’s in vain when you mention a visit to Nunhead. Despite being firmly lodged in zone 2 the area possesses a spymaster’s flair for anonymity. Perhaps its low profile can be ascribed to the Post office decision in the early twentieth century to lump Nunhead and Peckham together within the SE15 postcode. Ever since being made GPO bedfellows, Nunhead has played the poor relation to its neighbour and the crisis of identity was only exacerbated when Del Boy and his three-wheeler stamped an indelible mark on the nation’s popular consciousness. But while Peckham revels in notoriety, Nunhead possesses at least one very good reason why you should make tracks to this overlooked corner of the capital. Tucked away among the ordinary terraced side streets is perhaps the greatest of all London’s nineteenth century cemeteries, a true hidden gem, which the more discerning visitor will be just dying to visit.

From the outside, the front entrance to Nunhead cemetery exudes the sort of gothic menace which would excite the location finder for any Hammer House of Horror film production. The drama of the huge iron gates hanging from towering stone columns is heightened by their recessed location from the main road. It’s easy to imagine long faced Dickensian undertakers arriving atop a jet black carriage, pulled by plumed horses the colour of midnight. This monumental entrance is the meeting point for the vast ten foot high wall which encloses some 52 acres of gravestones. The gates revel in the insignia of death featuring badges depicting an emptied hour glass flanked by wings of a feathered angel, and more ominously, a skeletal demon. Similarly the stonework is decorated with down turned torches, the life of their flames permanently extinguished. It’s fair to say that this exterior possesses sufficient creepiness to encourage the casual passer-by to consider crossing the road even in the full glare of daylight. But if the outside alone is liable to unnerve then perhaps those of a nervous disposition would be advised not to take a stroll inside.

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Posted by Maurice on April 02, 2007 | Permalink