My loyal reader will doubtless have been fretting about my absence from this website in recent days. I have been on holiday – a “Sun holiday”, to be specific, a cheap and cheerful caravan holiday in Trecco Bay, Porthcawl. I am not exactly thrilled to have booked via yet another one of Rupert Murdoch’s vehicles, but it’s like having Sky Sports: sometimes needs must.
Trecco Bay is not any old caravan site. It’s the caravan site and it’s quite a sight, the site is. It’s absolutely vast, seemingly as big if not bigger than the town of Porthcawl itself. In the very middle of the site is a small town of shops and takeaways, as well as the various bar areas where you can “enjoy” the entertainment provided, assuming you have paid extra to get the appropriate passes, which we declined, not reluctantly. Not that it wasn’t any good – I have no idea – but we have done the cabaret when the kids were young and the needs definitely don’t must anymore.
We were very lucky. The resort allocates accommodation on arrival so it’s a lucky dip really. We really wanted to be a long way from the entertainment complex and close to the beach and guess what? We got both. A spotlessly clean modern six berth caravan for the two of us within 50 yards of the beach. How lucky can you get?
I was struck by just how quiet the park was. Hardly any of the caravans near us were in use and the walkways were rarely busy. The whole place was clean and tidy and extremely well maintained. We were somewhat unique among the holiday makers in that we didn’t smoke, didn’t require walking sticks and didn’t have tattoos. Many had all three. If less than one in five people smoke across the whole country, it seemed that most of them had gathered in Trecco Bay and Porthcawl for a holiday.
The better of the beaches near us was called – would you believe? – Sandy Beach. We were promised three blazingly hot days as part of the national heatwave and ended up with one, so the Met Office will soon be hearing from my solicitors. It is a short walk into town via countless bars and takeaways, as well as amusements and a Pound Shop Leisure Park. And there was a burger store too. McDonalds? Burger King? Nah. Wimpy! I was half-tempted to risk a grease burger, along with the usual odd-shaped sausage (ooh er, missus), but my partner, who has far more taste and sense than me, directed us to somewhere far more healthy: a traditional fish and chip shop. This would not, I felt, be of much assistance to our new healthy eating regime, which is beginning to yield small dividends, but sod it: we were on holiday! If you can’t eat excessively unhealthy food on your holiday, then when can you eat it?
Although the site was fenced off from the rest of the world, on two sides anyway, it did not have a POW camp feel to it. I suppose the fact that there was so few people staying might have had an effect in that.
In common with other sites, the newsagent does not accept vouchers for newspapers. This meant a drive into town to find somewhere that did, but to be honest I would have probably have to do that anyway. The only newspaper on sale, so far as I could tell, was The Sun and it did not appear there was much call for Guardian readers. I do not consider myself to be better than Sun readers in any way, shape or form, but I would have thought the newspaper’s hard right political agenda would not have been in keeping with the people who were staying there. They were there because it was the best they could afford and for the people I spoke to – all very friendly – it was their only holiday. As the shop would not accept my vouchers, I decided they could live without my money for the entire week. That showed them.
One thing we could not find anywhere was a postcard. God knows we tried. It’s not as if Porthcawl is an ugly resort – I have been to far, far worse – but they didn’t seem keen on postcards. “There’s not much call for them” said the woman in the newsagents in the middle of town. Obviously not!
There was not much in the way of decent pubs so far as I can tell. We went in one – I won’t name it, just to say that Dwayne Johnson’s alter-ego will give you a clue! – where the beer I bought was so bad I took it back, only for the landlady to apologise for the glass and give me another pint of terrible, cloudy ale. The locals seemed happy enough, though; both of them.
Few people seemed to leave the site to go into town and I guess that is not surprising given how many of the guests had mobility problems. And anyway, if you urgently needed a pasty, there was a brand new Greggs just outside the caravan park, so no need to venture all the way into Porthcawl itself!
Our only problem was with ants, bloody thousands of the little sods. They appeared as soon as the sun came out and only buggered off when the rain and the ant powder arrived. I had arrived unprepared for both rain and ants.
As sites go, I couldn’t fault Trecco Bay. The caravans are almost, but not literally, on top of each other but for all that it’s quiet enough. I doubt whether during the summer holidays will be so quiet though. And Porthcawl itself? I thought it was pretty nice although it didn’t try very hard to be better than that. It’s not faded like some other seaside towns I could mention but it’s not the liveliest or most interesting place I have ever been to. Perhaps that’s why people go there?
A Wetherspoons would be a welcome kick up the arse for some of the pubs though.
