Jenny Hanley Down Under

My Dear Fellows & Dear Princess,

This is an Australian Magpie. There were actually three of them puttering about as I walked home. It's not a great picture, but I couldn't get very close. It's quite frustrating. I also saw a pair of Eastern Rosellas the other day, which are quite beautiful birds, but according to my camera they look like a squashed sweetie wrapper. So I never bothered to blip them.

Now then. It occurred to me that I've told a couple of people lately that I enjoyed Phoenix Nights because it reminds me of nights out with my family. But I have not yet elucidated and I thought perhaps I should. So here is my account of the most Peter Kay experience I've ever had.

In 2014, it was my dad's 70th birthday. Shetland Dad, Er Indoors and me were all invited down to Bridlington. Ostensibly it was to take my dad out for a big meal with all the relatives and to present him with a "This Is Your Life" book of memories.

(I was Eamonn Andrews and we played the music and everything. I even got to say, "And do you remember THIS voice...?" It was great fun.)

But - and my sister's eyes GLEAMED with mischief as she handed us our tickets - it was also that time of year when Bridlington hosts the "Elvis Weekender".

Now I expect there may be a small number of you who do not know this but Bridlington is the host of the most prestigious Elvis Impersonation Competition in the WORLD. (Excluding Las Vegas, Memphis, Los Angeles and possibly Cleethorpes). For an entire weekend, Bridlington is INVADED by Elvises (Elvi?) 

It's a bit surreal. Here's the thing. Bridlington is a small seaside town. I suppose its heyday was the 1950's & 60's when teenagers would go courting on the promenade, stopping off at the coffee shops and listening to Marty Wilde and Roy Orbison. There was a nearby Butlins and a fun park and even a small zoo.

But Mrs. Thatcher was not kind to the north. By 2014, Bridlington had a faded air. All those same attractions were still there, but badly in need of a coat of paint. The same teenagers are still there too, but now they're OAPs, popping into the same coffee shops with yellowing net curtains and formica countertops, and still listening to Marty Wilde and Roy Orbison.

There are SOME young people there of course. But they all have a look in their eyes, like they are desperate to get away to the heady lights of Newcastle or Leeds. 

And then you add into this an army of Elvises. Strutting along the sea-front. Peering in shop windows for sausage rolls and steak bakes. We saw one Elvis riding a pushbike with clips on. And there was one in front of me at the tea shop. "Aah, aaah'll have a sausage in a bun with fruity sauce please love, thang yew very muuush..."

Shetland Dad, Er Indoors and me were staying in a very odd guest house run by a very old lady wearing a perky blonde bob hairstyle wig. She had knick-knacks EVERYWHERE. I've never seen so many plates not for eating, all over the walls. Er Indoors and me had a room filled with so many dried flowers that the whole room rustled every time you flushed the toilet. But Shetland Dad had it infinitely worse. He was in "The Room of Dolls". Which was the creepiest effing thing I'd ever seen. God knows how he slept.

Day one of the weekender saw us in the Spa. There was a bloke on stage giving it his all on "The Wonder of You". Every time he said the word "yeeeewww" he would point at one of the little old ladies in the front and they'd all go "OooOOOoooo" and cheer. He was going down great. At the end, he tried to pull a karate move and his belt shifted and his trousers nearly fell down.  

"A big 'and there, a nice round of applause ladies and gentlemen for TREVOR ELVIS!" came a voice over the tannoy. We all applauded, thang yew, thang yew very musssh. The tannoy announced the next competitor was "Neville Elvis" who got up and launched into a little number for all the ladies in the audience.... "The Wonder of You". 

I must have heard that song about EIGHTY TIMES that weekend.

There was, as you might imagine, quite a lot of Elvis memorabilia on sale. My dad went NUTS. He bought sideburns, Elvis shades and a Hawaiian lei. Well it's Elvis. You have to make an effort.

Most of the Elvises had made an effort. Or at least their wives had. There were loads of blokes wandering around in boiler suits onto which sequins had been sewn. But it wasn't entirely an amateur affair, as the weekend progressed the quality of the Elvises improved markedly.

By day three, the competition was heating up for the three categories - 50's Elvis, '68 Comback Special Elvis and Vegas Elvis. Fortunately, we had an "in" with these chaps. As well as being a musician himself, my cousin Vinny's dad was an Elvis impersonator, back in the day. Soon we were sat with an entire table of Elvises, who advised us on who was good and who was attempting a difficult song. I got talking to one bloke from the West Indies who introduced himself to me as "Black Elvis". His was easily the best Elvis costume. The full jumpsuit with an embroidered eagle on it. And he wore so many chunky rings on his fingers I wondered how he held his pint, never mind went to the urinal. 

Amongst the Elvises at our table, there was a lot of appreciation for "Kevin Elvis" who got up and did "In The Ghetto". "Very technical that one," they said. "High difficulty factor."

"In the ghett-oooo-oooo-oooohh" we responded helpfully from our table.

"A big 'and for KEVIN ELVIS there. All the way from 'ull," said the announcer. 

And then me & Tups got up to dance. You couldn't not. The atmosphere was great.

By now things were really heating up onstage. The old ladies were coming over all unnecessary. This is because "Colin Elvis" had launched into "Burning Love". He was mopping his brow with scarves and throwing them to the old ladies who pounced on them like seagulls on sandwiches. He was also bestowing kisses to the women queuing at the front of the stage.

"Shall I?" asked my sister.

"Go on," I said. "You'll be the only one up there with your own teeth."

So Tups went to queue for her kiss. Bless her, she's ordinarily a very confident woman, but I think Elvis intimidated her. It was a bit like a 5 year old meeting Santa. So she leaned in for the kiss but then LEAPT away at the crucial moment. Poor Elvis. She threw him off completely and I think he just MISSED. From where I was standing, it looked like he just "air-kissed" her. She came back dejected.

"Elvis spat in me EYE," she complained. I told her it was her own fault. And anyway, at least she got a scarf from him.

Me and Er Indoors returned to Edinburgh the next day. Still slightly dazed by what we had seen. I'm going to have to look at the pictures we took to prove to myself that it really happened. I don't know if they have anything like that here in New Zealand, but for those of you in the UK, I see the Elvis Weekender is on again this year at the start of June. 

Book your hotel now. I recommend "The Room of Dried Flowers".

S.

p.s. That's my dad meeting Black Elvis in the extras. I should point out that those are not my dad's actual sideburns.