Drunkenness stalked the street... the tremendous worship of Bacchus at Cleethorpes on Good Friday proclaimed the nearest approach to an earthly pandemonium that I have ever been able to discover...
The Grimsby Observer, August 7th 1878
Skegness:
...it deserved its ragged-sounding knickname. It was a low, loud, faded seaside resort. It was utterly joyless. Its vulgarity was uninteresting. It was painfully ugly. It made the English seem dangerous. And at last, it made me want to leave – to take long strides down its broad sands and walk all the way to Friskney Flats. But there was no walking here – too muddy, too many of the canals and ditches they called ‘drains’ here, and no path.
Paul Theroux (1984) The Kingdom by the Sea p.341
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