Vergnügungspark - Amusement Park

As lacking in amusement as such parks in East Anglia are - Suffolk’s Pleasurewood Hills sounding more like, yet being far less appealing than, a low-grade countryside brothel, and Yarmouth’s Joyland, a place that’d struggle to be more miserable were all the rides replaced with Holocaust imagery and used tampons - for me they could never be as depressing as those seedy, teenager and degenerate-ridden dens calling themselves simply, Amusements. Packed to the doors with flashing fruit machines interspersed with the occasional crane-grabbing game, they’re everywhere and always have that same smell: a mixture of stale smoke, disinfectant and futile desperation. If you go to the seaside, they’re a bit more non-addict friendly, having at least a small section of old style, mechanical penny slots and falls where you can happily spend five quid over an hour. You’ll probably win a big chunk of it back too, and, most importantly, walk away with a Liverpool FC key ring from the 2001/2 season or some Lizzie McGuire stickers. The best thing about it is trading in all those cruddy prizes for something bigger and better, like the classy Tasmanian Devil money box I fill with all my shit-small coinage. But back in city centres, it’s all about being serious. Penny falls replaced by silvery ones, 2p minimum-bet machines replaced by 20p Deal or No Deal confusingly high-tech motherfuckers, and tourists replaced by locals trying desperately to button-bash their way out of debt. Not a crappy little prize in sight either, just an abundance of bright white trainers, tracksuits, gold chains and baseball caps. And all the players are wearing them already, so what’s the point? If you’re a bit down and happen to be passing such a place, step inside for a few seconds to take in the sights, sounds and smells. If that doesn’t make you feel a trillion times better about your own life, well there’s always East Anglia’s leading wood-pleasuring site just off the A12, north of Lowestoft. Whatever turns out to be there, you can bank on riding creaky, battered stuff from the 1950’s in dire need of lubrication.