Halloween Sex Bomb31 Oct 2009

We were entitled to a free visit to the newly restored Dover Castle built by Henry II.

In view of our best judgement based upon the sky above Leigh Upon Sea, this morning, we accepted the advice of The BBC, who promised us a sunny afternoon today and that the rain would be kept at bay until tomorrow.

Once again we were directed to an overflow car park, and on this occasion this was in a remote field. 200 feet below our day’s objective, Dover Castle. Mrs Monk protested immediately upon arrival, about the prospect of the climb to the summit of the Masterpiece of fortified resistance against invasion from the sea. 

We were relieved by the provision of a courtesy bus, and enchanted by a succession of day tripping families. Since it was Halloween, many kids were dressed in skeleton shirts, and werewolf masks, and devilish horns.

We shared the confined bus, face to face with a young family including three teenage girls dressed as zombies. The driver made the ascent to the castle and as we made our way we were obliged to listen to Tom Jones sing Sex Bomb, Sex Bomb, repeat, Sex Bomb, with surreal indifference to our temporary and unintentional acquaintances. It was Halloween and we were amongst the history of the Plantagenets. Furthermore, The Normans and the Saxons and indeed the Romans who provided the first surviving structure, a 2000 year old lighthouse.

As we ascended it became clear that the BBC promise of sunshine would not materialise.

The event consisted of a continual climb to and through the ramparts, ever upwards until Mrs Monk finally succumbed to fatigue and to the feeble excuse that she needed the loo. I adventured further to the rooftop where the promised majestic view was obscured by a pea-souper mist that made the effort redundant.

I descended to the courtyard to rejoin Mrs Monk who was snapping ghoulishly attired children who were unconcerned about their historic King Henry ll, and up for the dressing-up, monster-style and for having fun while not being educated, Disney-wise.

Relieved of the burden of actually being educated on a drizzled Saturday, I found Mrs. Monk trying to photograph the spectacle of an English heritage actor posing as a tourist guide trying to drum up interest amongst the drenched parents looking upon the kids dressed as Frankenstein and weir- wolves and skeletons.

The actor was dressed as a Henry ll peasant but had a whitened face in “respect” of Halloween.

He had gathered together a dozen ghoulish kids dressed as monsters, and encouraged their parents to respond, at the count of three, to the horror that beset them.

One Two Three, .......and I heard the miserable response from the parents that wished they had stayed at home and watched Lewis Hamilton.

Mrs Monk was engaged with her camera and when the Actor/Guide complained about the audience, seeking a more enthusiastic response from the lethargic parents, Mrs. Monk let out such a cry of Hammer horror that all rain-soaked parents rotated simultaneously with genuine shock and awe, all directed at Mrs. Monk who continued to fiddle with her camera as if she were otherwise engaged.

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