Blankenberg, '62 - go-karts, bar billiards, bons

Blankenberg, looking back, was one of the best holidays and, for me at least, it seemed so at the time. Aged 9, I was old enough to be trusted on one of these go-kart trikes on the Esplanade and to make a fair hack of 'racing' it. And confident enough to go off on my own to the bank, to try to change eightpence into Belgian francs, enough for another game of bar billiards, which we didn't know how to play. The games were very short because we thought the idea was to knock over the mushrooms and pop the cue-ball straight down the holes. Anyway, my request was refused and I was sent back to the hotel for at least half a crown.
Unlike Ostende, which was nothing special to look at, Blankenberg, in some slides, looks completely Dutch. Maybe this is where I acquired my latent love of Amsterdam, where I've always felt completely at home.
Then there was the amusement arcade, where Derrick, Douglas and I spent all our pocket money on pin-ball, amassing sufficient 'bons' to trade in for a ghastly painted plaster of paris ornament which spent the next forty years relegated to the spare room mantlepiece. But it was worth it.
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