Murder on the dance floor

We're back from four nights in a Northumberland caravan park and 'well-rested' is not how I'm best described.

Don't get me wrong, the sight-seeing bit went well.

It's Northumberland after all, in my view England's best keep secret.

There were jokers everywhere you looked.

Activities aplenty.

And no shortage of Northern birds to admire.

No, it was the evenings where the problems arose.  Or, more precisely, the kiddies' disco.

I've always understood that a kiddies' disco was for kiddies, not mummies and daddies.  But they do things a little differently in the North-East.

By a process of elimination, Vanessa reached the on-stage party dance final on Monday night.

But didn't manage to win glory for the family.

It was my turn the following night. However, unlike Vanessa, I didn't have to take part in an on-stage dance-off. Oh no. 

I had to take part in FIVE on-stage dance-offs. Really. I was up there for more than 20 minutes.

And when the compere finally got bored and awarded a lady in tracksuit bottoms and me joint first place, I was ordered to give my hard-earned prize (a snorkel set) to a random child without the name White in their name. Outrageous.

Fast forward to the next night and Vanessa and I were both invited up to do our thang.

Look how excited she is. Such a shame she was first out. 

Thankfully I was kicked off two dance-offs later.  But it was still better than her, which was all that mattered.

Neither of us could be arsed on the last night, instead choosing to concentrate on the bingo - Jamie won an egg kit, which thankfully he was allowed to keep. 

So that's what we've been up to. We hope you missed us.