No.120

It’s a story that’s been told a thousand times — mourning a long lost romance a lost-soul walks the sands waiting for the often unlikely return of a loved one, only this miserable chap isn’t mourning a wife lost at sea. No, he’s got bigger battered fish to fry; he’s sulking about the close of his favourite seaside resort, Frontierland in Morecambe.

Raised on a diet of candy floss, Slush Puppy and Mr Whippy, he was once Morecambe’s favourite son. Eschewing the world of work in favour of the penny slots, his big winnings and penthouse in the Polo Tower made him the town’s most eligible bachelor. But, like the Polo Tower, what goes up must come down, and he’s never been the same since the turnstiles turned the final time a few years ago.

A broken man, he now spends his nights down on the shore, cone in hand (the ice cream having long since melted), sobbing quietly and mumbling about the Texas Tornado.