Sitting atop a trailer on the back of an HGV, we did all we could on the ‘Mr Men’ float to avoid serious eye injury as the carnival crowds did what we had the previous years, and plump for a two pence piece to the face as the weapon of choice. Thankfully, due to my slight frame and plotting down behind Mr Bump, I avoided coming a cropper as normal service resumed the next year with the carnival queen becoming, for the kids of Hastings, coin target numero uno.

Thankfully, times have changed, and I was bemused as to what the modern-day carnival was like as we made our way down the steep steps in the West Hill toward Hastings seafront on a glorious summer’s day by the coast recently.

Expecting huge crowds, it was a shock to see the event sparsely populated. In previous years, when the route was five times bigger, you literally couldn’t move as the whole town came out to be entertained and make some money for the mysterious ‘rotary club.’ But now, with a seriously shortened route along a short section of the seafront and back again, the gloss had gone and the stayaway locals knew it.

The mainstays were still there: Now there is a carnival queen, but she is made to walk in the blistering heat with the only sign that she was on the throne being a sash around her midriff. There were two majorette troupes giving it their all, but, for a cynic like me, one would have been enough as once you seen one person throw a baton in t’air, you’ve seen them all…

Usually I get concerned when I see gentlemen dressed as women at a predominantly child-centred event, but for some reason it seems acceptable at a carnival and there were more than a handful dotted about: many in stag style attire with blow up bosoms and many not, as they strutted their cross dressing stuff. There were no balloon sellers which must be detrimental to the coffers, yet no doubt now there is probably some rule banning latex in public.

One float said ‘Wildlife Herpes’ on the side and, believing those on board must be stricken from the illness, I was glad to see the ‘p’ was actually an ‘o’ despite still not having a clue as to how or why they were ‘heroes’ which is usually only a self proclamation self bestowed by NHS staff.

All throughout it became apparent as to how, despite their best efforts, the carnival was now dying: There were no card machines and no one carries cash, severely denting the donations total and thus making it unviable for the years to come. This was not helped by there being nowhere to park and if you could find a space, paying a huge amount for the privilege of seeing a handful of trucks and a small band of hardy locals attempting to breathe life into the concept which is sadly now on life support.

In addition, the theme only become apparent after they had gone back around the roundabout and made the return journey as we were forced to watch the procession for a second time with Wee Willy Winkie, the RAF cadets (with someone dressed as a nazi plane), lots of bananas and a monkey. It was heroes of land, air, and sea, although I remain unsure as to how wee willie winkied in on the act.

But still, despite the overarching disappointment (for the adults as well as the kids) you can’t criticise them for trying to keep the tradition ‘afloat’ (sorry) and, thankfully, the carnival queen didn’t end up at Moorfield eye hospital after taking a 50 pence piece to the cornea…

  • Brett Ellis is a teacher