Number 2: Odd job man - Pontin's Holiday Family Fun Resort - Blackpool, Lancashire

I promised myself I wouldn’t go back – I really did. The stench of ghostly chavs and greasy chips haunted every walkway. The sexist, racist mirth Roy Chubby Brown and Bernard Manning echoed the corridors, swirling between the sickening forced smiles of “Blue Coats” trying to get one last laugh and fuck from parting sour faced punters.

It was my year off. I wanted to find a job in some sunny shack beach bar and learn to surf… but I had no money - it was the middle of a recession. I was stuck in Blackpool.

So I meekly went and got, cap in hand, my job back.

This time they gave me a few things to do:

Painting the walls of the huts white.

Painting the never ending white stones that mark the road so drunk drivers could find their way.

Fixing the bikes in "Bicycle world".

Overseeing captain crocodile’s fun palace.

Caller on the boating lake.

Ball boy in the snooker hall.

But the crux came when old Ernie left or died or went insane - the management were vague.

The parking lot was opposite the dunes of south Blackpool. Every night the wind blew the sand onto and over it. My job was to shovel the sand into a wheelbarrow and take it back to the dunes. When it was wet the sand was back-breakingly heavy, when it was dry all but a handful blew off the shovel and all of it blew into your face when emptying the wheelbarrow onto the dunes.

The next day, whatever the weather, it had all come back.

One day - I calmly put the shovel down and walked away.