For those who enjoy a touch of absurdity in the murky world of politics there is a by-election in Clacton on the Essex coast of England this week that should fit the bill.
Despite there being a boycott by all the main political parties, there are an astonishing 34 candidates, the highest number ever in a British election. The boycott is in protest at Reform Party leader Nigel Farage for reasons too complicated to go into. However Mr Farage is still facing a challenge from a motley assortment of independent candidates spearheaded by none other than Count Binface, formerly known as Lord Buckethead.
Among Mr Binface's more thought-provoking policies have been to nationalise the singer Adele, introduce trains that actually work, make Yorkshire Pudding Day a bank holiday except for banks and closing down shops that play Christmas music before December.
In addition to the Count Binface Party there are three candidates from The Official Monster Raving Loony Party supported by the slogan: "Vote for insanity, you know it makes sense." It was this party that won popularity in the early days with its proposal calling for "privatisation of hot air in the Houses of Parliament".
The Loony candidates are blessed with splendid names including: Nick the Incredible Flying Brick, Howling Laud Hope and Baron Von Thunderclap whose manifesto includes "saving the dodo".
Among the Loony policies in the past was "building a high-speed railway line to the Falkland Islands" which might explain why they have never won a Parliament seat.
The best thing about these daft candidates is that, although they haven't a hope in Hades of winning they serve as a reminder that politics doesn't have to be a total bore.
Sleaze and fleas
Over the years in Britain there have been a colourful collection of eccentric political parties. In 2008 we were treated to the Miss Great Britain Party which initially attracted support with its slogan "make Westminster more sexy, not more sleazy".
The candidates were all former beauty queens but unfortunately in the elections they invariably finished last. It seems the British voters preferred sleaze to sex.
Then there was the Teddy Bear Alliance Party formed by comedian Dom Joly who ran under the name of Edward Teddy Bear.
In the 1997 election in Chelsea he actually attracted 219 votes from an electorate clearly inspired by his important question for prime minister Tony Blair, "Mr Blair, where do you stand on fleas?"
Don't forget the sea
Clacton's official name is actually "Clacton-on-Sea" but nobody calls it by the full title. After all, if you are standing on the beach at Clacton it is pretty obvious the resort is on the sea. Mind you it is a brave holidaymaker who takes a dip in the North Sea unless there's a heatwave.
The "on Sea" suffix is primarily designed to attract tourists and there are hundreds of coastal towns in the UK with a similar sea-related suffix. There are also a number of variations of "on Sea" including Saltburn-by-the-Sea (North Yorkshire) and Wells-next-the-Sea (Norfolk).
One of the more unusual names influenced by the sea is Weston-super-Mare in Somerset. It was originally called Weston but as there were other places in the region of that name a suffix was needed and the influential Church authorities cleverly came up with the Latin "Super-Mare" meaning "on the Sea".
Battle of the beaches
Despite having an extremely low ranking in annual assessments of British seaside towns, Clacton is still popular among many holidaymakers who see it as a traditional "bucket and spade" resort that reminds them of former times. Critics cite Clacton's "run-down seafront" but its saving grace is a long sandy beach while it also has a famous pier that dates back to the 19th century.
It is a little ironic that Brighton on the Sussex coast which is a thriving resort, unlike Clacton totally lacks a sandy beach. It's all pebbles and from personal experience can be quite painful to walk on. However apart from the lack of sand Brighton does share with Clacton most things you would expect at a traditional seaside resort -- deck chairs, sticks of rock, saucy postcards, jellied eels, crazy golf and dozens of fish and chip shops. What more could you ask for?
I happened to be in Brighton with my wife about 10 years ago and she insisted I join her sampling the delights of jellied eels, whelks and winkles. She absolutely loved this culinary feast but all I could taste was salt and vinegar.
The holiday month
All this talk of seaside resorts is a reminder we are already well into August, a month I would look forward to as a kid. August coincided with the English school holidays and in the 1950s and early 60s this month witnessed a mass migration by the working classes to the coast (including Clapton) for a couple of weeks. Those that couldn't afford a fortnight away would settle for tiring day trips to the seaside.
The aristocracy of course went further afield to what was known then as the "Continent", where people spoke in foreign tongues and ate exotic food. When they returned they would flaunt their newfound tans and start dropping French or Spanish phrases into their conversation to show how sophisticated they were. On that note all I can say is "bon voyage".
