I haven’t spent much time in arcades. I wasn’t great at those games that involved stomping and shooting and running, sometimes together. Much easier to get one of those margarine tubs they hand out and slot a pound coin in and listen to the seductive clunk and rattle of spilling coppers.
I’d then have a go at the slots. I don’t know what these machines are called, but whenever I’ve been in an arcade they always seem busy.
There’s a short story to be written about arcades and I’m working on it.
They’re often derided and still feature – although not as much as they did in the 1980s perhaps – as the kind of place in dramas about runaways where dubious characters hang out.
On a lighter note Alan Partridge proved his expertise at dancing and shooting at an arcade in Norwich.
This image is from Llandudno. The arcade is on the pier with great views of the beach and mountains.