Always look on the bright side of life

Two weeks to the minute that I had been hiking along the Great Wall of China, I was standing in the cabaret bar at a caravan park in Norfolk trying to give a drunk single mum of three the eye.

I had joined my family for the last couple of days of their holiday, but they had all gone to bed at the same time as my nephew and niece. So I had headed up to Neptune's Palace to enjoy the least appropriately named act I have ever had the misfortune to have wasted an hour of my life watching - Laughing Legends.

The act comprised three men taking off everyone from Britney Spears to Elvis. Their 'hilarious' pastiche of George Michael, for example, involved one of them singing a serious version of Careless Whisper, while one of the others dressed as a policeman and sneaked up behind him waving a truncheon. When it came to Bob Marley, the dreadlock wig kept falling in the comic impressario's eyes, so he kept stumbling.

Strangely, I was the only one in the 600-strong audience who wasn't rolling around with laughter (mind you, I was also the only one without a pushchair and almost the only one without a dozen tasteless tattoos and who wasn't morbidly obese).

Anyway, I had been standing at the bar when I noticed this woman sitting at the nearest table. She had a great pair of legs and a striking tattoo, which extended from her foot, all the way up her leg and into her mini-skirt. She was clearly proud of her body art because she was giving anyone interested a perfect view. She came to the other end of the bar to buy a drink and I heard her tell someone (very loudly) that it went all the way up to her neck.

After the cabaret had finished and the venue had started to empty out, I started to pay the woman more attention. She was about my age and wasn't wearing a ring. She had three children with her of between six and 10. Each had a yard of fizzy drink in front of them, which they guzzled in between dashes to the amusement arcade. She sat there playing with her mobile, in between regular visits to the bar (where she ordered a drink to take back to the table and knocked back a shot).

When she wasn't on the phone, she kept looking round in my direction. But despite being the only single person in the room, she wasn't looking at me. Perhaps it was one of the bar staff. Surely not. They were all pasty-faced teenagers.

The woman headed off to the toilet, leaving her handbag, purse and mobile on her table (her kids were all in the arcade). As she staggered past me, for some reason I suddenly felt very protective towards her, so sat at the table next to hers and kept an eye on her belongings (although I probably just wanted a better look at her legs).

By the time she had returned, all her children were at the table. I tried to make eye contact - but she just looked through me. I was weighing up whether to practise my chatting-up skills (which, without a keyboard to hide behind, are non-existent) - the tattoo gave me an easy way in - when she grabbed one of her children, who had been trying to sleep sprawled across two chairs (it was well after midnight), and dragged him to the dance floor. For the next 15 minutes, they proceeded to stumble round the almost empty dancefloor together, one trying not to doze off, the other trying not to let the night's alcohol get the better of her.

At 01.00, the lights came on and it was time for the 60 or so revellers (40 of whom were staff from the camp's restaurants, arcades and other bars) to head back to their caravans (or chalets for the wealthy ones). I cast a final look over to the woman, who was suddenly looking her age under the harsh spotlights. She had one of her children supporting her under each armpit. It was going to be a long journey.

As I walked back, I realised how lucky I am. I've just returned from eight weeks in Asia. Getting paralytic in a tacky nightclub on a Norfolk caravan park is the highlight of some people's year. I may not be able to find a woman - but my life is pretty damn good in every other way.