Jayne Dowle: Our resorts are fine, shame about the tourists

WE'VE just got back from a week at the seaside. Three mothers and five children, at Skegness, Ingoldmells and Cleethorpes.

We've been doing this school holiday trip for three years now, so we're thoroughly acquainted with the so-called renaissance in the British seaside. There isn't much we can't tell you about the state of public toilets, car parks and what to do if it throws it down with rain.

So, I reckon we are also well-placed to tell you if the seaside is shaping up to the hype. You may recall a recent report which raved about how the seaside economy is thriving. Scarborough and Whitby were picked out as particularly shining examples.

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This is good news, but it is important to remember that our seaside stretches for 11,073 miles around the coast of Great Britain. From the pretty coves of Cornwall to the sands of Blackpool, from the rocky coast of Scotland to the palm trees of Torquay, that's a lot of room for the good – and the bad.

So, the good bits first. I certainly think the standard of accommodation has improved. Hoteliers and holiday companies have finally realised that we want what we have at home.

We stayed at Butlins, and with the leather sofas and white sheets and towels, flat-screen televisions and free wi-fi in the trendy caf bar, we couldn't fault it. Same with the food on-site. Excellent choice, real coffee and badges for the children for "healthy eating". And no fizzy pop in the restaurant.

Wander around the resorts though, and you can't escape the takeaways. Although the constant smell of chip-fat would give Jamie Oliver a coronary, I suppose it is true that we live in a democracy and it is an Englishman's right to stuff himself silly with trans-fats if that's what he wants to do on holiday. But top marks to the caf-owners and restaurateurs who are trying their best, because you will find plenty of decent mid-price places to eat at the seaside these days.

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And you will find a wider range of things to do. Sure, there are still the slot-machine arcades and fairground rides that look as if they should have Teddy boys riding on them. But even the crazy-golf courses have had a makeover, with fancy landscaping that wouldn't be amiss at the Chelsea Flower Show.

At Butlins, we were impressed to see that the activities now include arts and crafts and a tremendous climbing wall which the older children loved. If this most traditional of holiday companies is aiming for the middle-class Center Parcs family crowd, they're going the right way. But there has to be something to entertain the mothers, too. And this one was especially impressed with the market on the promenade at Cleethorpes – stall after stall offering crafts, plants, international food and jewellery, thronged with browsers on a sunny afternoon. In all the years I've been going to Cleethorpes, I've never seen it look, so well, sophisticated, and I'm pleased to see this resort raising its game.

Now for the bad. And it comes down to one word: attitude.

I'm not for a moment expecting everyone who waits on tables or serves in shops or operates a fairground ride to be a constantly-smiling automaton. But honestly, talk about miserable. And jobsworth. Note here especially to the crazy-golf man who wouldn't let three children go on the course unaccompanied by an adult because of "health and safety", even though I was prepared to sit and watch.

And the woman who stood with a stop-watch by the trampolines and unceremoniously booted off all the children the second it struck "five minutes, your time is up".

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Private companies and local councils can throw all the money they have at improving attractions and diversifying what they offer, but if the people who work for them can't be bothered to make an effort, then you wonder whether it is worth it.

And sadly, this brings me on to my biggest issue. Other holidaymakers. I do wonder why some people bother saving up all year to go away. Because judging by the miserable looks on so many faces, the complaining and the sheer rudeness, they would better off staying at home.

No one has higher expectations on holiday than me. I'm the first to say something if I'm not happy. But I've never poked someone in the back and ordered them to move because I can't see (if you're reading this, man at the Dora the Explorer show, I mean you), or shoved a child aside to get to the popcorn, or turned up at the paddling pool at 8.45am and spread towels over an acreage the size of a small field. The great British seaside is shaping up to the hype, but the great British holidaymaker has a long way to go.