Disclaimer: all characters belong to Rik Mayall, Ben Elton, Lise Mayer and the BBC.

It's Mike's idea to go to the seaside for the day, Neil's idea to exchange coping techniques with the donkeys ("Because their lives are an endless cycle of drudgery and underappreciation, just like mine"), and Vyvyan's idea to kick Rick's sandcastle over every time Rick's nearly ready to start filling up the moat.

"It's an allegory of life, Rick," he explains, after the fifth time. "Whenever you build something, there's always a bastard around with size ten Doc Martens."

"I happen to believe that a better world is possible, Vyvyan! One where the downtrodden kids finally stop the fighting and the bickering and the gang warfare and throw off the chains of their wretched, kicked in the face existence to defeat the fascist cabal - united in love, united in song, united under one banner of Cliff. That is the spirit of revolution."

"Sounds very, very boring."

"Well, you'd better help me rebuild this, anyway, or I'm calling the pigs!"

Vyvyan, surprisingly, shrugs. "Shift over, then."

The sandcastle looks pretty ruddy right on, even if Rick does say so himself. Vyvyan makes some smaller towers with half an empty lager can and only throws the sand in Rick's face twice. Rick uses a bit of his candyfloss stick as a pole for a black flag, and Vyvyan sets fire to it with his lighter, saying it'll make it look more authentic and they'll look like they're under siege.

When Rick's trodden out the fire and is putting out his flip flops in the sea, Vyvyan wanders down the beach in a semi-interested way and joins him. He crouches down briefly to fish something long and slimy out of the water and flicks it at Rick, who squeaks in fright.

"Piece of octopus. Got to dissect one once in Biology. It was great."

"Frankly, Vyvyan, I find your love of taking things apart quite disturbing."

"See, that's what your Trotsky anarchist bollocks is about. You want to take society apart, but you're too much of a big girly coward."

Rick stamps his foot indignantly, soaking the legs of his rolled-up dungarees in the process. "I am not!"

"Yes, you are. You're a complete and utter wet knickers ponce, which is why you write stupid poetry instead, and build stupid sandcastles, and I keep having to demonstrate the joy of wanton violence."

"I'll have you know that it's perfectly possible to carry out the revolution by peaceful and responsible methods. Just because it's the end of twentieth century political civilisation, it doesn't mean we can all forget our manners!"

"Poof."

"Oh, what's the use? What will you be doing on the day that the youth all speak with the same voice, that's what I want to know."

Vyvyan considers this. "Smashing someone's face in."

"I knew it. I just knew it. There's no art to your anger, Vyvyan, is there? You're incapable of understanding the power of words over fists."

"Yeah, but if it wasn't your face, you'd love seeing me do it, wouldn't you?"

Rick flounders. He does honestly think a lot about citywide arson and looting and sticking a 'KICK ME' sign on the back of the dean's jacket, but when he imagines himself actually doing any of it, it all starts feeling rather scary. Getting in the way of an outbreak of random Vyvyan destruction is even scarier, but Rick has to admit to getting an anarchic thrill out of watching safely from the same side. There's something all primeval about it that always makes him feel funny in his Y-fronts.

"Yes, well... there may possibly be certain circumstances in which the use of moderate violence is appropriate."

Vyvyan grins. "Fancy going on the dodgems up on the pier?"

"Vyvyan, I throw up on the dodgems."

"Brilliant!"

Neil comes back covered in donkey poo, and the girl Mike picked up in the amusement arcade dumps him for a Punch and Judy man ("Sometimes it's about size, and sometimes it's about how far you can reach to get your hand up it, know what I mean?")

It isn't really that bad a day.