Summary
There's a Hawaiian Elvis, an infant Elvis, a drunk Elvis, even a bald Elvis. At Porthcawl, Europe's biggest Elvis festival, anyone can be the King for a day -- just don't call them impersonators
THE FIRST 'Elvis' I spot is at Bridgend railway station. He's sporting a shabby black jumpsuit slashed to the waist and a matted quiff, and is standing outside the ticket office drinking Special Brew, chain-smoking and muttering obscenities into his mobile phone.See the full content of this document
Extract
A Whole Lotta Fakin' Goin ' On!
The next -- sleek and dark and dapper in a crisp GI uniform -- is chatting politely to a couple of pensioners in a petrol station forecourt.
Ten minutes later, as we drive into Porthcawl, they're everywhere. Thin Elvises, fat Elvises, Hawaiian Elvises, knackered- looking Elvises, swarthy Elvises, bickering Elvises...all hurrying along the seafront towards the Seabank Hotel and a big, wobbly- lettered sign that reads: 'Elvis is Here! September 26-28. Free Entry.'Welcom...See the full content of this document
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