Blackpool today, and I got through ten handy-packs of Kleenex and had to resort to stealing loo roll. (Compulsory retort to obvious masturbatory-themed joke, “Yes, it was that exciting”.) Crippled by a summer cold/severe hayfever, but the jolly uplifting fun of Blackpool still allows me to say C’est la vie and live and let live to the cold virus and the plant pollen. Aside: no it doesn’t; despite the fun of Blackpool I still cry death to common colds and all anemophilous plant species. But, erm? Oh, yes... Blackpool!
Things I saw in Blackpool
- As we were arriving the car in front had a Blackpool FC scarf which boasted We Are Premier! No you’re not mate. Get with the now granddad.
- Moments after parking the car we saw our first hen do. The oldies walked with their sashes reading mother of the bride, mother of the groom, and the like. The youngies trailed behind with their bride to be and bridesmaid sashes. All wore blue denim skirts, black tops, and pink deely-boppers. We turned the corner and outside the first B&B we passed, sat a stag-do drinking blue WKD with their breakfast. Welcome to Blackpool!
- Of course everywhere we looked there were stag and hen parties, all dressed to match one another, and all having a huge time in the North West’s capital of the pre-nuptial celebration. One group of young women were dressed from head to toe in black robes; sort of like a shapeless colourless sheet, that even covered their heads and faces leaving only a small slit for the eyes. They weren’t wearing sashes so I couldn’t tell which one was getting married.
- You now have to pass through security scanners and undergo a bag search to get into Blackpool Pleasure Beach; bit weird. They confiscated my spanner which I had cruelly calculated to throw into the works. As it turns out I didn’t need to, as the heat was doing its best to shut down all the rides.
- In the queue for the Big One a large dark-haired woman in a black flowered summer dress had an entire ‘knitted’ sleeve of self-harmed scar tissue, unbroken from shoulder to wrist. And she wasn’t even close to being the weirdest looking person there. No offence Blackpool, but your gene pool is dangerously shallow. There are a lot of sand-scraping knuckles, Neanderthal brow-ridges and overly hairy faces... and that’s just the women... the orange women...
- A spectacularly good collection of seaside postcards.
- Hot dogs, fish and chips, ice cream, chips and gravy, candy floss, seagull, cockles, muscles, whelks and oiks. Snotty tissues.