It has been a few years since I last visited Blackpool. I have fond childhood memories of donkey rides, rock and Joke Shops, so the thought of a weekend in a caravan brought some excitement. My two daughters were over the moon.
The caravan site was in a small village outside of the ‘pool, it was very nice and the caravan itself was great, the girls loved having their own room.
A great start to the weekend, what a good idea this was I thought. The issues of course arose on Saturday itself as we ventured into Blackpool itself. Firstly it appeared that everyone north of Birmingham had decided today was the day they toO would pay a visit to this seaside haven of the north. So after driving round for an hour and burning half a tank of priceless petrol we found a spot in a car park. Then I noticed it, we appeared to be in the middle of a freak convention.
Middle aged women on a hen do, with mini skirts and knee length boots all pissed and swearing.
Cross dressing blokes
Toothless, job less, brain less louts
These to name a few! My immediate thought was to protect my kids from these sites and run away!
However, my nostalgia took over and we ventured towards the beach and a donkey ride. The girls loved it and I had solidified some of my faith to bring a family to Blackpool. With a restored spring in my step we headed off for some lunch and catastrophe!
A family of four with a combined IQ of 6 and a dress sense combining The Rocky Horror Show and Brookside walked by us at the tower. The resulting couple of minutes made my mind up to return to the leafy surroundings of the caravan site, as mum and then son looked up at the tower with an expression of shock on their faces as if the tower was some kind of phallic substitute. They then decided in a flurry of grunts and expletives at te top of their voices that it was worthy of a photo and spent the next five minutes taking numerous photos. Nothing that special I hear you say except that they had blocked the entire path with their ‘sketch’ and prevented the combined masses of freaks and normal people from getting their own glimpse of the tower, and due to work going on meant everyone had to spill into the road to meanouvre past these idiots.
A swift exit via a bit of fun penny pushing in the excellent Coral Island brought an end our briefest of visit to the self proclaimed VEGAS OF THE NORTH.
I would go back despite of all this, but would ensure the comedy roadshow wasn’t going to descend on the town too.
My tip APPROACH WITH CAUTION.