Well, that was grim…
Having been confined to the Calder valley all week and waking up to a day where all you could see was fog I decided to take a break. But where to? Halfway through the night and in a semi-dream state my mind had hit on the idea of a trip to Blackpool, where the weather was predicted to be sunny. I’d not been for several years, so the idea appealed. Little did I know…
The trip there was easy. Direct trains from Sowerby Bridge are in short supply nowadays but it’s easy to make a connection a couple of stops down the line at Hebden Bridge. This time of year it’s not too much of a challenge to get a seat (or table) which I managed to do all the way to the coast.
En-route, the fog cleared, leaving us to travel under clear blue skies through the old ‘cotton country’ of Burnley, Accrington and Blackburn. We weren’t so lucky by Preston and the last few miles into Blackpool were bedeviled by high, hazy cloud. Even so, it was better than where I’d left.
A new tram terminus has opened since I was last in Blackpool. Now the system (which only used to run along the seafront) has a spur which ends just outside the railway station in an area that’s seen a lot of redevelopment. Much of Blackpool’s centre has seen a large injection of money over the past decade. There’s only one drawback. Whilst you can invest in infrastructure, how do you rebuild people?
Having grabbed a few pictures of the changes I took a stroll along the seafront. In many ways there’s few things more depressing than a British seaside town out of season, when most things are closed. Trust me – I know. I grew up in one. (Southport, just the other side of the Ribble estuary).
What added to the depression was the people. The hordes of pensioners and obese people on mobility scooters raised a wry smile as they reminded me of a ‘Monty Python’ sketch about ‘Hell’s Grannies’. It was the political undertow that I struggled with. Overhearing a young person holding forth in their criticism of Keir Starmer, who, in their opinion was the ‘leader of the liberal party’ (eh?). Shortly afterwards I watched the antics of a drunken young man draped in a Union flag being filmed by a couple of people who’d obviously set and staged an interview with him using Blackpool Tower as a backdrop. One of the pair was trying and failing to film with a drone which he clearly couldn’t control. I assume that this excrescence (if it ever makes it) will appear on TikTok or suchlike. I spotted said idiot wandering around later, carrying a speaker blasting out ‘Keir Starmer’s a w*nker’ on repeat. Such is the level of political discourse in Blackpool it seems.
Having justified being there by getting a couple of useful pictures I beat a hasty retreat, catching a train to Preston just as the rain arrived, reinforcing my reasons for getting the hell out of the place. I can’t think of any reason to return for a while…
*for those wondering, the title of this blog comes from a song by one of the bands that defined my teenage years, ‘Jethro Tull’ who were formed in Blackpool back in 1967. ‘Up the pool’ is a track off their classic 1972 album ‘Living in the Past’, which rather summed today up!
I’ve a small favour to ask…
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Cheers,
Paul
Paul Bigland 