Blackpool

i can’t think what to write about. So er a place. I like going to Blackpool, it provides difference. Neon, the sea which is always close unlike Southport or Morecombe Bay. The golden mile of amusment arcades, nightclubs, shows.

There is a lot of poverty. A large young population attracted by cheap, basic accomodation. I’d describe it as a mix between the shoddy and divine. The hedonistic go there at weekends for the nightlife. Others to see shows, comedies, music. Others to the pleasure beach with its rollercoaster. Very few even dare to swim in the summer.

In going there very occasionally i am repeating the trip made in the victorian era by steam train of my ancestors. Britains- tacky Coney Island. With a one third the size Eiffel Tower- Blackpool Tower. And the illuminations in October. I’ve written many poems about Blackpool, perhaps i should write about Cannes, the Almafi coast, Buenos Aires, Marthas Vineyard. Could you call the shore “the north west riviera”. But amongst the shoddy and divine i like to stand in the dark on one of the three piers and gaze out at the never blue, grey- black, Irish Sea.

Many older people still go there for there annual holiday staying in one of the numerous B and B’s. And if the Irish Sea is grey not blue so be it. It is still the frontier sea.

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