Blackpool is wonderful- sort of, a bit.
Elvis IS Blackpool and Blackpool is Elvis.
Glitz and glitter hiding the cracks and a three carb meal.
Everyone loves Elvis in Blackpool. My toddler is wearing a designer tank top bought from a carboot which says ‘Bring Back Elvis’ in letters big enough for the eldery and/or inebriated to read and eyes mist over and people smile and chat and I pretend my toddler and I like Elvis and I like my toddler.
I go to The Worst Charity Shop In The World first. I have learnt that if I tell my toddler there might be a Marble Run inside, he toddles inside like a lamb to the slaughter whilst I cast a quick practiced eye down the aisles looking for something that is not bobbly George at Asda. I am an eternal optimist, frequently dissapointed.
This local charity shop makes me fear for the ‘Kids’ they are raising money for as if that is all the ‘Kids’ are relying on, they are pretty much fucked unless instead of cold hard cash they really like extremely wide polyester ties and faux velveteen chairs that someone has clearly died in.
We were planning on seeing some of Blackpool’s much feted ‘attractions’ but they proved to be staggeringly expensive so the toddler was purchased a lollipop in a minature plastic sandcastle for 29p from Cheaper 4 U instead of going to the aquarium which saved us approximately £37.88.
Blackpool to be fair is utterly beautiful today. The view stretches for miles and miles of grey sea, the harsh wind merely snaps occasionally like a disgrunted chihuahua and people are happy. This may be because of the unseasonal weather and because it is not stag night season or because of the toddlers top. Or maybe they are older and not pissed. Or older and pissed.
We go to an American Diner because I am incapable of walking past one. Blackpool must be the only place where a a two course dinner costs £5.95. The food is vaguely fine, there are few places you can get veggie enchildas, fries and a toffee sundae for such a price) and I order a glass of wine.
I have drunk many bad things in my time, scrumpy from a car boot in Cheddar, Vodkat, battery acid etc but this wine made me yearn for new words in the English language to describe it. The smell hits you first. I had paid £2.50 for this glass though so was going to drink it. Each sip was new aromas. Rancid Vimto, dead rat, something vaguely Italian.
This post was meant to be about how wonderful Blackpool today was.
Reader, today was wonderful. But do not drink wine in American Diners.