Blackpool
Last week, Emma and I had a chat about portraiture - as y' do. I listened as she explained why she would like a series of three or four portraits of herself, staggered over many years. The set would be an interesting heirloom for young Alex. And, to Emma - experiencing the pictures in many future 'here-and-now' moments - they would convey the stories, feelings and much more associated with each and the collection. All of this was explained without sounding vain - quite an achievement. Emma's sitting for portrait #1 will take place in July. On the back of such middle-brow whatnot, it was I who would determine last weekend's plans...
And so, to Blackpool* we went. Doing all that I could to minimally offend Ma Wexford and the Northern Clan, we departed after a flying visit on the back of Friday's far north work trip. Visiting Blackpool was to be a first for Emma, and about a seventeenth for me. The thing that tipped the determining balance for me was this image. Say what you like about it, but to me, it was gorgeous. Not alluring. Not exotic. Probably not even 'nice' to a lot of people. But to me, still gorgeous. Whilst in Blackpool, we walked along the full length of the promenade (about 4 miles), rode a big wheel on the central pier, and rode a really quite small 'rollercoaster' called 'The Mouse' (I think) on the south pier. That was Sunday morning and early afternoon. The previous day, on the other hand, was a whole different story...
Driving into the town at 4pm on a very hot and sunny Saturday afternoon, the streets were highly crowded with people who were in town to get pissed and were doing a damn fine job of it. Having checked in to our hotel - a decent place at the north end of town - we were on the street side-stepping the vomitous, the 'jay-walking', the rude, the lewd, the most orangely fake-tanned, the tastefully tattooed majority, the police, and the occasional bemused family who had thought that Blackpool could still serve the 'family holiday' fraternity. Their discovery: 'not any more, it can't'. From this we went for an Indian meal - very good it was too - biryanis - and then trogged off to the gorgeous Grand Theatre for a cringe-worthy farce called 'Just Desserts'. The theatre was only at about 40% capacity but the audience of middle aged Coronation Streetists were pleased. (When I was a kid, Ma Wexford took brother and I to the same theatre for sell-out shows by the cream of British forgettable entertainment, Pa Wexford would babysit sister at the hotel bar.) Emma and I were glad to have gone along too - for many varied but mostly voyeuristic and research reasons. From the theatre we returned to the street, and negotiated a quick and safe return to our for-one-night-only Blackpool layer. Emma's impression of Blackpool at the end of Saturday evening was captured beautifully with the phrase 'It feels like the sort of place where you might see someone die before your very eyes'. At this, I laughed, but recognised the truth in it.
* A few years ago, it emerged that Blackpool was aspiring to become the 'Las Vegas of the north'. On Saturday, a local newspaper story in the town ran along the lines of 'local councillor says that another sex shop opening on a Sunday won't do the town's image as a 'family resort' any good'. I think that's all the context that you need.
All that said, it was a good weekend.
*****
Last week, Mercury emailed me and said that due to a problem caused by Venus fucking up Saturn's power-steering and what with there then being no-one available to collect Pluto from the station, that this week the horror-scopic content of the Shane blog would have to be replaced. Thus, we have an innovation. Behold:
If you are in the UK: Sun bathe, and acquire unusual 'tan lines'. The Brazilians are into this, apparently.
If you are in Europe (not inc UK): Come over for tea. But leave your email and blog 'smilies' at home.
If you are in North America: The time for your modelling career is upon us. Act now, it's portfolio assembly time.
If you are in Central/South America: Please forward any interesting recipes. And no kidnapping!
If you are in Austral(as)ia/Oceania: Dye a hare red.
If you are in Africa: Encourage people to name newborns 'SirBob' - all one word.
If you are in Asia:... Perverts! I have no idea who 'Shahida Mini' is, and let me tell you - whether you're searching for 'porn pictures of...', 'sex movie featuring...' or the unending 'big tites', you will not find them here! AND, it is 'big TITS' - no 'E' - see?
If you are in Antarctica: You are not. You are a lunatic. Get help or start taking the meds again. Yeah?
If you are in Oxford, England: Never mind, eh.
*****
Oh, what the heck, here's one for you persistent guys in the Pakistan, United Arab Emirates, Iran, Syria, Egypt... (.)(.) - they're as tites-ish as I can do I'm afraid... Heh! Let's go crazy: (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.)
*****
I do love the idea of making this blog thing WORK.
And so, to Blackpool* we went. Doing all that I could to minimally offend Ma Wexford and the Northern Clan, we departed after a flying visit on the back of Friday's far north work trip. Visiting Blackpool was to be a first for Emma, and about a seventeenth for me. The thing that tipped the determining balance for me was this image. Say what you like about it, but to me, it was gorgeous. Not alluring. Not exotic. Probably not even 'nice' to a lot of people. But to me, still gorgeous. Whilst in Blackpool, we walked along the full length of the promenade (about 4 miles), rode a big wheel on the central pier, and rode a really quite small 'rollercoaster' called 'The Mouse' (I think) on the south pier. That was Sunday morning and early afternoon. The previous day, on the other hand, was a whole different story...
Driving into the town at 4pm on a very hot and sunny Saturday afternoon, the streets were highly crowded with people who were in town to get pissed and were doing a damn fine job of it. Having checked in to our hotel - a decent place at the north end of town - we were on the street side-stepping the vomitous, the 'jay-walking', the rude, the lewd, the most orangely fake-tanned, the tastefully tattooed majority, the police, and the occasional bemused family who had thought that Blackpool could still serve the 'family holiday' fraternity. Their discovery: 'not any more, it can't'. From this we went for an Indian meal - very good it was too - biryanis - and then trogged off to the gorgeous Grand Theatre for a cringe-worthy farce called 'Just Desserts'. The theatre was only at about 40% capacity but the audience of middle aged Coronation Streetists were pleased. (When I was a kid, Ma Wexford took brother and I to the same theatre for sell-out shows by the cream of British forgettable entertainment, Pa Wexford would babysit sister at the hotel bar.) Emma and I were glad to have gone along too - for many varied but mostly voyeuristic and research reasons. From the theatre we returned to the street, and negotiated a quick and safe return to our for-one-night-only Blackpool layer. Emma's impression of Blackpool at the end of Saturday evening was captured beautifully with the phrase 'It feels like the sort of place where you might see someone die before your very eyes'. At this, I laughed, but recognised the truth in it.
* A few years ago, it emerged that Blackpool was aspiring to become the 'Las Vegas of the north'. On Saturday, a local newspaper story in the town ran along the lines of 'local councillor says that another sex shop opening on a Sunday won't do the town's image as a 'family resort' any good'. I think that's all the context that you need.
All that said, it was a good weekend.
*****
Last week, Mercury emailed me and said that due to a problem caused by Venus fucking up Saturn's power-steering and what with there then being no-one available to collect Pluto from the station, that this week the horror-scopic content of the Shane blog would have to be replaced. Thus, we have an innovation. Behold:
If you are in the UK: Sun bathe, and acquire unusual 'tan lines'. The Brazilians are into this, apparently.
If you are in Europe (not inc UK): Come over for tea. But leave your email and blog 'smilies' at home.
If you are in North America: The time for your modelling career is upon us. Act now, it's portfolio assembly time.
If you are in Central/South America: Please forward any interesting recipes. And no kidnapping!
If you are in Austral(as)ia/Oceania: Dye a hare red.
If you are in Africa: Encourage people to name newborns 'SirBob' - all one word.
If you are in Asia:... Perverts! I have no idea who 'Shahida Mini' is, and let me tell you - whether you're searching for 'porn pictures of...', 'sex movie featuring...' or the unending 'big tites', you will not find them here! AND, it is 'big TITS' - no 'E' - see?
If you are in Antarctica: You are not. You are a lunatic. Get help or start taking the meds again. Yeah?
If you are in Oxford, England: Never mind, eh.
*****
Oh, what the heck, here's one for you persistent guys in the Pakistan, United Arab Emirates, Iran, Syria, Egypt... (.)(.) - they're as tites-ish as I can do I'm afraid... Heh! Let's go crazy: (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.)
*****
I do love the idea of making this blog thing WORK.
posted by Shane @ 8:53 pm
<< Home