The attractions of Blackpool mostly don't appeal to me and Em, but, we've just spent a night there. We used to go to the theatre frequently and would travel quite a way to see a play that interested us. However, for the last few years of overwork, illness and lockdowns, we've got out of the habit. We resolved to change this and, when Em spotted that there was a play about the late great Spike Milligan on in Blackpool, we had to go.
Em is not an early riser currently and always feels ill until dinner time, so it was in the balance whether we would actually make it until about 1pm. I spent the morning driving for the WCBS shop as we're still struggling to get a volunteer delivery driver.
At about 1.30 she gave the go ahead and I booked a hotel room for the night.
It were a day of proper Lancashire weather, steady rain. We travelled by tram to Picadilly, then shiny new electric train to Blackpool North. Em didn't feel up to the walk to the hotel, so we got a taxi. The driver took us on a grand tour of Blackpool before arriving at the Arncliffe Hotel, a mistake on his part as Em is normally a generous tipper.
We weren't really looking for luxury on this trip, and, getting a double room for £31 a night we weren't expecting it. The Arncliffe follows the commercial philosophy of pile em high and sell em cheap. Certainly it was the smallest double room I've ever stayed in, and not exactly ergonomically designed. However, it was clean and, well, cheap. I tend to find most hotel rooms to be overheated but the Arncliffe was saving fossil fuels by leaving the heating off. I see this as laudable, but Em was cold.
With our stuff stowed in the room we headed out into the
bright lights of Blackpool to track down some food. I was up for a
moderately posh restaurant, but Em spotted a Subway and said that was
what she wanted, so we enjoyed custom made sandwiches. Their coffee
machine was out of order, so, having eaten, we found a Costa Coffee
which had a rather hangdog air, like much of Blackpool. Bellies filled
and caffeined up , we went looking for the theatre, and walked right
past it.
After
retracing our steps a little we found it and joined the queue. Most of
its constituents were old enough to remember the Goon Show. It started before I was born and I was only a
child when it finished, not getting most of the jokes but enjoying the
wacky surrealism and funny voices.
Inside we found our seats, and looked around us in amazement at the incredibly ornate interior and painted ceiling. No expense spared by Victorian showmen.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Theatre,_Blackpool
The play was excellent, based around Spike's struggles with BBC management and his own mental health, well acted and extremely funny.
We returned to the hotel and slept well, though waking in the morning with aches and pains because the bed wasn't very comfortable.
After a good breakfast we checked out and went our separate ways. Em wanted to do some shopping then get an early train home as she was still feeling poorly. I wanted to get a tram to Fleetwood and explore the harbour.
The weather was better, even sunny at times, but a strong cold wind was blowing in from the Irish Sea.
I walked down to the promenade and looked at the rough sea before joining a tram for my ride. I can't go to Blackpool and not ride on a tram!
As I travelled along, looking out to sea, I could see distant wind turbines and a ferry from Heysham, heading for the Isle of Man.
I got off at the end of the line, Fleetwood Ferry.
I did think about taking the ferry to Knott End, but, looking across the estuary of the river Wyre, Knott End didn't look very exciting.
After having coffee in a riverside cafe I followed a footpath high above the muddy river. The tide was out, revealing endless grey mud. A group of chittering wading birds skimmed low over the water before landing on their selected bit of ooze.
The path took me past a derelict RoRo ferry terminal that used to have a service to the Isle of Man, but this ended in 2010.
Soon I was walking along the high stone and concrete river wall looking out over the melancholy beauty of mud flats.
A friend who used to keep a boat at Fleetwood gave me the impression that there was a thriving fishing community here. What I found was very different. A boat graveyard, mostly fishing boats, disappearing into the silt.
The fishing community turned out to be a collection of small boats in a fenced off area cluttered with fishing gear and old van bodies used as storage huts. How are the mighty fallen! This used to be the third biggest fishing port in Britain.
My old Ordnance Survey map showed an enclosed harbour. Across the mud was the entrance lock.
Rather than trawlers it now accommodates mostly yachts and the quays are thick with upmarket housing. There is still a fish processing industry though, an I've heard talk of the railway from Preston re-opening, though how it would enter the town I'm not sure.
https://www.visitfleetwood.info/about/seafront/fleetwood-docks/
I suppose I had seen the grim side of Fleetwood. Heading back into town I crossed a busy road, built on the trackbed of the old railway line, and found the main street. It was pretty busy, with only a few empty shops. There were many pleasant old houses.
I headed for the market, which is huge and busy. I like markets. It was now dinner time, so I looked for a suitable eatery. Across the road from the market was "The Eating House". A cosy little cafe that does pensioners specials. Actually, I don't think there were any non pensioners in there and there was nothing on offer that wasn't a pensioners special. I selected liver and onions which came in a generous portion with vegetables and mash and a coffee for just £5.50. I struck up a conversation with a pleasant couple, dining nearby, who were very involved with local charities. Together we bemoaned the difficulties of getting anyone to take on an organisational role nowadays.
I caught the tram back to Blackpool, a swish electric train to Manchester, then another tram, standing room only, to Ashton. When I got home, Em was in bed listening to an old Goon show, which she didn't find very funny.