Blackpool memories in no particular order
When I was about 8 or 9 my mum took me to Blackpool for the day. It was November. Freezing cold and horizontal rain that made your face sting. We went on the pretence of seeing one of my mums old friends who was working in the cash booth of the amusement arcade on the North pier.
As soon as we got off the train at Blackpool North the wind cut straight through the pair of us and so we jumped into a taxi and headed to the promenade. We found Woolworths and my mum bought herself a crazy (even for the 70's) bottle green knitted hat and scarf. The scarf was about 6 foot long and wouldn't have looked out of place on Tom Baker.
The prom was deserted like a film set waiting for the extras to be bussed in. The waves crashed over the railings and the strings of light bulbs between the lamp posts swung like they would be wrenched away any minute.
The Grand Theatre had closed as a live venue some years previously. This Frank Matchum jewel of a venue was patiently waiting to be saved by bingo before being brought back into use as a theatre again in the 1980's. The boarded up windows looked like bandage eyes and the torn poster for the last show which had starred Hilda Baker flapped angrily on the canopy hoarding. I dragged my mother down the alley which led to the dock doors so I could peer through any broken windows or smashed boards to get a glimpse of this beautiful old venue.
We had lunch in a cafe on the first floor of a building overlooking the North pier. It was a grand old silver service and black and white uniform place. The big bay window had glass that had been sand blasted by the wind. Through the streaks of rain I looked over at the curved roof of the theatre at the end of the pier with it's huge arched black and white lettered sign proclaiming 'Bernard Delfont Presents'
In the afternoon we took shelter in 'Ripley's Believe it or Not!'. A museum in the PT Barnum hokum tradition with the emphasis on the not rather than the believe. It was home to a touring Doctor Who exhibition which had as its centre piece a mock up of the Tardis with practical dials and buttons and ringed by windows, through which several Daleks trundled around on a lunar surface doing their exterminate shtick. We used this to stage our own fight against the Daleks. I was the Doctor with my mum standing in for whichever assistant was on screen that year. Being the only people in the place, mum threw herself into character and was running around the place throwing levers and operating laser guns until she turned around and saw the bemused middle aged bloke standing by the door.
As soon as we got off the train at Blackpool North the wind cut straight through the pair of us and so we jumped into a taxi and headed to the promenade. We found Woolworths and my mum bought herself a crazy (even for the 70's) bottle green knitted hat and scarf. The scarf was about 6 foot long and wouldn't have looked out of place on Tom Baker.
The prom was deserted like a film set waiting for the extras to be bussed in. The waves crashed over the railings and the strings of light bulbs between the lamp posts swung like they would be wrenched away any minute.
In the afternoon we took shelter in 'Ripley's Believe it or Not!'. A museum in the PT Barnum hokum tradition with the emphasis on the not rather than the believe. It was home to a touring Doctor Who exhibition which had as its centre piece a mock up of the Tardis with practical dials and buttons and ringed by windows, through which several Daleks trundled around on a lunar surface doing their exterminate shtick. We used this to stage our own fight against the Daleks. I was the Doctor with my mum standing in for whichever assistant was on screen that year. Being the only people in the place, mum threw herself into character and was running around the place throwing levers and operating laser guns until she turned around and saw the bemused middle aged bloke standing by the door.
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