A weekend in Blackpool

Look, I consider myself to be a reasonably seasoned traveller now. I've seen a lot of things, been to quite a few places and will probably go to many, many more before this life comes to an end. When my friend Natasha suggested that we go to Blackpool, I didn't think too much of it.

For those of you that don't know, Blackpool is a tourist city just North of Liverpool and Manchester. It is by the sea, the beach has sand and it has a remarkably good roller coaster. It is, so I found out, the most popular tourist destination in Britain. My friends and I spend about 18 hours there. The roller coaster was fantastic, 2 minutes of great, great fun. The rest amounted to 17 hours and 58 minutes of my life which I will never, ever, in my entire life, forget. Blackpool is, without doubt, the seediest, tackiest place I've ever encountered.

The first thing we saw driving in was that the Blackpool library had been boarded up. Having just driven from Liverpool this didn't seem like too much cause for concern, half the houses there are boarded up, maybe its just what people do when they go away for longer than a week.

Turned right onto the seaside promenade though and one's senses are immediately overloaded. It is difficult sitting here to paint an accurate picture of this town. Every fourth commercial area was, in order, an amusement arcade, a fish and chip or kebab shop, a clairvoyant and a pound shop. Put all of them, in order, for the 2 miles or so that the promenade runs for and you're getting close. Add to the picture a multitude of signs in bright, garish colours. Insert massive fairy lights strung between the various streetlamps, and top it all off with stag and hens nights and some very old people walking down the very busy street, and you're getting close. The final touch is Blackpool tower, which was probably built many years ago as a rival to the Eiffel tower. It looked like an oversized oil rig to me.

Unperturbed, we hit the streets in search of food and drink. I hope Tim won't mind me saying this, but he is a picky eater. We all ate at McDonalds, because none of us trusted anything else, however Tim had a rather more difficult time. In fact, when he approached a man on the street looking for a curry, he was told that there was a chip shop around the corner which would put curry sauce on his chips. Says it all really.

We ended up staying the night in an 80's bar. I think we all expected to hear 80's music, however the bar seemed to be half full of people who were approaching 80 years of age. Regardless, we drank their cheap spirits. We needed to after watching the rugby. Anyways, the night is a little fuzzy after that. I remember being approached by a group of skinheads and being asked if we were looking for trouble. I remember the perfume guy in the toilet who tried to get everyone to buy a squirt of aftershave with wonderful sayings like 'No splash no gash'. I remember stumbling home via a karaoke bar, where we sang some Creedence, accompanied by an uninvited guy with a ponytail singing harmonics. I remember us all waking up the next morning in agreement that we needed to leave Blackpool as soon as possible.

It is odd. This country is so beautiful. The Yorkshire Dales were incredible, what I saw of the Lakes district was breathtaking. Even the countryside surrounding London is well worth a visit. All this, and more Brits go to Blackpool than anywhere else. I guess we all want different things out of a holiday.

A weekend in Dublin

Dublin is a great city. Yes, on the surface it looks a lot like London with Irish flags, but as I've stressed so many times on this blog, the Irish are a people all of their own. By virtue of the fact that they are a small island they exist apart from the rest of the world, and for the most part uninfluenced by them. That is of course changing, the fact that they've joined Europe has not only seen a massive amount of money and infrastructure pour into the place, but it has seen immigration levels rise to previously unheard of levels.

But, it is still very easy to talk to a random Irishman or woman. Go into any pub and ask a question. However, as the following conversation illustrates, the conversation is not always a straight forward affair. I went out on Saturday with some cousins and ended up crashing at their hotel. Woke up, waved goodbye to Steven and Andrew, before taking off in the direction of where I assumed Landsdowne Road train station was.

10 minutes later, hopelessly lost with the first signs of a dawning hangover. Stop at a newsagent. Whilst purchasing a red bull, I asked 'Can you please tell me how to get to Lansdowne Road train station'?

His response, without batting an eyelid, 'Well, it is Sunday. What you need to do is head down that road there'...etc

Of course, this isn't the funniest thing in the world when I write it down sober. Quite clearly he was attempting to alert me to the fact that Ireland takes the sabbath very seriously, no one does anything on Sunday. Including the trains, had to wait for close to an hour in the end. But at the time, whilst still struggling for consciousness, all I could think about was which direction he would have sent me on a Thursday.

The trip of course ended in complete disaster when the Irish were beaten by Argentina and eliminated from the World Cup. They played like a team without a brain and suffered at the hands of a disciplined Pumas side with a point to prove. The upside was that I got to watch the game in a pub packed full of Irish fans in a pub around the corner from where I used to live as a kid, which was very special. Many thanks to Carl for sorting that out.

Mum was there. It was great to see her on her home patch so to speak. It was great to see Wendy, Carl, Adam, Toby, Anne, Mona, Chris, Steven, Andrew, many thanks to them all for super break. Many thanks also to the cow that provided me with one of the best steaks I've ever eaten in Malahide on Saturday night.

Going home in a week for Nigel's wedding. Last time was 9 months ago, might be a little different this time. We'll see.