Blood on the walls in Blackpool and I really must buy a new bra.

blackpool pier, british seasideA scorching weekend in Blackpool with my bezzy mate Sam. We kicked off with the Pleasure Beach (or Pleasure Bitch, as he insisted on calling it).

He was hopping around, making impatient noises about going on The Big One.  In case you don’t know, The Big One is an absolutely massive, ginormous roller coaster. It’s so big, it has its own warning light to stop aeroplanes flying into it and it can go at 80 something miles an hour.  The company who made it doesn’t exist any more which begs the question, who’s going to fix it if it breaks down? A student on work experience with a tube of superglue? Continue reading


Vintage Penny Arcade, Blackpool North Pier.

A quick whizz round the Vintage Penny Arcade, Blackpool’s North Pier:

vintage penny arcade, fairground, blackpool

The players in this vintage football machine were all wearing tiny, hand-knitted jumpers, sending their cuteness rating right through the roof.

vintage football machine, penny arcade, blackpool…And not only did somebody go to all the trouble of knitting the tiny jumpers, somebody also painted every spectator in the football crowd in some considerable detail.  I’m so glad this machine has survived and is on public display. Continue reading


Wild Mouse Terror, Blackpool Pleasure Beach

The Wild Mouse is an entity that sprang from the loins of Satan and its life force is sustained by the sadistic pleasure it gains from terrifying anyone daft enough to climb onto its rickety frame and into one of its little tin mouse cars.

Oh, it looks innocuous enough. Cute, even.

Like a roller coaster for beginners, the tiny, sugar-coloured cars bearing hand-painted mousy names like Jerry or Lulu or Minnie.
‘Ha!’ you say with chest-swelling bravado. ‘Ha. It’ll be a doddle, this.’ And you beckon to your family: ‘Come on folks, all aboard.’  They hop on, smiling, anticipating a few minutes of wholesome fun. And within about ten seconds, your well-adjusted, happy family is reduced to a blur of flailing limbs and anguished howls, barely audible over the hissing and rattling of the sadistic, Satanic creature. Continue reading


Trams & People Don’t Mix.

Vintage trams are ace. They have dim yellow light bulbs and faded patterned seats that prickle your bum when you sit down. Best of all they make a rattly noise as they go along the sea front and have a bell so the driver can talk to everyone in tram language:

Vintage tram on the Birkenhead Heritage Tramwa...

A vintage tram behaving itself.
(Source: Wiki)

Dingaling! – Hey, I’m driving the tram!
Dingaling! Ding! – I’m driving the tram. You’re not. Loooo-zer.
Ding, ding. DING! – Get out of the way or I’m taking you home as sandwich filler.

But a modern trams is completely different.  Although it has a bell that goes dingaling, it’s just a train on a cable. Bit boring really.

Boring to everyone except me, that is.

I fret, I sweat, I chew my nails. I lie awake at night stewing and worrying and have finally come to the appalling conclusion that I seem to be the only person in the world who thinks it’s dangerous to drive a train through a shopping centre. Continue reading