Al’s thought for today: That charabanc trip to Blackpool. It’s that time of the year when half of the population of the Black Country go on a pilgrimage to see the lights at Blackpool. I was put off this modern day Sodom and Gomorra at a very early age when taken by my father and mother in 1946, (yes I’ve been there since and still do not like it.) My father decided that as I hadn’t a clue who he was and that mum hadn’t seen him for a few years, we should spend some of his demob money on a holiday in Blackpool. After being terrified on what was then called The Big Dipper, suffering whiplash on the bumping cars, falling off a mangy donkey and spewing up on candy floss, I remember feeling distinctly wingey and throwing several tantrums. My father decided that the thing to do was to teach me a lesson by pretending to lose me in M and S. This merely resulted in a further outburst of screaming from me. I must have been a right brat! He then figured that it was time to do manly type things with him so he took me to watch Blackpool play football, something which put me off the sport for years as being only a few feet tall, all I was aware of was baying crowds. I then had the joy of being taken to the Tower Ballroom where my mother and father proceeded to dance to a strict tempo organ. As the ballroom is so large and my father fancied himself as Fred Astaire, it was like watching horse racing. Off they’d go and five minutes later they would reappear having circumnavigated the hall. I’m not sure whether the Blackpool lights were allowed as GB was a bit short on electricity then so maybe I missed the best bit.
Posted on: Tue, 01 Oct 2013 09:29:45 +0000
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