Wednesday, 4 November 2015

Coleen Nolan And David Bret: Our Views On Blackpool

So, Coleen Nolan has made her views clear about her home town of Blackpool, and been hammered for being honest. The place HAS become a cesspit compared to what it used to be. Here's what I wrote about it in my autobiography:
 
 

Blackpool


My least favourite seaside resort, and one which in recent years I have visited only out of sheer necessity. In comparison with Berck, it is a shit-hole!
   I hasten to say, however, it was not always thus—and parts of the town, especially Lytham St Annes, are very nice, its people likewise. I’m referring to the commercial centre—the seemingly endless row of amusement arcades and greasy spoons, and the sea-front. When I was small there was no place like Blackpool. I holidayed here regularly, sometimes twice a year either with my parents or with Aunty Edna and Uncle Harry. The air was salty but healthy, the entertainment first-class. The big stars of the Fifties and Sixties often eschewed London and even Las Vegas to perform in Blackpool, and I saw them all: Joan Regan, George Formby, Morecambe & Wise, Ruby Murray and David Whitfield, La Esterella, Tommy Cooper, Frankie Howerd and Matt Monro were just a few. I loved riding the trams—seeing the Illuminations, then the best in the world—the trips to Fleetwood and Cleveleys. I went back there a couple of years ago to make a television documentary with the comedian Frank Skinner about George Formby, and the buildings looked like they hadn’t had a lick of paint since I sang there at the Norbreck Castle Hotel in 1973. As for the tourists: Blackpool has become a haven for hen and stag-parties, oiks, binge-drinkers and rebel-rousers, a puerile hell-hole where decent families no longer feel safe and comfortable. The beach is a rubbish-infested tip, and I wouldn’t swim in that sea to save my life. The pavements late at night are more often than not vomit-spattered when you’re making your way back to your hotel, and no one seems to be in any hurry to clean up the mess. Of the town-centre caf├ęs, the least said the better. They once served wholesome food in Blackpool. Now, unless you’re an aficionado of stodgy pies, half-cooked sausages or greasy chips, if you want to eat decently and keep everything down, you’re better off trying to catch a seagull!

 

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