Is different from Morecambe. And I fear the initial impression I got when exiting Blackpool North train station won’t be easily shifted.
Very tatty, very run down and very poor. I crossed the road more times than strictly necessary to avoid a selection of tramps, frightening bright tight white trousers and quite frankly, dirty young men. In need of a wash.
It’s much busier than Morecambe, perhaps explaining why I was terrified for the first two hours which I foolishly spent wandering around the southern section of promenade – the most fearsome part of the town. Hen nights and stag parties are welcomed.
I chose a hotel on the quieter northern section called the Imperial. Turns out it is where the Labour party had their last Blackpool-based party conference. Tony Blair’s crash pad of choice. Home of the Number 10 bar and the Churchill Suite. Imposing communal areas. And hoards of holidaying children everywhere.