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Literature Text
Today I drove into Blackpool.
The M55 spits you out onto a narrow road that lacks pavements and is lined by concrete barriers that occasionally get higher for no apparent reason. The entire thing is shrouded by trees, as if the council are trying to hide something from you. The barriers are grey. The road is grey. The sky (today) is grey. Even the trees have a sort of grey look to their foliage, as impossible as that might seem.
And on every lamp post is a brightly coloured sign featuring Dora the Explorer or a clown or a Madame Tussaud's waxwork celebrity, all exhorting you to be happy. "You're having Fun," they tell you. "Fun is mandatory."
Once you're in the town itself, miserable people in tatty T-shirts and four-day stubble trudge along the pavements. A building with the word 'Fun' on the side in massive red letters reminds everyone of what they're in the process of experiencing. I couldn't quite shake the feeling that the only people having Fun in Blackpool at that particular moment had needles in their arms. There's a brief bit of colour as you reach the promenade and then your satnav drags you back into the seediness of a dying English seaside town.
Blackpool is where Fun goes to die.
The M55 spits you out onto a narrow road that lacks pavements and is lined by concrete barriers that occasionally get higher for no apparent reason. The entire thing is shrouded by trees, as if the council are trying to hide something from you. The barriers are grey. The road is grey. The sky (today) is grey. Even the trees have a sort of grey look to their foliage, as impossible as that might seem.
And on every lamp post is a brightly coloured sign featuring Dora the Explorer or a clown or a Madame Tussaud's waxwork celebrity, all exhorting you to be happy. "You're having Fun," they tell you. "Fun is mandatory."
Once you're in the town itself, miserable people in tatty T-shirts and four-day stubble trudge along the pavements. A building with the word 'Fun' on the side in massive red letters reminds everyone of what they're in the process of experiencing. I couldn't quite shake the feeling that the only people having Fun in Blackpool at that particular moment had needles in their arms. There's a brief bit of colour as you reach the promenade and then your satnav drags you back into the seediness of a dying English seaside town.
Blackpool is where Fun goes to die.
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Another random Facebook post, preserved for posterity. I should probably put together a separate folder for these if I'm going to keep doing this.
The background - my office is moving from my hometown to another one 30 miles away. So now I'm a commuter. However, for two days, we're in the Blackpool office while they rip out bits of tech and transport them down to the new office.
(The shades of The Happiness Patrol are partially coincidental.)
The background - my office is moving from my hometown to another one 30 miles away. So now I'm a commuter. However, for two days, we're in the Blackpool office while they rip out bits of tech and transport them down to the new office.
(The shades of The Happiness Patrol are partially coincidental.)
© 2013 - 2024 RichardCowen
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