2 June - blackpool rocks
Well, it was a typical bank holiday and instead of flying off to Europe, for once I went to a beach town in the UK… Blackpool. I was curious to see the future ie. life as a pensioner as I guess I’ll be limited in my spatial wanderings and perhaps will have to make do with train journeys or even coach journeys considering I don’t have pension provisions to take me to Barbados for example and coach travel is cheaper. I came away thinking that the future is not too bad as an old biddy, the plentiful ones in Blackpool seemed happy enough to watch floor shows and crooners at the hotel (though the repertoire includes Madonna, she’s no longer that cutting edge) eat ‘tea’ at 6.30 to 7.30 and go moderately crazy on the fruit machines. They also seem happy to fall asleep in chairs in the lobby and I guess they can eat as many cakes as they want (unless the GP says ‘no’).
I am not sure how people from the upper classes were in Blackpool on Bank Holiday w/e but the middle and lower classes seemed to be out in force with entire families and having a good time. The weather was changeable but what can you do? It’s always like that. One taxi driver told me that the locals go on holiday to ... Devon (he must have a fantasy about the weather there being that much better but I doubt it. Coast line prettier for sure.
Of course … I sort of ruined the ‘life at 65’ projection exercise because I was meeting with a younger lover (24) and so found myself dancing at the Walkabout to horrid tunes like Ghostbusters which sound perfect though in between the more up to date Beyonces and co. We then proceeded to go clubbing elsewhere and whilst the elders were at bingo hall (or maybe not, don’t think those are open till 3am) I encountered the other visitors to the town ie. the hen parties and their followers. Stands to reason that in a pack of pretty drunk girls/women scantily dressed, there should be rich pickings for guys/men if they hang around long enough. I certainly found that my gaze was met and held on several occasions and that simply does not happen in London. By local standards I was not too undressed but for once decided on a when in Rome moment and went out without a coat, with bare legs and midriff and w/o a handbag. And believe me, it was bitter!! But liberating. Sort of made easier by the hotel being across the road from the club. The 24 year old was a gem of a gent buying me drinks, proffering cigs and I walked home with a plastic rose. Aahhh. I further was able to notice something that was probably unremarkable way back when I was the same age. The boy (is it patronising to refer to him this way? I hope not) drank approximately 18 double vodkas and coke + a few beers but a) he wasn’t drunk, b) he made perfect sense and c) was able to perform. Call me venial but up to the 3am return I was considering that the 9pm interlude before we went out may be the only one I got for the night (oh forgot, we had started with champagne, so add that to the mix). Remarkable. I texted a 40 something male friend and he wistfully replied that those were the days…
The next day we were truly pensioners as hotels have this nasty habit of wanting the room back at 10am or so. No amount of I’ll pay extra or book for tonight got them to change this (they were booked up) and so several hours were spent on deckchairs (the moment you stepped out of the windbreaker gizmo it was freezing) watching not a lot going on apart from the donkeys. We talked about his relationships and refreshingly he only had 1 or 2 to mention. I must admit I have accumulated many more but felt no obligation to discuss. Other alternatives for a snooze were getting on the tram to the end of the line and back, going to a movie, breaking into a car or falling asleep in the TV room back at the hotel (a good choice in the end, we closed the door, pulled the curtains and had the Simpson on low, nobody who peeked in dared disturb this little picture of cosiness).
Roller coasters were not a good idea at this point… and neither did we fancy the fruit machines again. We spent approx £150 in order to get back… £145 or £155 depending on our respective approximations - I say we lost, he says we won and this may be a very male thing, the need to win or the need not to walk away when you are losing but keep going. The speed at which it all happens is pretty staggering and doesn’t bode well for my Las Vegas week later on in the year. I’d need several thousands to be entertained for a few consecutive hours. I could arrange for the 24 year old to come down and school me and my Vegas trip girlfriends in poker and other games but I think I want to be the only one in the Demi and Ashton fantasy.
I am not sure how people from the upper classes were in Blackpool on Bank Holiday w/e but the middle and lower classes seemed to be out in force with entire families and having a good time. The weather was changeable but what can you do? It’s always like that. One taxi driver told me that the locals go on holiday to ... Devon (he must have a fantasy about the weather there being that much better but I doubt it. Coast line prettier for sure.
Of course … I sort of ruined the ‘life at 65’ projection exercise because I was meeting with a younger lover (24) and so found myself dancing at the Walkabout to horrid tunes like Ghostbusters which sound perfect though in between the more up to date Beyonces and co. We then proceeded to go clubbing elsewhere and whilst the elders were at bingo hall (or maybe not, don’t think those are open till 3am) I encountered the other visitors to the town ie. the hen parties and their followers. Stands to reason that in a pack of pretty drunk girls/women scantily dressed, there should be rich pickings for guys/men if they hang around long enough. I certainly found that my gaze was met and held on several occasions and that simply does not happen in London. By local standards I was not too undressed but for once decided on a when in Rome moment and went out without a coat, with bare legs and midriff and w/o a handbag. And believe me, it was bitter!! But liberating. Sort of made easier by the hotel being across the road from the club. The 24 year old was a gem of a gent buying me drinks, proffering cigs and I walked home with a plastic rose. Aahhh. I further was able to notice something that was probably unremarkable way back when I was the same age. The boy (is it patronising to refer to him this way? I hope not) drank approximately 18 double vodkas and coke + a few beers but a) he wasn’t drunk, b) he made perfect sense and c) was able to perform. Call me venial but up to the 3am return I was considering that the 9pm interlude before we went out may be the only one I got for the night (oh forgot, we had started with champagne, so add that to the mix). Remarkable. I texted a 40 something male friend and he wistfully replied that those were the days…
The next day we were truly pensioners as hotels have this nasty habit of wanting the room back at 10am or so. No amount of I’ll pay extra or book for tonight got them to change this (they were booked up) and so several hours were spent on deckchairs (the moment you stepped out of the windbreaker gizmo it was freezing) watching not a lot going on apart from the donkeys. We talked about his relationships and refreshingly he only had 1 or 2 to mention. I must admit I have accumulated many more but felt no obligation to discuss. Other alternatives for a snooze were getting on the tram to the end of the line and back, going to a movie, breaking into a car or falling asleep in the TV room back at the hotel (a good choice in the end, we closed the door, pulled the curtains and had the Simpson on low, nobody who peeked in dared disturb this little picture of cosiness).
Roller coasters were not a good idea at this point… and neither did we fancy the fruit machines again. We spent approx £150 in order to get back… £145 or £155 depending on our respective approximations - I say we lost, he says we won and this may be a very male thing, the need to win or the need not to walk away when you are losing but keep going. The speed at which it all happens is pretty staggering and doesn’t bode well for my Las Vegas week later on in the year. I’d need several thousands to be entertained for a few consecutive hours. I could arrange for the 24 year old to come down and school me and my Vegas trip girlfriends in poker and other games but I think I want to be the only one in the Demi and Ashton fantasy.
posted by Lisa Taylor @ 7:42 AM
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