retiredmartin

January 2026. Blackpool.

If in doubt, tell the truth.

I was wiped out by the time I’d finished that pint of Acorn Blonde in Bispham, fit only to head back to the warm embrace St Annes Travelodge with a cup of M & S instant coffee and an Eccles cask.

But we were meeting Blackpool Jane for pub and curry at 5, and I knew I’d have to direct Mrs RM there from the centre. All I needed was a tram from Bispham to Tower.

I’d have been best off waking the fellow on the left from his 3,000 year slumber and asking him to carry me.

Oh, well, nothing brings folks together like shared travel chaos.

I’d given Mrs RM some suggestions for Blackpool that weren’t slot machines, forgetting that you can’t actually go in the Winter Gardens unless there’s something on,

and she hadn’t the nerve to try to pass herself off as a member of the cast of “Mamma Mia !”, like Duncan would if there was a pub tick in it.

She sent me a pic from the new Abingdon Street market (great coffee bar),

and I said I’d meet her there and steal some of her Japanese food,

but by the time I reached the Tower she’s gone shopping.

No, not for a Chapelle Roan hat.

So an unsucessful hour in the centre, most of it in Greggs, and then another 20 minutes at the tram stop,

where at least the skies did their best to impress.