My favourite place for shabbiness has to be Blackpool. I’ve been going there since I was born in the mid fifties (I actually think I was conceived there) and as a child it was such an exciting place. The Illuminations, the Pleasure Beach, the trams, the Tower Ballroom, etc. Of course they’re all still there, but the Golden Mile is rather tarnished these days, and in the early months of the year there is a pervading atmosphere of despondency. But I still love it for all of its faults. I still love WH Smith and always go into their shop at my local station, but it’s a shadow of that which it used to be. One small corner has magazines and newspapers, while the rest is given over to fridges full of food and drinks, or toiletries and bits and pieces for mobile phones. Ichabod! The glory has departed!
Spot on! Another exemplar for shabbiness (in Wales) is the wonderful seaside town of Porthcawl - especially the decaying hotels. The Welsh tend to be more cheerful, so its atmosphere is perhaps too upbeat - but the physical signs, oh boy (or oh boyo).
I was just in WH Smith yesterday buying a TV / Movie mag, self service of course. No teenage girl asking me if I'd like to add a bar of Galaxy, half price. "Every day is like Sunday, every day is silent and grey."
Hideously unfair, on Pat. Starmer has that 1980s look - I can imagine him bopping around to Tears for Fears at some JCR disco, before back to his Balliol room covered in posters for 'Red Wedge'.
Hear the word and reach for your revolver. But as I say, it's excellent when it fails. Nothing funnier than some Guardian types reading 'Let's move to Clacton' and relocating there - only to find hell on earth.
My favourite place for shabbiness has to be Blackpool. I’ve been going there since I was born in the mid fifties (I actually think I was conceived there) and as a child it was such an exciting place. The Illuminations, the Pleasure Beach, the trams, the Tower Ballroom, etc. Of course they’re all still there, but the Golden Mile is rather tarnished these days, and in the early months of the year there is a pervading atmosphere of despondency. But I still love it for all of its faults. I still love WH Smith and always go into their shop at my local station, but it’s a shadow of that which it used to be. One small corner has magazines and newspapers, while the rest is given over to fridges full of food and drinks, or toiletries and bits and pieces for mobile phones. Ichabod! The glory has departed!
Spot on! Another exemplar for shabbiness (in Wales) is the wonderful seaside town of Porthcawl - especially the decaying hotels. The Welsh tend to be more cheerful, so its atmosphere is perhaps too upbeat - but the physical signs, oh boy (or oh boyo).
I worked in Blackpool for a large Pharma company and I have to say, what do you expect for 15 quid a night? Matching bed linen?
Yes. My memory of Blackpool is that muddy sea and it being (thankfully) miles away.
I'm still suffering from trauma at Woolies shutting down !
Yes - oh my word, what a menagerie it was!
You got that right Paul, Starmer must go immediately.
I was just in WH Smith yesterday buying a TV / Movie mag, self service of course. No teenage girl asking me if I'd like to add a bar of Galaxy, half price. "Every day is like Sunday, every day is silent and grey."
Win yourself a cheap tray!
Starmer is a doppelganger for Postman Pat.
Hideously unfair, on Pat. Starmer has that 1980s look - I can imagine him bopping around to Tears for Fears at some JCR disco, before back to his Balliol room covered in posters for 'Red Wedge'.
Whilst Billy Bragg serenades soporific overtures into slumber with vivid visions of a Marxist Utopia!
God, I hate Billy Bragg. Big-nosed foghorn propagandist.
Gentrification! That term is used whenever somewhere improves, where is the incentive?
Hear the word and reach for your revolver. But as I say, it's excellent when it fails. Nothing funnier than some Guardian types reading 'Let's move to Clacton' and relocating there - only to find hell on earth.