Just got back from mine and the kids’ annual pilgrimage to Blackpool. Mostly to enjoy the thrills of the rickety rides at the Pleasure Beach and in part to remind ourselves that whatever life throws at us, or how low we may sometimes feel – it could be worse – we could live in Blackpool.
24 hours is about as much as we can take of good old Blackers. I might be on meds at the moment but I’m not completely fucking mental! How anyone can actually afford to go for a week, even if they wanted to, is beyond me. It surely must be cheaper to go to Spain.
The Bman has to go there for work occasionally. He hates it with a passion and cannot understand why we go. To be fair, the punters at the Pleasure Beach aren’t usually as unfortunate as the ones you might encounter around the bars and clubs and tatt shops. On this visit I don’t think we actually saw one drunken person, which surely must be a first! I did see a rather large lady in some kind of knee length MuMu shouting at her kids for running through the fountains (as I was running through the fountains myself). Other than that we escaped unscathed without my girls being groomed into a sex trafficking ring (I’m too old for that kind of caper these days), so, all good.
I thought I’d broken my neck on the Grand National at one point (best wooden rollercoaster ever – just don’t look too closely at the loose nuts and bolts on the way round.) I also think that even for my relatively mediocre sized boobs, a sports bra might be the way forward next time! I even went in the maze and didn’t freak out (I am a bit scared of mazes). I rode the UK’s only actual haunted ghost train but the scariest apparition I saw was this, when I took a selfie.
It was a fun 24 hours and will hopefully keep me in a good mood for returning to work on Monday. Only an hour a week for the first week of my phased return because as I said before, I am not completely fucking mental. I need to build up gently to a full return. We shall see how that pans out. I do need to go back though. There’s only so many hours of Paranormal Witness that a girl can watch. I need to start interacting with the living (even if a lot of them annoy the very bones of me). I was also starting to seriously consider an alternative career. By career, I mean I wondered what the wage was for driving that little train round Bradford Broadway Shopping Centre. I though perhaps if I was driving it I might not actually get run over by the fucker every time I go into town! (My own fault in fairness for not watching where I am going).
So wish me luck for next week and in the meantime, do enjoy some pictorial memories of our Blackers jolly.