July 20, 2012
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(written on 6 March 2013)
My train to Preston left London Euston station at around noon. After checking out of my hotel in the morning I slowly made my way to King’s Cross Station (but not without a lovely breakfast at The Courtfield pub in Earl’s Court), resisting the temptation to buy some more clothes in either the GAP or the Super Dry Store on Regent St. My bag is already quite full and I will have to take it with me on to Blackpool, then Glasgow and then Belfast. King’s Cross was quite a scruffy old station up until recently but some wonderful renovations have created a completely new departures hall adjacent to the main building (rather than being part of the main building) and the space that was created was just beautiful. I also had a quick look in St Pancras International just next to King’s Cross before walking to Euston Square and then Euston station. It was still quite warm as I was sitting outside having my lunch but the skies were very grey and very threatening and sure enough the first drops of rain came down just as my train was about to depart (with a slight delay.)
In order to get from London to Blackpool one must take a train from London Euston to Preston (and these trains often go on to Glasgow) and there at Preston (“Welcome to Lancashire”) one takes a local service to Blackpool North station. The intercity service to Preston is provided by Virgin and I was quite looking forward to that train ride. After all, you get to cross a big part of England and it would be awesome to see that go by your train window! That is, if you happen to get a seat with a view. Unfortunately the Virgin Pendoline trains do actually have some seats without any view at all (unless you manage peak around the people sitting just in front of you on the other side of the aisle but that is not very easy) which means that I arrived in Preston and for the first time I saw daylight again since leaving Euston station (which I might add is the most depressing station of all London terminals.) Preston is the station where I once, many many years ago, left a bag on a train while I was travelling from Blackpool to Glasgow and of course that memory came back immediately, just as the memory of my interrail trip back in 1998 when I had to change trains here as well, en route from Liverpool to Edinburgh. Ah… memories.
Anyway, on I went onto a Northern Rail train service to Blackpool North and this is probably the shoddiest train operator in the UK. The diesel trains running this service are really quite old and there is nothing much on offer that resembles comfort. In fact, many of the trains in summer are severely overcrowded (as was today’s service.) Northern Rail is really an embarrassment when at the same station you see flashy trains from Virgin Trains and Transpennine trains go by. Oh, did I mention that Northern Rail is half owned by the Dutch national railway company? Yeah…
Blackpool is an amazing place. I love it, but admittedly I am in a select group of people when I say that. My Manchester friend Arno loathes it (but that’s not stopping him from coming out to see me tomorrow) and many people find it amazingly tacky, cheap, seedy, and full of senseless stag and hen parties. All of the above is true and somehow that makes it tremendously appealing to me. It’s Britain’s biggest seaside resort and has a staggering number of 90,000 holiday beds over 3,000 hotels, B&B and similar accommodation. Each year 2 million portions of chips alone are eaten in the town main amusement park, Pleasure Beach, as well as 45 miles of hot dogs and half a million candy flosses (I wish I was making this up but it’s all here) which means Tourism in Blackpool is big business. And yet, despite these astounding numbers, there is this overwhelming feel of past glory whenever I walk through Blackpool. The town was much, much busier still in past decades when it was the main holiday destination for Glasgwegians. Many things in Blackpool today still remind you of days gone by – or at least that is the impression I get.
I didn’t do much today in Blackpool though. I got to the hotel at the end of the afternoon and spent hours just reading (another ebook about the AT) and freshening up, and then – almost reluctantly – I got out and had fish and chips in Harry Ramsden’s near the North Pier. I also walked on the beach near that pier a bit (picture above) and played some of the tuppence machines in the games hall on the pier. And then… then I just returned to the hotel, not in the mood to go for a drink at all. And don’t get me wrong, I was feeling absolutely fine, happy to be back here, but also completely content to have an evening of absolutely nothing else to do but read about the adventures of a guy walking the Appalachian Trail in a land far, far away.
