A sunny and bitterly cold spring walk along the beach from Starr Gate to Blackpool Tower.
Lone fisherman at the sea edge is chased inland by the tide. Dog and owner play, engrossed in each other’s company. Wailing gulls. Rumbling tramcars. Screamers on the Big One. A robed man chants, worshipping the sea. Donkeys shuffle from one leg to another as they wait for customers. A day in the life of Blackpool as she warms up for the holiday season.
The Tower looks sleek without its scaffolding: will snapshots look less interesting?
South Pier and Central Pier bedecked with tangled stuff below and weird stuff above.
It’s high tide up to the seawall on the return journey and the lone fisherman, now relegated to the promenade, packs away his gear. “Catch anything?” “A few flatties.”
Onward to Starr Gate, humming silently:
I love Blackpool in the spring time
I love Blackpool in the fall
I love Blackpool in the summer when it sizzles
I love Blackpool in the winter when it drizzles
With apologies to Cole Porter for lyric change