Searching for the only place in the country that Boris allows us to travel to, Ron decided on a quick trip to Blackpool.  I can’t resist quoting Jethro Tull from 1971 (I was still at school – just – and bought this on a single.)

I’m going up the ‘Pool
From down the smoke below
To taste me mum’s jam sarnies
And see our Aunty Flo.
The candy floss salesman
Watches ladies in the sand
Down for a freaky weekend in the hope
That they’ll be meeting Mr. Universe.

The iron tower smiles down upon the silver sea
And along the Golden Mile
They’ll be swigging mugs of tea.
The politicians there,
Who’ve come to take the air,
While posing for the daily press
Will look around and blame
The mess on Edward Bear.

.

There’ll be buckets, spades and bingo,
Cockles, mussels, rainy days,
Seaweed and sand castles, icy waves,
Deck chairs, rubber dinghies,
Old vests, braces dangling down,
A suntanned stranded starfish in a daze.

.

Oh, Blackpool,
Oh, Blackpool.

.

I doubt whether it’s changed much.  Back to Ron…..

Instead of a week in Switzerland I am spending 2 nights in Blackpool.  Left home in sunshine but arrived to find it cloudy and windy and raining this evening.

Yes, this is the classic British seaside holiday…

However, it all looks better at night, when the illuminations come on.  (Not sure whether Ron looks better at night, though.)  Not to be confused, of course, with the Illuminati, who have far too much sense to be involved with Blackpool.

But of course, the real reason to go to Blackpool is to see the trams.  Just the one classic double-decker out and about….