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Wednesday, April 13, 2005

The Days We Went To Blackpool Pt II

We thought that Blackpool was shut simply because we'd flown so early. Apparently not - it appears that the town only stirs when the sun threatens to come out, or the combined critical mass of a hen-night comes near. So the Wife and I traipsed along the wind-blown seafront, ducking into the one or two things that were open and marvelling at the novelty candy therein.

You can get candy breasts in Blackpool, you know. And something called a 'Rock Cock'.

As you can see Blackpool is marvellously tacky; a dulled sequin of the north. You can't move for false promises: winning jackpots on bingo or seeing into your future with the Gypsy Putalengro and all her various clones. Blackpool is teeming with them - nay, infested - and every few feet is a booth announcing that this is 'The REAL Gypsy Putalengro!' It's like Sparticus went to a psychic convention.

The Wife decided to give Putalengro Clone #8735 a go in the afternoon; himself a seasoned visitor to said crackpots in the past. He came out chuckling to himself ten minutes later, saying she was predictably (ha!) rubbish. The closest she'd apparently got was stating he'd had some disappointment in the last two-and-a-half years in his love life. I raised an eyebrow and asked him what on earth could that be. He just laughed and said that he'd met me.

I made him buy the donuts for that, the hairy sod.


Concrete X said...

I'd forgive a man anything if he bought the doughnuts.

Miss Mish said...

Ahh now in our Fair City every Autumn we have the Goose Fair (which is almost an innuendo by iteself) And there you can buy, nay, are expected to tradionally buy, a 'cock on a stick'

Do pay a visit this year.

Owen Blacker said...

And did you bring us each back a "Rock Cock"?

Did you lick at one lasciviously on the seafront, scaring small children?