kiss me quick
Once upon a time the phrase ‘to the tower’ would have struck the unlucky recipient with dread as they’d have been off to the Tower of London to undoubtedly have their head shortly parted at the shoulder! It’s ironic then that in this day and age the same command would fill the unlucky receiver with equal dread and consternation, even though this tower is the vanguard, the talisman of the north, the once holy grail of post-industrial holiday destinations, Blackpool Tower. As a child, transported the grand distance of 18 miles on a number 31 bus from Preston’s equally iconic bus station (no, really, go google images of it), to the glorious golden mile, it was the only holiday I knew of, and oh what fun was to be had.
So you can imagine my horror to discover that Blackpool is now, with the lowest life expectancy of just 73, officially the most deadly place in England. Ouch. More than half the population smokes, the highest rate in the country. One in three pregnant women, even up to the point they are admitted into hospital to actually give birth are still dragging on the evil weed, ferchristsakes. Alcoholism is at epidemic levels, while deaths from drug abuse rival those of the worst Glasgow estates. If it weren’t so shocking you’d be forgiven for thinking the two places are competing for some dubious honour.
Any idea which organisation sponsors Blackpool FC, who, mainly due to their maverick then-manager Ian Holloway, recently enjoyed a short but highly entertaining spell in the Premiership? Another of today’s parasitic institutions, loan-shark Wonga. You just couldn’t write it. Down the road from their recently developed Bloomfield Park stadium, there is an off-licence for every 250 people, each attempting to undercut the other to such an extent that the ubiquitous Bargain Booze is one of the more expensive! In the town centre, all-night drinking is legendary with the majority of clubs not closing their doors until 7.00am. Not without reason has Blackpool long held the crown in Stag & Hen night destinations. Catastrophic levels of liver cirrhosis and associated digestive problems alone account for one year less and another is put down to violence, self-harm, over-dose and poisoning. Uh oh.
It’s certainly grim up north, and with the coalition government recently deciding to cynically avoid any curbing measures via minimum pricing of alcohol and plain packaging for fags, you’d be justified in assuming it’s all over and done for the town that was once revered as the ‘Riviera of the North’ (admittedly a not inconsiderable stretch of anyone’s imagination even back then). But no, there’s some good news and perhaps light at the end of the tunnel can be spied – ten years ago the life expectancy age, at 72, was even lower. Kiss me quick as I might not be around for long!
