Blackpool Quotes

Stephen Blackpool fall into the loneliest of lives, the life of solitude among a familiar crowd. The stranger in the land who looks into ten thousand faces for some answering look and never finds it, is in cheering society as compared with him who passes ten averted faces daily, that were once the countenances of friends

Don't go on holiday to Blackpool, it's fucking horrible there.

He would be gone soon, and with all that had happened in Blackpool Cove, I could not afford to send a piece of my heart with him.

Do you know what that is, Snow? A flaming pyre, set adrift in the sea. We could do yours in Blackpool, so all your chavvy Normal friends can come.

no small achievement when you consider the British climate, the fact that Blackpool is ugly, dirty and a long way from anywhere, that its sea is an open toilet, and its attractions nearly all cheap, provincial and dire.

What about you, Neville?” said Ron. “Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch,” said Neville, “but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy.

Seeing Blackpool on a dull winter's day rather spoilt my image of what seaside places were like. (From LONE WOLF, p.60)

Thus easily did Stephen Blackpool fall into the loneliest of lives, the life of solitude among a familiar crowd. The stranger in the land who looks into ten thousand faces for some answering look and never finds it, is in cheering society as compared with him who passes ten averted faces daily, that were once the countenances of friends.

The bucket jingled its way around

Everybody of course, was like this, - depth beyond depth, a universe chorally singing, incalculable, obeying tremendous laws, chemical or divine, of which it was able to give its own consciousness not the faintest inkling… He brushed the dark hair of this universe. He looked into its tranquil black-pooled eyes. Its mouth was humorous and bitter. And this universe would go out and talk inanely to other universes – talking only with some strange minute fraction of its identity, like a vast sea leaving on the shore, for all mention of itself, a single white pebble, meaningless. A universe that contained everything – all things – yet said only one word: ‘I.’ A music, an infinite symphony, beautifully and majestically conducting itself there in the darkness, but remaining for ever unread and unheard.

Life is short and that seems to be on people’s minds quite a lot these days. We have entered the era of the bucket list. No longer is it sufficient to tell anyone who wants to listen, or even cares, that you are thinking about a fancy five-star holiday. No, every proposed trip is now qualified as ‘It’s on my bucket list.’ Really? If you want to go on safari, see the Northern Lights, surf off the Maldives, or whatever, save up, drop into the travel agent or book online. We don’t care. Why should I feel inadequate about preferring a week in Blackpool to a week in Bali? And as for ‘experiences’, bungee-jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge, swimming with sharks, are you off your head? That is a guaranteed bucket list, a ‘death wish’ list. Show your videos to someone who cares. Does anyone? If you want to do something useful, look after people, even those you don’t know, listen to them: you may be very interesting but others are too in their own way – and, above all, be kind.

When I was sixteen, we were at the UK championships in the Winter Gardens back in Blackpool. My partner and I were traveling clockwise around the floor doing a paso doble. I was really into it, envisioning myself as the fierce matador. I was intense. I paid no mind to what was going on around me--not the forty other dancers swirling around us, not the flow of the traffic. I thought to myself, “Man! I am on fire!” Then I heard a voice over the microphone: “Derek, you’re going the wrong way.” I froze in my tracks. It was Bill Irvine, the world champion and ballroom legend who was a commentator that day. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Corky waving his arms in the air like a madman, signaling me to turn around. I was mortified, but I didn’t want to show it. So I smiled, pretended I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed, and did a 360, pulling my partner with me. I went right back into the routine, unfazed. Corky always taught me both to be quick on my feet and to think quickly. And if I screwed up, to cover my tracks.

Trains passed in the opposite direction, taking back the cotton princes to Tidsley, Elton, Burrows, and further on to Southport, Blackpool, St. Anne's. She could see the occupants of the first-class carriages playing cards, or fallen into unlovely sleep. They did well to avert their eyes from the landscape they had made. They had made it; but they could not, like God, look and see that it was good. Monstrous slag-heaps, like ranges in a burnt-out hell; stretches of waste land rubbed bare to the gritty earth; parallel rows of back-to-back dwellings; great blocks of mill buildings, the chimneys belching smoke as thick and black as eternal night itself; upstanding skeletons of wheels and pulleys. Mills and mines; mills and mines all the way to Manchester, and the brick, the stone, the grass, the very air deadened down to a general drab by the insidious filter of soot. But Jane, Lancashire born and bred, did not find it depressing. It was no feeble, trickling ugliness, but a strong, salient hideousness that was almost exhilarating.

Failure can’t live in the company of perseverance. Failure eventually surrenders. Corky and Shirley taught me this. It took them ten years to win Blackpool. Ten years! Some people would give up and throw in the towel after ten minutes! Every time they lost, all the people around them blamed Corky. But he was relentless. He was going to prove his talent not just to the naysayers but also to himself. There were many times as a competitive dancer when I felt deflated and not good enough, but I never gave up--the Ballases never let me. You always have to keep on moving forward and having faith. Think of the greatest leaders we know. What do they all have in common? They all fought some uphill battle to get where they are. Call it tenacity, persistence, or plain old stubbornness. When someone or something tries to push me off my path, that’s when I dig my heels in even harder. I’ll be honest: in some areas of my life, I have this mastered. In others, I need a little reminder now and then. There’s nothing you can’t do if you see it through.

Our first stop was London, where there were a few competitions leading up to Blackpool. I had never seen this level of competition before. I was so excited by the energy and the feeling of being around all these amazing dancers. I wasn’t overwhelmed, just a little embarrassed. Everyone looked so polished, and they all smelled like fancy cologne. Comparatively, I looked and felt like the poor kid on the block. I didn’t own the proper costume (white tie, black jacket, and black trousers), so I’d rented one from a wedding store before we left home. It was baggy in all the wrong places, and I didn’t have the right shoes. Watching the dancers get ready backstage, we realized we were also completely unprepared. They’d put water or castor oil on the floor and rub the soles of their shoes in it. Then they’d scratch the soles with a wire brush, roughening up the suede to prevent slipping. As we stepped out for the first round, Autumn spit in the middle of the dance floor and rubbed her feet in it. She encouraged me to do the same, so I did--hoping that not too many people were watching. I remember thinking, Yeah, we are definitely from out of town.

LEADING LESSONS It’s the failures that make us winners. When you win a competition, you celebrate. You are on cloud nine. But when you lose, you learn. In my case, losing Blackpool that first time was the best thing that ever happened to me. I dug deep down and asked myself what it was that was holding me back from achieving what I knew I was capable of. Failure shows you what’s possible. It makes your desire burn hotter. It builds courage, and in the end, it makes the win that much sweeter. I would rather fail at something than regret never trying. Leaders think of failures as experiments, showing them what works and what doesn’t and how to fix things. We live in a world where failure is thought of as something negative: no one likes the idea of screwing up. But what if you could change that? What if you could see failure as a positive? What if you could embrace failure as part of the process necessary to get what you want? Suddenly, the fear of it disappears. I never went into any competition wanting to fail (just the opposite), but after racking up my share of disappointments, I learned that I could deal with it. It hurt and pissed me off at the time, but now I see the value in it. I wouldn’t be where I am today without those failures notched on my belt.

In Blackpool, that midsummer’s night, with Ted Watson, a man I ceased to call father a long time ago.

At no point during the making of this book have I inverted my penis although I did go to Blackpool which turned out to be almost as painful.

It started about ten years ago, and now it’s a real middle-class retreat. Shit pubs. Shit atmosphere. They think that if they go there they’ll all live in harmony away from the moths. It’s such a Victorian idea. You can’t hide like that. It’s the Guardian’s version of The Prisoner. They’re so middle class they put pebbles on the beach so they don’t get any sand between their toes. No wonder nothing comes out of it. It’s not a patch on Blackpool. That’s the real seaside town.

treacle tart, the talk turned to their families. “I’m half-and-half,” said Seamus. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mum didn’t tell him she was a witch ’til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.” The others laughed. “What about you, Neville?” said Ron. “Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch,” said Neville, “but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought

As for those who doled out bursts of sudden violence to the men and women who bedded down under the decaying grandeur of Blackpool’s doorways and verandas – ‘This is not a human being,’ they must have told themselves as they climbed into their waiting taxis and slipped home to hot showers, warm beds and plates full of food, averting their eyes from the smoke that came from other people’s fires.

We’re still a bit short on the donations, so if you’ve got a rich uncle, today’s the day to remind him of the filing clerk he once took to Blackpool, the name of the cheap hotel where they stayed, and the type of barnyard animal that was involved.

A letter today from a Mrs Gladys Freeman, 45 Sebastopol Terrace, Blackpool. 'Sir, reference the room you had here during the party conference season. Well, we know what it is. We know who done it. But for heaven's sake tell us where it is!

Be thankful all she did was raise her voice," Mr. Blackpool told Sarah conspiratorially. "During the ride to London, I had to talk her out of scaling up the townhouse walls, should the door go unanswered." She had to hide her smile at the image of flamboyant Mrs. Blackpool climbing row houses like a circus monkey. "We are fortunate indeed that such measures did not prove necessary.

Bali is to Australians what Ibiza is to twelve blokes from Blackpool on a stag do – one long, rowdy, epically-cheap piss-up.

It didn't help, reminding herself that if she were back in Blackpool she'd spend the afternoon aching to be in London. It just made her feel that she'd never be happy anywhere.

You are overheated, my lady,” her new partner said severely. “It will be a pleasure to escort you outside for fresh air.” She opened her mouth to protest such forwardness, but then the man opened his mouth slightly so that she could glimpse his fangs. “Clayton cannot touch you here, no matter how much he may pretend otherwise.” Blinking in astonishment, she nodded and allowed him to lead her off the dance floor. Clayton glared at the vampire with such malice that she was reassured this was an ally. Her fear reduced, she followed him out the French doors. Once outside, the vampire frowned at her and shook his head. “Honestly, for a countess, you are shockingly inept at duplicity.” “And who are you?” she asked faintly. The vampire bowed. “I am Aldric Cadell, Viscount Thornton and Lord of Blackpool. I have come to assist with the war.” Cassandra curtsied. “Rafael and I are grateful for your assistance.” Rafe burst out the French doors, eyeing Blackpool suspiciously. “I would greatly appreciate it if you would inform me before absconding with my fiancée.” “I was not absconding with her,” Blackpool replied calmly. “I was rescuing her from Edmondson. Did you not notice his odious presence?” Rafe snarled. “I did. But I should have gotten her away from him. It is my duty to protect her.” “You couldn’t have left the dance without shaming yourself and her as well,” Blackpool retorted. “As your ally, it is my duty to provide aid when it is required.” Rafe rubbed his temples. “You are right. I apologize, and thank you for taking her away from our enemy.

Rafe’s fists clenched at his sides, and a surge of territorial protectiveness speared through him at the sight of her alone with the other vampire. Then he glimpsed Elizabeth sitting unobtrusively in a chair by the fireplace, watching over his woman. His hands relaxed. Blackpool

I feel like a carefree, beautiful butterfly!” Gushes George. Albert rolls his eyes. “There ain’t many butterflies in Blackpool, George. You might have to settle for a seagull.” “Alright,” says George, “I feel like a seagull. A big handsome seagull, flapping its wings and sailing off into the air!” As if on cue, a flock of seagulls hovering overhead barks loudly.

He spouted out, ‘Richy, I’ve just been talking to a bloke from Blackpool on the phone, there’s a boxing show tomorrow night and they are desperate for a heavyweight. Will you fight?’ I retorted, ‘Are you joking. I haven’t trained for four months; I’ll be blowing after thirty seconds.’ He pleaded, ‘Howay, man. It’ll be a night out down Blackpool.

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But silence and the topless dark Vault in the lights of Luna Park; And Blackpool from the nightly gloom Hollows a bright tumultuous tomb." He put it down again, shook his head, and sighed. "What genius I had then!" he reflected, echoing the aged Swift. It was nearly six months since the book had been published; he was glad to think he would never write anything of the same sort again. Who could have been reading it, he wondered?

beach, eating ice-cream cones or taking donkey rides. Blackpool is where she first rode roller skates and let a boy kiss her. She went in a talent show and sang a Cyndi Lauper song about girls

day something happens in your life that presents you with a choice and it’s up to you what you do with that choice. It’s easy to play safe and stick with what we know. ‘But I’m wild,’ I thought. ‘I refuse to play safe.’ At the end of Valentine’s Day, as if sensing the waves of frustration and claustrophobia coming from the cast, the captain decided to give us the whole of the following day off, which was practically unheard of. To say that we needed to flop on a sun-soaked tropical beach makes us sound like spoilt brats and actually a freezing-cold stroll along the front at Blackpool would have been just as welcome if it had distracted us from our tired bodies and whirring minds. Anything to get away from relentlessly running through new routines to replace routines that had been reworked and replaced several times already. When I’m feeling low, it doesn’t usually take long for me to bounce back. At the end of a day spent lazing with the dancers on the beach I felt refreshed and renewed. ‘I’m definitely going to resign,’ I thought as I showered and dressed for the evening. It was the right decision and I vowed to deliver my letter in the morning. I ran my fingers through my hair and winked at my reflection in the mirror. Then I went up to the bar and my whole life changed in an instant. 10 The Way You Look Tonight The night I met Henrik Brixen I was ready for a bit of romance in my life. I hadn’t had a serious relationship in years, it was time. ‘I’m looking for the man of my dreams,’ I confided in my friends. ‘He’s got to be tall, blond, handsome, strong and ambitious …’ They laughed. ‘Not asking much, then?’ My friend, Günter Boodenstein, was on the lookout for me. Günter oversaw the ship’s engines and I often had a drink with him and his wife, Angelica, when she came aboard; they were lovely people and we became very pally. I bumped into Günter on the gangway as I was leaving the ship to go to the beach with the dancers on my day off. ‘Waiting for someone?’ I asked him. His face lit up. ‘Jane! You’re just the person I wanted to see. I have someone called Henrik Brixen coming onboard to have a look at the boiler.’ ‘Oh, yes? Up my street?’ He smiled. ‘Right up your street.’ A boiler man didn’t sound very promising, but I was prepared to keep an open mind. Günter and I agreed to meet up in the bar later and I went off to the beach. When Henrik arrived, Günter told him, ‘There’s a girl you should meet.’ Was there something in the stars that night? There was definitely some kind of magic, because the air seemed to glitter as Günter introduced me

Claire shook her head. “I’m not that young. In dance years I’m practically middle-aged. I can probably compete for another ten years, but once I hit thirty, I’ll be ancient. That’s why it’s so important to compete in Blackpool now, I don’t have time to waste. Once I’ve made a name for myself as a dancer, then I can relax a little and take it easy.” “And here I thought I’d been partnered with a nice young lady,” Luca joked. “Are those highlights or grey hairs?” Claire scowled. “That’s not funny.” “What’s funny is your Cuban motion,” Luca continued, “I thought your hips were stiff because you’re not used to moving them, but maybe you just have arthritis.” “Seriously,” Claire’s mouth twitched, “stop it.” “Or what, you’re going to chase after me with your cane, Grandma?

Blackpool is the Las Vegas of northwest England.

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