Blackpool, although you may think it’s a jolly seaside resort with candy floss and donkeys, it is where transients come to draw benefits in a holiday resort instead of an inner city. Go back a few streets from the prom, and you will see the deprivation, the ghettos and the rundown pubs that make up the REAL Blackpool. It’s a town full of drugs and crime.
It’s full every weekend of idiots that get so drunk they cant control their bladders – yes, women too, and middle aged women with messages such as ‘I’m up for it’ (Yuk) emblazoned on T shirts across their flabby boobs – which, incidentally flap up and down on their beer bellies when they jump up and down to the music in any one of the dive bars along Bank Hey Street.
It has a lot of single mothers with doorkey babies all with the Fleetwood Facelift hairstyle (vigorously scraped up ponytail) all covered in gold that they either have had nicked for them, or have not paid a bill in order to buy.
Yes there are decent hardworking people in Blackpool, but it’s an increasingly dangerous unpleasant place to live and nothing ever gets done about it. For the record, I work with social services – so I do actually know what I’m talking about. I live here only until I’ve saved enough to get out of this country!