Blackpool

Awake with a snort, the final note in our Symphony of Snores, totter downstairs and it hits us—we’re still in the pub! Foreheads are smacked as no one had the foresight to set cell phone alarms @ 5am to get up and lay under the taps in our bathrobes. Ah well, the bucket list grows….

Mo and Mum set us off with proper breakfast baguettes in hand:

But before Blackpool it’s back to dear old Bristol to get new stix for Alfie.

And so we hit M6 to Blackpool. As usual, Euro road construction is our familiar old enemy, and our 3 hour jaunt turns into an 8 hour ordeal. Never a problem though, as it gives us a lot of time to braid each other’s hair, tell ghost stories, and come up with nicknames for physically improbable and disgusting sexual acts!

Also, Chris fills us in on Dogging, the latest craze for adventurous couples in the UK. Has nothing to do with canines or public dog parks, trust us!

The Tower comes into view, and we are Back in Blackpool!

Ah, city of fried foods and garish casinos: where the stags and hens circle eachother in a drunken sexual courting dance each Saturday night, where the cobblestones tell the sordid tale Sunday morning with their scattered Morse code of vomit and used condoms….

We check into the lovely Gresham just steps from the back load in bay of Wintergardens. Thankfully, we each have single rooms for the weekend, and while the accomodations may not even rate a stateside Motel 6 level in niceties, the sight of a single bed and toilet, not to be shared with another farting and snoring machine, leads us to each in turn break out in the happy Snoopy dance!

We check into Wintergardens and walk through.

The sticky floors, blasting PA systems, fried foods and carnival lights. Shouting hellos and hugging friends not seen for a year. No time to take advantage of that quiet bed, we’ve made it back to Rebellion again!