Blackpool And Its Troublesome Pensioners.

Well, it’s pissing down here in Benidorm so I’d better hurry up and finish this before my electric goes off. The weather was glorious when I left from Yeadon airport on Saturday (That’s Leeds/Bradford to you), and it’s been a little, er... changeable since I got back. Enjoyed my time in Blackpool doing knack all. I’ve got a soft spot for the old place alright and it’s nice to see that they’re spending a fair old wad in an effort to drag it up from its wellington boots in an effort to propel it kicking and screaming into the 21st Century. However I can’t really condone its zero tolerance policy towards law abiding middle aged men. I’ve been left scratching my head at instances such as my uncle Eddie (who’s 65) being refused service in “Churchills” pub for having the temerity to enjoy himself, us lot being chucked out of “Flares” for “dancing too vociferously” (try doing that to “Bucks Fizz”), and me being followed to the promenade before being ludicrously accused of stealing a “Daily Mail” from W.H. Smiths by a security man and his vacant looking sidekick the store detective. That was hilarious and worthy of a blog all of its own.

The worrying thing is that I’ve picked up this back injury, not as you might think as a result of tottering down the east coast with a rucksack the same size as myself perched at my rear, or from scurrying about on all fours in my snug sized tent (there was only one bit in the middle where I could actually sit up). Oh no, that was no trouble, even the old knees didn’t come up like Kenny Ball’s cheeks and were as good as gold. No, the back went doing, er.... precisely nothing! Can’t for the life of me remember doing anything particularly over zealous, say, lifting a particularly heavy looking pint pot, or fending off one of the Blackpool Loons on giro day, but it hurts like hell anyway. It looks like being a long wait before I can resume my evening show – I’ve got a dozen quick changes in that, - but I can’t even put me socks on at the moment! So looks like I’ve got a few more mornings of abseiling down the side of the bed on a sheet first thing in the morning and biting the pillow as I stagger to my feet like somebody who has just been shot.