Half-term. Time for a Day Out. Access to the town centre from the station is via a dark, wet, litter-strewn subway. Daughter spontaneously says Blackpool is the dirtiest place in the world. Down to the Prom. Poundstretchers, Woolies, bars offering topless waitresses, lapdancing and exotic this and that. (It’s Sunday lunch-time.) We consider the Sea Life centre, but I’m worried about what they might get up to with the eels in there. And so to the Dr Who exhibition, our reason for being there.
Daughter tries to act as if it lives up to her excited anticipation, tries not to admit to the mild disappointment that seeps in as you wander round the place. Mild disappointment – it’s what life has in store for most of us, isn’t it? There’s loads of authentic props and costumes, but it’s shabby and underfunded and more importantly under-imagined. What does it need? I don’t know – a Dr Who companion to show you round, actors in costumes wandering about, some decent lighting effects, maybe a soundtrack. It’s one of those places that seems to exist mostly for its gift shop. Where we buy a Dr Who bath set. No home should be without one.
Daughter mostly enjoys Air Hockey in a café we stop at, and the journeys to and from. I’ve packed food and water, a magazine, Snakes & Ladders. She spends the journeys with her friend on the floor in the luggage space between the seats. Home to Spouse and poorly Son. Reassure them they haven’t missed much.
TODAY’S LIST
3 of Daughter’s Favourite songs
Sk8ter Boi Avril Lavigne
Who Will Buy Oliver
Downtown Petula Clark
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