Jammy Taylor

welcome to blackpool

you’re welcome to it!!


Welcome to Blackpool, the sign said, as my car Gladys and I trundled in. I had heard lots about it,  apparently, according to my mate Dave on a recent night out, when I too was drinking, this was where the original King Kong happened; you know, swinging round the tower causing havoc, and then another monkey must have heard about it and copied it out in New York and that’s where they got the film from.

I don’t know how much of this it true but from the first look of things maybe since then the people of Blackpool have been to scared to change anything in case the giant monkey came back, as everything still looks like it’s set in the 1950s even now, with the old-fashioned trams and these permanent Christmas decorations; the illuminations they’re called all piled up down this one long seafront road.

It makes Southend look like St Tropez and as for the people well, what brief conversation I did have with one of the holiday makers there consisted of him calling me a gay as I picked a spot in my mirror whilst waiting for the light to change; bearing in mind this man was about forty and had seven children and a wife dressed in white stiletto shoes and white leather mini skirt and a pink top at one o’clock in the afternoon.

In fact they were in good company, every other person there was on some kind of stag do or hen night with all the blokes hunting for the next big punch-up and the girls all wearing learner signs on their back, maybe they were learning that they should have gone to Southend, but I guess I will never know.

I had a bit of time to kill before my gig, so I had a little look around, so I saw the tower where the monkey must have attacked from and bought myself a stick of rock, and then headed off to find my hotel, the venue where I was playing.

I knew the actually gig wouldn’t be that bad, as I had worked for the client before and they have pretty much given me the green light to be as crazy as I want with 1000 people to play with.

So after getting lost a fair few times and going back and forth past the Christmas lights (in September), I finally found it, something Castle is was called.

Now, up until this point I was trying to keep an open mind, but to be honest it didn’t look like any castle I had seen before, more like a highrise block of flats with a few breeze block turrets either end and it didn’t look much better from the inside either, it was like a scene straight out of a Carry On film, complete with its very own blue rinse club.

Eventually after I had checked in and spent an hour reassuring Gladys and my wheels (and myself) that they would be ok, I finally made it up to my room. I didn’t like it much either, for starters they had given me a single bed with dirty soiled sheets (you can imagine my face) and there wasn’t even room to swing your shirt around in, it let alone a cat, the bed was right up against the door; in fact the bath tub was bigger, and the wall between my room and next door was about as thick as a crisp packet and by the sounds of things they were having slightly more fun than I was. Enough was enough, so I decided to fork out fifteen pounds to upgrade my room to a premier suite.

I wasn’t due on stage till late. I was headlining the bill on some big awards dinner, so I didn’t start till midnight. I mean they really had gone to town with as far as the entertainment, they had a full-sized big top constructed in the castle’s ballroom, complete with clowns and the most flexible women I have ever seen, no tigers though, they could have have come in handy, and then there was a band and then me.

So I decided to have a quick look around the hotel and catch a bit of the hotel entertainment, to see what the competition was like.  There I was with my brown suit and my pink shirt and as you can imagine I fitted in brilliantly with the rest of the clientele on their weekend break away with all the people in tracksuits and all their fat children grasping at bottles of Asda cola and scoffing down packets of space invaders.

And you know the feeling, when you’re at the urinal, and the only space there is right in the middle of two guys, and you shuffle up to take the stand and the feeling that you just can’t pee, although you really need to and no matter what you do, however hard you concentrate on going you just can’t, and it seems like, you’re there for an eternity before you even get a drop out, all the time the two geezers either side of you are wondering what the fuck you’re up to.  I decided that after that it would be safer for me to stay with the party, so off I trotted back to the ballroom.

The show went really well, I got a standing ovation and loved every second of it and as I was saying my goodnights to the bosses this rather attractive older women came over  (under forty, I promise) and invited me over for a drink.

We got chatting and things led to other things and eventually we ended up tucked up in my premier suite together, this time with a double bed. 

We had a little chat and then we both fell asleep with her cuddled up to me, head on my chest. By now it was already 5am.

I awoke after only about an hours sleep as the sun flooded into the room, to see that she wasn’t lying next to me. So I sat up. At this point still in a bit of a daze, and at first I though she had just left. Fair enough, she was older after all, maybe her husband was waiting for her, but then as I went to put my head back down on the pillow, I noticed that her bag was still on the sideboard next to me, so I sat up again, this time noticing that all her clothes were still scattered all over the floor from the night before, and I don’t just mean her dress either, I mean everything, her bra, her knickers, everything.

Now at this point I was starting to get a little concerned so I got out of bed, and started to look around the room; I mean who just leaves without any of their stuff. I mean it was a bit kinky; but who does that.

I was starting to get a little freaked out, she wasn’t in the bathtub or under the bed, or hiding in the wardrobe, I even checked out the window.  Thank god she wasn’t there, I was on the tenth floor.

I didn’t know what to think; maybe the monkey had come back??

I hurriedly got dressed and rushed down to the hotel reception, and that’s when just at that moment in she walked through the front door dressed in a towel, flagged by two policemen, bright red in the face as she saw me standing their holding her smalls.

Turns out she’s been having a few problems with sleepwalking as of late. The young boy at the reception desk didn’t know what to think of it, and the coppers soon saw the funny side of it as I took her back upstairs to give her the rest of her clothes back.

Don’t think I’ll be seeing her again, although I really was hoping it was the monkey you know!

Anyway, Blackpool.  You’re welcome to it!!

jtx