But I digress. The point is that for the last few months I had been trying to figure out what to do for the “Spring Bank Holiday”. My girlfriend was going to Berlin with a friend, and I didn’t want to join them. I had already been to Berlin, and let’s face it, three’s a crowd. So I decided to go to Spain. But didn’t get around to organising that. So I decided to go to Pink\pop, a Dutch rock festival. But I didn’t get around to organising that. So I decided to go to Southwest England, and check out some of the country’s best beaches. But despite it being 30 degrees on the weekend before bank holiday weekend, the long weekend weather was forecast to be, as they say in England, rubbish! So on the Thursday I finally organised something. I decided to go up north to one of the regional centres I had never been to.
On Saturday morning I caught a train up to the city of Liverpool.
When I arrived, it was pouring. So I sought shelter in the shopping centre across the road from the station. I thought I had arrived in the ultimate Hicksville. To be fair, I did enjoy watching the teenage girls walking around in short skirts and knee high socks, but the environment left much to be desired. The shopping centre consisted predominantly of cheap shoe shops blaring out bad music. The food court didn’t have anything I wanted to eat. What have I done? How am I going to spend a weekend in this hole?
As it turns out, once the rain had mostly subsided and I ventured out past St John’s Shopping Centre, I was actually pleasantly surprised. The Liverpool city centre is actually a clean, pleasant and architecturally pleasing place. There is a mix of old buildings and very new ones, trendy docklands, big new shopping centres and lively, bustling streets.
I enjoyed walking around Liverpool, and was glad I came. That night I had a few drinks at my hostel, watching the hen party have a few pre-going out drinks all dressed up in their burlesque gear, and chatted to an Argentinian backpacker who was stuck sleeping on a mattress on the floor in my dorm.
I decided that night to hit Mint Casino. The casinos up north are great. They have roulette for a 50p minimum bet and blackjack for £2. Back home in Melbourne the cheapest games you can find at the casino are $2.50/$10 respectively. I asked the roulette dealer whether he knew of anywhere that had a poker game going, and he directed me to Circus Casino further in the centre of town.
So I cashed in my chips and headed to Queens Square and into the Circus. It turned out Saturday night was the night with no poker games, but one of the staff gave me a tip of a casino in the suburbs that had a good poker tournament on that night.
So I jumped in a black cab, which drove me through a long tunnel and into some quiet, industrial Merseyside town. The driver didn’t even know where the casino was, but upon asking an old man on the street, we found it. The poker game had already started when I got there but it wasn’t too late to buy in. So I paid my 33 quid and joined the game as the 28th player.
After re-buys and add-ons (none of which I could afford, I decided) the prize pool was £1350. Wow, I was in a real poker tournament. And I ended up making it to the final table, to the last 10. I pusehed all-in with my short stack of 6,500, and unfortunately my pocket jacks ran into a pair of bullets and I was out. It was a fun way to spend a night in Liverpool though. Too bad I couldn’t understand what half of the dudes at the tables were saying!
The next day I walked to the station, taking in the biggest Anglican cathedral in the world and the “famous” Albert Dock on the way, and caught a train up to Blackpool. The Northern Trains service was the shittiest train I had ever been on. But it made for an interesting train ride.
Blackpool was interesting. Blackpool is England’s most popular seaside tourist destination. Like other English beachside towns, it consists of nice coastline with water which is too cold to swim in, lined with tacky shops, bars and amusement centres. The difference is, though, that Blackpool actually pulls it off. This original beachside resort has some real character to it.
I did a lot of walking and took in the atmosphere. I had a go in the amusement arcade, tried out the local casiono there too, wandered along the beach (after the violent 2 metre waves crashing onto the streets had stopped) and just chilled out a bit, making the most of being out of London.
The place I stayed, the Mayfield Hotel, added an interesting element to my visit. It was a small bed and breakfast type place but advertising itself, amongst other places, on Hostelbookers (a site that I use regularly to book my hostels). The proprietors like putting up backpackers, and prefer this to the stag do’s coming out of places like Liverpool. Although it wasn’t a typical hostel atmosphere (it was much quieter and nicer) , the owners made a real effort to make their guests feel at home. They even made sure to introduce guests to others. In fact, while I was out on the Sunday night the owner called me and asked me where I was. I thought perhaps something was wrong. But apparently Lucy, a Swiss girl who was staying solo, was in the hostel and bored, so he wanted to send her my way so we would each have someone to have some drinks with. A somewhat strange role for a landlord to play, but I thought it really showed he cared for his guests’ experiences.
The next day I had had enough of this seaside attraction (partly because it was cold!) and I headed back to Liverpool (1.5 hours), and then back home to London (another 2 hours).
I remember hanging out in Blackpool when I was a kid and thought it was the best place ever! Spent all day on the rides at the Pleasure beach, going up the tower, fish & chips at Harry Ramsdens etc. The accents are endearing, hey?
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