Escaping the Noise: A Bristolian's Coastal Journey in Search of Clarity.

From #Bristol's chaotic protests to the quiet solitude of #Fleetwood and the tragic spectacle of #Blackpool.

As a Bristol blogger and commentator on Bristol affairs, I find myself on one of my now frequently compulsive jaunts away from the city. This particular escape couldn't have been more perfectly timed. Over the bank holiday weekend, I dodged the quasi-political shenanigans as Bristol protesters again took to the streets. The slogans were as imaginative as "Stand Against Racism," a phrase that, when questioned, often reveals more about the speaker's emotional state than their intellectual understanding.

It raises a fascinating question about modern protests, particularly in the Bristol news landscape: is it more about the feeling than the facts? These simple, powerful slogans aren't designed to be a nuanced academic thesis. They're a rallying cry, a way to show you're on the "right" side. For many, showing up is less about a deep intellectual understanding of complex political philosophies and more about a visceral, emotional reaction to perceived injustice. The real challenge, now hopelessly lost in an age where terminology can mean whatever populist interpretation resonates with the individual, is finding a way to move beyond the parrots and their slogans and into a genuine conversation. This provides me with an opportunity to escape the white noise of it all for a little peace and quiet.

I find I can think with far more clarity in solitude, away from the influence of social and anti-social media. The same is true when I write in the middle of the night. There is nothing to disturb me and my train of thought, except perhaps a cat asking for some attention. I'm not a fan of noise; I find it distracting, whereas others enjoy their television, music-radio, or online playlists.

The Journey Begins: Fleetwood's Quiet Charm.

This week, I found solace on the north-west coast in the Lancashire town of Fleetwood. Gazing out to the nothingness of the sea in a town that first came to my attention from 'Fisherman's Friend' lozenges two decades ago. Fleetwood, with its rich history in fishing, had always grabbed my attention as somewhere I wanted to visit. The only disappointment was that I never got to see the trawlers or buy fresh fish off the boats.

Neither did I get to meet any of the Lofthouse family, who, aside from the rich heritage of Fleetwood fishing, put the town on the global map. The Lofthouse family of Fleetwood, Lancashire, is a name synonymous with a true British success story, transforming a local pharmacy product into a globally recognised brand. The tale began in 1865 when pharmacist James Lofthouse created a powerful liquid remedy for the town's fishermen to combat the harsh conditions at sea. This innovative solution eventually evolved into the solid lozenge we know today, Fisherman's Friend, which became a staple for sailors and locals alike.

However, the brand's meteoric rise is largely credited to the vision and determination of Doreen Lofthouse. Recognising the immense potential beyond the local community, she spearheaded a global expansion that began with a crucial export deal to Norway in the 1970s. Under her leadership, the small family business grew into a manufacturing powerhouse, producing billions of lozenges annually, with a vast majority being exported worldwide. The family's legacy extends beyond business; they are celebrated for their profound philanthropy in Fleetwood, donating millions to local causes and earning Doreen the affectionate title of "the mother of Fleetwood" for her unwavering generosity.

With one ambition fulfilled, it was time for my next. My journey continued with a further drive down this beautiful coastline on a perfect August day, heading towards Blackpool.

The Tragic Spectacle of Blackpool.

A soul that my next place to visit lacked in abundance, Blackpool. If there was ever a place that metaphorically spoke, 'give me your money', this was it. To me, Blackpool was like a red light district stretching from one end of the Golden Mile to the other. You could have whatever pleasure you liked, provided you had the money to pay for it, and yikes, were those visitors ever tempted into spending it. They went home well and truly rinsed.

Fair play, though; it was absolutely packed with people, taking advantage of the last bank holiday of the year. Blackpool has everything a tourist and holidaymaker could ever want in terms of eateries, bars, and entertainment during the summer season. But look beyond the facade of the bright lights, both in and out of season, and the real story of the town unfolds.

Beneath the gaudy spectacle and the "Poundshop" Vegas vibe lies a story of profound decline and entrenched deprivation. For all the talk of regeneration and new attractions, Blackpool consistently ranks as one of the most deprived districts in England. The town’s social and economic challenges are stark and deeply rooted.

Its golden age as a booming Victorian resort, a playground for the working classes of the North, is a distant memory. The advent of affordable foreign holidays and mass air travel from the 1960s onwards saw a steady decline in visitor numbers, and with it, the fortunes of the town. The grand hotels and boarding houses, once teeming with life, have often been repurposed into low-cost housing or simply fallen into disrepair. This legacy of an "over-supply" of holiday accommodation has created a significant challenge, leading to a high proportion of poor-quality, multi-occupancy housing and related social issues.

The local economy, heavily reliant on a seasonal and low-wage tourism industry, has struggled to provide stable employment. A disproportionately high number of residents are considered "economically inactive," and the town faces significant challenges with long-term illness, substance abuse, and high rates of crime. The life expectancy for a person living in Blackpool is significantly lower than the national average, a grim statistic that speaks volumes about the health and well-being of its residents.

And when the holiday season is over for another year, the tourists have all gone home, and the sun sets on the last bank holiday weekend, the facade peels away entirely. The streets, once heaving with families and revellers, become eerily quiet. Many of the lights dim, the amusements close their doors, and a sense of bleakness settles over the town. The temporary jobs disappear, leaving an already fragile community to face the long, cold winter. The bright, bustling summer resort recedes, and the struggling, year-round town comes into sharp focus—a poignant reminder that the noise of the season is just a temporary distraction from a far more serious silence.

A Tale of Two Towns: The Refined Calm of Lytham St Annes.

Then, as if stepping back into the real world, it all changed again. As we headed down the coast, towards St Annes, the seafront homes grew smarter and were clearly far more expensive. Lytham St Annes felt like a completely different world, a quiet and refined counterpoint to Blackpool’s chaos. As I drove through, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The garish amusements and neon lights were replaced with wide, clean streets, manicured gardens, and elegant Victorian architecture. St Annes, the more resort-like of the two, still had its seaside charm with a traditional pier and expansive sandy dunes, but it was a charm that whispered rather than screamed for attention. The pace slowed, the air seemed clearer, and the sense of a grander, more tranquil past lingered everywhere.

Just a short distance away, Lytham presented an even more serene picture. The iconic windmill on the green, the boutique shops, and the tasteful restaurants gave it a distinctly upmarket, almost quaint feel. This was a place of quiet confidence, not loud spectacle. It was here, wandering past the elegant homes and along the picturesque coastline, that the full appeal of the area became clear. It was a beautiful fusion of two distinct characters—the elegant seaside resort and the historic market town—a perfect haven where I could truly step away from the relentless noise of the modern world.

Beyond the Rat Race: The Allure of Intentional Communities.

Is it any wonder that an increasing number of people are choosing to leave what they see as the rat race for a life that, in some way, is back to basics? Take Orania in South Africa, the Findhorn Ecovillage in Scotland, and Denmark's Christiania, which represent distinct but parallel examples of intentional communities founded on a desire for self-sufficiency and autonomy.

Both Orania and Findhorn began on what was considered barren or unproductive land, transforming it through intensive labour and innovative practices to create a livable, self-sustaining environment. Orania built its community from an abandoned construction site in the arid Northern Cape, while Findhorn started on a windswept, sandy spit. This foundational act of land reclamation and transformation is a core similarity, reflecting a shared belief that they can build something new and functional outside of existing societal structures. Both have also established a strong local economy and system of governance, with Orania using its own currency, the "Ora," and Findhorn operating a network of interdependent trusts and businesses. In each case, a commitment to do-it-yourself ethics is paramount, with residents performing all work to maintain their community, from farming to construction, ensuring self-reliance is not just an ideal but a daily reality.

The impulse behind these communities is a form of "getting away from it all," but the motivations differ significantly. For Orania, the drive is primarily cultural and political: a desire to preserve Afrikaner language, culture, and heritage in a post-apartheid South Africa. The community provides a space where residents can live by their own rules and values, free from what they perceive as threats to their identity. For Findhorn, the motivation is spiritual and ecological: a commitment to living in harmony with nature and exploring new models of sustainable living. Residents are drawn to a life that reflects their values of ecological responsibility, spiritual growth, and peaceful co-existence.

Denmark's Freetown Christiania, however, adds another dimension to this movement. Established in 1971 by a group of squatters who occupied an abandoned military barracks in Copenhagen, Christiania was founded on a more anarchistic and utopian ideal. Its residents sought to create a self-governing, alternative society completely outside of state control. While it has faced decades of conflict with authorities and its status remains unique, Christiania has succeeded in creating a vibrant, creative community known for its unique architecture, rejection of private property, and emphasis on communal living. It is a powerful example of a community that has carved out its own space and identity not from a desire for cultural preservation or ecological stewardship, but from a radical pursuit of personal freedom and social non-conformity.

While their founding ideologies are poles apart—one focused on cultural exclusivity, another on ecological and spiritual inclusivity, and a third on radical freedom—they share the fundamental goal of creating a micro-society aligned with their specific principles, free from the perceived compromises and pressures of mainstream society. This "getting away from it all" lifestyle has become a "must" for some due to a growing sense of disillusionment with modern life and a desire for control and purpose. Many people feel that mainstream society is too fragmented, consumer-driven, or lacking in communal bonds. Intentional communities like Orania, Findhorn, and Christiania offer a strong sense of belonging and shared purpose, providing a clear alternative to what they see as a chaotic and unfulfilling world. They offer a tangible way to live out one's values, whether those are cultural preservation, environmental stewardship, or radical freedom. For residents, this is not just an escape but an act of creation—building a new way of life from the ground up that is more authentic, meaningful, and resilient than the one they left behind.

A Final Word on Chaos: The Comet and Humanity.

After this journey, I'm left to ponder the stark contrast of what I've seen. From the quiet, historical charm of Fleetwood and the peaceful elegance of Lytham St Annes, this trip has been a microcosm of the world I'm trying to find, rather than the one I'm trying to escape. Yet, a part of my journey to the gaudy, tragic spectacle of Blackpool represents a poignant reminder of the elements I wanted to get away from: the noise, the protests, politics, and everything I despise about life in this societally pollutant world of increasing unrest and chaos.

This chaos, however, isn't limited to humanity. It is mirrored by the increasingly unpredictable, chaotic, and unsettling course of an interstellar object known as 3I/Atlas, that’s been making headlines amongst astronomers and the public alike. It’s a very rare visitor to our solar system, being only the third confirmed object of its kind. But what has scientists talking is its bizarre and unpredictable behaviour. Unlike most comets, 3I/Atlas has an unusually high concentration of carbon dioxide and other volatile ices, which have caused it to be far more active than expected. This "unexplained glow" and its unusual, non-conforming trajectory have even led some prominent voices to controversially speculate about the possibility of it being a piece of alien technology that could fall to Earth. While the scientific consensus remains that it is a natural phenomenon, the mystery surrounding its composition and its unique behaviour make it a perfect mirror of the unpredictable, chaotic, and sometimes unsettling nature of a humanity people like me can only partially understand.

What's your favourite way to escape the noise? Share your thoughts in the comments below!