Still Got It! A Blackpool Odyssey for the Modern Family, and a Side of History.

I was enjoying a truly sublime hot chocolate (the kind that's basic but utterly perfect, just like the rest of the lovely food at my favourite Leigh café) yesterday morning, when the owner, bless her heart, announced her grand plans for a family holiday. Four kids. Four. My jaw practically dropped from my face. But then came the true shocker: "We're off to Blackpool!"

Now, before you think I’m being unkind, let me be clear: this isn't a dig at this hard-working woman. She absolutely deserves a medal, a lifetime supply of peace and quiet, and possibly her own theme park for simply navigating life with four younger humans. No, my surprise was directed squarely at the destination itself. Blackpool. Or as I’ve come to think of it, the "Swiss piste of downhill decline."

And oh, what a decline it's been. For decades, Blackpool wasn't just a destination for the North West; it was the destination. It was the Mecca of the mundane, the Riviera of the working class. Back when a week's holiday meant a train trip down to the Lancashire coast, Blackpool was where everyone went. From the roaring twenties to the post-war boom, its piers throbbed with life, its promenades bustled with trilby-wearing dads and headscarf-clad mums, and its dance halls echoed with laughter. It was the epitome of British seaside fun, a place where factory workers could forget the grime of the mills and embrace the invigorating sea air (and perhaps a questionable donkey ride).

But then, something shifted. The 1960s brought the tantalising whisper of package holidays. The 70s saw charter flights to sun-drenched Mediterranean shores become increasingly affordable. Why possibly shiver on a pebble beach when you could bake in guaranteed sunshine? The novelty of an annual week in Blackpool began to wane. The grand hotels, once symbols of aspiration, started to look less "grand" and more "grandma's dusty attic." Investment dried up, jobs dwindled, and a slow, creeping neglect began to set in. The vibrant seaside resort that had catered to millions started to feel… left behind.

Today, it's a different story. The town whose crime statistics could rival a particularly dramatic documentary? The one where the homelessness crisis is more noticeable than the sea itself (and arguably more chilling)? Where poverty is so ingrained, it's practically part of the local scenery? And as for the hotels, well, let's just say "quaintly retro" might be a generous term for "teetering on the brink of structural integrity." And don't even get me started on the, ahem, local recreational activities. It's less "seaside charm" and more "urban survival challenge."

Yet, here she was, chatting about her break away from the griddle and maybe even a trip up the Tower. The Tower! Presumably, to get a better vantage point from which to observe the unfolding societal narrative, a living museum of what once was.

It really makes you wonder: what is the enduring appeal of Blackpool for those in the North West? Is it some kind of annual test of endurance? A peculiar family tradition designed to build character through exposure to… well, that? Perhaps it's a testament to their collective Northern grit, a stubborn refusal to let minor details like escalating crime rates and crumbling infrastructure get in the way of a proper good time. A defiant homage to a bygone era.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a brilliant parenting hack. Take four children to a place where the main attractions are either broken, somewhat depressing, or just plain dodgy, and suddenly your own home feels like a five-star luxury resort. Genius! The kids will be so utterly bewildered by the experience, they'll be angels for weeks, just thrilled to be back in their own familiar, hazard-free beds.

So, a huge round of applause for the café owner. Not just for her phenomenal family orientated skills, but for her unwavering dedication to a uniquely British holiday experience. While others are busy curating perfect moments in glamorous foreign locales, she’s bravely heading into the heart of authentic British seaside reality, a place that proudly wears its faded glory. And who knows? Perhaps, amidst the weary guesthouses and the occasional whiff of questionable substances, she’ll find a glimmer of that classic Blackpool magic, a magic born not of opulence, but of sheer, undeniable, and slightly baffling Northern spirit. A spirit that remembers when the lights of Blackpool truly outshone the rest.