`A sticky mix of Coney Island, Las Vegas and Woolworths," is how American travel writer Rick Steves sums up Blackpool. "Bray on speed," was the recent observation of an Irish travel journalist. Fitting because both Bray and Blackpool share a nostalgic toffee apple and one-armed-bandit appeal. But while Bray clings to that nostalgia for dear life, Blackpool has branched out, churning out the glitz, kitsch and fantasy with a frenetic visionary zeal.
Flying over the Irish Sea towards Blackpool's coastline, the first landmarks you see looming high on the horizon are Blackpool tower and the Pepsi Max Big One rollercoaster. As the resort's top attractions, they symbolise what lies ahead - a place which values the big, the brash and the in-your-face - and is proud of it.
Few corners of this West Lancashire resort are left untouched by the glitz stick. Every spare acre is a potential theme park, kids' play area, golf course or hotel, and complacency is a dirty word. Millions of pounds are ploughed back into the resort each year to ensure it stays ahead of the game, with the most visited pleasure park in the UK, the biggest and fastest rollercoaster in the world . . . even the biggest stick of rock in the world was made here. Children are obviously very high on the agenda but there is a concerted effort to provide entertainment for all ages and inclinations. Blackpool Pleasure Beach is the kind of place which makes those of us who are a tad squeamish and height-phobic feel like joyless old stick-in-the-muds. I was lured on to the Pepsi Max Big One like a lamb to the slaughter. While others squealed with delight and threw their arms up in the air for the camera at the 235-foot pinnacle, my eyes were so tightly shut they should have come out of my ears. Other trivia includes the fact that the beach won an area award in the Loo of the Year Awards 1998, 600 kilos of gobstoppers were consumed last year on site and 455 pregnancies were attributed to Ripley's Believe it or Not fertility statue. You have been warned.
With 142 rides over 42 acres and more new rides planned, the pleasure beach is an amalgam of the old (traditional warped mirrors and slot machines, and such turn-of-the-century rides as Sir Hiram Maxim's Flying Machine) and the cutting edge of hitech white-knuckle rides - all set against the wafting scent of popcorn and hot dogs.
16-year-old directors have a say in the future of the park. Admission is free, so you pay as you go. If you wish, You can ease yourself in with a gentle cruise around the river caves, where all you have to fear is the occasional squirt of water and a ruined hairdo. If you are feeling brave you can graduate up to the whiteknuckle rides, the ultimate of which is Playstation, where riders are catapulted up a 210-foot tower at 80 miles per hour and back down again, legs dangling in the air for a freefall descent. Blackpool Tower was our next stop. Gaudily beautiful Victorian splendour sits side by side with plastic play areas, loud 1970s-style carpet and kitsch sideshows. Another vertigo test awaited us with the Walk of Faith, a glass floor near the top of the tower which gives a sense of being suspended in mid-air while the traffic on the street below hurtles by like an army of frenzied ants. Then it was onwards and upwards to take in some blustery views from the balustrade. On the way back we paused to contemplate the huge Ballroom, rebuilt to its former ornate Victorian splendour after a fire in the 1950s. There is something almost quaintly surreal about it, as a lone couple glide across the massive expanse of dancefloor to the haunting strains of a giant, white Wurlitzer organ.
The nightlife in Blackpool is as feverish as the day life - there are over 30 nightclubs and some great restaurants. For adult entertainment, Funny Girls on Queen Street, a burlesque drag show, comes highly recommended. And if bawdy humour is your thing, you'll enjoy the host of naughty comedians who appear regularly in Blackpool. We finished the night off at the White Tower Restaurant, which for me was the best part of our Blackpool stay. A 1930s casino building where all the barmen look like Bogie, the food is fantastic, and head barman and cocktail-maker extraordinaire Malcolm Greenall makes a mean Bloody Mary. I was feeling a bit frayed by the pace of all-singing, all-dancing Blackpool, so was glad to escape into a paradise of bluebell walks, picture-book villages, charming country pubs and colourful characters the next day. Only 15 minutes' tram journey from Blackpool brought us into the district of Wyre, where our first stop was the former fishing village of Fleetwood. A calm seaside resort, it is the kind of place where you can buy kippers, sip afternoon tea in the imposingly grand North Euston Hotel or loll by the marina. Like Blackpool, the Victorian architectural influence is very much in evidence. Famous for both its historic market and its Fisherman's Friend lozenges, it is also a haven for specialist groups such as cloggers, bird watchers and model yacht sailors.
On the outskirts of Fleetwood is the US warehouse-style Freeport shopping and leisure village where familiar high street stores such as Next and Warehouse sell their clothes at a fraction of the usual price.
We then moved on to a bus tour of the heather-coated Wyre countryside and a whistlestop trip through such picturesque villages as Caldervale, Scorton and Great Eccleston. Full of charm, these villages look like something straight out of a Hovis ad.
In keeping with the low-key tone of the day, we wound down with a long, soothing trip on the Bilsborrow Lady canal boat along the lock-free Lancaster canal. After embarking at Bilsborrow, we sipped drinks and watched the swans and ducks and the world go by as our skipper Alec regaled us with tales about the area. The final port of call was the Tithebarn, an inn in Garstang where medieval wenches serve some of the nicest fruit wines I have ever tasted.
After sampling about 10 of the wines which include rhubarb, parsnip, damson and ginger, we sobered up with a delicious dinner at the Kingfisher restaurant in our hotel, the Garstang Country Manor.
In the taxi home from Dublin airport, my driver dismissed Blackpool as a "traditional old English hanky-on-the-head job that has failed to move with the times". This is unfair because, while it might not be to everyone's taste, it does what it does with enormous dedication and attention to detail. While you may be left reeling after a relentless diet of candy floss, rollercoasters and glitter, your kids are sure to have the time of their lives.