My friend T arrived from Aylesbury today. She’s staying with me for the weekend as it coincides with her niece taking part in a beauty pageant final on Sunday night.
We had a catch up over lunch on the prom, found a terrace bar for a gin and ordered a pizza from the local vegan restaurant for dinner. So yum. The garlic bread was so loaded with garlic that we were on the Rennies that night. The belching was quite fragrant.
I thought we would be settled in for the night as we didn’t eat ‘til around 8:30pm, but T had other plans....she wanted to go out out. A little part of me died when she texted her cousin to say we were hitting the town. Still, we got our slap on and caught the bus to the gay village.
The Flying Handbag is a very old establishment here in the Blackpool gay village. The village is tiny and all owned by one fella. The venue is tired these days - considering how much money he takes in over-priced, watered-down drinks it should be a bloody palace. At 10:30pm the place was dead so we had one drink and left.
The (straight) Galleon Bar was absolutely bangin’. A live band, a tiny venue, some very eccentric (and some alcoholically obliterated) punters and we danced ‘til my feet fell off at 1am.
Home for more Friday 13th on Netflix.