Blackpool is England's great working-class seaside resort: loud, funny, battered in places, and still utterly itself. It grew from a small Fylde coast village into a mass holiday town once the railways brought Lancashire mill workers to the sea, and it has never quite lost that democratic, end-of-the-week energy.
The classic Blackpool strip runs along the promenade: Blackpool Tower, the three piers, amusement arcades, fish-and-chip shops, tram stops, and the huge sweep of beach. South of the centre, Blackpool Pleasure Beach is the headline amusement park, with the old wooden Grand National and the still-ridiculous Big One roller coaster.
Blackpool is best when you stop asking it to be tasteful. The Tower Ballroom is genuinely beautiful, the Grand Theatre is a Frank Matcham gem, Funny Girls remains a proper night out, and the Comedy Carpet nails the town's relationship with jokes better than any visitor centre could.
Come outside peak season and the mood changes. The wind off the Irish Sea can be fierce, the guesthouses look more exposed, and the charm becomes stranger and more melancholic. In autumn, though, the Blackpool Illuminations light the promenade for miles, which is exactly the sort of excessive gesture Blackpool was built to make.