Morecambe...

Morecambe still looks defeated. The restoration of the art deco Midland Hotel was supposed to revitalise the town’s fortunes, but the problems go deeper than that. Anyway the Midland Hotel doesn’t gleam whitely any more; like everything else in Morecambe it needs a new coat of paint.

While Blackpool has its iconic tower, Morecambe has a big tube of Polo mints. There’s a metal sculpture on the promenade which replicates - and names - all the Lakeland hills that can be seen across the bay, which only makes visitors wish they were there… rather than here. There are artworks all over the seafront - little bits of nonsense - but what everybody loves is the statue of Eric Morecambe. No-one leaves Morecambe without a photo of a family member posing with Eric. He wasn’t the only comedian to take his stage name from a Lancashire town; there was Jimmy Clitheroe and George Formby as well. Actually, I just googled Jimmy Clitheroe, only to find it was the ‘kid’s’ real name.

I have a soft spot for Morecambe… mostly on the basis of rooting for the underdog; there are certainly a lot of pet shops. So many other shops are boarded up; even the shops that are open look as though they could close any minute. Blackpool, a few miles to the south, hosts events, exhibitions, conferences, stag and hen nights; there isn’t much business left for Morecambe, except for bookies and pawnbrokers, pound shops and down-at-heel pubs.

A few years ago I went into a sea-front pub for a beer. The landlord waved his hand over the beer pumps, and announced that all the beer was gone and that all he had left were a few bottles of sweet cider. “The Hell’s Angels were here over the weekend”, he said by way of explanation…

John Eric Bartholomew, AKA Eric Morecambe…