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Welcome To Fabulous Las Blackpool Lancashire
Independent, The (London), Apr 11, 2001 by Brian Viner
Yesterday, I told a Blackpudlian friend of mine that a multi- millionaire businessman is planning to turn Blackpool into the "Las Vegas of the North". Trevor Hemmings, a 65-year-old resident of Jersey who owns Pontins holiday camps, wants to build a series of Vegas-style resort hotels, encompassing six huge casinos, on Blackpool prom.
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Now, you might never have strolled along Blackpool prom, but I have - usually at 45 degrees into the teeth of a westerly gale - and I can tell you that it is a place where glamour means standing next to Hale or, if you're lucky, Pace, in the gents at Harry Ramsden's fish and chip shop. Hemmings, however, proposes to change all that, and he wants to start by building the Palace resort, which will comprise 100,000sq ft of gaming floors to be open 24-hours a day, as well as 2,500 slot machines, a 3,000sq ft auditorium and a 500-bed hotel. "Bloody hell," said my Blackpudlian friend Derek, finding this news as hard to digest as a bag of Golden Mile cockles. "How much is this fella worth?" I told him that Hemmings is reportedly worth pounds 450m. "Not for long," said Derek.
It is, indeed, a hell of a gamble. Those celebrated Las Vegas illusionists Siegfried and Roy might be able to turn camels into elephants, and elephants into aeroplanes, but turning Blackpool, home of Syd Little, into Vegas, home of Gladys Knight, is a much harder proposition. "We've got a long way to go," conceded Basil Newby, owner of a Blackpool-based chain of gay nightclubs. "Las Vegas gets Shirley Bassey and Tom Jones. We get Cannon and Ball."
Moreover, Las Vegas is the gambling capital of the world, whereas Blackpool is merely the gambling capital of the Fylde coast. There are two casinos in the town, the Castle and the Grosvenor, and in neither of them would you expect to find Omar Sharif playing blackjack. However, you might once have found me playing roulette, and watching in amusement as three dinner- suited security men delivered a birthday cake to a valued punter, a woman of indeterminate years and hair colour. "Happy birthday to you/ happy birthday to you/ happy birthday dear madam/ happy birthday to you," they sang, as joyful as pallbearers.
Oh yes, I've had some jolly times in Blackpool over the years. I have bought some of the 10.5 million sticks of rock, and sucked some of the 600 kilos of gobstoppers, sold there every year. I've even had my palm read by Gypsy Petulengro (real name Langton) on the Golden Mile. Now there's a woman who might be able to tell us whether the Hemmings vision will come to owt. He certainly seems deadly serious, in fact his company Leisure Parcs has already spent pounds 85m over the past three years buying Blackpool Tower, the Winter Gardens, most of the Golden Mile, and all three piers.
It now seems as if Leisure Parcs had redevelopment in mind all along, and the pounds 130m Pharaoh's Palace is the first project to be unveiled. Pharaoh's Palace will be themed, it comes as no surprise to learn, on ancient Egypt. According to an artist's impression I have seen, the lobby will be full of fake palms, obelisks and sphinxes, and will look so authentic that punters will doubtless emerge into the open air not quite sure whether that light drizzle and faint whiff of shrimp is drifting towards them from the estuary of the river Ribble or the river Nile.
But don't get me wrong. As a west Lancashire native I hope that the plans go through. Leisure Parcs says that the six hotels would create 25,000 jobs, pounds 2bn of annual revenue, and would attract 30 million visitors every year. The good folk of Blackpool seem broadly enthusiastic about this - although an official 71 per cent approval rating from 604 people polled in a town of 115,000 inhabitants is not what anyone would call a resounding vote of confidence.
"The trouble is. it could devastate a large area of housing and yet it seems like the only way to revive the local economy," says Alison Bott of the Blackpool Gazette.
Still, it is rather wonderful to think of Blackpool as the "Las Vegas of the North"; indeed, to imagine a day when Vegas might be crowned "the Blackpool of the West". One possible hitch might be that, to imitate Vegas's all-night gambling, there would have to be a change in the gaming laws; not least to permit people to take out casino membership without waiting 24 hours, as is mandatory now. But the gaming review body set up by the Home Office, due to publish its findings in June, is expected to recommend that the gaming laws be liberalised.
The only obstruction for Hemmings then will be the mentality of the townsfolk. Not that they're not lovely people. Blackpudlians - or "sandgrowns", as they engagingly prefer to be called - are the salt (and vinegar) of the earth. But for these multi-million pound visions to take shape, the culture of Blackpool will have to change. Until then, I fear for the Pharaoh's Palace, currently no more concrete than a marvellous, exotic mirage.
Let me explain. In October 1999 I was despatched by this newspaper to cover the Conservative Party conference in Blackpool. I checked in at my hotel - weary and hungry after a memorably miserable journey involving train delays and buffet cars not operating - at 6.10pm. The unshaven man behind the desk eyed me suspiciously, as Blackpool hoteliers often do when confronted with that most vexatious of beasts, a customer. "Hello, I'm checking in," I said. There was a barely audible grunt. "Do you, by any chance, serve evening meals?" He indicated that they did. Aware that cheapish hotels in the north of England tend not to keep their restaurants open extravagantly late - like beyond 7.30pm - I asked whether I might go through to eat straight away. At last I got a proper, heartfelt response. An incredulous guffaw, I think I'd call it. "We stopped serving at 'alf five," he said.
