pete

I’m sometimes quite rubbish at being sincere, articulating myself. But Blackpool was very special this weekend.

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I first visited TWH back in 2022 with my friend Viv. I was a bit mental around then and I remember having a little cry because we couldn’t find the venue. It’s always been something of haven since, a place that balances morbid curiosity and utter discomfort with genuine comradeship.

At the tail end of 2023, I got whacked over the head and mugged in Piccadilly Gardens immediately after having the time of my life seeing a brass band on that industrial estate in Salford. That night, for which I still have a scar and bloodstained t-shirt, meant a much deeper friendship with Isaac and Lydia, The Commission, Chris, Ben and Austin. Wonderful people who are entirely inspiring, who genuinely care.

I’ve got STAT to thank for making these dominoes fall, George for reigniting the flame, making it much greater. I’m useless at chatting, words are like treacle most of the time, so to have a Thing (and people much better at saying things than me) to be loosely attached to has meant I can be the understatement I may well be at heart.

The Black Lights have been the culmination and collision of these worlds. Selling out our Blackpool scarves on a tram to the Pleasure Beach, giving Blackhaine an Uncle Joe’s mint ball, being pulled under the waves of the Irish Sea in me pants.

Walking along the prom at 3am, watching the sun come up and the waves crash. It’s fucking miserable, horrible, so much of the time living round these parts. But it’s also the best and most beautiful thing ever. I love the North of England and I love all of you.