The idea that I’m going to do a day by day account of my time in a Digital Nomad Co-working/Co-living space is just as appalling to me as it no doubt is to you, so let’s all agree to set that idea aside right now. This is going to be a bunch of images, with some commentary of the things which stand out to me.

I can’t help but make fun of the fact that there’s a difference between The North and Scotland, which is further north than The North, but is not itself part of The North. I’ve been to Edinburgh & Inverness, but they’re not part of The North; They’re too far north for that.

Picture taken while waiting on the little train to Blackpool South. A heavily accented chap with a bicycle did ask me whether this was the Blackpool train, was relieved to find that it was, and then tracked me down once on board to offer me a cigarette. I’m not really sure why.

Getting to the place (Somewhere Different, Blackpool) turned out to be very easy; I could just walk through the connected carparks of Blackpool Football Stadium. They had a WhatsApp group for the place, and I was added sometime over the course of that day, so various people had already said hello.

I’ve referred to it as a hostel, and that’s not exactly right, but I’m not sure what the right term is. I got my own room (small, but with a bed & a little desk & a wardrobe & a sink), shared bathrooms, and shared kitchen; some of that is standard hostel fare, but the room isn’t. Not that I’ve never had a private room at a hostel, but it’s not what they’re known for.

Also not standard hostel fare is the two co-working spaces, one designated as the absolute quiet zone, and the other as the “please be considerate” zone. Most people seemed to use the second one.

I took a lot of photographs of the Blackpool seafront/promenade. It’s quite nice, constructed so that it’s simultaneously a space for people and a flood/storm barrier. and sits in stark contrast to the businesses facing the sea, where my recurring reaction was to wonder what the hell happened, and how on earth a town comes back from that.

There were a few places which were beautifully maintained examples of classic Blackpool holiday hotels, complete with the nightly cabaret/variety act. Then there were the others which were the unmaintained variant, some proudly proclaiming that every room had an ensuite and a colour television.
Others looked like people had made it partway through a renovation and just given up.

Outside of the ‘blocks of possibly identical hotels’ sections, there were expanses of stuff for the tourists; Ice cream vendors, kebab places, amusement arcades, and my personal favourite for the What The Hell category, a 10p bingo hall that never seemed to close.

I did not, in the end, go up the tower.
Left it a bit late to organise, and then the weather closed in. I already know what the inside of a cloud looks like.

Fairly early in the stay there was an odd smell of burning insulation, which triggered some investigation, with people wandering around sniffing things to try to figure out where it was coming from. I did wonder about the safety of the place, especially because the small was strongest right by the door.
Which was also above the emergency exit.
I figured out where the alternative options were, and also dug out my little torch+window breaker to keep close by, just in case.

Maybe it’s a bad wire in the floor space?

David & Alex helping to put the floorboards back.

The issue turned out to be in the electrical panel, making it the supplier’s problem, so the panel was replaced & the Mysterious Smell went away.

This was not the most awful thing on the Blackpool Tourist area, but it’s definitely the most deliberately awful. Someone planned this.

Took the little tram as far as it would go one weekend, and ended up in Fleetwood, where the seagulls somehow did not see my cone of chips while I took this picture.

They were lining up for some form of parade or carnival that day, and the tram stopped a few points short of where it normally does, which gave me the opportunity to wander aimlessly through a little seaside town.

The other end of the tram line was this thing, possibly called ‘Star Gate’.
I don’t know why.

Wandering back from Star Gate, there were these artworks(?) on the promenade.
A number of them seemed to be riffing on tram stop shelters, but this one looked like it would rotate and spit you out into an alternate, but still probably run-down, Blackpool.

Most of the population was from South or Central America, and were working in South American time zones, so I often had the place to myself in the morning.

• Duncan, the owner, who is English
• Rica, from Hong Kong, the housekeeper who lives there and basically runs the place
• Oleksandra, from Ukraine, who’d been there almost a year
• Alexa, probably from El Salvador
• Matteus, from Brazil, who seemed to have a lot of hospital trips
• Alexis, probably from Colombia
• Thomas, the one English person who’d managed to somehow slip through the filter.
  Duncan tried not to have locals stay, because he wanted to avoid being in the ‘cheap accommodation for Blackpool residents’ market, and I get the idea also tried to filter out folks from the UK
• David & Andry, not sure where they were from
• Francisco the data engineer, from somewhere in South America
• Leonardo, from Brazil
• Criss & Nycy, both from India, who arrived in my last week and were doing/studying for a medical/doctoring certification so that they could work in the UK
• Another woman from India whose name I couldn’t catch who only appeared there periodically, or maybe just wasn’t around when anyone else was
• Alexander, probably from the USA, though with Spanish & Fillipino connections

The ‘you can make noise, but be considerate’ workspace.

This was the day I’d thought of doing the Blackpool Tower.
Not a lot of point, I think you’ll agree?

My pin in the map. I was their first person from NZ.