Speaking as a semi-regular visitor to Blackpool (and Fleetwood), I'm sad to see the place rot away like this. Many residents wish the town hadn't signed its faustian pact with the Stags and Hens either, and would much rather the place became family friendly again. The stench of uric acid and amonia that follows you across the seafront on a Monday morning tells its own story.
Alas, Blackpool has been ravaged and continues to be ravaged by the recession (don't let the spike in GDP due to unsustainable house prices fool you - we've not recovered fully from the 2008 slump), so is forced to rely on this ugliness as a major source of income, which is in effect a downward spiral as it keeps driving other visitors away. (Did I mention that Blackpool has been LGBT friendly for years now? Thing is, gay and lesbian couples are increasingly having kids of their own, and like other young families, they don't really want their children to witness this sort of thing.)
The council, last seen wasting money on a 'comedy carpet' and generally not knowing its arse from its elbow, doesn't help and has instead got into bed with the Tussauds group which now runs many of the town's attractions (including its still marvellous Tower), which means it's increasingly a company town at the mercy of the company, as well as streams of piss and vomit.
The other tragedy of course is that all this horror and coarseness represents the death knell of traditional working class culture, which once had a passion for self-improvement and education, as well as trifling matters like self-respect and pride. The death of the industrial north, and the antics of that old bitch Thatcher, put paid to that; in these pictures we see an ever unfolding descent into decay, degradation and self-harm.
It's such bleakness that I don't even have the words any more. One silver lining is the yearly Rebellion punk festival, which gives the place some life, but it isn't in the long run enough to save the place from itself or pissed up grotesques puking over each other.