Johnny Lemon

In its heyday, Blackpool catered for its visitor’s lusts and there was money to be made: from kiss-me-quick to strip pubs that opened at 7am, charging a fiver for 'Breakfast with Boobs'. Away from the front, and more discreet, were the rub-a-tugs and knocking shops. There's a young lad at every B&B who can point you towards what you want. The people they connect you to will do their best to acquire your money. If they can't provide what you’re after, they might send you to Johnny Lemon.

You'd not think much of Johnny Lemon to see him now, sitting in the front bar of the Albion Hotel. Despite the grand name, the Albion is a shabby B&B, too many tram stops from the tower to get much custom. Johnny bought the place, wanting somewhere to eke out his retirement with fags and beer. The front door sign is permanently turned to 'No Vacancies' because he can’t be bothered with strangers. He’s the only person who sleeps at the Albion, and only when he’s too drunk to make it home.

Johnny Lemon’s mother was a spiritualist who got to know the town’s secrets. She told him how another city was buried below Blackpool, and that the other city’s dreams were uneasy. The tower is an antenna. Strange seeds are buried under the seven miles of golden sand. One of the roller-coasters is alive - Johnny won’t say which - and it longs to shrug off the cars that race across its humps. Elvis actually visited the UK three times, and the two visits you've not heard of, the two that are omitted from the biographies, those trips were to Blackpool.

If you’ve got someone who wants a difficult desire, then you take them to Johnny Lemon. He’ll slip you a tenner for it, and maybe a few more if your last customer paid well. Whatever these people want, he takes them to the same place: a dank basement where a black-painted room with harsh lighting contains a single white plastic patio chair. He takes the money, closes the door, and leaves the person in there for five minutes.

Despite making a living from that chair, Johnny Lemmon has never sat in it himself. He’s not interested. When his customers emerge from the room, they don’t quite meet his eye, don’t seem able to focus on the world around them. He takes the money they give him and leads them back to the prom, from where they can find their own way.

He makes a good living, but Johnny Lemon has never had a repeat customer.

Background

This came to me after writing the previous story about Blackpool. I was thinking about cities as an engine for stories, and the way they accrete mysteries. I read the Viriconium books many years ago now, and there’s a trace of my memories of those books here. What sort of stories would emerge from treating Blackpool as a fantasy city?

Recommendations

Vice’s 2016 documentary Blackpool: The Controversial Rise of Blackpool Grime follows several young rappers. It’s a film that mostly treats its subjects with respect, while allowing space for people to mock them if they’re going to. Afghan Dan, Millie B, Little T and Sophie Aspin are not technically great rappers, but built a reputation by vicious diss tracks aimed at each other.

The film shows young people making art on their own terms. One of the things I always loved about hip-hop was how people used it to celebrate their own lives. You might not like their work, you might laugh at it, but it provides them meaning, gives them something to do. And a petty teenage feud might end up topping of the international charts and being listened to by millions. A few years later, Millie B’s M-to-the-B went viral on tik-tok after Bella Poarch used it for a lip-synch, hitting the number 1 spot on Spotify.