Strictly Scones, Ballroom Blunders and Two Men in Dr Martens

Saturday 24 October 2026

There are places where you immediately feel you should have dressed a little better. Blackpool Tower Ballroom is one of them.

The four of us, Dana, Luke, Ellen and me, had a straightforward plan: enjoy a cream tea, admire the dancers and soak up a little history. Nobody had mentioned that we might end up dancing ourselves.

A ballroom fit for Cinderella

Above the entrance, a magnificent gold sign announced BALLROOM. Even the lettering seemed to have dressed for the occasion.

Dana posed beside the dark wooden doors, smiling and completely unaware of what I would suggest later.

We stepped inside and stopped. Our mouths fell open.

“Wow!”

The wooden floor gleamed beneath enormous chandeliers. Ornate balconies swept around the room, dressed in gold carvings and delicate patterns. At the far end, red curtains framed the stage and its famous organ. Above it all was a ceiling so richly decorated that you could spend an entire afternoon looking up and still find something new.

It felt like somewhere Cinderella might have attended a ball, although Prince Charming would have struggled to spot her among the cream tea bookings.

Couples glided across the floor, turning and stepping together as though their feet had been given the instructions in advance.

The Tower opened in 1894, standing 518 feet 9 inches tall. Its original ballroom was smaller than this one. The magnificent room around us was designed by Frank Matcham and opened on 20 May 1899. A serious fire damaged it in 1956, and after roughly 18 months of restoration it reopened in 1958.

For 127 years, generations had danced here. And now four more visitors were about to make their own, slightly less graceful, contribution.

Four cups and a national disagreement

Our table had been laid out with cups, saucers and cutlery. A reserved sign announced Bryan Avery - 4 guests. I felt rather important until I read the instruction to collect our cream tea from the tea bar.

We settled down with tea, scones, cream and jam, watching the dancers drift past.

“Cream first, then jam,” I announced.

“No,” Ellen replied. “Jam first, then cream.”

“That doesn’t work.”

“Yes, it does.”

I explained that cream provides the perfect base for the jam, a point I considered beyond reasonable dispute. Ellen disagreed.

“That’s how they do it in Devon.”

“Ah, well, that explains it. You’ve learnt the wrong way.”

Luke concentrated on his scone. Dana watched us with the expression of someone who knew neither side would surrender.

Eventually, we agreed that the scones were lovely, even if Ellen had been led astray by Devon.

The music of the Wurlitzer

The ballroom’s Wurlitzer organ filled the room with a sound that belonged perfectly among the chandeliers. With more than a thousand pipes, percussion and effects including horse hooves and bird calls, it was almost an orchestra on its own.

The organ can rise on a hydraulic lift, although we missed that particular spectacle. We did watch it turn while the organist played, with the music rolling across the polished floor.

I tilted my head upwards once more. Even the glass skylight and painted ceiling seemed to be putting on a performance.

Watching the dancers, a thought occurred to me. We couldn’t possibly visit Blackpool Tower Ballroom without dancing on that famous floor.

Two men and a questionable plan

“Come on, let’s dance,” I suggested to Dana.

She curled into her chair. “No.”

I tried Ellen. Same answer.

“Luke, fancy a dance?”

“Go on then.”

Excellent. I would lead. Luke would follow. I had no qualifications for this arrangement beyond having thought of it first.

We stepped onto the floor and tucked in behind two gentlemen dancing together with effortless grace. They moved forward. We moved forward. They turned. We performed something loosely related to a turn.

For several glorious seconds I believed we looked the part.

Then I nearly steered Luke into another couple.

“Which way are we going?”

“Just follow me!”

We switched to following a slower couple, shuffling forwards, backwards and around the turns. In my imagination we were elegant. Dana’s video later suggested two men trying to escape a crowded car park without knowing where the exit was.

But we finished our dance, laughed our way back to the table and declared the mission accomplished.

The ladies join in

Ten minutes later, Dana and Ellen began to reconsider. Perhaps seeing that Luke and I had survived made the whole business seem less dangerous.

I took Dana’s hand. Luke partnered Ellen. The music was slower now, which I thought would make everything easier.

“Turn,” Dana instructed.

I carried on.

“Bryan, turn.”

“I know!”

“Well, turn then.”

I was busy navigating around other couples. Turning seemed an unnecessary additional hazard. Dana was trying to guide me while I was supposedly guiding her, which made the chain of command rather unclear.

Still, we followed the other dancers, made it around the floor and managed one full lap without colliding with anyone. Luke and Ellen completed theirs too.

We had all danced on the famous Blackpool Tower Ballroom floor. Not in evening dress or proper dance shoes, but in our everyday clothes, including my Dr Martens.

Fred Astaire would probably have chosen different footwear.

Our little part in the ballroom’s history

We returned to our tea and watched the dancers again. The chandeliers glowed, the Wurlitzer played, and the golden balconies curved around a room that had welcomed dancers for more than a century.

What I liked most was that nobody minded us having a go. The experienced couples carried on gliding, and four beginners were allowed to enjoy the floor in our own peculiar way.

When Strictly Come Dancing visits Blackpool, we’ll watch with different eyes. We know that floor now. We know how tricky a turn can be. And we have video evidence, although I would prefer it never to reach the judges.

Cinderella may have lost a glass slipper at the ball. I nearly lost Luke in a pair of Dr Martens.

And I wouldn’t have changed a thing.