The wonders of the Blackpool accomodation are understandably lost on those fortunate enought not to have experienced them. For the uninitiated; the average guest house in Blackpool is a converted terraced house, where every concievable room has been split into three to maximise the number of beds for sale.
Now the beds are another matter. I spent eleven years of boarding school on horsehair matresses two inches thick, and they were comfortable compared to the Blackpool bunk. Usually three inches shorter than whoever is trying to sleep, the springs, if there were any to begin with, have long since relinquished their powers, and have been replaced by strange lumpy objects that are more often found in a Douglas Adams novel. It's the real reason noone goes to bed before 3AM, you need to be absolutely exhausted to get to sleep.
The rooms themselves are, as already mentioned, pertitioned areas of a normal sized room. It's not uncommon to have a bed with slightly less than a foot of space around it before you get to the wall, brown window with useless curtains/bizarre oversized doiley attached, and the porthole to the bathroom, which will usually consist of a loo, possiblby working shower and a basin that has two temperatures of water - just thawed ice and about to boil hot. From the same tap.
Soundproofing is a novel concept that has not yet reached Lancashire (and I mean that as no slight on the Lancs - it's a statement of fact) and the nightly chorus is much better than any TV you may or may not have in your room, bolted to the wall just by the ceiling with the remote control from the room two doors down. It's gripping stuff, until you hear the first fight when it gets quite disturbing.
I've found the best way to survive breakfast is not to have it, at least not in the hotel. Many places now will give you a discount for room only - take this and get some less lethal food closer to town.
Every year I am reminded of a story I was told; an agent I worked through recalled the days when she was in Rep theatre (a touring company which lived in the guest houses of little Britain). One room she was booked into was decorated _entirely_ in Laura Ashley patterns (I'm not sure if you have Laura Ashley in the YooEss - it's very distinctive in a flowery sort of way). One evening Liz came back from the bar somewhat intoxicated, found her room and upon stumbling through the door realised that she couldn't see the bed, as it had blended in, chamelion like, with the wallpaper, carpet, curtains and table cloth. Only by walking forward a foot and tripping over the damn thing did she find it and managed to carry on.
Blackpool - the convention might be getting worse every year, it's crowded, noisey and expensive, but you wouldn't miss it for the world...
Take care, Ian