In the early '80s there were two gay Cumbrian trawlermen who had a smart top floor flat with a great view north over The Mount and further on across the bay to Cumbria.
But imagine being a gay fisherman in Fleetwood! For a town to be more insular it would have to be on an island.
These blokes were rock hard and the big one was scarred by a snapped wire hawser right across his back. They had great stories including one slowly delivered about being trapped in an air pocket inside an upturned boat and almost no oxygen left and rolling a cig from your baccy tin and lighting it anyway. Then hearing the knocking of the rescuers on the hull.
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