Regeneration doesn’t start with a masterplan. It starts with a street that everyone gave up on—and one person who didn’t. Victoria Road was the forgotten spine of New Brighton. The place you hurried past on your way to the beach. Once proud, then ignored, then quietly written off.
Even when money came back to town—when Marine Point rose from the rubble with its cinema, supermarket, boxchains and car park Victoria Road was left out in the cold. Marine Point proved New Brighton could still sell coffee and cinema tickets. But it didn’t stitch anything together. It wasn’t a comeback. It was a cul-de-sac with franchises. The place still lacked heart.
And then came paint. Not from a government scheme. Not from a regeneration taskforce. But from a man who’d had enough of watching his town die politely. Daniel Davies didn’t start with spreadsheets. He didn’t wait for permission. He put his own money—millions of it—into a ghost street and started doing. Bought the buildings. Formed Rockpoint Leisure. Took the risk. Changed the story.
He turned forgotten facades into canvases. Commissioned world-class artists. Gave them walls, freedom, vision. One mural at a time, Victoria Road stopped being a shortcut and started being a destination. And people came. Locals first. Then artists. Then cafés. Then visitors. Then bars.
And somewhere along the way, the street started talking back. It became the Victoria Quarter: a living, walkable, culture-rich stretch of defiant optimism. This wasn’t gentrification. There were no artisan candles or Instagram platters. This was grassroots renaissance. Murals that made you stop. Independent shops that made you look. Locals who started to believe again.
Compare that to Marine Point. Useful? Yes. Busy? Yes. But it doesn’t tell a story. It doesn’t invite you in. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s infrastructure, not identity. Bright and blank. The kind of place that looks the same whether you’re in New Brighton or Newport.
But Victoria Quarter? That’s different. It’s stitched with feeling. Each mural speaks to the sea, to the skyline, to the people who walk it daily. It’s not just a facelift—it’s a cultural artery. And here’s the risk: none of it is protected. These murals. This momentum. This once-in-a-generation turnaround. All vulnerable. No planning status. No mural policy. No funding framework. One developer’s whim away from vanishing.
Our report—Painting New Brighton Back to Life—lays out the evidence. The footfall. The economic uplift. The behavioural science. But strip it all back and the story is simple: One man did what no council dared. And it worked. Now it’s time for everyone else to catch up.
Regeneration is emotional. Contextual. It’s not about square footage—it’s about signal. The murals in Victoria Quarter tell you: this place is alive. That emotional spike as you turn the corner and see a riot of colour instead of a shuttered shop? That’s value. That’s behavioural gold. It triggers pride. Curiosity. Time spent. Money spent.
And unlike steel and concrete, murals can’t be phoned in. They can’t be templated. They make a town memorable, Instagrammable, walkable. They make it matter. So now what? Daniel Davies didn’t wait for regeneration. He built it. From nothing. He rolled the dice, spent the money, took the risk. And now Victoria Quarter is doing what Marine Point never could: pulling the town together.
But it won’t last by accident. So here’s what I’m asking: Go and retrieve that horizon. That’s what one of the murals says. It’s not just paint—it’s prophecy. A reminder that we can build something better, if we care enough to fight for it. Read the report. Email your councillor, MP and Metro mayor. Send them the link. Ask: what are you doing to protect New Brighton’s cultural heartbeat?
Because we know what happens when we don’t act. Paint peels. Streets fade. Stories are forgotten. But we also know what happens when we do. Victoria Road rises. A town rewrites its ending. And one man’s gamble becomes everyone’s pride.
