Art on the Docks

One more photo post from the docks. This time some of the public art.

From the traditional....

...to the not-so-traditional. Four of the 125 created in 2008 as part of Liverpool's European Capital of Culture.

Even directional markers are works of art.

Nope, not Elvis. This is Billy Fury, a massive rock 'n roll star from the early 1960's.

The Emigrants

This is called 'Raleigh'. It relates to Sir Walter Raleigh...but I am not sure quite how.

Albert Dock has it's own Love Locks site along the Mersey banks - an art installation of sorts.

There are quite a few more artworks I don't have photos of, but I couldn't possibly miss the best known and most photographed...

Cousin Judy and friends

A million more bricks

The drivers on the tour buses will tell you how many million bricks were brought in to build the warehouses on the docks. I've forgotten the number, but the brick warehouses stretch for miles. Some have been beautifully renovated, others are still beautifully run-down - I can't really say which I prefer.

Albert Dock is where the tourists head to first. It boasts half a dozen museums including the Tate Liverpool and the Maritime Museum - both free, as so many museums in England are. There are shops, restaurants, boats, and all sorts of history.

View of Albert Dock from 4th floor restaurant

Cannon and reflection

 

 

Everything is immaculate and freshly painted either black or that great brick red color.

Just one of many interesting little buildings in and about the large warehouses. 

The Piermaster's House

Between Albert Dock and The Strand is Salthouse Dock, home to more boats and more tourists and more brick.

Canalboats, B&B Boats, Restaurant Boats, and Beatles Boats

North of Albert Dock is Canning Dock and between Canning Dock and the Mersey is the Museum of Liverpool

Not everyone is a fan of the mixture of new and old buildings on the docks. After much consideration, I have decided I am a fan, not least of all because of the striking reflections from the black glass-clad buildings.

Coals to Newcastle...Librarians to the Library

I've been banging on about all the wonderful brick buildings and architectural ornament in Liverpool but I've really only experienced the outside. I saw the inside of the Central Library the first week I was here and couldn't wait to show it to Cousin Judy, a former librarian. For this post, I'll let the photos speak - will save me several thousand words.

Looking up

Looking down from the 6th floor

The Picton Reading Room, Grade II listed

Entrance to the Hornby Library

Hornby Library Looking Up

The highlight of the Hornby Library was an Original Audubon 'Birds of America'

Even the radiator covers were brilliant

Me, Liz, and Someone Named Ian

Right on track with this week of meeting friends and family in Liverpool, another LFC Seattle supporter came up to Liverpool to tour Anfield, visit the shop and meet up for the Seville game.
We took advice from several people and decided to watch the game at the Shankly Hotel. Seemed like a good idea, it would give us a chance to look at some of the memorabilia.

I got there early, wanting to be sure to snag a table. IMPORTANT INFORMATION: If you want to watch a game at the Shankly, book a table for dinner well ahead of time. Yes, they do have lots of big screens and tables by the bar (3 small elevated tables and 6 stools), otherwise you need to be booked in for dinner. I was lucky to find one of the tables empty and in minutes another table using four of the stools emptied and I was perched up on one of them waiting for Liz.

Shorty before she arrived, a very pleasant looking man who I recognized came into the room and began working it. He was obviously expected by several different groups and wound up at a big table signing photos and posters. As he entered, I heard someone call him Ian.

We all know what Ian Rush looks like now, that one is easy. Ian Ayre has left us. That leaves Ian St John, Ian Callaghan, Ian Ross, and maybe a few more very ancient LFC Ians. Not having been a Liverpool supporter for donkey's years, I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I texted Liz "Ian St John is here!"

Long story short, it was a very disappointing evening. The game was a heartbreaker - enough said.

As 'Ian' walked around the room saying goodbye's and shaking hands, Liz and I followed his every move, neither of us quite brave enough to approach him. He put on his coat, glanced in our direction, then walked over and put out out his hand. We were thrilled! He asked where we were from, chatted a little, said his goodbye. and left.

Well, that was much too exciting to keep quiet about so we each texted several people..."I just shook hands with Ian St John...twice!", "I met Ian St John tonight!", and so on. How utterly embarrassing to find shortly thereafter that it was Ian Callaghan.

I have put it all behind me. I take full credit for the confusion - Liz was an innocent bystander.

I can say now, with some pride that I have shaken the hand of a man who played 857 times (the record) for Liverpool between 1960 and 1978. A man who played briefly for the Fort Lauderdale Strikers and once played in Seattle (he told us that personally). A genuine Legend.

Ian Callaghan MBE...an acquaintance of mine.

Three - Nil for the Third Time

Here we are on the eve of the Chelsea Match and I haven't yet covered the Southampton game! I tell people I am here in Liverpool alone, but for the last week I have been anything but alone. My cousin Judy, who lives in Bozeman, Montana, arrived here by way of Dublin last Friday night. Saturday morning I abandoned her at the hotel and headed once more for Anfield.

My ticket for Southampton was in the Main Stand in the nosebleed levels. I'm not complaining, mind you, From that height I could see every corner of the stands, every corner of the field, and every play of the game,

The view from my seat

I understand there was a failure of steward/supporter relations at this game. While I believe what I have read, once again I was treated with nothing but respect. With my mobility issues, I was a little apprehensive about getting to my seat. After approaching a steward about using the lift, I was handed off from one steward to the next from one end of the main stand to the other, up to the top level, through to the seats, and then literally walked to my seat.

The view across to the Kenny Dalglish Stand

Because I was early, the last steward had the time to stand and chat for a few minutes. He pointed out certain bits of Liverpool we could see over the Annie Road Stand and explained what the plans were for developing that area. Then he talked about some of the games he had seen in his 18 years of service at Anfield and yes, he had been at Istanbul. It is as though these people have an invisible button on their chest that say "I Was There". A strange reverence seems to affect their tone of voice, a slightly far-away look in their eyes. I know how corny that sounds, maybe it's just me.

The view over the Annie Road Stand

As the stands filled up I was joined by a fellow LFC Seattle supporter on my left. It was really great to have Brian there, someone to discuss the game with that didn't have a lot of questions about Seattle & Trump. That only lasted until the half when Brian went for a pie and the man to my right began a conversation. He was from Wales, and had some very specific questions about politics in general, politics on the West Coast, gun control, immigration in Seattle. It was quite a grilling.

The view of Brian's pie

Years ago, when I was sucked in by the Premier League, I went through the process of eliminating certain teams one by one until I was left with a group of about six teams that I felt might be a good fit for me. I knew it was a decision for life, so I didn't rush it. At that point I considered some pretty silly things. For example, Newcastle made the first cut because I love Magpies. A lot of teams were eliminated because I couldn't imagine singing a version of 'When the Saints go Marching In' more than once a game. It appears Southampton have only one song. Seriously, it was well into the second half before anything other than that awful song was sung and then whatever it was, was barely audible. I definitely dodged a bullet on that one.

After the game I walked past the newly developed area with all the plaques on the ground, past the shop, and perched on a piece of concrete waiting for the crowd to clear, Walton Breck Road to open, and my Uber to get through. I was approached by two men asking if the queue across the street was for the busses into the City Center. As is often the case as soon as I say anything, I was asked where I was from. These two lovely men from Plymouth (Reds) had had just enough to drink to be amazed at finding a woman of my years, on her own, from the US, at Anfield. They actually stopped a passerby to take their picture with me! Ladies, if you want to meet men, stand on your own outside Anfield. I've had very good luck there.

I have not commented here on the game itself, or any of the players, there are far better qualified people who have written about it. By the time anyone reads this it is history. I'll just say that I have been to Anfield for three games and we have won them all by three of our goals to none of their goals (my homage to Neil Atco). I may just have to stay.

The view when I go to Anfield

Those Boring Welsh Views

Typical

Some years ago, a postcard dealer offered me a large box of what he called 'boring Welsh views' at a price too good to pass up. He wasn't wrong, there were a lot of very boring Welsh views. I duly added them to my collection by the photographer Fred Judge and they have sat in the box, unloved and unappreciated until yesterday.

But yesterday, Judy and I took a small bus tour around North Wales. It had rained all night and the weather was gray and drizzly when we left Liverpool and proceeded to get worse the further we progressed into Wales. Of course, Judy and I were the first ones at the pick-up point. The tour had actually been cancelled and then re-instated when additional people had signed up so we were expecting a small group. Three Australians (a couple and her brother) arrived shortly thereafter. They had come to Liverpool from Australia by way of Texas (long story) and they were all avid Reds. A large group of men soon joined us, looking a little the worse for wear and speaking a language unfamiliar to me. We assumed they were not the type of group to be taking  a nice little sightseeing tour through North Wales. We were wrong.

As we loaded, we found the thirteen men were from Malta and in Liverpool for the Southampton game. So there were eighteen of us: Judy (only politely interested in footie) 13 Maltese Reds, 3 Aussie Reds, and myself. The driver supported Manchester United. Banter ensued. He gritted his teeth and played 'You'll Never Walk Alone' as we took the Queensway Tunnel UNDER the Mersey to the Wirral, through Port Sunlight, and ultimately to Chester. Chester has been high on my list of 'places I want to visit next' for a long time and although we just drove though and stopped long enough to pick up one more rider it absolutely confirmed what a special town it is.

Sadly, I have practically no photos for this post, the weather was not photo-friendly and the bus windows were tinted and wet. After Chester, our first real stop was the Pontcysylite Canal Aqueduct. It was built in 1795 and is still taking canal barges across the valley high above the ground. There is a walking path along the aqueduct so everyone except the bus driver, one man with a fear of heights, and myself, took the ten minute walk across.

Where the canal feeds onto the aqueduct.

It was about this time that our Driver, Alan, informed us we would be playing a little game as we went along. We were to keep a sharp eye out for black sheep and upon sighting one we were to call out "Black Sheep Right!" or Black Sheep Left!" Upon verification, we would add to our total until the end of the day. It seemed a bit childish and the first few sighted were only sheepishly called out. (See what I did there?) By the end of the day, each black sheep was heralded by half the bus and counted with glee. Being trapped on a bus for 9 hours can be a very bonding experience.

Next we drove through Llangollen. I had been there years ago for the Eisteddfod (the national song festival of Wales) and as a 12 yr old, Amy traveled there with the Northwest Girlchoir.

Without stopping we proceeded to Betws-y-Coed and stopped for lunch. We had some very good cod and chips and then hit a few gift shops. Tour busses just flow through Betws-y-Coed regardless of the weather. At the deli I picked up some Licorice Flowers and Dark Chocolate Fiery Ginger for Amy & Arne, some Lavender Syrup and a small package of Welsh Butter Fudge for myself, and a package of Peanut Snaps for the staff at the hotel. I'm not kidding anyone, those Peanut Snaps will never see the front desk! I am pleased to say I left the bookstore with only one package of English-themed Christmas cards...I did NOT buy the Cath Kidston Coloring book!

We left Betws-y-Coed in the pouring rain and passed another spot where Fred Judge was quite busy. This is what Swallow Falls normally looks like. We saw an absolute torrent of water.


From there, as we went into Snowdonia National Park, it was water, water, everywhere. In most places the mountains were hidden by fog and rain, low-lying land was a flood plain, and sheep huddled against stone fences where the ground was higher. Countless rivulets tumbled down the mountains and streams rushed across the road above small bridges. It was wonderful! Anyone can take a tour on a sunny day and see the mountain tops and the nice contained lakes. Not too often do you get the chance to experience firsthand nature on the warpath.

Once out of 'Waterworld' we crossed the Britannia Bridge across the Menai Strait between Wales and Anglesey Island and crossed it back again. On to Conwy Castle and a chance to spend some time exploring the castle...in the rain. Judy, the Aussies, and the man from Chester explored the castle. The men from Malta found a pub. I sat in the bus and had a wide-ranging conversation with our driver: Brexit, Trump, Dorchester, retirement...everything but footie.



Our last stop was Llanfair PG, otherwise known as Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwilliantysiliogogogoch, the second longest place name in the world.

At the old Train  station

By now, the grey skies had turned to dark grey, and after a quick swing through the seaside resort town of Llandudno we headed back to Liverpool. It seemed a long dark ride with many of us nodding off for short periods, except for the Maltese who were, not surprisingly, quite jolly. It was a long tour, and the weather was terrible, but we thoroughly enjoyed the ride and our driver was most entertaining and accommodating. He even played YNWA for us again as we entered Liverpool.

I can't wait to get home and look though that box of boring Welsh views to see what they look like dry.

Meeting Your Heros

Sunset beginning at Mann Island, TAW's new home.

Although the phrase 'Never meet your heroes' doesn't seem to be as old as it probably should be, it's had plenty of mileage in the last 40-odd years. So it was with some trepidation, that I went to meet a few of my heroes.

Those of you who might listen to The Anfield Wrap are almost certainly laughing right now. You may love The Wrap, find it amusing, educational, or re-enforcing...but heroes?

Since I fell into the great gaping hole that is LiverpoolFC and the Premier League, I have spent countless hours listening to podcasts. I can putter round the house and listen to an amazing array of approaches to securing regular listeners. Sooner or later, most podcasts feel the need to monetize, and that is where so many of them go astray.

One approach is to try to be the funniest. Not mentioning any names here, but one of the pods I seldom listen to any more is so busy being amusing they fall very short on content. One of their number seems to be there simply to provide a constant (irritating) background of hysterical laughter.
Another approach - to be rabidly partisan. Now I like a good Manure attack as much as the next Red but too much acrimony gets old after a while. When someone is not rational about their enemies, you pretty much assume they aren't rational about themselves either.

Slowly but surely, I found that The Anfield Wrap was getting most of my listening time and when they began their subscription service, I was one of the first to sign up. I now feel like I know most of them personally, they each have a persona:
    Neil - the poet
    Gibbo - the party guy
    Andy - the loose cannon
    Robbo - the journalist
    Gutman - the crank (he's mellowed considerably)
    Josh - the cutie-pie
    Ian, Craig, Paul, Mel, Mo, Ben, Mike, Sean.....

They are smart, honest, professional, funny, and rational (well, mostly). They care about their city as much as they care about their team. They write well and someone proofs before they post! They are my heros.

This week, I will meet several of them. I'll let you know what happens.

Liverpool Bits and Bobs - Part Two

Pinching Pence
I am trying to limit myself to one midday meal out daily. I've found several nice places for a friendly and tasty lunch very close by so no problem there.

Butternut Squash and Parmesan Soup, Can you go wrong at a place called Cheese & Co?

There is a Sainsbury's Local just a couple doors down and a Tesco Express around the corner so I'm

covered early and late. For breakfast: a banana, yogurt sat out on the window ledge overnight, tea and biscuits, sweet roll - I'm spoiled for choice.

The evening meal has been less clear cut. A croissant, cheese, and cherry tomatoes was brilliant. I confess, one night I just had the entire package of Jaffa Cakes. Last night I had a cup of Knorr Tomato Soup - tasty and sufficient. Tonight I am having Pot Noodle. The instructions were more tasty than the flavor:
       1) RIP OFF LID. Whip out the sachet.

I neither ripped nor whipped. Maybe that was the problem.

The writing...
Whether writing emails, blog posts, or 'the novel', I am having great difficulty with all those favor/favour - humor/humour

I suspect I made a mistake planning to blog and do NaNo at the same time. Blogging is fun, writing seriously is...well...serious. It is frighteningly easy when stuck for a plot device or clever dialogue to just switch tabs and write a carefree blog post.

Not-so-ugly Naked Guy 
Different guy, different window. At least I know they are fresh out of the shower...so they're clean. I guess that counts for something.

Update Re: Crossing with the Light
I'm getting pretty good at crossing on the red light. I even jaywalked yeterday. It's kinda fun.

Looking Up

Liverpool is not considered one of England's main tourist destinations. For many reasons, that's a shame. It seems most of the visitors come on weekends for football or a hen do - lots of drinking and noise on Friday and Saturday and then obviously hungover folk dragging their suitcases down the pavement to Lime Street Station on Sunday afternoon. Liverpool on a Monday is a very peaceful place.

So wandering slowly around the city streets, camera in hand, was bound to get me a few curious glances. People busily on their way to work or beginning their Christmas shopping swerved around me. They looked up in the direction my camera was pointed. Seeing nothing particularly camera-worthy, they moved on.

Liverpool must have supported many talented stonemasons when the heart of the city was built. Stone ornament on old buildings is one of things I love about England. We don't have a lot of that sort of thing in Seattle.

The comfort of Platitudes

Today I am thinking about all the things I wanted to do during my time here in Liverpool and how few of them I am actually accomplishing. As a result, my mind is awash with platitudes.

It is better to have loved and lost...I have fallen in love with dozens of glorious old, brick buildings on the verge of collapse as seen on flickr, Instagram, et al. At my age, within six months I will actually think I visited and investigated those fascinating places which I merely glanced at as the taxi from Anfield passed by.

I just didn't realize how much I love old brick buildings until I came to Liverpool.

You are as young as you feel...Okay, this one isn't helping at all.

Tomorrow is another day...I go to bed every night planning the next day and I do wake up every morning thinking I am going to tour the cathedral, write 3000 NaNo words, take loads of brilliant pictures, and visit a new and exciting pub/cafe for lunch. In actual fact, I still haven't got to the cathedral, I'm averaging about 500 nano words daily, I'n not taking nearly enough pictures and cup-a-soup while watching QI or Would I Lie to You on TV in my room is not uncommon. I remember in my Mom's later years how she would be nearly overwhelmed on a day when she had more than one thing planned. A doctor's appointment and making a tuna casserole on the same day was just too much for her. I'm beginning to understand.

I've put them to work turning back time in the hopes that I can write more, see more, do more.

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men...For me, half the fun of traveling is planning the trip. I've had two great years of Google Earthing around the streets of Liverpool. So it's gang a bit a-gley. I can live with that.

Anfield, the Tour

I felt quite cocky getting into the taxi. "Anfield please, the Paisley Gates." You know, like it was a regular thing. Once there, like all new visitors I stood in front of Shankly and savored the moment. Let me take this opportunity to recommend the book 'Red or Dead' by David Peace. It is a long hard slog of a read, but worth it. By the end you can actually hear Shankly's voice in your head.

I couldn't begin to do justice to the tour in writing, you'll just have to make the pilgrimage for yourself. The staff are brilliant, knowledgeable, funny, helpful...I could go on and on. They actually seemed to be having as much fun as we were. The tour was serving two purposes for me: the obvious Anfield experience, and to research a major character in my novel - a dedicated tour guide, co-conspirator, and love interest. Well, I was spoiled for choice; Terry...Gordy...I could add 30 years to adorable  young Jack...

PIRLO! PELE! Pretty cool.
The others...meh.

This old KOP turnstile might have been my favorite thing in the museum.

Sitting in the Kop singing 'Der der, der der der der,  Gini Wijnaldum' is a much different experience than sitting on the bench where Mo sits. One is living in the moment, the other is a bit of history.

I wanted to sit on every bench all around the room. I know that would have been silly, but I have a list of seats that I have shared with famous folk (like the ancient wooden bench that was sat in by Samuel Johnson.) and this was a massive opportunity. For the record, I didn't.

At the end of the tour, we gathered at the foot of the Kop.

My first reading was 'an irresistible offence'. Notice the black plastic bin at the top of the pic. It contained newly mowed clippings. We all dug the little plastic bag from our headphones out of our pockets and filled them with grass - the kind that we can get through customs.

Next week I'll be back at Anfield for the Southampton game. For this game I'll be in the main stand way up in the sixth level. At least now I'll be able to find my way to my seat.

"Liverpool Football Club exists to win trophies." And drink beer!