Day 364. Inside the wall.

We're ending the year with a trip to the North East. Three days in Winter, on the NE coast, with three children means finding indoor activities for when the weather is just too miserable for outdoor entertainment.

A trip to the local climbing wall seemed a good idea. It was left to me to find the number and a quick google brought up one in Byker with a kids training session available in the afternoon. Off we headed in two cars. When we arrived to confirm the booking it transpired we'd booked at a different centre because I'd mistaken the description of the place for its name.

Fortunately the other one was just a few minutes drive away otherwise we'd have missed our slot. Next time I'm asked to find the contact details for a venue I don't know, I think I'll just double check it's the right place before we head off...

These little monkeys (continuing the theme from yesterday's post) had a ball and the consensus was that this was actually more fun than the centre where you climb on ropes. And we got to head inside the Byker Wall which reminded me of a place in Liverpool close to where I grew up. Success, even if it was accidental rather than planned.

Day 184. Good branding catches your eye.

A trip to the North West for work presented the opportunity to visit my sister in Liverpool. As we strolled back to the car, we passed this retro ice cream van. I love the simplicity of its branding, reminiscent of vanilla ice cream with raspberry sauce.

Just delightful. Sadly it wasn't open for us to see if the product lived up to the promise of the packaging. Maybe next time.

Day 120. All aboard.

Today I rode the bus. Well, a rail replacement bus. Here are 5 things I noticed:

1. It's very quiet on a bus. No one spoke much. The woman next to me asked me to check something with the driver, which was interesting because she was deaf, so our conversation was short and functional as my sign language skills are non-existent and she clearly didn't want to chat with a stranger.
2. The driver's chair has its own suspension system and bounces unnervingly as the coach bumps its way along the country roads. Seriously, I'd be nauseous.
3. No one asks for money or a ticket when you board a rail replacement bus. No one. You walk out of the station and onto the bus. Obviously it's not going to stop anywhere other than at the train stations on the line but even so, I paid for my ticket, at least check it.
4. 'I can see the pub from here!' The view along a road I drive on frequently is transformed on a coach with clear views across the water and the fields beyond. And yes, the obligatory tractor is up ahead. Good old Norfolk. No journey would be complete without one.
5. It's very quiet on a bus. I've said that already I know but it really is. No kindred spirit chit chat, not much moaning about the inconvenience once our journey was underway and not even a hint that people would be prepared to take part in a sing song. Once when I was on a bus in Liverpool, a woman I'd never met, asked if I wanted to see her holiday snaps. Fond memories. Not on this bus. 

So no singing, a minuscule amount of chat to question the driver and although I left the office early, I arrived home later than usual.

Today I rode the bus and it was actually quite good.

Day 105. You'll never walk alone.

Forgive me but I'm going to break my rule today and post a picture that I haven't taken. 

My Nan had eleven children and there were reds and blues amongst them.  She was a red, so is my Dad. I remember watching a match with her when I was little and she popped a pair of red pants on her head for luck. It's alright they were clean. Like so many Liverpool families there was good humoured rivalry between the two sides and Derby days provided fond memories of much laughter; loud, boisterous, family days. When my Nan died they played 'You'll Never Walk Alone' at her funeral and the effect was profound. I'd sung that song so many times in the past but from then on its meaning was deeply rooted.

I think this painting by Mackenzie Thorpe captures the mood of today beautifully - I hope he doesn't mind me pinching this image. I'm a Scouser, it's par for the course obviously.

As I've already posted, twenty four years ago today friends and family headed off to a football match at Hillsborough. Luckily for me they all came home but for them it's a day they will never forget. Each year I feel the bond with my home city and get in touch with the people I love who were there that day. I want them to know that they, and the people they lost, are in my thoughts. 

You'll never walk alone. Find my Nan. She's the one with the pants on her head.

Day 95. Are you a scouser or not?

Someone once asked me this question. With aggression, anger even, mainly because I don't speak with a broad Liverpudlian accent, don't wear trackies and trainers and say 'Calm down, calm down' at the end of every sentence and apparently earn too much money.

It's been a common theme throughout my life. Outside of Liverpool there's clearly a view that if you're from our great city you're either a thieving scally or an over-tanned, roller wearing trolley dolly. Well just like all Geordies don't say 'Why aye man!' with every breath and most Londoners can hold a conversation without shouting 'You Slaggggg!' the people of Liverpool are a diverse and varied race. True some do fit the stereotype but with almost half a million people living there, what do you expect?

This week the BBC launched The Great British Class Calculator and to my amusement (Mum and Dad look away now) I ended up in the Elite class. Ha! Sound proof that it doesn't work. A thought reinforced by a friend who said I'd obviously lied about my hobbies, after all "Once a scouser..."

Then today a friend from Uni posted this on Facebook:

"I thought that Radio 4 office was posh, but I've just overheard the Radio 3 team discussing the merits of pickled quails eggs and walnuts."

An idle comment about Waitrose selling pickled quails eggs and me not being posh prompted another friend to refer to my current location - a sushi restaurant in Cambridge - and it's true, today has been a rather middle class day. We have indeed eaten sushi including soft shell crab, but I must point out it was Yo Sushi! not Teri-Aki, we've shopped in John Lewis where they kindly provided B with her own pillar, visited the Apple Store, spent far too long in Millers Music browsing sheet music and discussing the merits of a Baby Grand versus an upright, picked up a few bits for tea from M&S, then bought some artisan olive bread and an over-priced tub of olives from Cambridge Market.

Looking back, to some, the question headlining this post may seem fair.

However when we got in we let Bea prepare a cold supper for us all. She served gherkins in a glass, tomatoes and salad in individual jugs, yep jugs, olives in a honey pot and hacked the bread into 3 pieces. Some food was presented in the appropriate bowls but for the main part it looked like the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. We ate it in front of the TV, plates on laps and for that reason alone surely any hopes of joining Club Posh have disappeared through our single glazed windows and headed back to Ryston Hall where they belong. Not that I'm hopeful of being posh in any way. Elite. Posh. Not for me. Truthfully I'd move back to Liverpool tomorrow if I could sort out work. It's not out of the question.

Pickled quails egg anyone? Now where did I put my rollers?

Day 53. Please Please Me.

As a working Mum, sometimes I try a bit too hard to make up for not really having enough time to spend with Bea. Today I think I got it just right. Back in my home town it was time to share some of the experiences I had when I was growing up and Bea loved it. 

We started off at St George's Hall for The Narnia Experience, a bit too heavy on the religious theme at the end but there was just enough magic in the journey for me to forgive that. From walking through the fur coats into the wardrobe, to being hypnotised by Mr Tumnus in front of his fire, Bea was enthralled and I was simply glad to be there to see how much she enjoyed it.

Next the Walker Art Gallery to look at Henry VIII, a painting many children in Liverpool will be very familiar with. We had to draw this on a school trip and my mate Paula remembered this when I mentioned where we were headed. These super colourful, non-pooping pigeons welcomed us on our way in and we played spot the pigeon as we wandered from exhibit to exhibit (if you haven't been, Peter's bottom courtesy of Hockney is particularly eye catching!).

Then a catch up with my two nieces, who are turning into the most beautiful young women, inside and out; we wandered through town, had lunch (of sorts), hot chocolate, a bit of shopping and then a trip on the Liverpool Eye (as Bea likes to call it). If only my sister had been able to take time off work to join us, maybe next time.

It was a truly special day. Family focused, time with Bea and ending with a glass of wine, a punnet of strawberries and Wild Arabia on TV. I miss home terribly, especially when I'm there, but I'm determined not to leave it so long until my next trip. Please Please Me. Yet again, you did.