Thoughts for the Weekend & this Week’s Links

Share with

A Ride to Liverpool.

I was watching the football on Sunday with my son. Everton were playing, and we got talking about their new stadium, which is in Liverpool’s docklands, just north of the city centre.

An aside: Why I need to pay the government nearly fifteen quid a month to watch football via a Sky app costing thirty is a mystery. Amazingly, you can still buy a much cheaper black-and-white licence. I’m exploring my TV’s colour removal settings.

Anyway. Back to Liverpool.

About ten years ago, I cycled to Dublin, or rather, I ended up in Dublin. The goal when I left home one Monday morning was to get to Liverpool. It took four days of riding and working. Portsmouth to Reading, lunch in Basingstoke. The next day, Oxford for lunch and overnight in Banbury.

After a couple of days, it was turning out to be a productive few days: three hours of cycling, lunch, then three hours of work. Find somewhere three hours up the road, book a hotel and set off—a bit more work, dinner. Bed. Repeat.

I had everything I needed in a small saddle bag, including a nice little Microsoft Surface Pro 2 laptop, which let me keep drawing on the road. At the time, I had a Microsoft smartphone with a pretty terrible maps app; plus I could hardly see the screen through the plastic cover of the small box bag strapped to my handlebars. Still, it was good enough to get me where I was heading.

I left Banbury, had breakfast in Stratford-upon-Avon (in one of the many places named after Shakespeare), then on to Kidderminster for lunch. My overnight stop: Telford.

That afternoon, I raced a steam train through the Severn Valley Country Park — hurtling down a gravel track, keeping up quite nicely. I was so busy admiring the train, smelling the steam and listening to the sound of the engine that I missed six steps ahead. Turns out carbon-fibre road bikes fly about the same speed as steam trains. Sadly, gravity came into play, and even the best-padded shorts couldn’t save me.

I picked myself up and arrived at the hotel I’d booked in Telford – for the following week. No room at the inn for the night I actually wanted. It was the UK Dairy Week, so a room was hard to find. When I did, I asked the woman at reception where the town centre was, so I could explore and get some dinner.

“We don’t really have a town centre,” she said.

And she was right. A place ahead of its time.

I arrived in Liverpool the next day. I’d never been before and, by chance, experienced the city in the best way. I’d lunched in Chester, which sent me up to Birkenhead on the other side of the Mersey.

As I cruised down the hill to the ferry ‘across the Mersey’ terminal, the city’s riverfront skyline revealed itself. I wasn’t expecting such a powerful view. The view of the Three Graces — the Liver Building, the Cunard, and the Port of Liverpool Building — was stunning. A world city. Photos don’t do the scale justice.

I found Liverpool fascinating on many fronts — two striking cathedrals, 2,500 listed buildings, and more Georgian architecture than anywhere outside London. Unlike London, though, many of its buildings were (and maybe still are) derelict or in poor condition. I’ve always found that more interesting than neat gentrification. The weathered brick and fading paint reveal the city’s layers: a kind of decay that holds time still, more honest than shiny Mayfair doors and neat potted trees on steps.

I want to go back and see the new stadium from Birkenhead. It likely adds to the skyline, a new piece in the puzzle. A trip to the best Irish pub, Shenanigans on Tithebarn Street, and coffee at Moose would also be on the agenda. I don’t think I’d go back to the Cavern Club, mind you.

After a few at Shenanigans, I descended the narrow steps into the famous basement. I turned left, and at the end of the vault were four blokes belting out ‘She Loves You, yeah, yeah, yeah’. Now I was half cut, but through the mist, it looked and felt like all the old photos. Paul was even left-handed. I doubt I’ll ever time it like that again. Best to leave that place with that memory.

I stayed for three or four days, got on an overnight ferry to Belfast and then on to Dublin via a republican bar on the border, where my host took me one night.

“Even now, you’d not be safe in ‘ere without me, boy,” he said.

Next week will mark the 100th edition of TFTW.

Have a good weekend.

All the best