Well, I'm back again.
It was another great trip, though not as good as the last one..
Caught a morning train; though this one was pretty unnerving. Since this was a earlier kick-off I took the cheapest morning train which was unfortunately 5.52am..so that meant an early departure and as I’ve rambled I never really slept that night.
Hate phone alarms; you’re always worried they don’t go off and you’ll miss your train.
It was pretty dark, cold and foggy so I spent the 20 minute walk to the station (no buses that early) thinking of the backpacking American who was caught and eaten on the moors in ‘American Werewolf in London’. Well it wasn’t a moor but Norwich is probably about as close as I’m going to get to a moor.
The good thing about leaving so early is of course that there aren’t any crowds, so I reach the station and ask National Express if I can amend my wife’s train ticket from London caused by the fact that ARSENAL ARE WANKERS.
No joy because apparently it’ll cost nearly as much to amend it as it was to buy new ones.
So I thank the ticket woman and set off..
Pretty uneventful journey, except for a good number of Mancs who got on at Nottingham and Sheffield (ps no one’s told me yet why the Chesterfield cathedral spire looks melted)..2 young Indian Mancs sit right behind me, but thankfully they’re pretty quiet.
Unfortunately they’ve put on so much cologne that I think I’ve run the gauntlet at the perfume section; being Mancs they have a bit of a stink to cover up so I cant really hold that against them.
(Sean later wondered if I wore my scarf around the Mancs...no chance)
I also managed to get some sleep on the train but it got pretty noisy in Nottingham.
Reach Lime Street at about 11.30 am and walk around a little.
I didn’t manage to get to the river this time either coz I was too lazy; and a bit tired from not having much sleep; so I decide to take the early bus to Anfield..there were loads more tourists today too, more buses and even the bus I took had loads..
The funniest was these 2 youngsters with scarves and jerseys a few rows down who were obviously coming for the first time and kept straining their heads to look for the stadium; they sounded a little American, but I couldn’t really place the accent…eventually we can see a stadium and these 2 kids get really excited.
Unfortunately I knew it was Goodison and thankfully noone had the heart to correct these kids, I certainly didn’t because I’d made the same mistake straining my head from the backseat of an Audi TT just a few months ago…it’s strange how things felt different now; and more painful. But I’ll get to that later.
So we reach Anfield and I don’t get my chips.
It didn’t feel right eating them in the day, and I’d some sandwiches with me in my knapsack.
So I do the usual and walk around a bit and enjoy the stadium.
I keep trying to imprint these pictures in my mind because pretty soon they’ll be all I’ve got left.
I find myself becoming more distressed when I go to Liverpool now because I know I’m on the clock now and I want to just keep hold of what I have now for just that much longer..the way the stands look, the vendors hawking their wares outside, the crowds milling around Shankly’s statue all trying to snap pictures and copying his stance (which just makes them look as if they’re trying to squeeze out a fart).
They should leave it for him alone, because you only get to do that if you make the people happy; which is helpfully emblazoned on his statue.
I actually like to look at people coming, and to see how people react when they’ve come..and you can ALWAYS tell when it’s their first time.
ALWAYS.
This one incident happened this morning and not yesterday but I’m too pissed off, so I’ll finish it now.
There was this young family about 15 feet from me, taking the usual snaps..but I freeze when I hear the accents.
Malaysians.
That’s bad becoz I know what most of them are like.
I decide to watch these bastards, and sure enough…the father and his kids take the snaps while supposedly surreptitiously giving the ‘thumbs down’ gesture. Unfortunately the father saw me staring at them and I must have given him such a cold look that he ushered his family into the store (undoubtedly Mancs buying Torres crap which was on sale)
Maybe I imagined it.
But I was pretty tired and looked like a big-haired scruffy Nani so maybe it was me.
I did imagine hitting him tho.
It takes all kinds.
You see all sorts of tourists come here, and for most it’s unimaginable happiness.
The culmination of a million dreams or something.
Anyway, I find myself feeling sleepy and I decide to check into my hostel and get a little rest; I’d texted Sunny and he said he’d be at the Harry at 1.30pm.
So I nap a bit and get there a little late as I’ve overslept (sorry,mate)..we have a few drinks, but my mood is a bit crappy since the Manc game is on and I firstly see them a goal up, then see Citeh equalise and then see that fucking ogre score that goal (which every paper on the train the next day has heralded as the bestest everest goal in football).
Bob and Dougie are there, and I also got to meet MarkMc who isn’t really orange; he is tall though, and is a very nice gent..he’s brought his kid, and I always like to see kids at the Harry and they’re always very welcome there, which is always good to see..
I love seeing these kids make their own memories, both good and bad..
Sean tells me the team news, and I’m sure no one’s really happy about it, but that’s the way it is for now.
We set off for the game, and it was pretty good.
A lot of urgency and there was far more attacking intent in a Dalglish team.
But there just wasn’t enough quality, and the attacks kept breaking down in the final third.
A few players had horrid games; Kuyt Maxi and Lucas for the most part..Lucas in particular was really poor…and I actually felt sorry for him because I knew he was going to get torn a new one on here (particularly as I predicted this was going to happen).
Wigan wasn’t very good but you just know all the missed chances are going to hurt you when you have an ABSOLUTE CUNT OF A REFEREE giving Liverpool nothing.
The game ends disappointingly, of course..still, this team has played really good football today, for the most part..and I’m hopeful we’ll be much better with some more quality..the people I actually felt most sorry for were Suarez and Kenny.
I hope we strengthen because Suarez is definitely off in a year or two otherwise; he was very good, but you know there’re problems when you keep seeing him so far back all the time trying to win balls in your own half.
I make my way back to the Harry after the game; the WInkball guy was at Anfield again interviewing people, but he didn’t want me this time.
The Harry was great; first thing Bob asks me is what I think about the game and he says ‘its ok to swear’; and I say we need more quality in the side..then he says ‘say what you really think’ and I go : ‘We need some better fooking players’
That gets a big laugh, and a pint ;D
I always like going to the Harry, because there’s such a sense of ‘belonging’ there and people are always really friendly; together in song and in Redness (and lager)..
Sean and Dougie say their goodbyes as they’re off to The Bees; he asks me to go as well since he says they’re a top band…but I was feeling tired and thought I’d just have one more pint and get some sleep.
I’ve reckoned without Bob though; as I’ve said in previous posts, Bob is a true gent and we spend hours talking about football and Dalglish and Liverpool (the man is truly passionate about his city, and he shares the defiance nearly every Liverpudlian I’ve met has for the city; the ‘we shall not be tread upon’ spirit)
I tell him how sad it is to see so much of the Anfield housing and business areas suffering, and he agrees..but he’s still hopeful for the future. I suppose that’s a pre-requisite for being a Red..an ability to weather storms and to relish the joys..
To be honest, I lost track of time in the Harry..and as I’ve said, it’s very hard to get Sean and Dougie and Bob a drink because I probably get 2 or 3 for every one I get.
Sean says I don’t have to get people drinks since we’re all mates; but that’s exactly why I want to..nobody has to do anything for me..nobody has to go out of their way to help me in Liverpool,or make me feel at home.... but they still do..and if I could I’d steal a barrel of lager and park it in Seans Corner and get drinks for all the ace people I’ve met there.
Anyway, I’m rapidly losing my battle with sobriety due to the Lager Logistics I’ve mentioned earlier.
I know there was singing, and karaoke.
There was also a weird Arsenal supporter who was bugging me and Bob and eventually we sang ‘Fields of Athenry’ with him to shut him up.
I’m not sure if I told him that ARSENAL ARE WANKERS though.
I should have.
After a while, we say our goodbyes and Bob insists on sending me off in his cab; I decline since the hostel is so near…but it’s still nice of him.
To be honest, I said no coz I wanted to see Anfield again.
The feel of it at night when no ones around is very different from when it’s full of people.
It’s not very late, just about 10.20 or so…but we had been drinking since the game ended so I wsa feeling pretty good.
I just walked around; thankfully there was a gate open and I just popped in for a bit.
Just to see The Kop from the outside.
And to take a few photos with Shankly.
They didn’t come out too well though.
Shitty cameraphone.
And me not being too sober.
And I just felt this overpowering sadness at leaving.
I remember the argument by somebody that most OOT’ers could never ‘get’ the club because they didn’t have a sense of the dynamic between the club and the city. It was a global brand, yes…but it was also a local brand, and shared a very personal link with the city and Liverpudlians.
I agree with all of that, to be honest.
There is a very powerful link there, and you’ll get a taste of it only once you actually go to Anfield.
But there’s one link with the club that the OOT’ers have; which most locals probably wont get.
They have to say goodbye.
I know, I shouldn’t complain.
I’ve been so very lucky to have been able to go, and I have no right to whine.
Still feels shitty to leave though, especially knowing it will be for good in a few months.
Even feels shitty typing this now.
Anyway, it starts to get pretty fucking cold so I scurry off back to the hostel and crash.
Wake up the next morning, shower and leave for the stadium again..today was even more crowded, with tour buses and the like..(that Malaysian cunto and family was actually today, but I didn’t want to think about him so I finished his story earlier)..I casually go up to the counter and ask about the stadium tour (I’d mentioned it to Sean yesterday)..but they say the tours are fully booked until 2.45pm..and my train was around 2..I watch one set of tourists go on the tour, and feel strangely sad.
It was strange that I wanted to do the tour though; I’d always decided against it mainly because I thought that going to a stadium made sense when you wanted to support the Reds, not when you wanted to take pictures of yourself touching the sign.
Also coz most of the time the cheapest return trains are earlier in the morning.
I guess I didn’t want to leave.
So I went into the store to look around at the cheap Torres crap.
I feel bad for everyone who’s bought stuff with that fuckers face on it; but I cant resist a slight chuckle when I see the sign refusing to accept refunds for his products.People here loved you,El Cunto..and I’m just sorry that Chelsea’s money meant more to you.
I bought a nice shirt for the missus which was on sale (a bit of a Valentines present) and caught the bus back to Lime Street...have a burger and a beer at Wetherspoons, take a last look at Liverpool (a quick one coz it was drizzling as usual) and go home.
The trip was pretty uneventful; though my heart goes out to this Chinese bloke who gets off at Manchester Oxford Road with 2 bags of LFC gear in his hands.
I hope you are alive, brave sir.
Get back at 7.30pm and walk home since I forgot it was Sunday night and there werent very many buses around.
