The seminal Chuck Palahniuk book (and subsequent movie) ‘Fight Club’ introduced us to the notion of the ‘single serving friend’; that person – or thing – that is meaningful, perfectly pleasant and functional for a specific journey, moment or event, but soon becomes obselete and irrelevant to the bigger picture.
Outlives its use; becomes a problem.
This idea was particularly resonant during the second part of the summer holidays, for more reasons than one, though I’ll accentuate the positives later. Meanwhile, the following blog covers food, music, football and modern art, with TV, film and literature along the way. Please, read on if you’re interested in how I spent the second part of my summer… click on to something else – Tory or baggy – if not.
It all starts with me doing a ‘Morrissey’.
We start with me ‘doing a Morrissey’… and I felt all the better for it.
The first thing I did was create a YouTube account and watch the entire series of Cobra Kai in the space of a few short hours. I’d forgotten all about how much I’d loved Karate Kid back when I was the age my daughter is about to be: all the action figures; the dreams of doing karate; of going to Japan and my practising the moves of Daniel San…
This, for me, is one of the best examples of a modern retelling of an old story. It really makes one think about the original in a new way, and feel sympathy for the villain of the first piece. Kind of like a fractured fairytale, akin to ‘Maleficent’ or ‘Wicked’ and any other tale of good and evil, I actually ended up rooting for Johnny and Cobra Kai – who I’d hated for years – whilst coming to dislike Daniel, one of my childhood heroes.
Talking of eighties classics, I also watched, and really enjoyed, the eclectic mix of ‘Ready Player One’ (especially the soundtrack) and the surreal but mesmerising animation ‘Loving Vincent’; the wholly entertaining and mouthwatering ‘Somebody Feed Phil’ which made us itch to return to NYC, and then the old favourite Wes Anderson’s most recent offering, ‘Isle of Dogs’ which was beautifully light and symmetrical in the way that all of his films have been… animations in particular.
Meanwhile, in the real world, B turning five was a truly seminal moment. The youngest in her year, it was a long time coming, but fully worth the wait. The joy on her face as she saw her carefully selected gifts will remain long in the memory, and what I love about her most bore through in the simple pleasures of her choice of birthday celebrations: a trip to the park and tea around the corner, as she almost wet herself with excitement at the littlest things.
That we brought her into the world five years ago, that Saturday in L7, still beggars belief, and as a wise man once told me, every day it just gets better and better.
Eyes dried, my boy and me ventured back into town for the second foray into the world of the 2018 Liverpool Biennial. Part two took in a plethora of shows which included: Tate Liverpool; Open Eye; the viewfinders in Derby Square; ‘This is Shanghai’ in the Cunard Building, and I’d say these exhibitions were even more impressive than the first section we visited.
More polished, more cerebral, especially the offerings from China. E and I enjoyed the strange entrance to what was once the Underwater Street play centre we frequented, what with its unusual timed prison-like door to go through, and then a really lovely looking installation of neon letters which brought back memories of projects gone by (nicely timed, given the resurgence of the band it was all for) and some really ornate tea tins.
The real highlight of the day was the Yoko Ono exhibition at the Museum of Liverpool; somewhat serendipitously, it has replaced the musical exhibition I’d proudly take my kids and visitors to, to see our album assemblage for said band. This though, was arguably even better: the story of a complicated love affair between a pretty much genius couple who had beautiful ideas and faced a horrible ending.
The links between my own career and life, and that of John Winston, are myriad, from education to lifestyles – I even applied to the National Trust for the job of keyholder at Menlove – before his awful demise inspired a magical moment (?) at the Dakota Buildings, the day we got engaged and a surreal anecdote when my sister announced to my horrified mum that it was me who’d been shot – and then I ended up visiting the scene years later. I’ve recently begun watching, listening – and dancing – to The Beatles a lot more, so reading up on the lives of John and Yoko was really cathartic and I was genuinely in tears at a couple of points in the show.
I spent more than I should have on badges and t-shirts and thankfully, by now E really needed a sleep, so I was able to return to the Tate for the main reason for my visit and I really loved the hauntingly beautiful portraits by the (initially strange) combination of Egon Schiele and Francesca Woodman, whom I’d not heard of before but really admired.
After all this sensory bombardment, I needed some time to absorb everything I had seen so went for a reflectory pint at Lunyalita… not just to check out the new Catalan surroundings, but to also enjoy the soundtrack from the Beatles Story’s speakers next door. He woke up halfway through my pint of Moritz and for once, it didn’t matter – I wanted to enjoy the time with my own beautiful boy after all this stuff he’d been wide-eyed at.
There was one more little show to see: New Brighton’s documentary photographers, and this was a mixed bag, as it clearly showed the resort’s halcyon days but I couldn’t help but feel the images were a little patronising as the likes of Tom Wood, Martin Parr et all seemed to capture the worst of the town at its – not a nadir, just a time when it was a working class resort and I quite liked looking at a town I recognised, even though I never went there as a lad: kids in chippies, dolled up couples in clubs and daytrippers fighting to get on the bus back to Liverpool… just the summer, for many of us, and how we loved it.
It wasn’t long before we were jetting off to Ireland for an unforgettable weekend of dancing, soda bread, love and Guinness in a most wonderful part of the world.
The same weekend as the Pope, of course.
This was where the Tyler Durden effect really kicked in: a half hour flight sat next to a gas fitter from Blackpool with whom I discussed a variety of things – beer, Bispham, the future, my own portrait of the artist as a young man – and his plans for debauchery on the streets of Dublin.
Ellis was actually on our flight back but we didn’t speak – he looked too hungover, and I wish him luck.
It’s ok, as during the weekend I made other friends such as Jamie the music mad waiter, and Lawrence the articulate young man with plans to take over Australia. We may never meet again, but how good it was! Over-indulgence can sometimes be good for the soul, and although it meant missing other celebrations closer to home, we did have an absolute ball in the vicinity of the Pope with some amazing people, scenery and moments that will live long in the memory.
Back home, after another period of recovery, it was into the home straight.
Namely, the finale of something else which we’d been gripped by thoughout the holidays: BBC drama ‘Age Before Beauty’ which wouldn’t normally have been my cup of tea but really took me because it rekindled my love of Manchester. the city – namely, the NQ – looked so beautiful, and after the first episode we decided that we needed to go back ASAP so booked in a date and I planned a bar crawl to take in locations from the series mixed in with meeting Simon Rimmer, overspending in the MCR shop, spotting a plethora of bees, being agog at a selection of murals and graffiti offerings in the most cultured part of a city I can remember ever visiting…. all before a meal to remember at somewhere we came close to last year but didn’t think it possible to return to any time soon.
A great meal was devoured at Mr Cooper’s at the Midland Hotel; a lovely place with interesting organic collages on the walls and excellent staff (including Tomas, our waiter with whom I conversed in French about the heyday of L’Olympique Marseille) accompanied by wonderful food. My steak tartare came with a salt & sugar cured egg yolk which tasted like nothing I’d ever eaten before, then a pork chop of such quality I didn’t want it to end. L had an equally luscious terrine and pork shoulder with a chorizo cassoulet and it all made the day so, so memorable.
Manchester, so much to thank you for.
And so to the last days of the holiday, and two more key moments: the cathartic climax of the excellent ‘Keeping Faith’ and a belated birthday day out at the fair. Both of which were enjoyable, entertaining and rewarding, as Faith got some answers and B rode the Ghost Train for the first time – alone!
Another sign that things are changing for the better: the end of summer, then, but the beginning of something even brighter.