Happy new year! Yes it’s March, I know… yes, it’s been a while – what seems like a lifetime – filled with clear Covid concerns plus world war worries alongside very real relegation fears and genuine grievances… but it all started quite pleasantly, at the World Museum with their new addition, the beautiful Polpo, pretty much my favourite animal… and then a trip to show the kids my own oeuvre in the recently reopened ‘Wondrous Place’ and then a similarly enjoyable trip back in time at the Atkinson in Southport and their ‘Grew up 80s’ exhibition which brought back so many wonderful memories of yesteryear.
Meanwhile, the new year was spent watching A LOT of TV: very enjoyable, comforting and familiar fayre, such as Stay Close, Cobra Kai, and the Book of Boba Fett (both childhood heroes) the latter with its amazing CGI. Then there came the death of Sidney Poitier – To Sir With Love, indeed- featuring ‘the teacher who gets through to the kids by challenging them to be adults’ And arguably one of the most wonderful musical endings of any film – and the more grown up content of The Lost Daughter (more brilliance from Elena Ferrante) and the similarly Oscar nominated and quite incredible ‘Hand of God’, a semi-autobiographical tale by Paolo Sorrentino all about Maradona’s arrival in Naples, which has some incredible moments. Talking of which, I also marvelled at the Pavarotti documentary by Ron Howard and the linked concert from Hyde Park which I vaguely remember taking place but was only ten at the time.
Oh, and the bizarre Herbert Clunkerdunk which evoked memories of Flight of the Conchords, then the beautiful-in-every-scene most Wes-Andersonesque Wes Anderson film ever, The French Dispatch, the return of Ozark, The Holiday and of course loads of Encanto... then, away from the small screen, playing footy for first time in years, and the arrival of Frank Lampard who once scowled at me in Selfridges then broke my heart at Wembley 2009 which still feels like a bit of a watershed moment, thirteen years later. Talking of romance, Valentine’s brought with it an actual date night (watching Date Night) and a new object of my affection:
And, more hearts:
The rest of the months passed with sleepless nights, sad passings and separation anxiety, with separate half terms meaning a weekend away in Chester and a perfect pizza at Stile Napoletana there, plus muddy frolics at the Crocky Trail, both of which I heartily recommend. Days off were spent doing DIY, watching Countdown, and somewhere along the way learning the two beautiful words that make up this post’s title, which essentially means ’self evident feeling of being out of place’ (Taken from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows (John Koenig), monachopsis is. The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach…. unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home) before enjoying the bizarre humdrum of the school run for a few days, and then a last hurrah.
I’ve been lucky enough to experience the culinary genius of Paul Askew, and the excellent service of the staff at The Art School in Liverpool, twice and when I saw he was to be involved in Barnacle (replacing the equally excellent Pilgrim, upstairs at the Duke Street Market) I was very excited to visit.
A little lunch last week was more than worth the wait.
A real highlight this time was the relaxed, informal service which accompanied the impeccable food, all of which was sourced locally. I started (naturally) with an Everton gin, whilst WW opted for an English fizz; incredible amuses bouches arrived of raw milk butter with stout soda bread and a powerful artichoke broth, then the main events.
The seafood chowder was a taste of the sea to behold, and the chicken terrine packed a real punch of lovage. The mains, though, were even better: ox cheek with the greatest mash ever made, and the sumptuous duck breast was more like chicken liver, with an incredible jus which included ‘taste of the orient’ tea.
At this point, we got talking in depth to the brilliant Jack @mellor282 who, after outlining his Blackpudlian roots, explained the background to the tea and promptly provided an incredible new cocktail he’d created using similar ingredients. After a couple of tastes of Toxteth limoncello (the blood orange was interesting) I opted for the cheeseboard which was amazing; servers Ben and Jack both shared their favourites and then we couldn’t decide on our own.
All in all, a beautiful couple of hours amidst similar decor and we will definitely be back!
Normally, I try to end in a positive but whilst completing this post on World Book Day the news filtered through about Shirley Hughes. Obviously, what’s going on in Ukraine has much more importance on a global scale but the sad news about Shirley had personal resonance because she was present at my postgrad graduation back in 2004, signing my programme and admiring my pencil tie, and whilst I knew her work from childhood it’s only since becoming a parent that her Alfie series of books fully resonated.
Big boy Ian Barger, and the Christmas book when Alfie helps buy his mum some earrings, are staple favourites in our house all year round and I was saddened when Frank Cottrell Boyce tweeted the news of Shirley’s death (especially as he himself had done a reading at the equally sad event I referenced earlier) but I can’t end this there so will just say we’ll read her books more than ever before from now on and finish with showing how we celebrated World Book Day:
Its exactly ten years this weekend since the ‘burial of my life as a boy’ meaning that my next offering will be a reflection on a decade of domestic bliss as we celebrate in fine style with family members and old friends alike, hopefully feeling at home and luckier than ever.