Author: bigdunc09

January – start the year off fine…

This year’s resolutions were no different to any other, although I was full of extra positivity and spent the early part of the new year letting every WhatsApp group that asked know that – in the words of Elbow – “it’s all gonna be magnificent!” 

It’s certainly not been so far, but I find solace in the fact I’ve found time to post this blog which is an unusual plus at least.

Every month, in fact, I’ll try my best to post a Neil Sedaka themed musing.

Schools closed, plans changed, childcare struggles ensued and workloads were juggled accordingly. Vaccines were rolled out, with some questionable decisions made – some put it on a t-shirt, I’d’ve kept mine hidden out of respect for those still dying, or desperately (but patiently) waiting, but hey, ho – and some other things changed, but the majority stood still. 

Early year highlights included the exciting finale of Cobra Kai, which brought about a lovely nostalgia for my childhood and key characters from the original films. Ali – with an I – made a welcome return.

Meanwhile, the town in which we live was abuzz with the impending arrival of Tottenham Hotspur and myriad TV cameras & lights. I was castigated for not criticising the socially distanced support, as if that’s something I would do anyway… why? Because they didn’t launch fireworks at the Carnegie Library? Batter the local police? Attempt to laud it over Bootle or Formby when it had nothing to do with them? But this was different. Special… meaning more?

Anyway, proudly I took the kids to the ground in the morning, spoke to the chairman, had our photos taken and got home before the careful crowds amassed. Bought (proudly) the virtual ticket alongside myriad others, got a programme to keep as a memory for the kids… Frank Cottrell Boyce summed it all up rather nicely (I posted that last month, read it and weep!) so here’s a picture of us there on the day…

A proud dad moment, adding to the list, and I wrote last time about how lockdown has helped me start to slowly embrace middle age. I do try to keep up with good culture, I really do… very little art nowadays, using Apple Music there’s some new music and I’ve started watching WandaVision (don’t yet get it, but will prevail) and other ‘cool’ topics but feel like I’m slowly moving towards the mass media and older generations’ favourites. For example, I’ve changed my opinions on certain popular comics such as Lee Mack (Not Going Out is very cleverly written… I really got the Earl Grey joke in a recent episode) and mainly Romesh Ranganathan. I like his Wolf v Owl podcast, enjoyed his overnight stay in Hamleys, look forward to his new TV series, religiously read his weekly Guardian column.

I’ve also started to embrace the kind of things my parents would watch (and that’s a compliment!) such as Lingo (when time allows) and The Bay, which I love dearly because it brings back memories of childhood (and even last summer) because it makes the resort look so beautiful, and meanwhile love sharing daily our word puzzles which keep the brains active but more importantly, keep us in touch mentally (and electronically) when we can’t in person for who knows how long.

This month also reminded us of the beauty that is the pizzas by Il Capitano’s (which just get better and better) and an ensuing game of Neapolitan bingo, aka Tombola, and the rather risky number associations it involves. After ten days of self isolation, it was the perfect opportunity to remind Elijah of his numbers and also further fall in love with both Accrington and the Amalfi Coast (although we didn’t always divulge the real meaning of what was called!)

Apart from James Rodriguez, the real apex of the epiphany was the inauguration of Biden, and one moment in particular… I sat with tears in my eyes as a confident, articulate young woman stepped up to the podium and spoke so eloquently, so entertainingly, so energetically.

Amanda Gorman, then – more than anyone else – helped us start the year off fine, what with her beautifully poignant poem which clearly linked back to her early inspiration (Hamilton, which we watch regularly) that had (thankfully, for us all) helped her overcome her speech difficulties.

There was so much to feel good about during that ceremony, but she and her words were the shining light.

We’re not American; we haven’t had the same terrible treatments, the tyranny, we didn’t watch the horrors of an attempted uprising or insurrection or whatever else you’d like to label it, from the same epistemological standpoint… but still we see a divide, albeit different.

“When day comes we ask ourselves,
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry,
a sea we must wade
We’ve braved the belly of the beast
We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace
And the norms and notions
of what just is
Isn’t always just-ice
And yet the dawn is ours
before we knew it.”

It’s all about that journey. The hill.

The hill we climb.

We can, at least, see the top…

Hope, then.

For us all.

Happy New Year, everyone… Smith & Burrows once sang:

So tell everyone
that there’s hope in your heart
Tell everyone or it will tear you apart
The end of Christmas day,
when there’s nothing left to say
The years go by so fast,
let’s hope the next beats the last…

Many people believe that January is named after Janus, the two faced god, as the month is all about reflecting on what’s passed and as well as looking forward to what the next calendar year will bring.

Perhaps never before in the history of the universe has this notion – of hoping the next year’s better than the last – ever been as apt, and plenty of writers much more eloquent than the present author have mused on the negatives which have gone before, and the positives to come, so I won’t waste words and effort elaborating on that.

I’m still halfway through Death to 2020, the excellent Black Mirror instalment just released on Netflix, and the opening sums things up nicely. I’d totally forgotten that last January saw terrible bush fires, threats of world war and myriad other pre-Covid problems, and am somewhat embarrassed that, even when news of the virus started to spread, I was sceptical of those stockpiling and even critical when events I was looking forward to were cancelled.

Fast forward to the end of the year, though, and I feel lucky to still have family members (even though I’ve not hugged them for longer than it takes to gestate) and a job – however hard both may have been at times – and even find myself genuinely excited about what the world might be like after all this, having seen the really good side of people and communities during the pandemic and not really missing that much some of the things we took for granted before.

Like many, I too have re evaluated what’s important, and totally ‘got’ Soul, the truly wonderful new Pixar animation even before noticing the similarities with my own situation compared the other Mr G – another JG, no less – especially as his experience came when finally getting to perform on stage, whilst only last week I finally got my writing in the online travel section of The Guardian:

‘My favourite Christmas abroad’: readers’ travel tips | Travel | The Guardian

Of course, a big difference is that I have my wonderful wife and kids to grow even closer to during lockdowns, so can’t complain even when negotiating the nightmares of childcare provision probs and live lessons from home whilst mouths need feeding and bums need wiping.

Christmas was perfect and restful, just the tonic after the trials and tribulations of the month leading up to it. They included the sad passing of Maradona, who became a real icon in recent years, and whilst I shed a tear at the news and subsequent panoply of footage of not just his greatest moments but also his myriad nadirs, I feel lucky to have all that lovely Trickett stuff, a lasting legacy on the toilet wall of Il Capitano’s and now some beautiful socks courtesy of a sincere friend at the other end of the M62. We also lost another legend in Paolo Rossi, about whom I once attended a fascinating talk at Liverpool University, and I consoled myself with an evening engrossed in a brilliant and moving documentary about Francesco Totti.

Other great things watched over the festive period included The Mandalorian, which just gets better with every episode – especially the dark troopers, and the surprise appearance of Hamill himself – and Tin Star Liverpool, which makes the city – and even Bootle Strand – look even more gorgeous than usual. Now, of course, my nightly viewing is based around the return of Cobra Kai, transporting me as it has to the mid 80s and my obsession with Karate Kid 2 (including a Daniel action figure which I seem to recall breaking pretend ice with, and my early feelings for the beautiful Kumiko) which is something of a comfort in these troubling times.

Another positive, which I’ve been excited about for weeks, occurs this weekend, when the mighty Marine welcome Mourinho. The TV gantry is up, the huge temporary floodlights dominate the skyline as I look out of the kitchen window, and the town is abuzz with excitement. I’m one of the ten thousand who bought a ‘virtual ticket’ to make up for the lost revenue, and can’t wait to see what happens. Frank Cottrell Boyce wrote about the magic much better than I:

The magic of Marine is the magic that will get us through these next months | Frank Cottrell Boyce | Football | The Guardian

And, whilst I don’t have the credit for this photo, our house is on it so I will reuse (thanks to @peterjharvey)

Whatever the outcome, the club and the community can enjoy their moment in the spotlight and I think the whole situation symbolises how things have changed since last January. Unsung heroes being recognised and celebrated, whether part-time footballers, or volunteers, or NHS workers, or the staff at my local Sainsbury’s or fruit and veg shop who I’m making an extra effort to support and appreciate – we need to help local businesses and services out, celebrate them more, hope that they can prevail when this is all over.

Janus was the god of doors, gates and transitions; beginnings and endings. Similarly, someone once said that middle age is also Janus-faced, as we look back on our life and then forward to what we have to come. The pandemic has taught me to accept I’m forty one now, not nineteen forever, so things like gigs and wild nights out are a thing of the past as my lifestyle and appearance grows old (and grey) gracefully instead of clinging to the youth slowly slipping away.

Even on our lovely little Christmas Day, I was more concerned with perfecting the recipe for a Smoking Bishop to recreate the Cratchit family Christmas than anything else, and very nice it was too!

Whatever our ages, beliefs, denominations, stances or epistemological standpoints, I hope he is looking down on us all favourably as we struggle on through the dark.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only…”

It’s been a while – “I’ve been away, I’ve been working” – and when last we met, I explained the journey towards a mural I had painted. It was planned and developed during those strange days of spring and early summer: fear and happiness in equal measure; horror and joy.

Dickens pre-empted it all quite nicely.

The actual summer holidays then flew by; resting, cooking, reconnecting with old friends and wondering how the new normal would play out.

There were several frantic scrambles for Trickett merchandise; a very pleasant trip to Wales, staying in a Piggery (and seeing one of Britain’s most notorious hooligans) and then getting two new hamsters whose nocturnal habits (and squeaky wheel) kept us awake amidst the worries about returning to school settings and the inevitable stresses a return to said apparent normality might bring.

We also pondered the future of Messi – wow, does Koeman get into some messy situations as a manager – and the strange scenarios around footballers having to self-isolate for myriad reasons. Then, of course, the long awaited release of three classy new Hummel kits: sneak previews and teasers started the excitement for the new season, heightened by a first trip into town (for what felt like forever) for a lovely lunch at Wreckfish Bistro:

The service and food were incredible, our anniversary meal six months on, and a reminder of the wonderful work done daily by the catering sector. Octopus, morcilla, curried cod, smoked lamb, a pungent blue cheese… all fantastico, magnifico, and the day also involving a trip to the Toffee Shop to see the kits in real life. Some of the training gear is lovely, too, although so far I’ve limited my purchases to the pink one for B’s birthday… there will surely be more to come.

The green kit for the little boy, certainly, especially if this start to season continues, and talking of kits, it’s been fantastic to see – for the first time – an equal spread of kits on show at his Sunday morning football coaching sessions, suggesting a shift in mentality.

Suddenly, things had exploded. The painfully slow and disjointed midfield of lockdown was rumoured to be giving way to the trip of exciting signings. I couldn’t believe me eyes (and social media) as it became apparent we were about to sign two of my favourite players from overseas: Allan and James Rodriguez. We all began stalking them on social media, tracking planes, identifying hotel rum bars and recognising their drinking partners… a chance to celebrate one of the best football photos ever taken, too.

The start to the season was a triumph, not just with the goals and performances, but a shift in mentality: even West Brom – which I followed whilst touring Knowsley Safari Park for E’s birthday – and then the derby, despite the stupid challenges and subsequent controversies, didn’t bring about too much bother (except on Twitter, but that’s a story for another day) and in between, I’d celebrated my birthday with us top of the league and again ventured into town for a romantic and simply perfect meal (finally!) at Six by Nico then went to a pub watching the Crystal Palace game.

The Sicily themed meal – a compensation for not being able to go there back in May – was just perfect, with amazing arancini (see the remnants of, above) luscious lamb and perfect pork being the highlights… and red wine with the lemon dessert? Wow.

But overall it was weird, signing in everywhere, sitting down and having to watch the game on my phone but very rewarding, cathartic almost, after all we’ve been through – not just this year, but for decades previously. The bubble may well burst, but it feels like we’ve got our identity back at the very least. As Dickens said, at odds with the mood of the nation… how very confusing.

For my birthday I got more vouchers to spend at Trickett, the new Elena Ferrante novel, a Playmobil BTTF DeLorean and an amazingly beautiful book on the history of football badge design. I took the family out for pizza, my boy to see that Maradona mural I wrote about previously, and returned home to see that The Spirit of the Blues was on its way to number one. Strange, and positive, times indeed…

A new series of The Twilight Zone then started, as things got serious again. I started to think about conspiracy theories and the general situation. About how much this all felt like a TV series; what with the masks and the deniers, the revolts and scaremongerers causing problems. I then thought back to Birdbox last year, and the similarities in that parents like us are trying our best to protect the young from exposure to what was out there, but with the inevitability of what happens in the film (in case you’ve not seen it!) 

Still, at least we have the King of the North to protect us.

Now, I didn’t understand the reference point when I spoke to a friend of his about him – actually never seen one episode of GoT – and, kudos to Joe Anderson for his stance too, but Andy Burnham has proved himself to be a real hero in recent weeks.

Tribalists and apologists might not concur, but I don’t really care about them. They shouldn’t be reading this; they should be lighting the candles instead, sad specimens.

I want this blog to still be about art, not politics. I could discuss the sadness at La Emin’s recent news; a fantastic South Bank Show on Terence Davies; the rather brilliant first episode of The Undoing or even a trip to Southport’s Atkinson gallery and an exhibition on early Femmes Fatales… but it’s hard at the minute to contemplate the trivialities of creativity when there’s so much serious stuff to discuss.

Here’s what I wrote recently, in praise of Greater Manchester’s Mayor:

Lest we forget, the chasm is widening.

Our country is a mess, both in terms of health and politics, and a great divide that already existed has only been exacerbated by recent introduction of inexplicable tiers.

It’s easy to feel hard done to when there’s a whole history of injustice to reference.

Meanwhile, football also finds itself at a crossroads; what would have been solace in these troubled times, has become a circus as the Glazers, JWH and Mr Parry have made illicit and immoral plans to break away which thankfully were rejected. As usual, no apology given when asked for by one of our own.

I’ve always liked the cut of his jib, Andy Burnham: the classy Hillsborough speech; the interview in an old WSAG; that podcast of his favourite songs I wrote about in a recent issue; his involvement in the homelessness projects as seen on Manctopia on BBC2; his regular presence at Courteeners gigs and in the Gwladys Street… need I go on?

The way he has conducted himself throughout the pandemic has been most impressive and his comments this week highlighted the fact. The ‘canary in the coal mine’ analogy was perfect and symbolised his Own background and his representation Of the communities in his regions. Similarly, that he’s involved with several others in the ‘Saving the Beautiful Game’ project, shows his interest in equality and fairness in football as well as the society he serves.

Andy, we salute you.

Anyway, back to October.

A long-planned night away scuppered like the other birthday presents from the last two years, we accentuated the positives and struggled through to Hallowe’en with the help of Scala Radio, Netflix and food magazines, especially Sainsbury’s magazine (who very kindly sent me a free copy after a mix up at the local store) and it all led me to dress like this guy to placate the upset kids wondering why another Hallowe’en had been spoiled.

Hallowe’en and us haven’t mixed well in recent years.

Emergency visits to Alder Hey, broken door locks and painful Dental Hospital operations have given the kids the impressions that the day is fated; hopefully this year will remove any fears that we can’t enjoy the day without problems! We spent time carefully crafting pumpkins, cooking the remnants, understanding how lucky we are… despite everything.

Happy Hallowe’en.