Sarò con te… e tu non devi mollare

We begin with an innocent image with serious connotations.

Football played on the mind for most of the last couple of months, and not just for negative reasons. The analogy of the photo I was sent of the Everton bouncy castle, after an afternoon spent playing on it, now down and deflated, was an apparent precursor of what was to come, as many pointed out.

I spent a large amount of time worrying about what seemed to be the (thankfully avoided) inevitable, of course, but also enjoyed the resurgence of Wrexham and its people and I’m really loved the Disney + documentary I’m slowly watching. Similarly with Napoli, winning the Scudetto at a canter, and their T-shirts emblazoned with the title of this piece underlining the intertwinement of fans and the team, even Marine had a positive end to the season with a win in the Liverpool Senior Cup, another shining example of club and community in harmony.

It wasn’t all about the football, though, rediscovering our love of all things Bourdain via newly rereleased episodes of No Reservations and Parts Unknown, including the seminal Obama in Hanoi episode, and new music by The National which is hauntingly beautiful as ever. One song in particular resonated as huge changes took place.

Not nineteen years, forever, etc.

To take our minds off it all, we went to see the Champions. E has taken a major liking to Man City in recent months, in particular Grealish, Harland and Foden, so it was a joy to go and see them in the flesh – literally, as we saw them coming off the team coach so close to us – and a disappointing result was tempered by the impressive performance and goals we witnessed. I was especially proud as the little guy assuaged the half and half scarf and wanted the Everton kit instead… a little perilous a decision, I thought, but I was more than happy to oblige, especially what with the impending doom.

That afternoon, Napoli won the league in style and the celebrations were a sight to behold. Even from a distance; I shudder to think of what the city must have been like that weekend, or indeed this one when the trophy is lifted. Honourable mentions go to the most exciting striker in Europe this season, and Kvara ( whom I realised looks exactly like Ringo Starr in the video for ‘It don’t come easy’ via a recent episode of TOTP2) and the musical references didn’t stop when Liverpool held Eurovision the same weekend.

This, of course, had followed the Coronation celebrations, when our street party allowed me the chance to wear the Napoli colours whilst downing Pimms & Lemonade on the equivalent of the Shankhill Road and remaining in oblivion to the impending dangers we were facing. Meanwhile, channelling our inner Ukrainian, we ventured into town to embrace the musical extravaganza taking place in our city, and we were even interviewed by from Strictly about the whole event.

It was really nice to feel a part of the event, and the next weekend we watched with baited breath whilst my Italian pick finished fourth and the city looked simply glorious.

Talking of which, viewing choices this month focused mainly on the simply brilliant Colin from Accounts, a lovely little story all about a dog and an odd couple and I won’t say any more than that other than to urge you to watch it.

The final feel good story of the early summer came on a Sunday afternoon when I really should have been concentrating on other things but an excellent brunch (replete with a sublime Bloody Mary) at Crosby Wine Bar & Bistro, then a sunny afternoon at Burbo Bank with the crazy kites, meant that staying up was the only thing on my mind for an hour at least and while I paced the living room kicking every ball, I was mightily relieved when the final whistle (finally) blew. We even saw the prodigal son Anthony Gordon driving back into Liverpool a day or two later, presumably coming home to celebrate with his family…

Anyway, we end on another positive and another day out; one last dance in the other city of culture, getting dressed up for the occasion.

I’ve written before about our epic meals at Six by Nico and a very kind colleague had bought WW a voucher last year but, what with the Liverpool branch closing before we had chance to attend for a third time, we were elated to find out the Manchester branch would welcome us with not one but two menu choices over half term.

Disaster struck when trains trikes were confirmed, but we were determined to enjoy the myriad celebrations, so altered arrangements and made it over to Cottonopolis just in time for the booking.

Having opted for one of each menu on offer – enticingly entitled ‘Imagination’ & ‘The Chippie’ this time – the difficult decision as to which one should be gluten free was finally made and both sets of courses was simply fantastic. Standout elements from both included a colour-changing cocktail, smoked potato (served theatrically with a smoking cloche) the coley, and what we’d been waiting for the most, the deep fried Mars bar with an Irn Bru sorbet that has to be tasted to be believed.

Drinks at Petit Paris, a cool new cheese & wine deli further down King Street, and a saunter around the Northern Quarter where I spotted several of these open love letters to the city, as well as one of our favourite people off Gogglebox, all tinged with a little sadness that the genius guitarist Andy Rourke recently passed away, before leaving the city (and City) behind and coming home for teatime.

There is a light in your eyes and it never goes out.

Half term, then, ends in glorious sunshine; Napoli finally hold the trophy aloft and everything is underlined by those t-shirt messages.

(*It means I will be with you, and you don’t have to give up)

A Bundle of Contradictions Mingling with the Epicures

“Life is a rollercoaster, you’ve just got to ride it” sang Ronan Keating; after the past month or so, I concur completely.

From a starstruck Elijah meeting Leighton Baines around the corner at the end of February, to the said icon being on our train into train and sauntering past as I swooned at his style at the start of April, it’s been a funny new weeks.

Things started off largely positive: The Mandalorian returned in style; I attended a conference at a very classy venue, with beautiful views of that non-existent stadium that will never appear… whilst Sir Ian McKellen was just down the road; we met a group of film makers creating a music video and I was asked to email one of them a photo I’d seen; meanwhile, dejection and ecstasy in equal measures on the professional front and on the playing field as E’s team lost a semi final and a quarter final in a tournament on penalties.

We celebrated an important birthday and, of course, Mothers’ Day, and eagerly anticipated a surprise Morrissey gig which was hinted at with the most serendipitous t-shirt.

I’ve written enough about Moz over the years and don’t agree with much of what he has said in recent times, but – as will be alluded to later – some things are more important than money or misgivings, so don’t feel the need to justify my excitement at what will probably be a last hurrah in his presence. I just hope he doesn’t cancel again, or walk off in a huff…

Finally, we also sat down to watch the multi-Oscar winning Everything Everywhere, All At Once. Never has a film’s title been more appropriate. I tried to describe it to some friends as Michel Gondry meets the Matrix, and ultimately it’s about being a parent. I’d urge anyone and everyone to watch it, and to read the explanation on the BBC site first. It’s simply beautiful, as a restaurant critic once described a local eatery: bonkers but brilliant. It also evokes those of us of a certain age’s childhoods, with the renaissance of the brilliant Ke Huy Quan from The Goonies and Indiana Jones.

Not quite as good, but still enjoyable fare, was the Luther movie and the fourth series The Bay which I love because it’s set in Morecambe and it mentions familiar places, shows them too, and let loose on the world the little known fact that Busta Rhymes spent his childhood in the resort. We even took a little day trip there over Easter to spot the locations and murals it champions. Oh, and we also loved the finals of Great British Menu, with some amazing dishes inspired by illustrators and storytellers and served in innovative ways.

Illness lingered, bringing some worrying times, but the mood was lifted with another glorious day spent at Comic Con.

This was heavy… but I was in heaven.

Much has been written in the news recently about the astronomical amounts charged by the Star Wars cast at their celebration event in London – and, as an avid devotee, I’d still be tempted but in these times couldn’t justify spending four hundred and fifty pounds to meet or stand next to a non-plussed actor – even the recent more general Sci-Fi and popular culture event in Liverpool cost a lot of money but was worth every penny when I got to be near Matthew Modine (for free) or see my daughter be lovingly addressed, then embraced, by the daughter of Casper Van Dien whom she’d adored in Stranger Things. I think you can see the beaming smile as she got to meet one of her heroes, and the kindness shown.

All of human life is at these conventions, and I marvel at the creativity / bravery of some of those who dress up. We both did it first time around, in November (I was Matthew Modine’s character then, always the bridesmaid!) but this time Betsy was Chrissy and I was more toned down but still in my element getting photographed with the weird and wonderful and noticing major film & TV stars around us. I’d recommend the event to anyone with even a remote interest in what we watch, as it’s a great day out for all. Just save up.

Talking of exciting, excellent albeit expensive things, we celebrated eleven years of marriage over the holidays. It reminded me of our parents, whose golden anniversaries we celebrate later in the year, and also my grandparents, who were unknowingly made famous by this postcard featuring them which my cousin coincidentally found and kindly shared recently.

Every year, we celebrate the event with posh meals out as a couple. it’s a special occasion, so we make the effort, make the most of it and then don’t go out for weeks. It’s always more than a meal, and we’ve been very lucky over the years to visit: the Hotel Negresco in Nice, with its carousel themed La Rotonde, for our first (Lisa was expecting); L’Enclume and Northcote in my homeland for high-end tasting menus in elegant surroundings; in Cottonopolis, Manchester House, Adam Reid at the French for great GBM gourmet and Pep Guardiola’s Tast for creative Catalan haute cuisine; then, closer to home, the fantastic foodie haunts Wreckfish and Barnacle… it’s fair to say our anniversary meal is arguably the culinary highlight of the year.

This year was to be no different, especially after the first quarter of 2023, but this time with even more to celebrate. It was somewhere I’d been itching to try but we started early with a variety of aperitifs at new(ish) venues The Vines, Alberts Schloss, Bouchon, Black Barrel (we don’t get out much) and even stumbled across a film set on Dale Street before arriving at Hawksmoor.

I wrote about our first visit to its Mancunian sister for my fortieth and so knew we wouldn’t be disappointed this time. everything about the evening made it more memorable: the cool, understated decor; the fascinating signage and design, which we’ve now got on our family salon display; the modern, moody colours of the walls; the attentive service what with the explanations of the different steak options and the gluten free choices; the delightful drinks, including the best, cleanest martini I’ve ever tasted; and then the steak itself.

Simply perfect.

I recently read the fascinating story of where the saying ‘Beef and Liberty’ came from, and this whole experience felt like freedom from the real world for a couple of hours. Superlatives can’t describe how everything tasted. Some may baulk at the prices but you’re paying for quality in every bite and there’s a reason why the Hawksmoor family were recently voted the second best steakhouse in the world, and this was it. The excellent Ben – who feels like an old friend now he’s served us on two such occasions – even brought us a little digestif to celebrate, and all was right in the world.

Go!

The end of the two week hiatus is nigh, and the rest of the holiday was spent finishing the equally moody, enjoyable, meatily intense The Bear which makes me really want to wear a t-shirt with YES, CHEF on it. And visit Chicago!

We also had a look around the Shakespeare North Playhouse, toured the serene Taylor Park, paid a visit back to the Bus Yard in the sunshine, made some salt cod chichetti in advance of our next big outgoing, went to a Northern Soul-themed bowling alley, and got creative…

All in all, a nice end – to an era.

Pascal’s Gambit

The year began in Southport, with a spell of ice skating and real optimism for the year ahead. I wasn’t exactly dancing on ice, but 2023 was going to be good.

Napoli were top of the league, my resolution was to start learning Italian, and all seemed rosy in my world. The sun shone brightly, as we approached the second weekend.

Another bout of scarlet fever, a sudden death and then Everton’s players, board and fans all letting us down on Elijah’s first ‘proper’ match day. It all started so well, his little face in the programme and meeting heroes of yesteryear, then welcoming current ones whilst inhaling more plumes of blue smoke, but ended in defeat and players – one of whom was his favourite, I even bought a scarf to commemorate his final appearance – being accosted whilst the manager’s days were numbered and the decision makers stayed away.

Still, he enjoyed it. Just like I enjoyed This Cultural Life, a fabulous interview with the brilliant Ken Loach, and the new Elena Ferrante series The Lying Life of Adults. New music, too, from The National & The Arctic Monkeys, a podcast about whom mentioned Korova and The Strokes in detail and transported me back to the halcyon years of 2000 to 2004.

The Strikes across the country took me further back, to my childhood and earlier, and 1990 stuck in my head when I learnt that Toto Schillachi was at the same clinic where that famous Mafia boss was captured in January.

I had a fascinating conversation about this, and life in Sicily in general, with a mum at a children’s party where me and E won a prize for the best parent / child dancing, suggesting this was going to be a good year. Meanwhile, he made his debut on grass, changing weekend routines once again; we binge watched the brilliant Happy Valley in less than a fortnight (it reminded me a little of Gomorrah in parts with the gritty violence and – spoiler alert – body squeezed into a suitcase) and even manage to partly correctly guess the outcome, avoiding all hints and comments aside from that sinister image above.

Meanwhile, more happiness came when my folks found my old Star Wars figures, sketchbooks, I started watching the BBC Hip Hop documentary and the creepy The Watcher. I started using a pressure cooker; went on one of the new 777 trains, even found Pat Phoenix’s grave, finally. It’s right here in Crosby… Morrissey would be so proud of me.

Betsy’s trombone practice sorted to really pay off, too, and even though Burt Bacharach & John Motson might have died, we caught up with family and the kids’ first trip to London brought a sighting of both our new king being driven into the Palace and Gok Wan walking his dog in St James’s Park opposite.

Everton continue to struggle but football remains enjoyable, what with the epic PSG v Lille match last Sunday and ongoing Neapolitan dominance. Osimhen and Kvaratskhelia are truly a joy to behold, and I bought some retro scarves and Maradona Valentine’s socks ,from the always brilliant Trickett, to celebrate their brilliance.

February ended with the unusual experience of seeing Elijah scoring a hat-trick in a training match with a league winning, World Cup Worldie-scoring, tin opener of a left footed former footballer many of us idolised in the eighties and early nineties. The irony was not lost on me that Sheedy had played in my own first game in 1990, and he and I had crossed paths in a hospital a few years ago, before I had kids, and now here he was watching my son play. I instantly showed him some career highlights on YouTube and I realised I marvelled then like he does now, and history repeats itself.