(500) Days of Summer

This is a story of boy meets heavyweight champion of the world… but more of that later.

August was largely spent up ladders or on haunches, sander or paintbrush in hand, slowly transforming the house.

This, of course, given the need for days out to entertain and enjoy, was balanced with several excursions to local attractions and places of interest.

The first of these was Kirkdale, to see in person the new trains, due on the Merseyrail network any day now. It felt like a covert operation: we had to sneak a picture through a gap in a railings.

E was very excited to see the futuristic 777s on the tracks; me, more so the beautiful blue of GP for the first time in ages.

Trains were a common theme of the holiday, as model railways suddenly became a thing. I’m quite liking visiting the shows, what with some weird old characters enthusing over twin gauge something or others and very expensive special editions. The notion of creating these perfect little worlds is quite enticing, particularly as I never bothered with anything like this when I was young. We even saw Pete Waterman and his record breaking train set (and some wonderful artwork by an old friend, Nicky Thompson) during a wonderful day in Chester and then lunch at the Southport terminus in between a long-awaited return to a play centre and a Captain Pugwash artwork exhibition.

Then came the moment you’re all waiting to hear about: meeting Tyson Fury.

Almost five years ago, a serious situation led to a stay in Alder Hey. E’s annual check up was due, and I knew the boxer was at the hospital following the recent arrival of his baby girl. As soon as we walked into the atrium I saw him, stood talking to a security guard with his entourage surrounding the family. I’ve been there as a worried dad and the last thing you’d want is weirdos coming up to talk to you all the time in that situation, but he was happily sporting his Gypsy King regalia so wasn’t exactly incognito and there was no way I could pass up the opportunity so we respectfully approached and had a quick chat. No selfies, just warm wishes and discussion of Lancaster, future bouts and the baby’s health. He was amazing with Elijah and I’ve since started reading his autobiography.

We will never forget the day we met the champ.

The Lancastrian theme continues with a grand day out in Manchester: lunch under the pink neon sign at Liam’s very cool new place, The Smithfield Social, for amazing small plates and a new love for soul bowls – with honourable mentions also going to Afflecks & Brown, Trof and a jewel of a place, Sicilian NQ for cocktails – then, talking of the 17th, a wonderful trip to Blackpool for B’s birthday at the Sealife Centre and Notarianni’s Ices, which is basically the most me place ever, what with the homemade vanilla ice cream, the Art Deco decor, the Trickett affiliation, the Maradona stickers on the tills and the Passalaqua cups.

The summer showed us that B is growing up fast; tantrums and make up have replaced sweetness and princesses, that’s for sure. Thankfully, we were also lucky enough to spend time with family, and were saddened to say goodbye the extended family of Kids Planet Crosby nursery which was an emotional parting given the journey we went on and the growth and development shown there.

It wasn’t all practical, though: there was some creativity! The amazing street art in New Brighton, which has really brightened up the place, and the luscious, lustrous Lucian Freud exhibition at Tate Liverpool were real standouts. The former was particularly impressive, especially given it was in the seaside town that they tried to shut down (and only last week, failed) but the latter was full of forgotten gems and reminded me of lessons spent closely studying some of the painters portraits.

Meanwhile, other days spent decorating led to evening viewing… honourable mentions go to the excellent Cruel Summer (took me back to the mid 90s), Mare of Easttown, If… (took me back to school), A Kind of Loving, Tracy Beaker, the mysterious 9 Perfect Strangers and the pick of the bunch: This is Us, a story of coincidences, time travel, narrative twists, parenting, education choices… basically, my life story, which really got me thinking. About a lot of stuff. We’re watching an episode a night, it’s that good, and it evokes thoughts of Blood Brothers as well as my own past eight years (and possible future)… yes, it’s really that good.

Meanwhile, Summer is fading.

We refreshed the front of the house. Finally got the broadband sorted, and attended our first White party, and a great time was had by all. We enjoyed another amazing meal at Six by Nico, what with excellent service, amazing dishes and accompanying wines, and an overall beautiful and clever concept which never ceases to amaze me. This time, the courses were all on the theme of the Amalfi Coast, where we spent our honeymoon, and just for a while we were back there… the Vongolle, the lemon dessert, but the second dish, the burrata, was for me the stand out because of the textures and the colours and basically every single mouthful…but, as the song goes, nothing ever lasts forever and before we knew it, we were coming back to (yet another) new normal and back to school for all.

Wake me up when September ends.

Ma il cielo è sempre più blu

One of the most striking images of the first lockdown, which seems like a lifetime ago now, was the footage of Italians singing on their balconies. At that time, March 2020, that couldn’t happen here, I thought – the self isolating, the singing, and also the eerily silent streets.

I just couldn’t comprehend the idea that life could possibly stop.

Fast forward eighteen months and ‘Freedom Day’ arrived, but nothing had really changed, with the virus still prevalent, masks still needed to be worn, but I realised that one of the quiet changes which have taken place during that time was my love for all things Italian had actually grown over the last year and a half, in spite of my enforced absence from the place.

The Euro 2020 tournament ameliorated my affection for international football, and I embraced the podcasts, the beautiful kits, but most of all, one in particular. The country, as well as the bench and football team, because of the way they sang their anthems – akin to those quarantining last year – plus the style they played with (and dressed in) but also the footage of celebrations in Rome, Naples, Sicily and the joyous relief – in stark contrast not just to our own hooligans storming Wembley, but also those tuneful balconies back in March 2020.

ITALIA…. The food, the art, the drink, the lifestyle, the hand gestures, the coffee – I’m in love with it all – and most importantly, perhaps, the notion. Ma il cielo è sempre più blu is one of the most emotive songs they had sung, meaning the sky is getting bluer, and it is a joyous testament to the fact that for all our many differences, we are all in the same boat – now more than ever – and that life must go on.

It was disappointing that football didn’t actually come home, although the behaviour of fans at the stadium and online kind of justified that. Of course, I take some responsibility for the Azzurri victory, having worn my Trickett ‘lucky socks’ every time Italy played. They have cornicelli on, which are dotted around the house to ward off evil spirits. I’ve always loved Lorenzo Insigne, too, the diminutive Neapolitan who even has a style of shooting named after him, so asked my cousin in Florence to look for an Insigne shirt after one of his impressive performances. Many would see this as disrespectful and disloyal… I just think I identified more with ‘them’ than ‘us’, although admit I was equally proud that my kids got swept up in the three lions spirit, singing songs from my salad days and making St George’s flags and biscuits at a Nursery party.

I really hope they get to enjoy a national victory in the next few years, so we can experience it together.

I doubt it’s going to happen any time soon on the domestic scene, although I still had immense pride when E’s Nannie took these photos of him at Goodison – regardless of the alleged misdemeanours of one of our parish, which we won’t speculate on here – and as football becomes an integral part of his life, I only want to concentrate on the positive associations and none of the tribalism nonsense so many peers encourage.

Anyway, the end of another academic year (one unlike any other) gave the opportunity to reflect on the year past, and recognise that the sky is indeed getting bluer. Glorious sunshine and celebrations, the lovely Luca from Disney Pixar, culinary experiments the new found freedom offered… and then came Wales.

A year’s delay led to heightened anticipation and a wonderful week was enjoyed by all, whether on the beautiful sandy beaches of the Lynn Peninsula, the colourful Italianate village of Portmeirion or a nostalgia-filled (and wet) Welsh Mountain Zoo. Or even just in the hot tub spending precious time with family. I won’t go on too much, because I’m conscious many won’t have been able to get away this year and others will have lost family members, but I will say I felt very lucky that week.

One standout memory is the meal we had at the Dining Room, Abersoch. I’d originally read about the place at the start of last year, pre-pandemic, when I got my monthly Observer for the Food magazine which normally takes me another month to read. Knowing we had a week booked (initially for last July) somewhere nearby, I immediately took note of this place because of how good it sounded but also because of who was recommending it:

We have frequented several of Usher’s fantastic bistros over the years and even have our name on the wall of Pinion having invested in the fundraising Kickstarter a few years back, so knew it would be good if the ‘two Bob burger chef’ (not my words!) was praising it. Cutting a long story short, on our first foray into Abersoch I spotted a nice looking place and upon reading the menu, fell a little bit in love, even calling my brother in law over to see it. It was then I realised (and this impressed me more than Michael Owen and his family being about ten yards away at that very moment) a moment of convergence. Serendipity had brought me to the very restaurant I’d read about last year, and my sister had already tried to book but to no avail. The stars aligned, though, and Si got in touch to say a table would be available later that week.

What an intimate place, like a firecracker all aglow, perfect for the double date we were to enjoy and an amazing evening’s dining. Obviously, meals out have been few and far between for everyone for a while, but it wouldn’t be hyperbolic to suggest this would be one of the best of living memory, and certainly the best value. We enjoyed the aperitifs immensely, then shared the torched mackerel and the pork cheek (swapping plates half way through) then doing the same with the mains: the cod, then the feather blade, a little nod to an Elite bistros classic. The wine and port were fantastic, too. My dessert was the real revelation, however… Caerphilly cheese and Bara brith from the deli next door (I went and bought a whole loaf to take home, as well as a hunk of the cheese but have been unable to source locally so any Welsh readers, feel free to send me some!)

Anyone venturing over to that part of the world, I’d suggest trying to get to this place ASAP. And, even if you’re not, follow the place on Twitter for some hilarious anecdotes about weird customers. Michael Owen even walked past again whilst we were eating, laughing and smiling on the outside but clearly seething on the inside, presumably envious of us eating so well through the window.

Next time – August, and ‘when you’re on the beach you steal the show’!

Levant

May’s Waitrose magazine was on the theme of Levant – food of the Eastern Mediterranean – but I discovered the word can also be a verb, meaning to run away leaving unpaid debts. In the many years I’ve been writing this blog, there have been a few instances when, by quirky kwinkidink, I’ve pre-empted something happening or the timing has been dramatically ironic. 

Last month’s was another example: my lauding of Carlo for being such a good egg, how much he seemed to love life in the same town that I also call home. Fast forward a couple of weeks and he’s gone, his time leading the blues and being generally fantastico and magnifico as if in a dream, dreamt by another, and I can only liken the experience to that time in 2005 when I asked a girl out and we had a lovely evening until towards the end of the night I came back from the toilet to see her getting off with her flatmate at the bar. I was over it pretty quickly, but recently told a class that anecdote and this past week brought the memories flooding back once again. Still, it was generally good while it lasted, however no amount of memes or emojis will bother me at all when some of the other things that happened recently, have happened.

I’m talking about the tragic sudden passing of my cousin; my breaking a rib, bringing constant pain and discomfort; the trials and tribulations of working with teenagers during these times and ongoing, overdue renovations bringing separate stresses.

It wasn’t all bad and sad during the rest of May, mind. New arrivals, wedding bells, huge strides in progress at school and nursery. In terms of football, end of season disappointment was quickly followed by positive play off results for two seaside teams close to my heart, and a third whose badge I love. I actually think I might have brought them luck that day, what with my choice of beer:

Earlier in the month we’d enjoyed a first meet up with friends for ages, an actual meal out and a trip to town to see the mixed bag of sculptures and murals that make up this years Biennial. There was also the lovely story about the menu being found inside the wall of a cafe being renovated, which made me think of my own restaurant based time capsule being uncovered in a hundred years’ time, too.

Talking of which, the work in the house (which will all be worth it in the end) has resulted in very little TV being enjoyed, but I was alerted to an amazing series on Netflix: Maradona in Mexico. It’s quite sad, at times – dramatic irony again – as he goes from singing and dancing to hardly being able to walk, but the fire and passion come through. A must watch for any Maradonistas.

I’ve also really enjoyed This Time With Alan Partridge, despite its mixed reviews, and the quite fantastic sixth series of inside no 9. A couple of episodes were breathtaking, as was the Jimmy McGovern series Time featuring several stellar performances, including one by a lad I used to teach (who was also in an episode of Inside No. 9) and incredibly intense.

Meanwhile, May had ended on a real high, with a day out in sunny town. It had felt like a lifetime since we’d sat in a beer garden and just talked, reminisced, like old times… marvelling at the surroundings and the fashion choices of many of the younger crowds around us. Some great new al fresco places have opened, too, so special mentions to The Entry Bar, The Roof at Pins, the fantastic souvlakerie Laros, and the beautiful Sicilian fayre of Cose Buone, bringing Palerman street food to St John’s.

The sun was shining, the Euros were coming, the GCSE TAG process neared its end and despite everything else, things remained positive. June took us for pizza, to Southport for more sunshine and slot machines, trains and a first trip to soft play for a long time. Beers on an Open top bus at the marina; my own take on souvlaki, barbecued nicely; the start of the Euros, such an exciting tournament so far… then, the sad journey to funeral.

I learned a lot about Marc that day: his early rugby career, his vast collection records, the wonderful music choices.

On the way there and back, I started to read a fantastic novel: The Swallowed Man by Edward Gorey , all about Gepetto and funnily enough in the same week that a Canadian fisherman was actually swallowed (and then spat out) by a whale; the fascinating autobiography of my childhood hero, Pat Nevin, just before the England v Scotland match… then, on Disney+, the brilliant Luca, on Fathers Day, just as Italy were emerging as the best team in the tournament.

Next came some long awaited beers in town, with friends I’d not seen for eighteen months. We enjoyed the footy and the catch up. Father’s Day came too, with a wonderful tomahawk… then it was all about the fortune teller wine and festival memories.

Next up: July, a bundle of contradictions.