The Artist – Jonathan Greenbank

It’s defined as ‘the perception of apparently significant patterns or recognizable images, especially faces, in random or accidental arrangements of shapes and lines.’

The summer started on stage with drama performance which made us immensely proud, as well as a little visit to Prince Rupert’s tower in the sunshine. There followed a beautiful little film, Aftersun, with a subtle yet powerful performance by Paul Mescal as the dad of a fiercely independent daughter, played brilliantly by Frankie Corio, which really resonated, especially after a great Confirmation service by the Bishop of Liverpool, and also meant the Euros final mattered little.

Then came The Night Caller, with the brilliant Sean Pertwee who appeared in The 51st State with me nearly twenty five years ago. I remember clearly discussing the city with him at the wrap party in The Magnet, and the theme of taxi drivers returned the following week as my house keys mysteriously disappeared. I spent ages appealing to Merseyrail, Alpha Taxis, even our local (the brilliant CornerPost) to no avail – they must be out there somewhere – but again, it mattered not as we received the lovely surprise of B getting her school’s Citizenship award for Christian values.

To celebrate the end of term we watched the Dr Dolittle trilogy, and – as if by magic – I might as well have become a vet as, over the following weeks, our garden was frequented by a frog, a hedgehog in broad daylight, and divebombing gulls – a visit to the beautiful Walton Hall Park even saw us witnessing a dramatic duck rescue – and by the end of the holidays we were besotted with two guinea pigs, originally called Magneto and Wolverine but changed by deed poll to Moomin and Sniff. I actually hated the stories of Tobe Janssen as a child but fell in love with these two.

No summer holiday to speak of this year, but we did visit the ever charming Reading and a family funday at the brilliant Double Barrelled Brewery and quite enjoyed the rather bizarre Olympics Opening Ceremony and the sporting events which followed.

Much time was spent decorating. Painting, clearing, seeing Leighton Baines, reading about Bourdain and getting a real insight into his personality and ultimately his demise – rewatching the Rome episode of No Reservations really hurt – and getting the realisation he truly is one of my all time heroes. That particular episode features footage of an old Italian movie which nicely encapsulated my joy at getting some kits for E off the back of a lorry…

Talking of which – a grand day out meeting heroes before the pre season optimism hit a peak at Preston. We toured the city centre first then enjoyed the match immensely, seeing so many familiar faces from the past and singing new songs of love and hope. The love that lasts forever returned only a week later, as B experienced her first – last? – Goodison game against Roma, a team I’ve always had a soft spot for since the times of Totti and the new Giallorossi darling, Dybala.

Then came the eleventh birthday bonanza, bringing with it a sleepover, my favourite time of the year – Monday night TV quiz returns, inspiring an application to Pointless – and me crying at the end of the Barbie movie – before the season starting and normal service resuming with 3-0 defeats for all my teams on the same day and more disappointment to follow.

I cried again when one of my oldest friends told me he was getting married and we were invited to celebrate with the happy couple and my godson. The night before, I decided to write a little speech, inspired again by the poem ‘Valentine’ by Carol Anne Duffy (I first met him, and they also met, working in a kitchen) which I’d read when best man six years ago. Whilst not officially undertaking that role this time, it felt good orating on their official matrimony although I was still adjusting to life in reading glasses.

This blog started with me getting my eyes lasered as part of my MA research and I’d had an inkling for a while that my eyesight was going a bit, so the time had come to accept that midlife comes to us all.

Still, the last of the summer wine was ripe for drinking and we visited the excellent interactive exhibition by Roxy Topia and Paddy Gould at The Bluecoat, entitled Let Your Ideas Come Back As Children which is a perfect title and sums up my own credo wonderfully. Then came an idyllic trip home to see family and the rainy haven that is Morecambe seafront, then a lovely little moment came during our usual pre match routine before the Doncaster tie, when we were photographed on Goodison Road by a great Instagram account I followed.

Imagine our surprise when, after the match, I saw this image:

That’s us in the spotlight, using our religion for good, before a final foray onto the Gwladys Street, and it was brilliant to see ourselves documented by the brilliant @wanderingsofanevertonnerd which Id recommend you all follow for more beautiful photography of the people, parts and poignant memories of the final season of this big blue family home we share.

We met up at the following rollercoaster of a game, and he’s a great guy; turns out we have several mutual friends, and we’re looking at doing something creative in the future.

We got a great view of Goodison – and the shiny new beauty which will replace it – on a lovely sunny in New Brighton. Having been to Bramley Moore the week before, it was incredible to see the structure from the other side of the Mersey alongside the waterfront, as well as the ever impressive street art and murals that have really brightened up a town on its way back up.

A fitting end to the summer: seeing things in apparently random places, sunshine, change and optimism for the future as we negotiate high school and turning 45!

Warning – this blog post contains several bits of good news, including meetings with 80s film & TV stars, a musical genius and brushes with greatness on the football field.

Anyone not in the mood for unusual cheeriness on the present author’s part, look away now, because we start at Liverpool Comic Con, a biannual bonanza of toys, costumes and general geekiness which me and B just love frequenting.

This time our theme was Ghostbusters, after she became smitten with Frozen Empire and I was secretly elated as I got to resurrect a costume from a Uni party a quarter of a decade ago.

The real highlight of the day was me posing for a photo next to One Eyed Willie’s Bone Organ (really) and a guy in a white baseball cap walking past and telling me “you look perfect” in a familiar Californian drawl.

It was none other than Sean Astin, Mikey from The Goonies, a film I’d watched a thousand times in childhood, and the waiting hordes of people who’d paid hundreds for his and the other LOTR cast ( we also spotted Elijah Wood, Dominic Monaghan et al but I’ve never been into that sort of thing) must have been so envious seeing me agape at having been paid a compliment by an early hero, for free!

Even B was especially impressed as she loved him in Stranger Things, and it was only in writing this I learned he is the son of Hollywood royalty Patty Duke. He was also brilliant in 50 First Dates. I’ll be honest, we felt like minor celebrities what with the dozen or so people who came up to ask for selfies afterwards – one guy took the photo above and said we were his favourite cosplayers from the whole weekend! – and even though we saw John Cleese, Jay & Silent Bob and myriad other pop culture legends, my chance encounter with Ziggy from Grange Hill will last nearly as long in the memory.

The theme of Scouse actors and recognisable scenes continued with the excellent second series of The Responder, featuring many local areas of interest (we’d seen it being filmed nearby last year) and then a lifelong ambition of scoring at the College Road end of the MTA as Elijah played in a Summer tournament there every Saturday morning (more of which later!) which featured this iconic celebration, captured by the official photographer for prosperity.

Other notable seminal moments came with the final series of Inside No 9 – and the poignant final episode – and The Gathering – again, filmed locally and featuring friends of friends but also making the city look beautiful.

The most surrreal moments of early summer were still to come…

On a trip to Bootle Strand, never the most inspirational place at the best of times, a familiar face boarded the bus and sat a few seats in front of me and my bewildered daughter. It was none other than Michael Head, whose new album I’d been listening to all that week as it entered the top ten, whose earlier stuff as part of Shack had shaped my youth and before that The Pale Fountains for many others, who had a mutual friend and whom a colleague had been to see recently in an intimate church gig and subsequently waxed lyrical about it… yes, that Michael Head.

I probably made a bit of a show of myself but he was a perfect gentleman and obliged for the obligatory photo aboard the 53 as a document of the time I met a musical maestro on Merton Road.

An even more bizarre encounter than the ones which have gone before came at the private hospital I’ve been frequenting for investigations into an ongoing back issue and a man in the waiting room having a similar procedure to me, an ex pro golfer originally from the town I’ve called my second home for twenty years and a fascinating guy but a rather sad figure; I’d call him a kind of guardian angel like the elder characters in Its a Wonderful Life! or The Golden Vision, sent to give me a message of sorts. I know his name but will keep it hidden in case anyone knows him… suffice to say he gave sage advice and I’ll remember him fondly.

Lighter moments and a new found fascination for the kids with Jim Carrey movies, just as the Home Alone house went on sale and a similar theme ran through the second best thing I’ve watched recently…

That I binge-watched Eric over a whole weekend whilst WW was- puppets and graffiti, what’s not to love? – which evoked the late Maurice Sendak’s beautiful Where The Wild Things Are, Sesame Street , Basquiat (and even our own travails of letting the first born walk to and from school in preparation for high school) all set in early 80s New York, a period which fascinates me. It also featured a cameo by a certain Bobby Schofield who I used to teach and I was so proud to spot him I reached out to commend him on his performance.

Many were uncertain about the lead character but he struck a chord, even wearing the same watch as me, and the music in there was epic. I won’t spoilt the ending – beautifully shot and soundtracked – so here’s another classic from the six parter.

Talking of Basquiat, I took the kids back to my roots for the degree show at JMU and was thrilled to see not just the quality of work on show but a Jamie Reid retrospective. He’d come to talk to us back in 2000 and we were thrilled to be in the presence of such an important artist and activist whose legacy lives on.

Back to football, and another massive heart in throat moment when E got scouted by a big northwest club in a tournament on the Wirral. I won’t say too much so as not to jinx it, but he performed superbly only a few days after falling out of bed and cutting his head open leading to a trip to Alder Hey (and a call from social services) so played in a bandage and it must have brought him to the attention of a representative of said club and we’ll see what happens there.

The nearest I got to greatness was trailing boots for Ryan Giggs and Reebok when I was twelve, so the recognition for him at merely seven makes me so very proud.

Next up, a fantastic gig by Richard Hawley, following his excellent new album (with the standout track for me being the brilliant Prism in Jeans) preceded by a visit to the impressive Renshaw St Food Market for a spritz, Mexican fare from Baja and excellent Chinese courtesy of Mong Kok (really) and the ubercool White Hart pub where I played the fanboy again, meeting one of my favourite graphic designers and an all round good guy. Check out his website!

All this played out over the opening weekend of the Euros, when football came back to the fore – predictors had been filled in, stickers tentatively collected, new kits ordered and excitement filled the household (well, half of it!) but the music was ten times better than anything German football pitches could offer.

Theatre of a different kind, though still loosely linked to events in Germany, came the following weekend with another date at a local am drama group and a great little short play at Lucilla House. We’ve been past the place hundreds of times, whether feeding the ducks or staggering back from the local (pre children) but this was our first foray inside and the performance itself, Figments was an excellent play within a play which started and ended with the Tales of the Unexpected theme tune so I knew I was in for a treat given how much I loved that series.

The lead character looked familiar… he had more than a look of my (and Elijah’s) current favourite footballers, Kvicha Kvaratskhelia, simultaneously impressing at the tournament, so I made a beeline for him when entered the bar afterwards to commend him on his performance and we worked out we had several mutual teaching friends and I’d actually met him in said local last year! Imagine the awe on E’s face the following morning when he pulled up alongside us on his bike and quizzed him about his favourite footballer… it must have brought him good luck as he went on to win the players’ player of the year award at the subsequent MarinaFest prize giving which brought yet another tear to my eye.

Africa Oye was an enjoyable day out, some great music and fun rides and a foray down ‘Bohemian’ Lark Lane, which was replete in the sunshine; IF was a great, thought-provoking and nostalgic trip back to childhood at the cinema.

Oh, such a Pangloss I’d become!

More tears of joy were to come when B’s team won the league and she got player of the match on the final game. As she nears the end of y6 and the transition into high school, we prepare for end of school plays, confirmation services and long goodbyes, I get the feeling there’ll be a few more of those moments from us all…

We end on another positive and the brilliant Inside Out 2, perfect for any of us with teenage or pre pubescent girls – Anxiety is an excellent addition to the brain-based emotions, and it prepares you perfectly, let me tell you – and as if by magic, one of the best characters is also voiced by the brilliant Ayo Edebiri, one of the stars of The Bear, who even directed an episode, of which the third series dropped last week on Disney+ and it’s quite simply mesmerising and magnificent in equal measure.

Some critics were divided when the new episodes were made available, with comments that it has slowed down a bit and doesn’t make the progress the first two series might have in its earlier episodes but the opener is so clever in recapping what’s gone before, and very beautiful in the plating, and the second episode is particularly intense, which is what I love about the series so much, and the viewing thereof was succeeded by the ever excellent The National at Glastonbury.

Now, I do love a bit of SZA, but this set for Sad Dads was the perfect headliner act of the weekend for me, even if Coldplay’s addition of Michael J Fox was the most emotional, but I said I’d stay upbeat and optimistic regardless of the circumstances, so won’t dwell on the sadness and tears that that moment also caused.

Later that week, a good omen was delivered when Frank Cottrell Boyce was named Children’s Laureate. Richly deserved, not just for his excellent books and plays and scripts and screenplays, but also the way I’ve seen him interact with young people in myriad circumstances such as open evenings as well as in the doorway of our local chippy… they were my own kids, and he was brilliant with them as he was with me, when our paths crossed at a literacy event a few years back and he gave the most enthusiastic speech possible about a statue he’d seen in the foyer of the venue on the way in to speak.

Finally, General Election time! I have to stay apolitical and neutral because of the day job I do when not ruminating on what to share with you every couple of months… but let’s just say we end on a positive note, too.

On to the next one.

We start, and end, with football.

Another Euros approaching, and the end of the season being nigh, football has understandably been high on the list of priorities in my mind this past few months, not least because Betsy has had a few games for the school team. They’re doing well, winning a few, and she’s trying her best (but is not the next Alex Greenwood, who actually attended the same primary school) and even turned her hand to netball in a couple of games recently, preparing for high school which we intrepidly await.

There was also the additional problem of yet another Everton points deduction, but there’s more on that later…

TV proved a nice distraction in the meantime. The very good Too Good to be True and the ever excellent Great British Menu, plus the sad news about Dave Myers, announced as it was the day after an excellent Liverpool based episode which I implore everyone to watch on iPlayer.

The best thing I’ve watched recently – which is also available on the BBC platform – was How to with John Wilson – like nothing else on TV – first episode about finding public bathrooms in NYC. Like a blend of Wes Anderson & Spike Jonze meets Found magazine (to which I was once a regular contributor) meets Louis Theroux… small details, like hand signals noticed among native New Yorkers on a daily basis akin to those used by baseball players. The Mets fan, with his glass collection and his recollections of his first game, took me back to NYC and the memorabilia I bought here (wish we could have gone to a game but it was close season) then forward to my own collections and son and our excitement as the new stadium comes ever more real, as does relegation and what would come with that.

And the hoover convention in episode 4 has to be seen to be believed… the ending is particularly poignant.

Other good things we’ve watched in the past few weeks? Passengers: Stranger Things meets Twin Peaks meets Happy Valley meets myriad other Netflix series with dismembered animals and odd teenage characters. I really liked it. As I did Red Eye, not quite real time but largely set on a flight to China (and it put me off flying for a while) then of course the return of Masterchef.

The kids had artworks in church as part of their Easter Art exhibition – a lovely lead in to the upcoming holiday. We went to see the new Ghostbusters, Frozen Empire, which I really loved as it evoked the original more than any of the other reimaginings. Technology has obviously made a film like this all the more possible and realistic, but it struck a chord with us having visited several of the locations featured heavily in it, such as the Hook & Ladder fire station and the lions outside the Public Library – who comes ‘alive’ in the film quite magnificently.

More ‘wow factor’ was to come later that week, as we were lucky enough to attend the Etihad Stadium for the Man City v Aston Villa game.

Little E has adopted City as his second team and obviously he’s thankfully oblivious to the suggestions of oil empire corruption which besmirch, for many, their greatness. What’s undeniable is that they put on a good show, both before the game what with the blue carpet arrival before a crowd whipped up by a brilliant DJ and then the game itself, a stellar performance especially by the Stockport Iniesta which reminded me of seeing the ‘solutions man’ star at the Nou Camp exactly twelve years earlier.

It was the little things I noticed. The vast campus with the training ground nearby, the bus loads of Sheikhs, the crowded megastore, the Asahi on draft, the Pierre Koffman fries on sale, the friendliness of staff searching bags, the myriad homelands of the fans being interviewed on the big screen. Surreal, but whetting the appetite for what we have to come in a couple of years if things calm down.

The moneyed Mancunian experience continued the next day, spending Christmas money at the Trafford Centre.

Twelve years of marriage was celebrated with our first taste of Mowgli – with some delightful orange wine…

very good, it was too – and it inspired me to recreate the Goan fish curry (stank the house out but tasted immense) alongside some delicious aperitifs at the elegant Municipal hotel, and digestifs at the very cool (though hard to locate) Nord.

The next day, more generosity of friends allowed me to enjoy / endure an Everton victory, notable for a freak goal and a chance meeting with the esteemed actor, Ian Hart. From his early role as Rabbit in the brilliant One Summer, via Backbeat and Boardwalk Empire, to more recent performances in Tin Star and The Responder, I’d long admired his acting and only a couple of weeks previously felt starstruck when we saw him going for coffee just around the corner from our house. Now, here he was stood skulking on WSAG island and we had a good chat before he obliged to a selfie.

More culture came with a great little exhibition at the Bluecoat, a retrospective of sorts, created quite brilliantly by Babak Ganjei. It was very ‘me’ but the kids loved it, too!

The real highlight of the holidays – well, to be honest, arguably also 37 long suffering years of support – came quite unexpectedly, as the best things in life often do. I spoke last time about my disappointment with the Blues on the commercial side; a couple of phonecalls and emails was all it took for them to restore my faith for now, but I’m not allowed to talk about it on social media, so that’s all I have to say about that.

The club may well be a mess off (and sometimes on) the field, but a day like the one me and Elijah experienced couldn’t have been bettered (well, a couple of players couldn’t be there, but the ones that did were fantastic both going through training drills and when signing autographs after the session) plus we were treated like kings before and after getting up close and personal with the first team squad, manager and legends of my youth.

I felt very fortunate to have been offered the opportunity not just to meet everyone and see the other side (hospitality, coaching, camaraderie and the human side of players – special mention for Coleman, Tarkowski, Keane, McNeil, Andre Gomes (who remembered hugging Betsy five years ago) and Youssef Chermiti who, according to Elijah, smelt of ‘fruit and flowers’) but also to see his excitement and the look of excitement and awe on his face when up close and personal with his heroes who seemed to really appreciate this encounter nearly as much as we did.

Whatever happens, I love you.

The very next day we visited the beautiful little Lancastrian town of Heysham for a lovely lunch to celebrate my mum’s birthday and, afterwards, the setting for – I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – the greatest music video of all time.

A haunting graveyard, in picturesque scenery, seemingly a world away from the maelstrom of football fervour. Imagine my surprise, then, that only a few weeks later, the bizarre worlds of Sean Dyche and Blossoms aligned with his cameo in their new video, which has to be seen to be believed…

Football, and Everton, are magic again – three victories in a week, the last of which we were very lucky to attend and I even realised a lifetime ambition of bumping into the King of the North himself, the great Andy Burnham whilst he was marching down the Goodison Road.

It wasn’t exactly a spectacle, but the relief as we left the stadium, to the beautiful strains of ‘We Shall Not Be Moved’, was palpable, and the excitement I witnessed on Elijah’s face at Man City, this scrappy victory which meant survival for another year, and the excellent Marine season closer as they approached their own moments of glory in the Liverpool Senior Cup and League Play Off Final, reminded me of the seminal quote from Fever Pitch which had a huge impression on me when I was learning about the game, and being a fan, myself.

“Football has meant too much to me, and come to represent too many things.

See, after a while, it all gets mixed up in your head, and you can’t work out if life’s **** because [Everton] are **** or it’s the other way around.

I’ve been to watch to many games, spent too much money, and fretted about [Everton] when I should have been fretting about something else. I’ve asked too much of the people I love.

OK, I can accept all that.

But I don’t know, perhaps it’s something you don’t understand, unless you belong…”

That Saturday evening, Elijah knew he belonged.

As I always have.