The Artist – Jonathan Greenbank

Summer is coming! The most wonderful time of the year, for many… including yours truly, after months of stress, slog and sleepless nights, six weeks of bliss slowly approach.

But before then – lots to tell about!

We start at the World Museum, and a trip to the newly renovated natural history rooms, when – around the same time – rumours abounded that Jonathan The Tortoise, the oldest known living land creature in the world, had died. Thankfully, though, the roughly 193 year old animal remains alive and well, the April Fool catching out many. And, talking of jokes, we thoroughly enjoyed the hilarious new series of Last One Laughing, as well as more of The Pitt and The Miniature Wife and the surreal yet very interesting Mint, a modern day Romeo & Juliet crossed with Trainspotting and La La Land. One of the best things I watched recently was actually Race Across The World, something I’d never bothered with before hand but became besotted with, with likeable couples negotiating their way from Italy to Asia amid some beautiful sights and journeys.

Talking of which, there has also been lots of football: a positive end to the season for Marine, runners up and then winners’ trophies for the boy and a hugely enjoyable training session at Hill Dickinson seeing the heroes and a robot up close. A fantastic match against Manchester City, less so in the derby – my first since Gosling’s Tic Tac goal seventeen years ago, E and my dad’s first ever – but the atmosphere before and the coach welcome will live long in the memory.

And that blue sky…

I have to say the end of the season was a bit of an anti-climax, really. It was good to see Seamus one last time, even if the Sunderland game was an unmitigated disaster, though thankfully we still had events in Scotland to enjoy – I can’t condone the controversy around the ugly scenes of pitch invasions and the arguments over VAR decision will continue throughout the summer, but the excitement of the championships both north and south of the border whetted the appetite for the world cup, where – even if many of the games will be unwatchable – many of the kits are worth looking at alone!

More TV, then: The Cage, a nice story set in our city and featuring a talented young man I used to teach; another series of the wonderful Tucci in Italy, featuring an incredible ‘Rock spaghetti’ cooked with sea water and rocks from the ocean; more Anthony Bourdain, to commemorate the anniversary of his passing and to whet the appetite for the upcoming film of his life; saying good bye again to Pep / hello again to new MP Andy Burnham being on the front of the papers in his retro Everton shirt.

Another great day was had at Comic Con, meeting La Russo Jr, and seeing some Dogpool merchandise that matched my Sgt Pepper’s t-shirt (more of which to come!) then high culture, at last: the amazingly powerful To Kill A Mockingbird at the Empire Theatre, a truly beautiful story presented perfectly and so resonant for these times. Then, a lovely article about holding hands, about how fathers stop holding their sons’ hands (we still do, thankfully, and I’m very grateful for that) which I read somewhat aptly on an unexpected day off to look after my own poorly son, and it linked nicely to the best book I’ve read, not just recently but for a long time: John & Paul, A Love Story in Songs by Ian Leslie.

It’s a very cleverly written take on their growing relationship and subsequent distancing, with every chapter a Beatles / Wings / Lennon & Oko etc song title. I loved that it started with McCartney’s response to Lennon’s death, that seminal day at the Dakota Building which had a ripple effect right across the world, even to a terraced house on Franklin Street in Lancaster when a little girl misheard her father’s shout down the stairs and recounted to her horrified mum that ‘Jonathan’s been shot’ but the coincidences didn’t stop there: there was the tale of Paul’s 21st birthday at his Aunt Gin’s house, which I didn’t know had been right around the corner from where WW grew up and my in-laws still reside, and also that Strawberry Fields Forever was written when John was filming Oh! What a Lovely War in Almeria, Spain – the exact location of where I read the entire book across three sunkissed days in the Spanish sub-desert.

We went away to celebrate a special birthday, and couldn’t believe how lucky we were to have chosen somewhere so picturesque, interesting and serene, with beautiful food and drink. We will be back because we all fell in love with the place and also the sometimes surreal smorgasbord that is all inclusive drinks and buffets from morning until night.

Coming home was hard, but the weather at least made it easier to acclimatise on our return, and there was another great piece of TV to enjoy – well, endure – with the brilliantly written and acted Tip Toe. It’s tragic that it tells the story of what many people suffer, and at a time when our country feels more divided than ever, it was perfectly timed for Pride month, and a time when allies like me are needed more than ever to step up – metaphorically at least – hold hands in support, like in this short film I regularly use to educate against hate (and, as if by magic, one of its main characters will be playing a Beatle in the new Sam Mendes biopics alongside another ex pupil!)

An innocent comment on Alan Cumming’s Instagram post, applauding all involved and how I will use the series to further develop my role, brought some very positive responses, thankfully proving that I, and all the Leos out there, are not alone. But, even more sadness was to come with the news that David Hockney had passed; the creator of one of my favourite paintings ever made.

There’ll be more on him, when the dust has settled on his departure…

‘Til next time, then… I’m off to watch the football!

Time will pass you by.

Life is just a precious minute, baby
Open up your eyes and see it, baby
Give yourself a better chance
Because time will pass you
Right on by (right on by) ooh

This big old world is spinning like a top
Come and help me while we make it stop
All you have to do is live for now
Come along with me, I’ll show you how…

The seminal Northern Soul tune has played a prominent part in the first quarter of 2026, partly because we had a great evening listening and dancing to it and other classics (more of which later) but more so because time has really flown recently. In case you missed it, when last we met, I was enduring – no, enjoying – Dry January, which I’ll definitely do again. But since that time, there have been loads of lovely milestones and moments that I’ll outline in the rest of this offering, another of which offers continuity from last time where I got to hear Sunshine of Leith IRL amongst the Tartan Army. But we can’t get ahead of ourselves!

The article begins and ends with me being respectful when coming face to face with Liverpool players present and past, as one made a surprise visit to school and seemed polite, articulate and humble. The exact opposite of the behaviours shown and the incredible scenes at the end of the AFCON final, which we stayed up late to watch and read up on the conspiracy theories.

Equally as entertaining was the finale of Normal People, I really loved the use of Love Will Tear Us Apart and the bit when Connell stood in front of the Vermeer painting The Art of Painting for a day, and it really resonated. Time passed him by. I also really loved Wonder Man, which I binged over a couple of days during half term, as time passed me by for once, and look forward to its return. We enjoyed Small Prophets, a gentle and surreal comedy, and – talking of profits – we had a wonderful day out touring Rob Gutmann’s cultural quarter pubs, meeting a cool couple from Blackpool (who knew Peter Hook, by coincidence) reminiscing their student days, all before a fantastic meal at Queen’s Bistro, a gem of a place hidden away on the picturesque Queen Avenue.

I devoured my first Negroni in months, time passing by again… then came the food. The bread and butter was anything but: sourdough, with lovely light and creamy whipped butter to smear all over it, before a triumph of a steak & fries / pressed lamb shoulder combo and a grappa before complimentary limoncello, seeing as we were celebrating. I had a great chat with our waiter about his tattoo and what brought him from France to Liverpool via London (hence the EastEnders-style ink) and we agreed Scouse girls are the best!

And, talking of Scouse girls, I was lucky enough to have a lovely day out with my other one, visiting the oldest Chinatown in Europe for the New Year celebrations (spending loads of money in the process!) and touring the street art of the Baltic sidewalks before going to the great exhibition at Bluecoat, Just Browsing, featuring some brilliant ideas and opportunities to interact with the artworks. A particular favourite piece was the Please & Thank You football scarves designed by David Shrigley. I met him more than twenty years ago, when I still had that creative spark and ambition to change the world.

Time has passed me by.

Which takes us nicely to World Book Day, when the annual tradition of decorating our doors at work brought the chance to celebrate my friend’s great achievement (and book) which was timely because of the continued brilliance of Mr Pickford and, recently, his teammates during a couple of fantastic home performances meaning we’ve fallen back in love with the place, especially with the bus welcome in the sunshine before Chelsea, setting the scene for a tremendous performance and victory. We even got a lovely message from his favourite player – about to have his own time in the spotlight, which he certainly didn’t let pass by – after he was kindly shown a video he’d made about him.

All felt right in the world.

Before that, though, was that great night presented by Stuart Maconie and performed by the BBC Orchestra and some very talented singers. The whole Philharmonic was up dancing at one point, they even created the Three Before Eight as part of the encore, and we’ve been listening to Northern Soul ever since. It makes me wish I was a few years older, and had been able to experience those all-nighters first hand, as much of the audience presumably had, so for them this would have brought back lovely memories, time passing… whilst for us it, was the first time.

Not so lovely memories were evoked, meanwhile, of schooldays and being forced to play rugby in the freezing cold because of the central storyline of the excellent Gone, a gripping tale with a forceful performance by David Morrissey at its centre. Better memories from the same time, though, came with the sensational first episode of The Pitt, which we’ll indulge in over the holidays, as it reminded me of Friday nights watching ER with my parents, then more recent ones of when the kids were little and we’d watch Disney films repeatedly, with the funny and very clever Zootropolis 2.

Then, last weekend, more trips down memory lane as E played against the son of a very famous former England international and Liverpool captain (let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and our team thankfully won, to make up for some of the issues said player caused me during his career) before a trip back to Goodison for the Women’s Derby, a great game and atmosphere, it’s nearly a year since we had last been inside but it felt like we’d never been away, then straight to Marine for a tense and ultimately disappointing screening of their semi-final. We’d pencilled in a trip to Wembley, so I was gutted that won’t be happening this year, and the news came in heart-breaking fashion in the 93rd minute – time, again.

Still, only a few days later we were back at Hill Dickinson for a very different experience watching Ivory Coast v Scotland. We also met another hero on the way in, time has served him much better than it has me! The Scotch fans were as I remembered from friendlies in the nineties: drunken, loud, colourful and friendly, and it was a great experience, especially at the Ten Streets Social beforehand, which we will never forget.

And, as if by magic, we arrive at our anniversary weekend – fourteen years, no longer apparently allowed to be called ‘Ivory’, instead it’s ‘Elephant‘ – and we return to where it all began, The Vincent Hotel, with this excellent choice of poem (Hour by Carol Ann Duffy, and read by one of my oldest friends during the ceremony as it perfectly encapsulates time and love) so we end this instalment with that verse.

Hour

Love’s time’s beggar, but even a single hour,

bright as a dropped coin, makes love rich.

We find an hour together, spend it not on flowers

or wine, but the whole of the summer sky and a grass ditch.

For thousands of seconds we kiss; your hair

like treasure on the ground; the Midas light

turning your limbs to gold. Time slows, for here

we are millionaires, backhanding the night

so nothing dark will end our shining hour,

no jewel hold a candle to the cuckoo spit

hung from the blade of grass at your ear,

no chandelier or spotlight see you better lit

than here. Now. Time hates love, wants love poor,

but love spins gold, gold, gold from straw.

Carol Ann Duffy

Happy new year to you all!

On the radio the other day, they were discussing the newly released NOW 122, and it reminded me how old I am – I remember getting NOW 14 – and also that I’d not posted on this old site for ages, despite keeping a draft in my notes to add to, whenever my own greatest hits (to add to the quarterly compilations I compose) have occurred. It’s been even more difficult these few months because my 300+ day Duolingo streak has mysteriously turned my keyboard Italian. Still, don’t worry: 2026 will bring more of the same: “the old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust”

Anyway, we go back to October half term – last year, before 6/7 took over the world – and the lovely River of Light festival in Liverpool. We actually spent the day doing a mystery tour of town, a type of treasure hunt, and it highlighted the amazing hidden gems the city has to offer. These puzzles are really enjoyable and I’d recommend them to anyone looking for a solo tour or a family day out to get to know a place.

The next day was Halloween, and rather than go out trick or treating, the youngest wanted to go swimming. We had the pool to ourselves, a rather surreal way to spend the spookiest night of the year, though quite apt in a way, given some of the scary films in which a character has been whisked away whilst nightswimming (and I was humming the REM song throughout the whole experience) which introduced nicely the viewing for the next few days: the entire Purge collection, and IT: Welcome to Derry, another sign that the eldest is growing up (too) fast. I then settled for more exciting and nostalgic viewing, The Fantastic Four, as I recovered from another bout of RFA that sadly seems not to have worked.

All life long, the same questions, the same answers.

Whilst lying on the sofa those few days, the new John Lewis advert dropped, and once again their sentimental seasonal offering made me cry as it connoted the halcyon days of youth – think Mrs Johnstone longingly singing in Blood Brothers, “we’d go dancing” but with a middle aged man in the leading role reminiscing myriad Indie Nights and Bugged Out! – but also the changing relationship with my son, which was reflected in my contribution to Stephen Graham’s excellent, heartfelt project entitled ‘Letters To Our Sons’ and even if my letter doesn’t make the book, I’m still very proud to have been involved. You can find out more about this brilliant project here.

To cheer us all up, a new series of Alan Partridge also dropped, with some seminal and hilarious scenes; I read the excellent The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton and revisited Bourdain for the umpteenth time; we enjoyed the upturn of fortunes for Marine, and a great win for the Blues away at Man Utd, then another great live dramatic production with WW at Lucilla in Crosby – and, this time with B – the excellent Wicked: For Good, which I enjoyed but was most excited about a poster I saw for the new Timothee Chalamet film, especially when he was on Graham Norton that evening dressed as a younger me:

You’ll probably have already noticed this piece is more about the on screen or stage creative arts, but there is some visual stuff coming up later, I assure you!

Talking of viewing, we finally gave into the urge of getting a Ring doorbell fitted (thankfully, the day after Halloween) and much fun was had testing it out, not so much getting notifications whenever anyone walked past the house because the catchment area settings were awry. Still, we were delighted to watch the Channel 5 ‘Play for Today’ Special Measures as it was directed by a very talented ex pupil of ours who admitted the story was partly inspired by his experiences whilst under our tutelage. Then, of course, the other TV event of the year and the return of Stranger Things with a real wow moment coming at the end of the first set of episodes to be released. This coincided nicely with another trip to Comic Con Liverpool and seeing several stars, the highlight of which was probably Elisabeth Shue.

Advent continued apace, nice experiences came and went, and before we knew it, the big day arrived, bringing with it a PS5 and an egg chair. To say the kids were elated is an understatement, but then to be fair they had made it onto the Good List this year, and the meal went went followed by parlour games and the obligatory turkey sandwich / Negroni combo I annually savour on Christmas night. Boxing Day, then, brought more ST (a slightly disappointing third instalment, truth be told) and then endless days featuring lots of lie-ins, chocolate biscuits and reflecting on some of the seismic shifts which had occurred over the year that was soon to end.

I can’t go on. I’ll go on.

Again, to keep it light – I enjoyed classic viewing of yesteryear (Rear Window, Hercules and Me) and a hugely enjoyable pantomime in New Brighton (the 6/7 jokes still make me smile) as well as an incredibly well made documentary by David Attenborough on Wild London (those foxes, amazing) which pre-cursed the arrival on our street of the beautiful ring-necked parakeets… and then, talking of escapees (if you believe their origin stories) ever-intriguing annual Netflix Harlan Coben series Run Away, making me reflect even more on being a father to a daughter, and the beautifully written and almost mesmeric Normal People (I know we’re years late to this beautifully romantic party, but hey) before the year was out.

We made it to Southport one day, too, and finally some art! Three wonderful little exhibitions at the ever dependable Atkinson, the first brought an aesthetically overpowering Salon style display of a plethora of paintings from the museum’s first show. Next was a celebration of twenty years of the Iron Men – the ones just down the road from us, the ones who I once spent a summer trying to draw all hundred (I gave up three quarters of the way up the coast) and who have seen our romance blossom and the kids grow up – as photographed by Crosby’s very own brilliant photographer Ron Davies (and whose wife was B’s midwife all those years ago!)

The final exhibition was probably my favourite, not necessarily for the artwork on show – glasswork and jewellery – but its inspiration and the sweets made in local factories, as well as the community projects, curated and co-ordinated by the artist Linny Venables. A particular plus point to these rooms were the wall designs accompanying the displays, especially the Chewits design above…

Last year was one of change, both at home and at the homes of EFC, and stressful situations at times, so it felt strange reminiscing how different things had looked twelve months previous. The real standout moment of the year was the cathartic sunshine of May and saying Goodbye to Goodison amidst the blue skies and smoke from the flares, the tears and the cheers and memories, and mixed fortunes on the pitch (and some people’s experiences off it) had made things a little muddled in whether the field was one of dreams or occasional nightmares. the second highlight was the very talented Lewis Guy taking the above photo which will soon be featured on the fan photo montage under the West Stand.

Even recently, it’s gone from the sublime to the ridiculous regularly, with moans about the logistics of travel and service following disappointments followed by hope and excitement with the next surprising victory. Even amidst the poor performances we have enjoyed encounters with several ex players, a talented poet / DJ and a renowned BBC journalist (who even very kindly gave E a programme!) and, whichever outcome has occurred, we stay to the end – getting photographed at long distance to highlight the emptiness all around – then, when we finally get home, to soften the often-arriving blows, we really enjoy the football of the Championship or even the Scottish Premiership. Downtime over the holidays afforded several entertaining games from the lower and alternative leagues, and the highlight of them all was probably the scenes after the thrilling Edinburgh derby.

Still, the sun was about to set on the bundle of contradictions that was 2025 and despite thoughts being with many others, we looked forward…

The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.

New year, new me, then… and doing Dry January offered the opportunity to save some money, improve sleep and hopefully make a positive start to 2026. So far it’s going swimmingly. I admit it was a little testing, having those three home games in a week which should have been enjoyable and celebratory but instead both frustrating and exciting in equal measure, though ultimately disappointing, especially for the little guy experiencing the highs and lows of seeing his favourite player score at last then witnessing (and losing) his first ‘live’ penalty shoot out.

I think you’ll find it’s actually we who see things they’ll never see.

Fail again, fail better.

Oh, and my other new year’s resolution is to read more Samuel Beckett.