Last week, E and I went out on an adventure.
We set out early, replete with WSAG sun hat, for a couple of hours’ fishing, throwing stones in puddles and exploring the beaches five minutes away from where we live. We even saw Ancelotti’s house – and, I think, the great man himself, or a good lookalike, on a bike ride – and lots of businesses happily back trading, having re-opened to the relief of their owners and no doubt the government. Things felt good: soon, pubs will be open (I enjoyed my first pint the other day, probably too much… thanks, John!)
Also, shops are now re-opening and slowly other services return. People can even get their haircut. It would appear that things are going back to normal.
But it’s not normal, really, is it?
The masks on the faces we saw on buses and trains during that walk; the spaces between people on the pavements; the scared looks on people’s faces whenever there’s a cough.
Not to mention the horrendous few weeks we’ve had all around the world, involving continued injustices, statues getting pulled down or protected, violent clashes in every city it would seem, and frustrations really getting the better of people. A bit like 1968, then, but a less arty and cool version.
An R rated Black Mirror... Will it be this way forever?
The walk was a way of trying to do something positive with the little man, after a particularly difficult week of tantrums and toilet troubles, which after twelve weeks of lockdown weren’t just from him (joke) but parenting two little ones whilst trying to home school, keep working and remain positive despite myriad anxieties and missing people hasn’t always been easy… when possible, podcasts have again helped, particularly the Italia 90 reminiscences of Vincera which brought nice memories flooding back (more of which, later) and then Lockdown Parenting by Josh Widdecombe / Rob Beckett, featuring several special guests who just discuss what it’s been like with little ones this past three months.
At the end of each interview, with the likes of Jason Manford (whom my folks once met in Waitrose) Jon Richardson (who went to my school) and Chris Ramsay (no links other than Geordieness) they ask the guests to share their ‘Highs and lows’ and I’ll be honest, I’ve imagined being interviewed and would admit to having had loads of both. There was the uncomfortable moment when I got talking to the wife of a very famous local ex-footballer and now Sky TV pundit, because my little girl rode her bike quickly across his drive whilst said wife was guiding him out of the gates… all good stories to tell in the future.
Oh, and I locked us out of the house and had to hand over £120 to a locksmith to get back in.
Anyway, the highs. There have been many, and I know that makes me very lucky. Special moments with the family, discovering new skills, getting quality sleep in, lower workload (only just, mind!) perfecting ciabatta thanks to my new favourite chef, Barney Desmazery (also responsible for helping me through managing a week-long sourdough adventure) celebrating friends’ 40ths from afar and a film challenge on Facebook which got me thinking about the twenty or so most important films of my life so far.
I forgot a few, so by way of apology, these are they:
Other highlights included: White Lines; an amazing (and timely) evening of TV courtesy of the incredible James Baldwin documentary; a Trickett virtual tour of Naples courtesy of Now in Naples which has mad me start rewatching Gomorrah from the very beginning; Monaco on BBC2, bringing back lovely memories; the excellent and insightful Age of the Image with James Fox (it’s on iPlayer and features the wonderful work of Ron Mueck amongst other fascinating analyses) ; Lady Bird with the impeccable Siaorse Ronan; the discussion of Epicuras in one of the final (and best) episodes of The Trip; a Keith Haring documentary I’m currently watching on BBC2 and the ever lovely Reunited Apart series, the most recent of which was for a Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and was magical… and then a fantastic, personalised message for Lisa’s birthday from Richard Hawley:
I’ve achieved a lot… built two double wardrobes myself. Taught the kids to ride their bikes, Elijah to write his name. Made some chorizo for the first time. Forged friendships with new people in my life who’ve been very helpful, setting challenges and offering generously. Rekindled relationships with others from the past.
Stayed positive through troubled times.
The kids really helped.
And of course, enjoyed a fantastic Father’s Day when I got some amazing gifts and even managed to watch another instalment of the official film of Argentina ’78 whilst in the promised land of a bath… then came the derby, as a part of Project Restart. As disgraced rappers might sing, Return of the match.
On one hand it’s football in its purest form, players against each other without distractions… but on the other, completely artificial. The fake sounds and OTT commentary. The shirt symbols after myriad players – including one of our own, I hasten to add – had made a mockery of both initiatives during the peak… need I go on?
I digress. You see, there’s so much more to talk about. So much more to life.
An oxymoron of lockdown was my weekly quiz, bringing together via WhatsApp as it did a diverse range of men (and their families) who took it in turns to prepare and deliver a quiz at 4pm every Sunday. Technology only really got used correctly in the final week, meaning that every week we’d frantically upload videos of ourselves asking questions into the abyss and hoping people were out there watching. Mine were said to be too difficult, too cultured, but still it was a nice pick-me-up we all looked forward to and a chance to check in / have the drinks we would normally have been doing together at that time and learn something along the way.
I also celebrated absent friends’ fortieths and reminisced some of your and my halcyon days, Italia ’90. So many nice memories, both personally and collectively, some of which I collated for an article elsewhere. Here are but a select few:
The real highlight of lockdown, though? 25th June… a big day in my life.
For fifteen weeks, due to their age and health issues, I’d not seen my folks and them not their grandchildren (and vice versa) so nothing… until the good weather brought with it the chance for a barbecue and their good fortune at being able to be tested negatively for Covid-19 the previous weekend finally changing my dad’s mind. It was weird, but wonderful, for the kids and for me but most of all for them. The memories of that reunification meeting will stay with me forever; of course, for those of a different persuasion, it was an important milestone date too.
The crowds – very wrongly – gathered, and they all shared photos of their nights partying, thinking the rules didn’t apply. Tribalism begins at home: we objected, we got called rude names, they did even worse the following night but still, I thought not just of my own family but those who have died in the past fifteen weeks, what would they be thinking when they saw the crowds gathering at Pier Head? Aiming fireworks at – and cheering when they hit – the city’s motif? A building I recall looking up at whilst driving to the hospital for my first born’s birth (and on the return journey) and then a night of violent celebrations completely ignoring the previous four months of sacrifice from normal people like us AND those we stood out to clap?
The stupidity of football (and a minority of its fans) came to the fore and, whilst I acknowledge the brilliance of the team that won the league, I laugh at the idiocy of those celebrating it in certain ways and just hope – pray – their behaviours don’t bring around a second spike.
I’ve been more vocal about these events elsewhere, and don’t want people to get the wrong idea. It’s easy to get sucked into the vortex of negativity, but also hard to ignore a city getting vilified by a notable few… especially when it’s not for the right reasons. The majority are sound, whilst the others deny, excuse, reject, then begrudgingly accept and thankfully quieten down.
Merseyside, Merseyside and all that.
Thankfully, the month ended with a lovely little surprise message from an old friend about a very important person retiring. Therefore, I’ll end on a positive, and wind the clock back twenty two years to my A Levels and someone who made a huge intervention in my life possibly when I needed it most.
That notebook of film reviews…
The red v neck sweaters…
That admiration for Greta Scaachi…
The promises of cheese and wine (on which he duly delivered, I’m happy to say as it’s too late to get him in any trouble…)
Those conundrum questions at the start of the lessons… one of which making me admit I’d choose sleeping with Elvis…
The comments on my artistic titles…
The encouraging me to sit with a younger student every week and suggesting a future career path…
For these reasons and more, I would always say that Mr Novell was the reason I became a teacher. You only have to look at my well-thumbed and incredibly well annotated copy of Great Expectations – and my recent badge for World Book Day – to see the impact his teaching had on my understanding and my career.
How lucky we were to have him behind the desk at the front.
I hope DJ enjoys his retirement and watches lots more films, reads anything he hasn’t already, listens to new music, drinks loads of wine and feels proud of the impact he had not just on my life but countless others over the years. It’s funny that his name fits a fellow English teacher so perfectly… spellings and stories, the stories of our lives.
These past few months have been a story and a half, let me tell you…
But then you already knew that.
Until next time.