I write in agony.
Hallowe’en was spent in the dental hospital, the evening in severe numbness then pain following a double coronectomy, whilst the rest of the world trick or treated.
I’ve been through a few medical procedures in the past few years (some you know about, others you don’t) and I have to say this was the most daunting and most uncomfortable. Still, the recovery time at least allowed the chance for some rest – even offering me some quiet time to watch a film and, obviously (given the date) I opted for The Birds by Alfred Hitchcock, which I’d not seen for years and left me reflecting for hours afterwards on what it was all about.
Theories abound that it suggests the fear is eternal, never ending…
I disagree, and hope that in time, things should heal; pain, subside. Funny that it should be only five days, and then again exactly five weeks, since much happier times.
Turning forty had haunted me for months.
Years.
Ever since those fortune tellers – the stimuli for starting this blog, a decade ago now – suggested that it would be an important milestone, I was nervous about exactly why; everything else they intimated in that clever way of theirs had come true, so what would happen as I went over the hill?
As it happened, the usual stuff of life muddled things a little but overall, I needn’t have worried. At times it may have felt a little like The Upside Down, but my birthday weekend went by in a haze of happiness and exciting times ahead (including a lifelong ambition of visiting Sicily) and I was more than content to spend quality time with the family, Domino’s and Stranger Things then a classy performance by Man City which didn’t disappoint too much, given the gulf in class between our blues and theirs. It was a joy to be there (and in the programme!) and I certainly didn’t let it spoil the weekend – only saddos let their lives be dictated by the achievements or failures of those with whom they have absolutely nothing in common (it’s ok, the ‘real ones’ won’t be reading this) and instead celebrated in style with one of the nicest pizzas I’ve had for years at a new, authentic place just opened in Waterloo: Il Capitano’s.
The following week, more quality food at a much anticipated gathering of friends old and new (I’d even created a Whatsapp group to organise it) and was made up that colleagues and Uni mates could come together for an afternoon of great beers at the new Albert’s before an epic meal at Pilgrim restaurant, upstairs in the newish Duke St Food Market.
Just thinking about it now, not having eaten solids for forty eight hours and pining for anything tasty, brings tears to my hours but in a good way because I had such a great afternoon and array of wonderfully tasting dishes, inspired by various pilgrimages around the world and successful enough to first win Million Pound Menu, then, in the week before we visited, a richly deserved Bib Gourmand, that it will love long in the memory, even when I can actually eat something other than soup and Complan again!
That we snuck into the baby shower of an apparent Love Island contestant afterward, is irrelevant: what is more important is the generosity people showed me, including strangers on the other side of the country whose kindness will never be forgotten:
More class came the following midweek, with a trip to see the wonderfully haunting, dulcet tones of Richard Hawley. It felt alien to be cavorting on a school night, and en eye opener into the lives of others when routines are normally so regimented. Even if we had to leave early, it was brilliant, made all the more so because I got talking to another very talented musician who I really respect and admire and it was great to meet another of my heroes.
Bill Ryder Jones has had a colourful career and even if he wasn’t a good Evertonian, it would have been an honour to chat with him. Despite being castigated for kissing his hand, the classic tunes he was involved in and then the beautiful melodies he has produced since, make him a modern master in whose presence it felt great to be.
That night aside, entertainment felt a distance away: work commitments and other priorities made it difficult to find time to devote sufficient time and attention to the plethora of interesting looking things on TV. Still, a few documentaries, including the brilliant one on what Gary Usher has done with Pinion; ‘The Boys’ alternate superhero series; ‘Temple’ continues its brilliance… plus some classics such as ‘The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner’ and long time favourite, ‘A Taste of Honey’ plus of course the fantastic trailer for ‘Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker’ to which I’m already counting down the days.
Talking of the cinema, I treated B to a trip to the Plaza for the new version of The Addams Family and we both really loved it. Some of the knowing references to classic films of yesteryear, for example the frogs scene in E. T., and more recent examples such as ‘IT’ (which I also watched, and quite enjoyed, recently too) might have gone over many of the audience’s head – then there’s the impressive cast of voices, including one particularly apt guest appearance, and all in all put us in a great Hallowe’eny mood just as much as the dressing up as a zombie cheerleader for a birthday party, or our visit to the pumpkin picking farm which we thoroughly enjoyed… despite what was actually going to take place on the day itself.
I also loved most of Yesterday – one uncredited bit in particular, but I won’t spoil the surprise – although it left us with more questions than answers and felt like an Ed Sheeran infomercial at times… even started the somewhat heavy going Blade Runner 2019 on the exact date that the original was set (from my sick bed) and even found myself engrossed in the rugby World Cup for several Saturdays, even if the matches did evoke tearful afternoons on the memorial playing fields getting shouted at for not tackling enough amidst the freezing sludge of an abatoir’s off-shoot when I really wanted to be jinking down the wing with a round ball like my hero at the time, Pat Nevin.
Max Rushden summed it up nicely with this:https://www.theguardian.com/sport/blog/2019/oct/24/rugby-world-cup-england-new-zealand-max-rushden
and I was disappointed England didn’t win the final, as I watched with the oblivious boy, but sincerely hope it brought the bully boys (and teachers, one of whom isn’t with us any more) the heartbreak and suffering they gleefully put me through.
Still, let’s keep it light and accentuate the positives: the real highlight of recent times was a trip down the M62 for one of my main birthday gifts, a trip to what Giles Coren described as ‘the best restaurant in the urban north west’ and, after an evening spent at Manchester Hawksmoor, I would concur… https://thehawksmoor.com/locations/manchester/
I’d heard so much good stuff about the place that I made it clear that it would be my destination of choice for a romantic meal and I was elated to see that WW had booked us in for a Sunday evening, exactly one month after the main event.
it went better than I could have imagined, from the pre meal relaxation watching the birds go by (and said childhood hero on Pointless – with someone I met at Heathrow a few years back – wearing the exact shirt I’d brought to wear that evening) before the opener cocktails in the moody restaurant bar (even the stairs down to the toilets celebrated my life so far) to the entertaining neighbouring tables: the Shameless extras, with her in the knee highs with two handbags; him, the fringe and the Balenciagas paying cash from his shoulder bag… then the other side, the older couple who reminded us of a Gogglebox family who walked out when told there were no more roasts.
but I can scrub up well in my Sunday best…”
(courtesy of Mr Liam Fray)
The food? Others will tell it better but I’ll try to put in to words the glory of what I’d already ordered in my head a month previous, when I sneaked a look at the menu online. I don’t regret it and I wasn’t disappointed.
Three oysters each – the Vietnamese were an absolute joy – before an epic 900g Prime Rib which I’d never tried before, but had seen loads of signs for in Las Vegas and I now understand why!
The bone marrow gravy and beef dripping fries, plus the Caesar salad, accompanied it perfectly and I won’t share how much it cost – you can guess and tweet me your estimates – but, for anyone who thinks that it’s too much to spend on a meal… it probably wasn’t enough. The service too was impeccable, and they even acknowledged the moment with a nice touch which made it all the more special for me.
Following an interesting nightcap amongst the Cottonopolis glitterati in the Ivy, and luxury surroundings next to the Irwell in the shadows of the old Granada Studios (which conjured up so many memories of growing up) and the next day shopping and spotting the inflatable monsters who had infiltrated the city’s landmarks, it was all just further proof – if it were needed – that being forty is actually pretty great, despite whatever else might be going on…
Time, clearly, is the only saviour.