Author: bigdunc09

‘Oh yeah, it was the start of the summer

It felt just like it was the start of forever

Oh yeah, it was the start of the summer.’

(Ash, ‘Oh Yeah’ (1977))

The summer started with sadness at certain situations; there was nothing more to say.

It felt like I’d aged a lot…

Thankfully I had the distraction of being a very proud judge on a reading for empathy awards panel, meaning I had myriad books to read in a short space of time. The majority were hugely enjoyable and it was nice to force oneself to read for pleasure, especially when one’s response was being considered so carefully. It was a real honour to be able to enjoy some real quality literature and I know it will stand me in good stead both in the day job and the night job, plus in understanding other life situations needing a deeper understanding of why people act the way they do. 

Around this time, though, things started to look up: firstly, Gomes signed permanently, and anyone who knows me understands how much I like him for how he treated us at the Hug-A-Thon he did last season but also he really impressed me on the pitch so it felt like there was more cause for optimism this summer. Here is a player who clearly really ‘gets’ us, as you can tell from his several films and posts and it’s a joy to see. Similarly, Signing three players from Barcelona in less than a year shows how things are changing, even if there’s still a long way to go, and all of them seem to feel loved by us, so much so it’s a new home for them (more of which later…)

Then came Father’s Day, and a reminder of what’s important: my first thing by the brilliant Hally and a hugely enjoyable trip to the new luxurious Everyman cinema in town, for the engrossing Mara/Dona documentary which made re-question whether or not he could have been the greatest ever were it not for the lure of the white line. Finally, the wonderful Fourth series of Gomorrah which I genuinely believe is one of the greatest things I’ve ever watched on TV – more on which to come – and Stranger Things 3 which had mixed reviews but we really enjoyed.

Talking of stranger things that have happened, the most surreal moment of the summer came on Crosby beach (on the hottest day of the year, no less, when the stadium plans were also revealed) as the past and future collided… somewhat controversially.

Preseason had been filled with glamour friendlies in luxurious locations between Europe’s finest. One such example was Chelsea beating Barcelona in Japan with the help of a goal by someone formerly of this parish. How surprised I was, then, that 48 hours later I took my kids for a picnic and a paddle on the sands near ours and who should be camped out in a windbreaker with his mum and her dog but said midfielder. I sneaked a little picture but really couldn’t believe that he was really there.

As we went for a danger-riddled walk over the hazardous quicksands for a paddle in the sea, it was even more unexpected that who else should be strolling down for the same experience but our Ross and I couldn’t help myself but ask for a photo with the kids who love meeting players but don’t really understand the relevance. I totally understand some fans’ resentment at the circumstances around his departure, but I’m really not bitter and try not to hold grudges (empathy?) so put him at ease that I didn’t want to talk about the Blues because I can only imagine how some fellow fans, had they recognised him on the promenade that day, might have spoken to him.

Anyway, he was a real gent with the kids and it was an honour to meet him but I’ll boo him just like any other opposition player when he lines up against us in December.

As I said, that evening the news broke that Dan Meis was ready to unleash on the world his years of work on Bramley Moore, and how the world fell in love with his designs. It was the little things that meant a lot: the brickwork, the tunnel walk, the myriad other touches you only noticed on the umpteenth watch of the video. That you could then go inside the stadium and see the views from different points, made it even more real… then, of course, the plans for Goodison were revealed and that caused more divide but still highlighted how special, how considerate this club of ours is, vis a vis the supporters’ dreams as well as its environmental impact and its local community’s future, something our near neighbours have shown a blatant disregard for.

We expect nothing less.

Trips down memory lanes and promenades etching postcards; spending warm summer days painting outdoors and enjoying nature close up; reminiscing via the help of the very brilliant Blossoms song, the stand out music video of the summer as I’d never seen Teen Wolf in the cafes and casinos of the Prom before… these really were the things.

Moving on, a wonderful trip to Manchester for the new musical ‘Amelie’ which was clever, gorgeous and whimsical in every way the film was… if not more so. I realised I’d not watched the film since before the kids were born which was amazing given how resonant the themes of the film, and the characters’ (Amelie’s and Nino’s) quirks were to my own: the romanticism, then noticing little things, the kneeling down in front of every passport photo booth they see. The show got it spot on and reminded the present author (and most of the audience for that matinee) of what a beautiful little story that fabuleux destin really is. To emphasise the point, we had a great day visiting murals, drinking in cool establishments, seeing old faces and new heroes and wondering if life could always be like this.

Later in the holiday, for the first timewe took the ferry across the Mersey to see the excellent Star Wars exhibition over at Spaceworld.

On the way there, I got all emotional when looking at the Bramley-Moore Dock area and imagining how it  will look in a few years’ time and how that’s what my kids and grandkids will know and hopefully love. 

On the way back to the train, we wandered through the graveyard of the church of St Nicholas and, seeing this, I realised it’s now exactly twenty years since I moved to the city.

Part two coming soon…

(“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself”)

Blue Laocoon is an alternative subtitle for this blog, because it sounds similar to B’s first mocktail – that she had on a recent holiday – and because it nicely summarises recent events experienced by the present author; look up a laocoon if you’re unsure (as I was when I first came across the word (describing Scrooge in ‘A Christmas Carol’, no less))

“Most people get a fair amount of fun out of their lives, but on balance life is suffering, and only the very young or the very foolish imagine otherwise.”

https://youtu.be/5sKMkgp2y40

I start with the art, and the Venice Biennale, because my folk are off there soon and I’m well jel. I really want them to take me some pictures of the refugee boat docked there, not just because it’s refugee week and that this exhibit has caused lots of controversy, but also because I think it’s a pretty important – and beautiful – thing to be on show, so should be lauded, not criticised.

The actual title of this blog post is the title of this year’s exhibition, curated by Ralph Rugoff and, according to this quarter’s TATE magazine “is a phrase that has long been mistakenly cited as an ancient Chinese curse invoking periods of turmoil – apt for our uncertain times.”

“Whoever is winning at the moment will always seem to be invincible.”

Talking of which, lest we forget that the league was won by Manchester City. I wrote last time about Pep and his class – http://jonathangreenbank.com/index.php/2019/04/28/homage-to-a-catalonian/ – something not always shown by the fans of his oppositions. That last day of the season was fraught, driving home as we were from a wonderful event in the home of A. A. Milne, wondering what was happening at Wembley… we can be proud and positive for the future.

“To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.”

The upcoming events, thought, were inevitable and had – sadly – been coming. The signs – the magpies – had been there for a while.

“Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.”

On a day out, To see some old football shirts, I proudly took pics of the little guy with a Morrissey poster, for his excellent new album (more of which later) that was somewhat surprisingly placed at our local train station. Little did I know that, the following week, someone should be so upset at the display of said advert that he’d get them all taken down in disgust, and I began to question not just my fandom of the said celebrity but also the freedom of speech I this country and the priorities of certain citizens and organisations. Whoever becomes our new leader is inheriting a messy place: ‘England, your England’ remains relevant today…

“In a time of deceit telling the truth is a revolutionary act.”

Talking of trains, a lovely moment came at Lime Street, when people were making their feelings and frustrations known… it explained a lot and was fully justified given other events.

“The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.”

To conquer something means to recognise and overcome the facts, and not everyone can do that. Meanwhile, battles are being fought constantly and some people go through some serious stuff without letting others know. I acknowledge that other problems – without said struggles – are unimportant. But still I write, and will let others tell their own stories in which ever way they feel most comfortable.

“Men can only be happy when they do not assume that the object of life is happiness.”

We were very lucky to enjoy a wonderful holiday in Crete with some great people, sights, food and drink… and reading.

The real highlights were the swimming, the sunshine, the beers, the butcher, Michael, the birthday drinks, the sunsets, the cocktail bar, the seaside lunches and entertaining meals and the quiet moments in rock pools and churches that said so much.

It’s funny that someone saw a photo of my traditional composition (beach towel, reading matter, beverage of choice) and said it would be impossible for me to have read something whilst away. I did actually manage to read a lot of George Orwell: enough to absorb his style of writing and to concur with many of his political views as well as to acknowledge his quotes enough to embed them in this article to nicely complement my comments on life as we know it. I found his style so articulate, so eloquent; sincere and concise but factual and detailed. I’ve never really thought about focusing on one writer, apart from the excellent Roberto Saviano whose equally fascinating collection of essays ‘Beauty and the Inferno’ also accompanied us to the island of Zorba the Greek (which we watched on our return: not what we expected, but hugely enjoyable)

“If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”

I particularly loved Orwell’s essays on the state of England seventy years ago, because what he said wasn’t too far away from what would be true today; similarly, his ideas about miners in Northern towns rang true with this year’s GCSE exam Language Paper 2 exam plus, to reiterate, his political stance is not too similar to my own at present, even if many disagreed with it at the time. Even Morrissey, whose ideas I don’t necessarily always agree with, shouldn’t be censored.

“Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.”

Talking of reading, this quote links nicely to my being nominated as a judge on the reading for empathy book panel. It’s quite an accolade and involves reading several texts which promote empathy; I’m flattered and proud and looking forward to it. 

“The essence of being human is that one does not seek perfection.”

“In the face of pain there are no heroes.”

“Doublethink means the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one’s mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them.”

There are lots of things I could say about these quotes, but won’t. Trials and tragedies happen for everyone; life’s never easy. Misinformation and fake news can make things worse, too… sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

Various events and bits of news at home meant that the irrelevance of random people achieving some things melted into insignificance and actual life took over for a long time.

As the great Forrest Gump said, that’s all I have to say about that.

“Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else.”

Escapes could be found, thankfully, online or in the dojo, which is kind of the point of the recently released series of Black Mirror and Cobra Kai. Both of these offered more of the same as earlier series – an escape using technology, or a nostalgic trip to childhood – but with extra discussion points this time, and both were highly enjoyable. I also fully engaged with The Virtues, another excellent series, though not always comfortable viewing… get on it.

“A people that elect corrupt politicians, imposters, thieves and traitors are not victims, but accomplices.”

I’ve discussed the current political situation already, so will just say that whatever happens in the next few weeks, at least we’ve got the new series of Stranger Things and Gomorrah to distract us. The latter has started with three incredibly tense episodes, all of which had fantastic endings.

It’s also festival season, and lots of new music to act as the soundtrack to our lives: many went to see the Spice Girls’ reunion, Take That etc… we, however, well we listened with intent and enjoyment to the new stuff by Richard Hawley, The National and Morrissey (him again) whilst marvelling at the fact that that band I used to do all the artwork for are preparing to support THE ROLLING STONES at the Metlife Stadium, new Jersey… a quick look on StubHub reveals that tickets are currently going for $200 each, which is a far cry from having them perform in the school hall for excitable y10s.

Instead, we look forward to quick trips to Manchester for performances of the new Amelie and Back To The Future musicals… ho, hum.

“Man is the only creature that consumes without producing”

We began with art and we end with art, somewhat serendipitously given that it’s nine years ago this week that I had my eyes lasered and therefore began seeing things differently.

I was excited for several months for the Keith Haring retrospective at Tate Liverpool and was not disappointed; indeed, I was elated that I could take my little boy to see it and whilst – as my old tutor, also there early on the first day, predicted – he was a bit bored after the first room, the bright lights big city style of the paintings and posters on show did engage him for long enough that I was able to spend long enough there to be whisked back to 2001 and our trip to NYC.

Retracing the steps of Haring, Basquiat et al back then – pre 9/11 – the city – the world – was a different place, and only some of Orwell’s comments and predictions had come true. We went to the Pop Shop and read up on what had happened twenty odd years precious in that neck of the woods.

Haring, himself was quite an outspoken artist but his childlike images were often overlooked without people getting the full message. I love the simplicity of some of the quite complicated statements he made, and that they’re now adorning the walls of an institution like Tate when all he wanted to do was really make murals with groups of kids.

“The whole beauty of the drawings were that they were so simple. They told a story that you could see from a moving train and you could get it.” (Keith Haring, 1989)

I also love the bus installation on the ground floor, El Autobus by Sol Calero, because Elijah absolutely loved pretending to drive it and it gives me the perfect excuse and carrot to keep going back there over the summer.

“Art lives through the imaginations of the peple who are seeing it. Without that contact, there is no art.” (Keith Haring, March 1984)

It’s not all bad, then… still lots of cause for optimism.

There are certain people who, at different points in my life, have been hugely influential.

Obviously, this list is led by my brilliant parents and sister; it also features my wonderful wife and kids; extended family; faithful friends; educators and colleagues plus single serving soul mates alongside many others. 

But I have also enjoyed relationships, of a kind, with several other people: some of whom I’ve met, and others I never will. I’m very curious, and easily inspired, meaning that throughout my life there have been people – icons, role models, call them what you will – who have been very important to me for some reason or other.

We all have people we look up to as kids: footballers, pop stars, wrestlers… heroes.

But I, somewhat strangely, also carried this trend on through my adult life. Call it OCD, or just weirdness – what you will – but I’ve got a few people of whose jib I’ve really liked the cut since growing up, too.

Often it’s their work or style I’ve taken a particular liking to, and therefore I’ve more than put them on a pedestal…. I’ve adored ’em.

Occasionally, I get to meet them and I have this out of body experience.

Never meet your heroes, some people say, but talking to / shaking hands with some of the great influences on my life has been a huge honour and something I’ll take to the grave. I’m talking about Eric Cantona, Liam Fray, Johan Cruyff, Sir Peter Blake, Duncan Ferguson, Richard Ashcroft, Liam Gallagher, Jeremy Deller, Pierre Koffmann, Andre Gomes, Grayson Perry, Tony Wilson, Tracey Emin, Leighton Baines, Jamie Oliver… the list goes on.

There are others I never got the chance to embrace, such as Joseph Cornell and Audrey Hepburn; Ian Curtis, Billy Fury and William Ralph Dean who, despite all being long gone, still left a lasting impression. Some don’t even really exist, but are characters: Billy Liar, Ricky Fitts, Alan Partridge, Daniel LaRusso… and still I love and admire them for their various qualities.

There are also a couple I don’t actually ever want to meet: Morrissey, Giles Coren (I’ll just try to copy his review writing style minus the political bias) Steve Coogan and Rick Stein, then there are a couple more I really would… Grace Dent, to discuss Cumbrian culture and exactly how she got her exalted position; Stephen Graham, Lionel Messi (naturally) and another Barca legend… which brings us nicely to the focus of this blog post: a day out in Manchester – exactly a month ago – to celebrate seven years of wedded bliss (and of my only encounter with a real hero)

I booked lunch at Tast back in December as a Christmas present, primarily because Pep Guardiola is involved in the Catalan restaurant.

I only vaguely remember Pep as a player.

I knew a bit about him and his tireless midfield role in the early 90s, but was more bothered about the attacking talent in the dream teams of the time. I learned about his prowess and reputation later on, and was to be disappointed at his inability to attend an Old Boys’ game at Goodison between Barca and Everton former players (I’ve still got the programme, he is on the front) but by then he was forming a new model of football as a coach and took the helm for a magical era of golden football, most of which I watched with agog glee and saw first hand one night in 2012.

It wasn’t just his style of football, though.

I don’t mind admitting that I have since developed a real man crush for Guardiola and his general style. He seems a thoroughly decent man, proud husband and father. He’s articulate, intelligent, likes the finer things in life. He’s a proud Catalan, too, wearing the yellow ribbon without fear to raise awareness, celebrating St Jordi every 23^rd April with a rose for his wife (and a book from her) plus he loves Oasis. And his clothes, wow! Now, it’s all Chinos, pumps, simple but stylish round neck sweaters or skinny t-shirts, basically everything I already liked wearing but cooler. I even modelled my wedding attire on the slim fit shirts and suits he used to wear whilst prowling the touch line at Camp Nou.

I don’t think I’ll ever get to meet him – properly, anyway. the above photo is a memento of our pre-wedding sojourn to Barca, when on a tour of the Nou Camp they offer you photos with digitally created characters and naturally I chose Pep so I could at least pretend!

Therefore, a restaurant with his name attached to it simply had to be top of my list for 2019, and so it was with great excitement we boarded the train to Manchester. I didn’t expect to see him there, of course, although as luck would have it FCB had somewhat serendipitously been in town the evening before so I did rightly predict the place would be rammed with fellow minded Catalans who worship the ground he walks on.

Before we get to the food, an aside: firstly, the title race outcome is irrelevant. This is not football, as a coach of a rival team once said to another of my heroes thirty four years ago, but food… no mention of the title race nor the Champions’ League, please. Of course, you can read my football chat elsewhere (if you dare!) but whatever has happened on the pitch – call it controversial – we just love the city of MCR.

Had one of our first dates there, I grew up listening to the sounds of it, admire the history and difference – irreverence thereof – and laugh in the face of those who insult it without ever having even scratched the surface. Regardless of – frankly pathetic – dated football, music, industrial or otherwise rivalries, it is a great city, so with great anticipation we boarded the train at Roby and got in early so jumped off at Deansgate and had early – before midday, that is – coffees and a cheeky G&T at the very stylish Atlas Bar under the railway arches.

Then, onto a painfully hip Manahatta – simply because it brought back memories of something we learned on an open top bus tour of NY during our engagement holiday almost a decade ago – as the name is the American Indian word for ‘land of many hills’, kind of ironic for Cottonopolis but hey, the cocktails set us up nicely for lunch. The sun was shining outside, and we could actually have been in the city that never sleeps.

Then, though, it was time to move on: we were now transported to another seminal moment in our history and our mini moon in the capital of Spain, the week after the wedding in 2012. Arriving at Tast, we were warmly welcomed and observed the passers by with interest. Seated by the window, the city that the partner of one of its adopted sons (David de Gea) once infamously likened to the back of a fridge morphed into Madrid, what with the sun shining, the posh King Street shops and the Spanish superstar skulking past the place trying to keep a low profile and seemingly horrified at being spotted by someone inside the cool-looking place on the corner his manager part-owned.

We also spotted someone with his wife and son, who looked remarkably like Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall – and it actually was – but forget the River Cottage, were there for the Spanish cuisine solely. And, of course, there was the mixture of Catalan and Spanish conversations on the tables surrounding the present author (critic?) savouring every taste of the food they were being served.

It being a special occasion, I was determined to enjoy the tasting menu available: probably better value for those who were dining here for the first time, though not for the couple on the next table who were clearly grabbing a quick bite to eat in the lunch hour before nipping back to work and knew exactly what to order… oh, to be that familiar with such a great place.

Anyway, here’s the menu we plumped for over a celebratory Cava:

And with so much choice, I was happy to leave it up to others to decide what we should eat (but ensured we had a go at the Duckin’ Donuts, a signature dish of the chef patron and something right out of Great British Menu times ten) because we didn’t want any stress of missing out on the various tastets; preferring instead just to enjoy the company, the scenery, the ambience – yes, admittedly, the quiet time – and the knowing we were close to greatness.

The early courses which really stood out were threefold, and for unusual reasons: the tuna belly salad reminded us of ‘spuke’, an unfortunately named concoction WW and her friends had first tasted in Madrid in 2006 and labelled it as such because of its likeness to vomitus. We’ve seen it in several Continental delis and bars since, but this was greater than we ever expected in the fifteen years since.

Similarly, the squid and duck egg was like nothing I could have imagined, with the coriander making it even fresher and unusual than first anticipated. Then finally, the mussels, cooked en papillotte in a plastic bag with incredible Thai style flavours – opened at the table for the full aromas – and accompanied by the most amazing pan con tomate for us to soak up the fragrant juices it arrived in.

The real revelation, though, of our lunch was the rice dish we had thankfully paid the surplus for as it involved rice, with steak and padrons, in a mushroom and tomato sauce served in a really thin, neat baking tray. It was incredible: the peppers connoted memories of the first night of my stag (when I saw Pep in the flesh, fact fans) because my best man had never had them before.

A week after our lunch, after a busy day – eight hours – trying to build an IKEA bed for B, I then tried to recreate it and did ok to be honest but it was nothing like the original. I enquired about the rice the restaurant used – just a basic risotto, so on a trip to Lunya I got authentic one with mushrooms in and the outcome was pretty delicious if I do say so myself.

After this, though, we were getting stuffed, so couldn’t finish the final main course of melty pork cheeks with parsnip mash and a chanterelle mushroom puree.

There were also desserts to be had! And not just one, but two, as my initial email had triggered a very thoughtful and much appreciated gesture of a separate dessert in celebration of our special occasion.

We sauntered into the sun very settled and satisfied… Every dish, moment, minute of those three hours had been enjoyable and unforgettable, but the night was yet young: we had a statue to visit; a really trendy Unabombers DJ project at the Principal Hotel – it’s called, refuge, just go and enjoy – to experience; parents to meet up with; a classic hotel to frequent and then a cool beans Cottonopolis to return to, after our first foray there, last summer (inspired by the TV series about a beauty salon around the corner)

Despite the eventful train journey home, the great memories remained… it really was a grand day out.

Gracies, Pep! And to everyone else who had a hand in it…