The leaves turn and fall; memories remain, and I write about them before they fade.
‘Twas ever thus.
Summer passed by with a lot of cooking and DIY. I rediscovered Opal Fruits, listened to a great podcast featuring two of my favourite ever footballers, Pat Nevin and Johan Cruyff – both of whom I’ve been lucky enough to meet – and the return of the Mighty Marine – replete with their new mascot – on their new pitch, which I got to try out (and Elijah played on, more of which later!)
I also watched Mad Tracey from Margate, reminisced about going to a talk she gave with Sir Peter Blake and afterwards, giving her a copy of my homage drawing, Everyone I’ve ever Met Whilst Drunk which I hope she cherishes to this day. B turned 9, so we tentatively allowed her to start Stranger Things from the beginning which offered fresh insights, plus we watched Turning Red again on repeat, both on Disney+ and in real life, and the equally brilliant series 3 of both Breeders and This is Us – described by a friend as the cleverest TV series ever made, and I concur – whilst Elijah signed up to Marina Academy, which meant several new kits and weekends spent proudly becoming Soccer Moms and Dads.
Another great meal at Barnacle, the last of the summer wine – wholeheartedly recommended again, even though our favourite front of hours has left for the exciting new Hawksmoor Liverpool which we can’t wait to frequent – and a tear-jerking tour of Goodison Park, home for not much longer, during which Elijah’s walk down the tunnel to Z Cars will never be forgotten.
There also came his first proper birthday party, thanks to some virus’s interventions; a great new series of Cobra Kai; Andor, which I’m yet to fully get my teeth into… and then the seminal moments of the Queen’s death, at which B was upset after her communication with her Majesty earlier in the year, naturally.
The news also evoked clear memories of a summer spent working at Buckingham Palace and an unforgettable afternoon at Clarence House with the new King: most people know this story, but I’ll tell it again anyway as it seems timely. Twenty years ago, unlikely as it seems, I was a security guard at Buckingham Palace for the Summer Opening of the State Rooms in the Jubilee Year. It was a fascinating experience which I’ll remember forever, especially the many oddballs obsessed with the family and their apparent right to part of the property.
Years later, meanwhile, a Healthy Schools event saw me invited to Clarence House and it’s weird now to think that the dinner ladies and I were stood talking to the future King and his wife, in their house, looking at their photos and knick-knacks and even using their downstairs toilet. On the way there, I happened to bump into a famous TV chef, and I told him what our kids thought of him for his efforts to change school dinners but that I thought he was alright and even gave him a rewards ribbon that my future wife had made.
Back to reality after a surreal couple of weeks of mourning, Elijah turned 6 and we spent a nice day out in town spent spending his birthday money on football cards and bubble teas and we adapted to change, in more ways than one. Secondary schools were looked round, and I made the choice to go Gluten Free after months of discomfort and difficulties. It’s quite liberating and certainly the best decision: all my favourite things would appear to contain gluten, therefore things are more expensive, and things will never be the same again, but I’m actually excited about that fact.
Talking of things changing, to celebrate my own birthday, Elijah and I went to see the new stadium taking shape on the waterfront. That we were later asked to leave the grounds of the nearby Titanic Hotel where the LFC squad were having their pre match meal, presumably because we were both in blue, didn’t spoil an emotive hour spent dreaming and imagining how it’ll look in a couple of years when we’re there for a match. That it’s now becoming a reality, especially after seemingly years of (now very sheepish) others’ arrogant crowing that ‘it’ll never happen’ etc is another momentous life event that I’m seeing through the eyes of a little boy and I’m loving every minute.
We end very positively, then. I got to experience the newly laid 4G pitch that Marine call home, as E starred in a tournament on there one sunny Sunday. Meanwhile, my best mate of thirty-two years came to visit, my wonderful wife took me out on a date, and Stanley Tucci is back on the TV with his excellent Italy series so all is right with the world… just in time for the clocks to go back and darkness to arrive…
Two more months of highs and lows – ’twas ever thus – with myriad football kits, chance meetings with literary heroes, sad news about design ones, new series aplenty and a return to the eighties in terms of white socks making a comeback, TV (a night of ‘Boys From The Blackstuff‘, plus the wonderful ending (for now) of Stranger Things) music (Kate Bush on repeat) and various unions on strike, including the bin men which, coupled with the heatwaves, meant it felt a little like being in Naples at times.
Fathers’ Day was a non event too, as illness struck, but the family more than made up for that… it’s fair to say it’s been a busy and at times challenging summer so far. Along the way, however, I actually found the time to produce some artwork:
It was just a painted portrait, of a football sticker portraying a transfer that never happened, but it was nice to channel my inner student / Sir Peter Blake for a weekend creating an homage to a hero. Koulibaly then did actually leave Napoli, but not for Norwich, and it was great to feel part of something new; you can see the work online using the hashtag #TheNearlyMen and I’d also recommend you look at series such as Breeders, Il Blocco, Miss Marvel and the heartbreaking but still seminal Roadrunner about Anthony Bourdain, another hero gone too soon and I’ve written enough about him in the past but this offered some fresh insight into the man, his demise and his legacy from those who knew him best.
What’s bizarre is that I also got talking to a fascinating guy at a wedding last month who told me some amazing stories; being a writer himself, he’d worked with some A List celebs and had had a bizarre encounter with Asia Argento, but this isn’t the place to discuss that nor is it the right forum to share my views on a government schools’ inspection agency which paid a visit to work, either…
Talking of people who make things difficult, it wasn’t easy living for over twenty four hours without water due to a burst pipe a few miles away. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink – or wash with, or flush the toilet etc, and getting ready for a few days away meant this wasn’t exactly ideal preparation for a few days in Wales.
Still, we had a fantastic time with the family in idyllic surroundings reconnecting with nature and a more relaxed pace of life, at odds with the busy daily routines we’ve been accustomed to.
Small breeds farms, lovely old fashioned ghost towns and the real highlight was an amazing lunch in the countryside at a venue I’d recommend anyone in that neck of the woods ever should make a visit to a priority: The Riverside Inn at Aymestry really has it all.
Incredible service, including a waiter who remembered an awkward drinks order perfectly; fantastic food, from a simple-looking menu but with unique offerings such as Herefordshire snails (battered and deep fried, first time I’d had them that way) and an incredible blue cheese ice cream with walnuts. My main of steak sandwich with fennel, apple and truffle fries was pretty damn special, too: overall, perfectly befitting of a very special occasion for a very special person.
Back home, spending time at the library with the wee’uns to do their summer reading challenge led me into the poetry section and reminiscing: eras ending AOTS mean that not only has Elijah joined a footy academy, my barber embarked on a career change, and Big Dunc new challenges – even our local has changed hands – but also I too have changed roles and classrooms. I already miss some of the curriculum content, hence the verse reading of choice… anthologies of Seamus Heaney, Carol Ann Duffy and Simon Armitage, the latter of which reminded me of the word phenomenology and its relevance to so many recent sentiments.
Which brings us to the momentous occasion of taking Elijah to his first match and the tears it brought to all of our eyes.
I never really prepared myself for the enormity of the first game. I remember mine distinctly – Derby County, 29 December 1990, won 2-0 – but as a father, I knew it would be emotional and exciting but nothing like what really happened last Friday.
I couldn’t have chosen a better game. Well, maybe I could, as the first ‘Match for Peace’ was always going to be an emotive occasion against a Kiev team, with Mykolenko as our captain and with several thousand tickets having been distributed to Ukrainian fans, plus the fact it was my first sojourn to Goodison since that eventful night in May when everything was ok in the world for a short while. I even met up with a friend I’d formed a bond with over the last few years despite never actually physically meeting: we got on brilliantly and even found time for a kickabout in Stanley Park before the game, which added to the feeling this was a pivotal event.
Let’s just say he enjoyed the whole thing hugely, and so did I, even when he cried his eyes out at the noise of the crowd cheering the first goal of the evening and we were late getting home. Two days later and another match, a more relaxed affair of Tottenham Hotspur against Yorkshire Spurs in an exhibition match for a very good cause, meeting an inspirational figure from the Eighties…
Fine art, films, food and football. Meeting heroes. Over-elaborate title concepts.
When last we met, things were looking pretty precarious on the football front. Thankfully, at the start of the month a combination of flares, ball hiding and a dog being carried through a crowd akin to an Egyptian deity brightened things up a little.
Then, at the end of the month, more relief – but it would be wrong to dwell on such events, when there’s much more serious things going on in the world – yet despite the celebrations, the three goals back from two down miracles all over the shop (including Marine) I was still accused of various things online (for having the temerity to tweet about footy for once, for having a sense of humour, of apparently supporting 25 teams – more of which later!)
We start with snakes – not those in Parliament, just at a kids’ party – and go on to looking at sport, nay life, being the perfect analogy of these two (also at the party – an analogy for current situations, the tortoise and the hare!)
Politics rose to the forefront of people’s thoughts this month, with yet more controversy meaning that I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more riots in the summer should things not improve drastically. To try to distract myself from the debacle, I had a listen to the new album by Kendrick Lamar (I felt old) then reverted to Cream Classics (I felt young again) then watched the surreal Romeo & Duet one Saturday night and just felt irrelevant to today’s contemporary culture. Also, the much anticipated The King, aka Il Re, set in a picturesque prison, and the very entertaining Liam documentary about his return to Knebworth, which evoked memories of him signing a bollard sign for me and concurring that he was ‘f***ing cool’ which had some dark moments with him opening up about not remembering much. Thankfully, there was some solace to be found: the ever impressive Inside No 9 series 7, perhaps not quite hitting the bizarre and surprising heights of previous episodes at the start of the series but still, special stuff… then the last one – Wise Owl – came and all those horror moments of childhood came rushing to the fore. the animations in this last episode were incredible and it was refreshing to hear their creator explaining the process on the ever-fascinating Inside Inside No 9 podcast, available now on BBC Sounds. I’m so glad that new series have just been announced.
Talking of number nines, I have to share an account of an incredible night that culminated in a diving header by our centre forward as so many great nights previously had done: the soundtrack to which, was the greatest chant to re-enter the matchday hymn book since time began:
It was the background music to one of my best football related experiences in 37 years. That night proved the game isn’t all about trophies, seen lifted on a screen, nor glorious failures in second place and not even fluked penalty shootouts.
I swallowed (not wallowed) the nostalgia, recollecting yesteryear in case things were about to change drastically. They even played the Rocky tune before kick off, as if to underline the underdog theme, which stirred up memories of Stallone’s visit back in 2007. But, like the Italian Stallion himself, I needn’t have worried about anything after all:
I’m still getting the blue from the pyrotechnics out of various possessions and items of clothing, and Elijah’s still re-watching the behind-the-scenes footage regularly, but it’s still difficult to fully describe exactly how it felt welcoming the – what some might say workshy set of b******s – but even if they are, as the kids of Grange Hill once said about their art teacher whose niece I had a brief romance with many moons ago, they’re still ours and that night they were representing – preserving – much more than their own reputations… and then the aftermath.
Oh, that aftermath.
I didn’t celebrate the survival as I might once have, running on the pitch, but did revel in watching the elation; I fully enjoyed it and am not at all embarrassed about it. The catharsis was palpable, the surreality of the whole situation, and those that don’t understand don’t matter – some will never experience anything like it and now, more than ever given the weird ‘homecoming’ others were given, one really does equal at least twenty and I’d argue that supporting 25 teams* is a far more positive lesson for my son, developing a love of football as a sport not just one club and far better than being tribalistic, causing trouble, getting into Twitter spats and letting your life be affected too much by something you have absolutely no control over or anything to do with, even for those travelling without thinking, believing they can do something about it all when even our interventions probably had no real effect.
I digress… but let’s remember that no matter what an oddbod might have once allegedly said, it’s just a game, after all.
(*For the record, and in order, I’d say: Everton, Napoli, Barcelona, Marine, Boca Juniors, Wolfsburg, PSG, Marseille, Ajax, Preston North End, Lancaster City, Inter Miami, Argentina, Italy, France and Algeria – 16, maybe? UNLUCKY!)
Anyway, more important things to watch this past few weeks included: The Flight Attendant (intrigued how a second series will play out) the new lot of Stranger Things (slow, unconvincing start I thought but I’m growing into it and now loving the new style) and the much anticipated Obi Wan – episode 3 being absolutely incredible in terms of tension and excitement and overall replication of the style of the original trilogy, whilst episode four had me on the edge of my seat and was arguably better than anything the prequels and sequels have offered.
Much of what I have seen this month brought on symptoms of the titular infliction of increased heart rate, dizziness, fainting, confusion and hallucinations brought about by exposure to great sights. Said syndrome’s most common in Florence where people apparently regularly fall ill after experiencing the beauty and sublime of the artwork in the city, and it all reminded my nicely of my dissertation, now over twenty years old. It covered Ricky Fitts’ engagement with the plastic bag in the wind, and whilst a bouncing Goodison from pitchside, Kaley Cuoco, Dungeons & Dragons and Darth Vader aren’t quite as aesthetically pleasing as the Birth of Venus or the Mona Lisa (the latter of which was smeared with cake last month for some reason) they still brought on similar symptoms.
It wasn’t just viewing material, either. The beautiful, haunting new album by Michael Head (including that song about your phone running out of battery on a walk in Wales) had had a similar effect on my ears when first I listened to it, especially the lovely new versions of old classics such as Comedy, one of all my all time favourite songs.
Or maybe it was all just the long Covid, after all.
Much of the aforementioned was watched and listened to over half term, which started with a tranquil trip away – hotel, ice showers, spas and saunas, connecting with nature, great food, that sort of thing – and ended with a bizarre but brilliant street party for the Diamond Jubilee: now despite not being much of a royalist, I once spent the summer of the Queen’s Golden Jubilee working at Buckingham Palace. It was an incredibly memorable couple of months, which people still marvel at when I explain the details, and the myriad weirdoes I met there (working and visiting) meant I’ll never forget it either.
I do wonder what might happen to many of them, when this inevitably happens…
The people who stuck out the most were those who had a bizarre fascination with the family and a strong belief that they somehow should be part of it, either being born there or deserving part of the wealth and therefore being angry at having been apparently castigated. This obsession has always stuck with me but didn’t stop me allowing my own kids to start showing an interest in regal routines so I didn’t stop B sending a get well soon letter to Her Maj.
Indeed, we’d totally forgotten all about it until an envelope from Windsor Castle arrived on the carpet a few months later…
The post arrived in the week before our street party, and a great time was had by all. All very positive, until the sad news about Paula Rego’s passing.
On the anniversary of the death of another hero from my previous life, Anthony Bourdain – read my response here – I was saddened to hear that the genius painter had also died. I spent a lot of time studying her paintings during A Levels and Art Foundation and recognise that these are probably the more likely source of the syndrome I serendipitously named this blog post after. I loved the drama, the depth, the back story, the subtext and dual meaning which aren’t immediately apparent.
An obituary article in the I newspaper simply repeated a quote of hers:
“I always need a story. Without a story, I can’t get going.”
It also described her technical skill, creating images based on incredible narratives from Portuguese folk stories to Disney fairy tales. Meanwhile, she herself said that painting is like ‘being possessed with desire’; ‘What you want to do is make people look’ and she certainly did. I spent hours looking at this image in particular:
Her paintings, in her other obituaries, have been described as ‘visceral and unsettling’ which makes them almost the opposite to the ‘playful yet sincere’ comments made about some of my own artwork but we did have a link, after all.
I’d like to end on a real positive and my finally starting Stanley Tucci’s book, Taste. It’s started beautifully, replete with recipes for Negronis and his family’s ragu amongst other classics . As he explained his journey from America to Italy, his conversion from actor to bon viveur, they symbolised nicely the current signs of change.
Still, on a similar theme, I’ll leave the final word to our Paula: an inspiration to so many artists (and not just female!)
