Author: bigdunc09

May’s Waitrose magazine was on the theme of Levant – food of the Eastern Mediterranean – but I discovered the word can also be a verb, meaning to run away leaving unpaid debts. In the many years I’ve been writing this blog, there have been a few instances when, by quirky kwinkidink, I’ve pre-empted something happening or the timing has been dramatically ironic. 

Last month’s was another example: my lauding of Carlo for being such a good egg, how much he seemed to love life in the same town that I also call home. Fast forward a couple of weeks and he’s gone, his time leading the blues and being generally fantastico and magnifico as if in a dream, dreamt by another, and I can only liken the experience to that time in 2005 when I asked a girl out and we had a lovely evening until towards the end of the night I came back from the toilet to see her getting off with her flatmate at the bar. I was over it pretty quickly, but recently told a class that anecdote and this past week brought the memories flooding back once again. Still, it was generally good while it lasted, however no amount of memes or emojis will bother me at all when some of the other things that happened recently, have happened.

I’m talking about the tragic sudden passing of my cousin; my breaking a rib, bringing constant pain and discomfort; the trials and tribulations of working with teenagers during these times and ongoing, overdue renovations bringing separate stresses.

It wasn’t all bad and sad during the rest of May, mind. New arrivals, wedding bells, huge strides in progress at school and nursery. In terms of football, end of season disappointment was quickly followed by positive play off results for two seaside teams close to my heart, and a third whose badge I love. I actually think I might have brought them luck that day, what with my choice of beer:

Earlier in the month we’d enjoyed a first meet up with friends for ages, an actual meal out and a trip to town to see the mixed bag of sculptures and murals that make up this years Biennial. There was also the lovely story about the menu being found inside the wall of a cafe being renovated, which made me think of my own restaurant based time capsule being uncovered in a hundred years’ time, too.

Talking of which, the work in the house (which will all be worth it in the end) has resulted in very little TV being enjoyed, but I was alerted to an amazing series on Netflix: Maradona in Mexico. It’s quite sad, at times – dramatic irony again – as he goes from singing and dancing to hardly being able to walk, but the fire and passion come through. A must watch for any Maradonistas.

I’ve also really enjoyed This Time With Alan Partridge, despite its mixed reviews, and the quite fantastic sixth series of inside no 9. A couple of episodes were breathtaking, as was the Jimmy McGovern series Time featuring several stellar performances, including one by a lad I used to teach (who was also in an episode of Inside No. 9) and incredibly intense.

Meanwhile, May had ended on a real high, with a day out in sunny town. It had felt like a lifetime since we’d sat in a beer garden and just talked, reminisced, like old times… marvelling at the surroundings and the fashion choices of many of the younger crowds around us. Some great new al fresco places have opened, too, so special mentions to The Entry Bar, The Roof at Pins, the fantastic souvlakerie Laros, and the beautiful Sicilian fayre of Cose Buone, bringing Palerman street food to St John’s.

The sun was shining, the Euros were coming, the GCSE TAG process neared its end and despite everything else, things remained positive. June took us for pizza, to Southport for more sunshine and slot machines, trains and a first trip to soft play for a long time. Beers on an Open top bus at the marina; my own take on souvlaki, barbecued nicely; the start of the Euros, such an exciting tournament so far… then, the sad journey to funeral.

I learned a lot about Marc that day: his early rugby career, his vast collection records, the wonderful music choices.

On the way there and back, I started to read a fantastic novel: The Swallowed Man by Edward Gorey , all about Gepetto and funnily enough in the same week that a Canadian fisherman was actually swallowed (and then spat out) by a whale; the fascinating autobiography of my childhood hero, Pat Nevin, just before the England v Scotland match… then, on Disney+, the brilliant Luca, on Fathers Day, just as Italy were emerging as the best team in the tournament.

Next came some long awaited beers in town, with friends I’d not seen for eighteen months. We enjoyed the footy and the catch up. Father’s Day came too, with a wonderful tomahawk… then it was all about the fortune teller wine and festival memories.

Next up: July, a bundle of contradictions.

I know I’ve said it before, but: yet again… I’ve been away, I’ve been working. But now I’m back: I need to know that you’re still there, and I need to know that you still care. And so, in the week that Mr Fray made his return to social media after a year-long hiatus, I too managed to stop marking and moderating for an evening or two and share an update on what’s been happening in the present author’s life.

The title of this piece is a little tongue-in-cheek – you see, not that that much really happened in April – but was itself inspired by a recipe shared by Sophia Loren via Rachel Roddy and refers to Petrosinella, a Neapolitan Rapunzel-style fairy tale (about a girl named after parsley) from an anthology with a hilarious translated title… look it up!

It could also kind of refer to some of the people whose paths I crossed this month, but more of that later.

First up: conjobbling. Susie Dent introduced me to this lovely word last month; it means ‘to get together for a gossip, usually over a bite to eat’ which is exactly what we did with my family. It was fantastic to see them again. Even if a black labrador did interrupt our picnic lunch by stealing a sandwich and licking the apples! As a thank you for introducing me to the term, I bought myself her new book. The month also brought with it lots of vacillation – another new word that the I newspaper taught me – and a dose of vaccination, but I’m not one of those so will leave that there so as to keep things in good taste.

Of course, this year I’m basing my monthly musings on the seminal Neil Sedaka classic, Calendar Girl, which contains the lovely lyric, “you’re the Easter bunny when you smile” and we had a nice Easter weekend, then it was also our wedding anniversary, so we had a grand day out in Southport (where it all happened) and enjoyed reminiscing. I even had an Easter egg made of Blacksticks Blue, one of the cheeses on our wedding cheese cake…

All this in the middle of a holiday during which work commenced on the house and we did very little other than learn to ride big bikes, build a trampoline (damaged my neck muscles, but it was worth it) and went for a walk past Richarlison’s house to see his dogs…

The kids also insisted we spend an afternoon doing a litter pick on Crosby beach, which yielded two bag fulls of rubbish and the flotsam and jetsam of early summer life there. Presumably this was groups of teens enjoying themselves after the stresses of the past year, and readying themselves for the assessments to come. It all made me think back to my own teenage years, the halcyon days of 1996, and foods that were popular then but had been forgotten about… but now seem to have made a comeback, via Iceland.

It’s been great introducing the kids to some of the flavours of my own childhood, but also to go back in time.

In terms of that period a quarter of a century ago, it also made me think particularly about the music thereof. I’m talking: Trainspotting soundtracks, evocative to this day; Sleeper gigs at the now re-named Sugar House, where a friend fell into a fire door; A Maximum High by Shed Seven, the background music to many a Friday night out, and then 1977 by Ash and that hidden track. All of these and more have been filling up my Apple Music library as I think back to my own GCSEs as I’ve been marking others’. Of course, it’s not all twenty five years old, however. I’ve also got into The Snuts and The Sherlocks to prove I’m still down with the kids… this was great timing, as I was feeling pretty old around this time as the gout kicked in again, causing severe pain at times and making me wish I was sixteen again, back when such notions would have been incredible.

1996 was also the summer of love in terms of Euro ‘96, and we look forward to another feast of football as we approach the upcoming tournament. Whilst I’m looking forward to the credits and the re-runs of the highlights packages, I’m refusing to collect the stickers (on the grounds that they now cost NINETY PENCE a packet, or 86p if you buy them in Home Bargain! I blame the ESL…) and have generally had enough of crowdless matches. There’s not been much to discuss in terms of footy – despite what some would have you believe – but when retweeting others’ views of the situation, and possible repercussions (therefore concurring) and subsequently voicing my opinions of the ESL, was faced with mundane diatribes and accused of self-importance, highlighting the irony of the whole situation perfectly.

Inspector Goole was so right… and so was Brian Labone.

Poor Karius, that’s all I can say on the matter.

Going back to childhood, I had an interesting discussion regarding Hedgehog Crisps because of something funny that happened on the way home one evening and we noticed a poorly hedgehog hiding at the edge of the church garden. My inner vet mode kicked in and we brought it home, fed and watered it and hoped for the best. It was a great feeling to see the thing perk up and wander around the shrubbery; even more so to see the delight in young eyes at their first view of such a creature up close, and the knowledge they had done a very good thing in caring for it so.

Needless to say, it couldn’t be saved. We buried it the following afternoon, happy that we’d done our best and given the poor thing a happier last few hours than it might have had had we left it where it was. They say, ‘never work with animals and children’ but I think this experience was the exception to the rule.

Anyway, the month ended with a surprise birthday party for Pooh Bear, a new home for the hamsters and a fascinating hour spent in the company of Carlo. We weren’t able to watch much this month, what with not having a TV, so this was the best viewing by far… of course, I know exactly where he lives, I’ve seen him driving around the village in his Black Badge Cullinan a couple of times now, and swooned secretly… the annual University of Liverpool Lucrezia Zaina lecture (thanks to her legacy – I attended another equally engaging example by John Foot a few years back) was full of insight, anecdotes and admiration – both his off this part of the world, and also my own for him: not just his career but his demeanour and, above all, class.

He told some great stories… it really was a tale of tales.

I’ll be back in touch again in a couple of weeks with what happened during the rest of the month…

Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles.

These were the opening words of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, apparently – I wouldn’t know, I’ve never read it – but happened upon the quotation recently and thought it apt for our current times. That they were initially part of a shocking text, but fifty years later perfectly represent the current situation, is a perfect example of how words can change meaning over time.

Talking of which, our washing machine packed in, and the engineer humorously discovered a rogue face mask was blocking the pipe in a symbolic sign of how the world has changed in twelve months.

The same week, this was in the ‘paper:

The extra time at home, then the trials of teaching, Carlo’s calm celebratory sip of what turned out to actually be tea (and inspired yet more kindness of strangers from Humberside) all led to a development in my understanding of coffee. My favourites, naturally, are Neapolitan. This investigation introduced me to the Cuore di Napoli project, where artists have reclaimed the city with beautiful red hearts and powerful statements, such as: ′′ Only survivors live in Naples. Living in the city is an act of resistance that requires method, organization, bonds, relationships and daily strategies” and this in turn connoted the volcanic eruptions which have taken place recently. This then transported me back to Easter 1994 and a school trip to Naples, Pompeii, the top of Vesuvius, too: Il vesuvio non uccide I suoi figli che gli dormono sul cuore’ (which translates as ‘Vesuvius doesn’t kill his children who sleep on his heart’) and that’s pretty lovely.

Talking of that part of the world… been doing loads of baking; got another burn on my finger from cooking pizza, to prove it. Had a go at Maggie May’s famous Scouse, for World Scouse Day. Perfected focaccia, did a great smoked salmon lasagne… but we’ve had to boycott Asda.

One Saturday night, a few weeks ago, I heard a strange scraping noise outside and went to investigate, but couldn’t see anything untoward. The neighbour then knocked: she asked if we’d seen the back of our car, as she’d seen an Asda van screeching off down the road.

Hours spent on the phone to police, insurance, local ASDA stores, were to no avail and at one point it looked like the car was a write-off. However, the power of words was highlighted again when a strongly worded e-mail to the upper echelons of ASDA UK’s offices led to wheels literally getting set in motion and the £2000 worth of damage getting fixed at ASDA’s expense and an apologetic gift card offer.

Next up, the first St Patrick’s Day when we could fully participate in the festivities celebrating he who drove the snakes out of Ireland, given that the DNA test I did last year stated I was 32% Celt. Elijah embraced the chance completely:

It reminded me of another beautiful statement, spotted on (and translated from) a friend’s t-shirt a few March 17ths ago: “mar na leitheidi aris ann” which basically means ‘we shall never see his like again’ – a powerful statement, with so much meaning and potential, often used in eulogies.

Lighter moments filled the month, too. The growing menace of Face Swaps and deep fakes via the Reface app, leading to lots of laughter (and some discomfort at how much I looked like the Mr Bean version of me, which really confused Elijah); myriad quiz shows, cookery shows, travel shows to offer escapism and dreams of finally getting to go places; the excellent start to The Falcon & Winter Soldier; the brilliant and absorbing The Flight Attendant; a reminder of pre-Covid times with the fantastic performance of Back to the Future – The Musical on Comic Relief, tinged with sadness for the great day out we had before everything changed.

I also rediscovered my childhood love of Subbuteo, and am pleased to learn not just that there is a whole new generation buying and selling vintage examples on eBay as well as the new versions, such as the women’s team and the VAR referees. I’m in good company, as the picture above shows… And, listening wise, I spent a large portion of the month accompanied by the haunting voice of Matt Berninger (of The National) I’ve just got onto the Keith Haring mixtapes so loved by Lauren Laverne on BBC 6 Music, an eclectic mix soundtracking the New York of forty years ago, so romanticised despite the seediness, violence and crime which engulfed it. I also have a new found love of Pavarotti, after hearing a performance on Scala Radio potentially even more powerful than Nessun Dorma, the anthem of the present author as a ten year-old, of Caruso. I don’t know that I’d ever heard it before, and found a translated version which made it all the more appropriate:

As if by MA-GI-CA (look it up), we arrive at Easter, probably my favourite time of the year – as Mr Sedaka sang, “the Easter Bunny, when you smile” – which this year is again a little different because of the social distancing and because of the work we’re having done on the house. Rebirth, new hope, fresh start… preparations for the renovations revealed a large hole in the wall – reminding us that bad things come in three, after the car and the washing machine, but also of the Shawshank Redemption which also came out in 1994, when I went to Vesuvius. You just couldn’t make it up.

Naturally, we covered it up with a (albeit homemade) Raquel Welch poster, just like Andy Dufresne did, in advance of the work starting.

Henry, the guy doing it ,accepted my offer of a coffee on the first morning, but explained that he prefers it with cream and honey. He settled for milk & honey, which reminded me of the hauntingly beautiful words of Rupi Kaur (a student introduced me to her poetry a few years ago) which were coincidentally probably the nicest things I read this month.

The power of words, indeed.