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The titular quote is from a film I’m currently watching – it’s strangely familiar – and underlines nicely, the importance (yet also the irrelevance) of the hours spent composing my thoughts and reflections.

Still… ‘don’t look back in anger, I heard you say!’ Let’s accentuate the positives: the last thing I wrote to you, dear reader, the esteemed restaurant critic, Jay Rayner, read and liked my review of Roski; he told me so himself…

I felt on top of the world: just in time for our very own World Cup Final – according to the strange German, anyway – which was yet another moral victory, and set me up nicely for World Book Day, on which I coincidentally dressed as an even stranger German.

Still, the positives kept coming: the best news arrived out of nowhere when yours truly was nominated to join a judging panel for a national book award organised by Empathy Lab UK… it reminded me of the reasons I became an educator many moons ago – Mr. Novell and the quote by Atticus Finch in ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ – and I was proud as punch.

Plus, all of this was more than welcome when contrasted against the politics, soul searching, debates over exits and legal wrangles made the last few weeks seem a lot more difficult than it really ought to have been.

Despite the business of the everyday, I try my best to keep in touch (from a distance) with what’s going on in popular culture, if only as a distraction. I can therefore happily get excited about upcoming new albums for Morrissey, the wonderful (and highly underrated, although not by us) Richard Hawley – try to watch his input to the recent Sky Arts documentary, ‘A Film About Life, Death & Supermarkets’) and the band I believe to be music’s best kept secret, The National. Both they and The Courteeners have upcoming gigs not too far away, too, although I feel like those days are gone now.

“Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn’t want them back.”

Not when you’ve got Sky+, Netflix, YouTube Premium and Amazon Prime subscriptions to keep you entertained!

When time allows, I made it a New Year’s resolution to devote less time to watching football (thankfully) and more to the quality TV and film productions currently filling our screens and memory cards. I got very excited about ‘The Miracle’, and Italian series based on an innovative concept and produced by the same people as made one of my favourite TV series of all time, ‘Gomorrah’. I’m only one episode in, because you have to really concentrate and that’s often difficult after days spent teaching and marking, or dadding.

Much lighter viewing, although leading to similar frustrations, are the annual cookery competitions I love: ‘Masterchef’ and ‘Great British Menu’. I haven’t given up on the dream, in fact it makes me all the more determined, and do believe I’ll do something at least before it fades. And in the meantime, I’ll keep posting photos of our teas which I guess create envy and ennui in equal measure for some…

Everything… Nothing.

Honorable mentions this month go to ‘After Life’ and ‘Sick of It’, which were both very apt, plus the trailers for soon to be streamed ‘Stranger Things 3’ and ‘Cobra Kai 2’ plus my own little idea for the next series – if given the opportunity again to write an episode – of ‘Moving On’ about an evil neighbour whose daughter causes tension and upset then turns up unexpectedly at a stay and play session, causing awkwardness extraordinaire… that this should happen on the weekend of St Patrick’s Day – the first since my discovery I am a third Celt, therefore gave up lager for Lent and increased my Guinness intake for myriad reasons – is somewhat serendipitous, seeing as it was he who was meant to have driven the snakes out of Ireland. I’m sure the subsequent car scratch was an unfortunate accident too…

Talking of which, back to happier times, and the real TV highlights of recent weeks – the return of Alan Partridge to the BBC and some truly wonderful moments for those of us who have loved him since our early teens. The first aid sequence was particularly hilarious, but for me the classic moment came when his Irish lookalike appeared and sang some questionable ditties. The other – which also took me back to the olden days, but for different reasons – was The Bay, gripping and intriguing but also very nostalgic for me due to its setting and the very clever location scouts who have captured the character and beauty of Morecambe Bay perfectly.

Childhood and reminiscing would finally be the theme of the start of the Easter holidays, namely a trip to the cinema to celebrate the genius of Tim Burton and Dear Baby Jumbo. Spoiling my daughter with popcorn and selfies was special, but so was the storyline, connoting childhood trips to the circus and the initial awe of Disney classics as well as the countless visits to the cinema in my youth I’d forgotten about. We are very lucky to have a classic old picture house on our doorstep, beautifully restored and maintained and cheap as chips compared to the multiplexes others have to frequent but, aside from a handful of films for kids’ parties or the odd Star Wars episode we have really underused so far, so this couple of hours made me excited for the next few years as parents and introducing our little ‘uns to the love of cinema I used to – well, clearly ‘still do, and probably always will do’ – feel.

The other viewing has of course been (some) football, with some happy and not so pleasing resurgences. There have been many special moments from the likes of Leo Messi (over whom I admittedly swoon over, according to a colleague) because almost singlehandedly he has made football likeable again amidst the racism, the phone users and the tribalist twits who spoil things for us all. Still, I do maintain that the good will out

I’m trying to read as much as possible, too, still although I’m finding more solace and peace in lighter literature – definitely not newspapers – such as food magazines at present. Despite a difficult trip to the dental hospital and the pain and torture which more sweet things / decadent living will probably bring, I get very excited at this time of year by the new recipes and ingredients in season (especially resurrection-related) because Easter is pretty much my favourite time of year.

That we have just celebrated seven years marriage is not a mere coincidence; we married on Maundy Thursday, and have always held this period special.

New beginnings, light… first holidays, confirmations, celebratory lunches such as the one we look forward to this week, all the things that remind us of our good luck and blessings… seven years of really good luck, a true rags to riches tale.

I suppose it’s all a bit like the Easter story, isn’t it?

Nothing… everything.

This is another restaurant review, but first… I digress.

Ten years ago, I lost my voice celebrating a last minute winner; was turning thirty and (tentatively) planning a proposal.

Twenty, I was preparing for going to university: applications and interviews with heaving portfolios and the anticipation of living away from home for the first time in the bright lights of a big city.

Thirty years? Well, it was all Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Pat Nevin and playing the prodigal son in an assembly.

Much has happened since those turning points in my life… most of which, you’ve read about on this very site. But recently, as I’ve slowly begun to realise and accept that I will turn forty later this year (meaning that it’ll be two decades since I planted my roots in the pool of life) I’m understandably spending a lot of time introspectively looking back and then forward. It’s kind of like my own personal fourth instalment of the Back to the Future narrative, but without the hover boards or mad scientist.

In fact, the way I’m constantly going back and forward through time, it’s perhaps more reminiscent of Quantum Leap, which I loved to watch as a teenager. Pretending to be Sam Beckett and Al, I now theorise that I could time travel in my own lifetime because a recent lunch out brought back many memories and made me realise what life’s about: making the right choice at the right time.

We go back fifteen years, and a fledgling trainee teacher is supplementing his PGCE loan / grant / whatever it was at the time, taking a job waiting on in a hip city centre restaurant that his friend was working wonders in the kitchen of; said teacher is doing shifts on a Friday night and every other Sunday brunch.

Ok, you guessed it, that student was me. and, I’ll be honest, it was one of the only jobs I’ve ever looked forward to my shifts in.

I mean really look forward to: serving quality food in a stylish location with a great team of staff and generally lovely customers.

I truly was surrounded by some great people at Puschka. I was serving Hollyoaks actors – Lenny Henry and Dawn French even came in one day I was off – I also waited on Gillian Kearney, one of my earliest crushes when she was the Debbie to Simon O’Brien’s Damien. Juliette Lewis came in with her band. I also enjoyed Graduation meals there, took friends, teaching colleagues… the lovely bosses Glen and Doug, my fellow waitress Cait and I even got a wonderful godson out of my stint there thanks to the brilliantly talented chefs, Andy and Ange.

I learned so much there, about food, service, wine and people. It inspired me to apply for Masterchef – I got through the first round but my head at the time wouldn’t allow me the time off – to later dine out a couple of times a year at other special places and to meet all those chefs I was learning so much about.

All of this leads us to my return to the place, in its new guise, under the excellent stewardship of the incredibly inventive and talented Anton Piotrowski who himself won the Professionals version of the BBC cooking competition in 2012.

I knew it was going to be great, and planned the visit before Jay Rayner’s glorious review in The Observer back in November which led to over a thousand people – presumably hitherto unaware of the beauty awaiting them there – to book a table.

You can read the excellent and very accurate, based on the present author’s experience, here:

https://www.theguardian.com/food/2018/nov/11/roski-liverpool-use-any-excuse-to-eat-here-restaurant-review

I waited for the furore die down, finally making it last week, and before explaining what happened would just like to commend the place and many others on asking customers to share card details in advance. Working at Puschka, it was often annoying to get late cancellations, so I can only imagine how damaging it can be nowadays what with all the arrogant Trip Advisor idiots without tatsebuds – or, even worse, those who book several tables across a city then choose on the day – are running the risk of losing several quality establishments due to their selfishness or over-inflated self worth.

Anyway, we opted for my favourite table:

On to the food, and I’d been agog at the Instagram posts of the food and the beautifully decorated interior, which meant I knew some of the dishes that would be on offer and also what it would look like. It was almost uncanny – the memorable herringbone floor I’d mopped countless times, the views out of the windows, the wall where I used to write the specials (years before that same handwriting style made it big, another past life I’ve been reminded of recently) – but my first impressions were that this would form even more special memories.

Not having the time to fully savour the Tasting menu – we will be back for that – we ordered from the A La Carte choices and I was kindly offered a matching wine flight to supplement my meal choices.

With glasses of fizz we enjoyed an incredible ‘snack’ of marinated cod with green tea and ponzu, fennel jam and wasabi mayo on a wonderful earthy looking ceramic dish. The sourdough bread was a revelation, as was the hedgerow butter ( lovely pea green in colour and very fresh tasting) whilst WW preferred the caramel-appearing marmite butter that similarly, Mr. Rayner so adored (I didn’t, but I liked it a lot more than I expected to!)

At this point, we discussed the little things like this creamy butter and extra snacks and even the perfectly made bread that some lucky people might enjoy regularly but we really love about meals like this and feel almost sorry for those who never will. (Just on that, somewhat controversially, we agreed that for many it’s just laziness or lack of taste that prevents them, not finances. Roski does a set lunch menu of three course for £25. Lots of people choose to spend their money on other things – mainly material – overlooking the wonderful opportunities on their doorstep… but I digress again)

Starters were immense and we couldn’t have chosen better. I had the aged steak and fried egg; WW the incredible theatrical ‘sea food wreck’ replete with crab, pink and white fish, crayfish, Southport shrimps and a lobster bisque of epic proportions then topped with decadent caviar. The El Esteco Malbec I had to accompany the steak, matched it perfectly.

On to mains, and we swapped surf for turf (and vice versa) meaning I was the lucky recipient of a foam-topped delight featuring turbot, crab, tempura mussels (wow) curried shrimps and an incredible cream (I’m still not totally sure what it tasted of) washed down with a lovely Italian Gavi di Gavi, whilst my better half had opted for goat, sweet potato, burnt onions, turnips and what can only be described as a sausage roll beignet or something like it. Incredible, all the same… of course, we tasted each others but were both more than content with the choices we had made once again.

My mind started to wander… wondering, could I have worked here?

The level of service was immense. Back in the day, my patience and tableside manner meant I was a pretty good waiter, I think, but this front of house today was even more polished, knowledgeable, articulate and helpful; underlined by the final wine which was to accompany probably the best cheese board I’ve ever had (and that includes the colossal three tiered cake we had at our wedding, seven years ago next month (no itch) which we froze most of and were still enjoying months later!)

Said six cheeses were only half the story; I also got some intense figs, apple, onion chutney, delightful crackers half-buried in what might have been lemon verbena seeds? Crunchy and citrussy, anyway, and more of that brilliant butter.

Oh, and the wine. Not port, but an incredible fortified red from Italy (Aleatica di Puglia, Francesco Candida, fact fans) which I know because the kind waitress even wrote down the varieties I was tasting – both the wines and all six cheeses!

For the record -from left to right – they were: truffled brie; Isle of Man blue; Barkham Blue; Driftwood; Celtic promise and Tourgess.

Meanwhile, my better half had chosen Piotrowski’s signature dessert, a playful yet sincerely delicious and incredibly clever ‘Roski gone carrots’ dessert, a take on what helped the chef win his accolade seven years ago. A combination of carrot cake, chocolate soil, popping candy, orangey sorbet and an actual beautiful peeled carrot which bowled over Rayner and my own biggest critic.

Upon paying the bill, I shared my history in the place and discussed the changes which had been made; the decor; the design… I didn’t want to play the prodigal son again, even though it strangely felt a bit like being back home. We sent our heartfelt thanks and compliments down the skinny staircase I had gone up and down so many times, and I was surprised to learn that one staff member – she must have been there long after my time – was still there, and I contemplated how she might look upon the experience of working at both. I can only compare it now as a customer, though it’s somewhere I’d certainly love to visit much more frequently.

Acutely aware that the staff needed to clean up and not wanting to outstay our welcome, we walked out onto the picturesque Rodney Street pavement and on leaving, went for a quick digestif in a new(ish) whisky bar which was a bank when I lived in a flat upstairs but has also changed dramatically in those fifteen years.

As we left there, the staff of Roski came in for a post-shift drink! We thanked them again for their hospitality and again I considered that – if time travel were indeed possible – I might, once upon a time, have been with them, had things turned out differently.

A few more venues visited, I posted a self portrait with glass entitled ‘All Our Yesterdays’… because I’d forgotten a lot of the great things and people that I used to spend time around.

Mainly because there were some new faces I’d been introduced to in the mean time (and not those that Sam Beckett adopted)

The food, drink and ambience at Roski was like a quantum leap in itself and this was a day we won’t forget for a long while yet.

“Never lose sight of survival”

Lots has happened since last we met.

Ovens and dishwashers broke; special measures were removed and kids got sick then passed it on to us. I guess it was a testing end to 2018 / start to ’19, all about survival… Oh, and we had no choice but to laugh along with the ‘oh so’ loveables.

Frankly, my dear, I find it almost impossible to care – Morrissey – because I have much more in my life, as a great Christmas proved.

New Year would be good, too, and to make me feel better about the twelve months ahead I went to see the Marine v Lancaster match (I once played for the Dolly Blues) and then the same evening we started watching Luther which we loved. Then, a few days later, went to watch a pantomime which was excellent and the whole family was starstruck in the presence of a hero although this time it was PC Plum from Balamory) and – as if to prove my point about the pathetic idiocy of so many who don’t – got to a match, despite everything.

It was great to be back, and Bernard’s delightful chip harked back to the likes of Nevin or Pienaar, which was nice.

New year’s resolutions involved taking up running again – only a couple of miles along the front, a couple of times a week so far but I’m really feeling the physical and psychological benefits – and actually watching things, starting with Netflix’s ‘Sex Education’ which was crude and funny and – despite teaching the stuff – I actually felt was too young for me. A sign of getting old, as was the next streaming choice when I spent ages afterwards poring over the theories people were sharing about it possible being a representation of the challenges having children brings.

I was deeply disturbed by, but also really liked, Bird Box and the concept behind it. I was especially interested in the possible meaning or allegories therein, mainly of – spoiler alert – the fears of parenthood or links between social media and mental health. I even wondered if the titular birds were somehow linked to the Twitter logo.

However, thus far we have mostly loved ‘Kidding’ with Jim Carrey (directed by the dreamy and ingenious Michel Gondry) despite its dark undertones… plus, I also enjoyed the coverage of the spying by Marcelo Bielsa – whom I somewhat controversially wanted as Everton boss two years ago – which reminded me of a trip to meet Gazza at Bellefield back in 2002.

Getting a shirt signed for the now defunct Sports Bar in town, me and the rabid Blue chef arrived early and after we went through the gates excitedly, met said (now disgraced) superstar in the canteen as a young Rooney and his team mates watched on. We were then invited to witness a debacle of a training session, when Walter and Archie let the majority of the first team squad kick about aimlessly whilst Gascoigne trained alone and Gravesen had a laugh with us… pre-drones, we could have been spies, but who would have cared back then? I admire the Leeds boss for his endeavour and dedication, and begrudge Derby plus any other overly defensive team he has the ingenuity to unpick.

Anyway, back to school we went – plus ca change etc – and normal life prevailed, with a sojourn to the rather brilliant Bands FC exhibition in town which – if you haven’t seen already – featured similarly ingenious ideas about melding bands with teams and coming up with at times, very clever pastiches (sometimes using quite tenuous, but very intelligent, links) and all very beautiful. There are loads more examples of their creativity on Twitter and you can buy postcards and badges at the BME in the Cunard Building.

It was a nice reminder of my creative well, still existing somewhere in this country which we currently find in a terrible state. Since new year, politics has taken even more prevalence; whoever you support or vote for, the mess gets messier and its importance was mirrored when you watched the incredible ‘Hospital’ on BBC which documented the reality of life in the many diverse hospitals across Merseyside. Having been treated well by three of the featured hospitals, especially with the birth of my daughter and then the life-saving care for my son, it was a teary watch but then when we knew one of the families featured, it really brought home how lucky we are to have such care on our doorsteps.

Similarly, it’s thoughts like that which keep you sane in the midst of sporting disappointment of but any feelings being let down in some way, dissipated the following week.

The Andre Gomes Hug-a-thon was a surreal experience I’ll never forget.

First of all, it was a brilliant gesture by the club and the EiTC and I marvel at the good work they’re regularly doing. Mental health is close to my heart, both personally and professionally, so I’m glad they are making it so high profile when planning the People’s Place project. Anyway, I bought the tickets after a few pre-Christmas drinks, which was why I only bought three. I’ll be honest, my wife doesn’t know who he is and I was kind of hoping she could take a picture of me and the kids with him.

As it turned out, it was even better than I could have imagined (although she’s now gutted I didn’t include her) as we enjoyed a crazy couple of hours in the Alex Young Suite and the dressing room which culminated in what felt like stardom.

Gomes himself was a true gent, the event was very well planned and organised and it felt totally normal to hug one of the best players I’ve watched for a long time. That he has played with the likes of Messi and Ronaldo only dawned on me later, but he was so great with my kids and seemed genuinely humbled by the adoration he received on the night, I respected him even more just as a man and not a famous footballer with 1.9 million followers on Instagram.

It was that proud moment of the kids’ first proper trip to Goodison since being in the womb, and their first chance to see the splendour. Walking past the Main Stand, I was pointing out the plaques and the important names thereon. It was as perfect a first visit as I could have wished for… yes, we all know it’ll probably be all downhill from here.

At least they have been there, and were in this:

What made it all the more memorable was that we all featured on the summary film tweeted out a couple of days later, then in more detail on the official YouTube documentary, which was a tear-jerking surprise and meant we have the memory forever. This club of ours does do some amazing things at times, which makes the disappointments all the more frustrating, but heightens the love.

It’s a shame so many don’t get it; that we have something they’ll never have.

And, talking of which: wisdom!

AKA extreme toothache for a month: impacted wisdom teeth, culminating in a breakout of pericoronitis and subsequent sleepless nights followed by (somewhat expensive) emergency dental treatment and a real fear of what might happen at the dental hospital… plus, important allergies meaning that strong antibiotics resulted in the first weekend in a long time when that celebratory thimble of sherry wasn’t supped to toast the end of another successful week.

And, do you know what? I quite liked it.

I also really liked the quality weekends we’re enjoying, another new year’s res being kept to. Port Sunlight for a Quentin Blake exhibition; New Brighton in the freezing fog and a Jedi Training party I luckily attended with a mini Rey, which was just fantastic.

Oh, and then we gathered to finish watching the somewhat surreal ‘Supersonic Saucer’ after I’d started watching on my sick day, through the pain. It was a 1956 pre-cursor to E. T., in which a cute-yet-sinister flying saucer (Miba, apparently ‘an alien from Venus’ with strangely hairy eyes) flies down to earth to be looked after by three kids, one of whom can ‘read’ its thoughts.

Maybe this year of turning forty will offer a multitude of other new, unexpected experiences if this first month is anything to go by…

Regardless of the horror shows – on and off the pitch, on and off the screen, on and off the timeline – let’s all take off the metaphorical blindfolds, and see for ourselves rather than through the eyes of others (or just not at all!)