A Close Shave
Hard to get up when the alarm sounded at 7.30 a.m. Monday morning, a mixture of excitement and apprehension cut through the fatigue. I engaged auto-pilot to prepare for our first break away from home since March. As the trip to Blackpool celebrated Phil’s birthday, this one to Southport marked mine. A trouble-free train journey was broken by a half-hour wait at Wigan, spent reading poems. Inscribed on the buffet windows, bright lights shone through peeling letters, making them hard to decipher. In Southport, we exited the station to gratefully remove our face-masks and walked through the busy streets to the apartment I’d booked.
in what turned out to be an eclectic area, the street buzzed with life. Boy racers lovingly worked on their car next door; a photo of Putin stared form a window across the road; minibuses collected workers (for field or factory?) in the early hours; vans delivered supplies to an Indian restaurant on the corner; two men navigated a cherry-picker to reach a roof, the blurb on the cab proclaiming ‘tree prooning’ (sic) among their services.
After a bit of a faff getting the room key out of the box with the twiddly buttons, we accessed the flat, unpacked, freshened up, ate a quick lunch, and headed back out to Lord Street. Perusing pubs and eateries, we were shocked how busy it was. So much for everyone being back at work and school! We confirmed a nice brasserie would be open for a birthday dinner and visited the quirkiest baccy shop in the land. With a window-display of clocks, watches and gaudy ornaments, the casual observer would never guess it actually sold fags. Across the road, a man on one of the many benches shouted at anyone within earshot that he was the mayor. “Well, he might be.” Quipped Phil. By the time we’d stocked up in Sainsbury’s, walked back and sorted the shopping, we were too tired to leave the flat again. Phil cooked dinner, we drank prosecco, caught up on news (regional travel corridors were now a thing) and cheekily logged into Netfilix to watch a film. I just about managed to stay up until midnight for him to wish me happy birthday.
Predictably scant sleep meant another weary start to Tuesday. A leisurely birthday morning (shared with the popstar Pink), involved gift-giving and my favourite brekkie before a short excursion. At the station, we waited in a queue snaking round the aisles of the booking office-cum-shop. Unable to see round the corner, we waited impatiently. As we navigated a magazine stand, we discovered only 2 people ahead of us, thus at a loss as to what had taken so long.
The regular stopping train took us to Hall Road. It was a short walk to Blundellsands, marking the start of Anthony Gormley’s ‘Another Place’ installation. Lots of space on the beach in spite of numerous people and dogs, we walked towards the sea. The soft sand squidged between my toes as we proceeded towards Crosby. A stick with rungs and a light on top stood in the middle of an inlet, as sand floated away in chunks. Fascinating as the phenomena was, we realised the tide was coming in, and unhurriedly started to retreat. Phil suddenly strode across a big stretch of water. Too wide for me, I walked back to a spot that looked more passable. And then my leg sank. Scared, I called out loudly to him. “I’m sinking!” “It’s only a couple of inches. Carry on!” “But my jeans are already covered to the knee!” “Trust me. I grew up round this stuff.” I gulped and went for it, inevitably sinking several times. Reaching safer ground, I was absolutely splattered! He had a similar experience but insisted it was because he was trying to get to me – likely story! Further along the shoreline we found a safer stretch to wash some of the mud off, then sat on concrete steps at the edge of the beach, to expunge more muck and dry out, thankfully aided by the warm afternoon sun. Concerned he’d only brought 1 pair of shoes for the whole break which were now soaked and muddy, he said they’d be fine “but Jasper Conran would not be happy.” Spotting the roof of Crosby sports centre (the starting point of our first visit to see the sculptures three years ago), I suggested we seek facilities. . Large signs on the beach access road pointed to rows of porta-loos in the carpark. A more comfortable walk back to the station, partly on sand, partly on prom, with a picnic break, enabled us to take in archetypal British seaside scenes. OAPs on deck-chairs, binoculars trained on the horizon (no doubt checking for illegal foreigners), summed it up nicely. In Southport again, Phil bought take-away coffees from a cheap bakery and nipped in Sainsburys for shoe-cleaning stuff. I waited in a small garden with an ornate fountain, fending off approaches from a man on the next bench. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” That got rid of him. Seated opposite the shop entrance, I observed a steady stream of taxis disgorging unmasked punters and drivers, until Phil finally re-appeared. “No-one knows what shoe polish is anymore.”
A Close Encounter
We finished the mediocre coffee with cake at the flat, showered, changed,and stuck jeans in the washing machine. Unable to fathom how it could possibly be a washer/drier as I’d been told, we hung them on radiators. Rested and cleansed, we headed back out for the evening. Hoping to catch sunset at the lakeside, we realised it was in the wrong place! We settled on wandering about in soft twilight, circuited Kings Gardens, round to the pier and onto the modern steel bridge leading back to Lord Street. Phil had booked the favoured bistro. Eating in an actual restaurant felt very special and I was comforted by ample space between diners and fountains of hand gel. But the experience was marred by an altercation at the end of our meal. A family group seated opposite, stood to take photos, and came within inches of our table. I politely asked a woman to move away which she did, only for another member of the party to make a show of brushing past Phil, making contact with his back. They then accused Phil of hitting them! Angry that my birthday evening had been ruined, I spoke to the waiting staff. Apologetically, they moved us to the back of the restaurant, allowing us to recover. They returned to present me with a pudding tray. Filled with every dessert on the menu and ‘happy birthday’ written in chocolate, it definitely made up for the unpleasantness! Too stuffed to eat or drink any more, we settled on a brew before going to bed.
The WHO said due to being too relaxed over summer, virus spikes were inevitable in the UK. Boris announced the new ‘Rule of 6’. From Monday 14th September, it would be illegal for close encounters of more than half a dozen people, indoors or out. Scotland and Wales followed suit but excluded under 12’s. Shocking testing delays were blamed on labs and, according to Matt Cock, on too many ‘non-eligible’ people requesting tests. He was telling us get them the other week!
Fruits De Mar
In spite of developing a sore throat in the early hours, I had a slightly better sleep and rose on Wednesday determined not to be ill. We walked to the far end of the lake, over small dunes and across to descend steps onto a marshy beach. Beinga careful of mud and puddles this time, I wryly observed that at least signs on sticks marked the danger zones clearly, unlike the previous day. We succeeded in hunting down samphire. Picking proved tricky without uprooting the plants. A woman with a pair of scissors inspired me to use the penknife attached to my rucksack which made cutting the greener tops easier. Assuming she knew what she was doing, it transpired during a chat that she didn’t. I’d hoped to get some handy tips but instead imparted knowledge on how to keep and cook the wild veg. Continuing to the pier, we walked on crunchy shells, wondered at a mysterious spur in the distance but couldn’t be bothered investigating. Climbing steps onto the boardwalk, a buffeting wind forced us to retreated inland. Hungry, we headed down back streets to the source of the best fish n chips, according to google, pausing to marvel at the Brexit number plate on a laundry van (someone actually paid real money for that!) and what Phil called the ‘worst Debenhams ever’. It was in fact the back door, although the shop itself was defunct along with all the other department stores. We took our bulging take-away trays to eat in the flat. They possibly were one of the best ever!
Stuffed again, we dozed on the sofa, freshened up and went back out to walk the length of Lord Street. Between the numerous dead shops, definitely significantly more post-Covid, most charity shops survived. Disappointingly, hardly any units were open in Wayfarers Arcade. We flouted the daft one-way system to capture fabulous shadows cast by wrought iron beneath the glass roof. At the far end of the street, we examined a plaque on the clock tower. Now marking the entrance to the Travelodge and Morrison’s, it proclaimed the site of the erstwhile station for trains to Chester ‘across the dunes. Puzzling over how the hell that worked, we deduced later that it explained the mysterious spur and vowed to make it a mission at a later date. Back in the central gardens, we sat on a bench, supped take-way coffee from Remedy, and laughed at the antics of drunkards and pigeons trying to look hard. We picked up a few supplies to supplement a picnic-style dinner before returning to the flat.
The samphire required copious rinsing and picking over to remove grit and hard stalks – so much easier when someone else did the hard work! Still, it went well with salmon and Polish bread from the shop round the corner. Despite being so tired I could hardly keep my head up, we forced ourselves to drink a remaining bottle of prosecco. (Well, we couldn’t take it home!) Preparing for bed, I forgot the phone in my pocket and did the classic thing of dropping it down the bog! Still working after a wipe when I plugged it in to charge, the screen went black. As it beeped alarmingly Phil entered the bedroom. He took the phone case off, and said “It’s sopping wet. How many times have you washed it?” Not wanting to admit what I’d done, I was evasive. He seemed to get it working but not for long. Eventually, I had to own up. He placed the phone on top of the boiler and it appeared to recover overnight. Later in the week, unused features activated unbidden. The screen reverted to black and muzak emanated from the mic. Trying to get the icons back, I took a series of random photos. Luckily, one displayed a screenshot saying ‘accessibility shortcut is on’ enabling us to fix the issue. Another crisis averted!
On top of Pizza Express closing 73 restaurants, Jobs were going at Pizza Hut and Lloyds Bank. Boris tabled theInternal Markets Bill, allowing goods from NI unfettered access to the UK and making EU state aid rules clear. Ministers claimed the bill was a ‘safety net’ in case of a no-deal Brexit. An amendment to the finance bill planned to give government powers to designate which goods from GB to NI could enter the single market and thus be liable to EU tariffs. Effectively overriding the Withdrawal Agreement, Brendon Lewis admitted it broke international law. Several past leaders railed against the government including Brown and May who said it damaged trust in the UK. Needless to say the EU were not happy: if the UK wanted a free trade deal, there must be “no back-tracking” and threatened legal action. At one of his daft briefings, Boris gave more detail on the ‘rule of 6’ and rabbited about ‘moonshot’ tests. Another ridiculous target of 10 million a day with results in minutes. Yet they still failed to get the basics right!. He announced ‘Covid-secure’ marshals in towns and cities. Not mandatory and town halls footing the bill, only councils awash with Tory cash would be able to pay them.
Back To Reality
Thursday morning, my sore throat returned and still exhausted, I knew I was in for another bout of sinusitis. We had no option but to get up and ready for the off by 11.00. As we made to leave the flat, piled laundry bags suggested the cleaner was already in the building. With an hour and a half before our booked train home, we wheeled our cases round town and went in the market hall. I remembered it was carp but not that crap, Not even a pie to be had! In need of coffee, sitting at a table outside Remedy seemed safer than a garden bench with the luggage. The tiny cup was a rip-off compared to take-aways. ‘Safe distance’ stickers marked paving throughout the centre. On the way to the station, one in particular caught my eye as layers of graffiti summed up differing opinions of the pandemic.
The ‘bus train’ stood at the platform. we grappled with the lack of baggage spac and did our best to sit comfortably during the unfamiliar route via the Covid hotspot of Bolton, alighting at Salford Crescent. During the wait for our connection, we negotiated the steep steps to the station exit for a snack. Surveying dismal surroundings, Phil laughed: “I see no crescent.” With little but student flats in sight, we wondered what they’d done with the natives! A better train whizzed us across the Pennines. the local park was now busy with after-school kids. Barely able to drag my case by the time we got to the house, we dumped the lot, sorted some washing and went to lie down. Alas, the first siesta of the week was thwarted by the relentless noise of men doing stuff outside. Unable to ease my fatigue, severe back pain or sinuses, I almost cried with frustration. Preparing dinner, I could hardly stand. Was it the fatigue or the fact we hadn’t had a proper meal all day? A few hours decent night-time sleep was disturbed by hot flushes and worsening sinusitis symptoms.
Genuinely ill Friday, I was resigned to a stint in bed. After a bath, I fetched the laptop and made a start on a heap of tasks including work on the journal and photos from Southport. Discovering the co-op website showed all current offers and enabled ordering to ‘collect in store’, the search algorithm proved illogical. By the time I’d finished the order, my slot had timed out. What a waste of time! I wrote out a list for Phil to go shopping the old-fashioned way. Attempts to rest were again thwarted by the interminable noise of men with power tools. Phil came to sit with me at coffee time. His phone sounded an alert and he made for the front door just as my new ipad case dropped through the letter-box. Only ordered the previous night, a text told him it was a coming a second before it arrive. They miracles of modern technology! I ate dinner downstairs and stayed up to watch films but retired early.
As the UK R rate reached 1 plus, local restrictions came into force for Birmingham, and Portugal and Hungary were added to the quarantine list. The new TIT App was to be launched 24th Sept. soon to be mandatory to take patron’s contact details, pubs were urged to display posters with QR codes for quick scanning. Amidst the Brexit wrangle, Liz Truss actually got her trade deal with Japan ‘in principle’, including PDO status for cheese. Her obsession had obviously paid off!
Saturday, I felt slightly better, but returned to bed after breakfast. The sheets really needed changing and dust expunged. I opened the window to get some fresh air, then shut it again sharpish against the onslaught of a blustery wind. I collapsed on the bed to recover before responding to an update from Elder Sis concerning mum’s affairs.
He displayed child-like excitement over Leeds United being in the premiership. Playing Liverpool in the first game of the season, it was a game of champions. They put on a creditable performance, losing by a narrow margin, in an empty stadium. Some lesser league matches had small audiences of actual fans but no pies – “What was the point of going then?” I asked.
On a very warm and sunny Sunday, I was still fatigued and unable to spend long out of bed. I edited photos from the trip and drafted a haiga. In addition to android sparking up features unbidden, leading to renewed Blue lines had appeared on the left side of my phone screen with issues on the key-press area housing the hash key. Phil concurred it was due to the dowsing and suggested I put it “in the hottest place you can find.” Moving it about in patches of sunlight the next couple of days improved the situation but I was resigned to the lines being permanent. It could be worse.
In the last hurrah before the ‘rule of 6’ came into force, several fines for gatherings were issued. Former PMs Blair and Cameron joined in the condemnation of Boris’ Internal Market Bill while a tory MP resigned and the Attorney General threatened to do so in the event of law-breaking. The fracas rumbled on into the following week.
Reference:
i. My haigas: https://wordpress.com/posts/mondaymorninghaiga.wordpress.com
The Corvus Diaries 