KKI

A little pet project of mine is a photographic record of where I grew up, the places I used to go, and what's still there and what's gone.

I started snapping Waterloo before I moved, but today was the first chance I've had in weeks to do a little more research and reminiscing.

There was a place in Waterloo I used to play in behind the hospital that was called, bizarrely, "King Kong's Island". It's 25 years since I last went there - not knowing whether it still existed anyway. KKI was basically just a tiny wooded area surrounded by bushes and brambles. There was a small pond, and it was great fun building dams, dens and hammocks. The hospital was demolished and rebuilt on a smaller scale, whilst a nursing home was built at the rear.

But, you know, "King Kong's Island" is still there! Today's inspection proved it. I may have been a little cheeky walking through private grounds (actually VERY cheeky!) but I really didn't care. A few trees smaller, but looking much the same as I last left it. A testament to the theory that the builders don't always flatten everything in their tracks.

So this is an ongoing thing, when I get the time. Waterloo was like everywhere else today - cold, icey and very sunny. But recommended!

froze

I had a memorable conversation with Jayne a few weeks ago.

"Do you think the weather will as bad this winter as last," she asked?

"Nah, no way," I replied, "and anyway, it's not even winter yet."

Famous last words.

Very, very cold in Liverpool at the moment. I went out to de-ice the cars, like I've been doing for the past week it seems, and yesterday the temperature was a blisteringly hot minus eight.

The night before, I went out on a night-time bike ride that had more to do with relieving my anger about Liverpool losing to Spurs, than keeping fit. It was BITTERLY cold and even after I got home, the relative warmth of the house was a fallacy because heat could never really penetrate the arctic conditions we found ourselves battling against.

Luckily, we've only had a dusting of snow in Liverpool. That happened overnight, but the snow quickly froze to ice, and the side roads, at least, are treacherous.

To readers in Singapore, you're probably wondering what the fuss is all about. To readers in Siberia you're probably wondering what the fuss is all about too!

Us Brits have a reputation for being very "stiff upper lip". It's nonsense. We moan about absolutely EVERYTHING, and the tiniest detail that goes awry in our sheltered lives becomes a gaping wound, overflowing with puss, that near shatters our resolve to get on.

Personally, I'm not arsed anymore. Not a lot surprises me now. Life's too short to be small.

Queen

I was embarrassingly reminded of Freddie Mercury's passing on Brian May's website a minute ago. Nineteen years since Fred passed on - it's a sobering thought.

Sadly, I'm not as much into Queen as I once was. The blues influence in their music has put me out a fair bit. And a lot of their recent activity has left me cold to be honest.

The thing with Queen was they had the songs, they had the presence, they had the power but they blew the RESPONSIBILITY that Rock had blessed them with. Ultimately all they really wanted to do was entertain people and make a sackful of money in the process. They let Rock down in a big, bad way with that attitude.

Brian once described their gigs akin to something like the Nuremburg Rally, whereas Fred saw their live shows as an escape for people from their problems for a few hours. The reality was, frustratingly, somewhere in between.

Unfortunately, what Pete Townshend ascribed to for "Lifehouse" went totally past the heads of Queen even though they were in the position to make Rock change the world. "Live Aid" only showed a tantalising glimpse of their true potential.

Now all we're left with is 1974's "Sheer Heart Attack" album and a bloody awful West End musical.

bailout

As most regular readers will know, I'm a keen observer of what goes on over in Ireland.

But I'm not entirely surprised at the country's near financial meltdown. I lived in Ireland at the apex of the "Celtic Tiger" economic boom of early noughties and the place was awash with money and prosperity for the first time in the country's long and turbulent history.

However, as an outsider looking in, I always wondered what would happen once huge fiscal support from the EU dried up as new member countries joined the Union?

The result has been catastrophic. During the good times, I suppose no one could blame the flood of money used by the government for all sorts of weird and wonderful projects. It's just a tragedy no one decided to put a little away in case things went tits up.

I used to ask folk over there what would happen when the bubble bursts and they usually gave me blank, uncomprehending faces. They're probably still wondering what the hell to do now?

I can't agree with the mass of criticism against the U.K Government putting £7 billion into the coffers for the Irish bailout package. In one of the few times I'll ever agree with this coalition fiasco, we're protecting our interests in Ireland. So much of the U.K economy is paired with our Irish neighbours that not to help them out is tantamount to lunacy.

On a purely local level, most of the U.K's trade with Ireland goes between Liverpool and Dublin. So think of folk's livelihoods in our twin cities before anything else.

flat

I've left the flat.

It's been a great three and a half years there and, despite outward appearances, I will miss the place.

I'd had correspondence with the landlord, Cyril, for the last week or so, and it seemed he was playing his usual game of fobbing me off. The sticking point was two months' notice I would have to give on the flat to leave, which didn't seem at all fair. And before anyone says I signed a lease to the effect of these circumstances, I hadn't. At least not for the past 18 months. The terms of the lease have been something both me and Cyril abided to, in spite of it not being legally signed.

I really wanted to do everything by the book, but I just couldn't see the point in paying £600 of rent for a property I wasn't at. Both me and Jayne were seriously considering just doing a runner, but with grave foreboding......

Imagine my surprise when on Wednesday, Cyril arrives at the flat whilst I was cleaning up and packing the last of my bits.

He told me I'd been the "model tenant" and of the hundreds of people over the years he'd dealt with as tenants, I'd given him the least problems and was the only person in his experience who'd NEVER missed a payment of rent.

He was incredibly kind and warm about me and was willing to help in any way he could. So we've arranged for me to leave the flat officially at the end of the month. I don't owe him a penny, and vice-versa.

I've cancelled a few direct debits. All my bills have been paid up to the 16th of December, by which time my contracts with the utilities finish.

I'm now at Jayne's and we're in the process of changing all my details for stuff over to her address, and informing the relevant councils (both Liverpool and Sefton) of our changed circumstances. We're doing everything completely and utterly above board. As an example, I've to pay my car insurer an extra £178 to change my policy from Blundellsands, L23 to Fazakerley, L10. Not fun, but it has to be done.

The flat's served me very well. The moans about the girl upstairs, the traffic wardens, and the Weetabix incident are small talk compared to the positives I took from the place. I loved the area - the fact that one was five minutes walk from the beach was an obvious plus. The flat itself was incredibly sunny and bright. I loved nothing more on a summer's day than sitting on the step, sipping from a cold can of Coke watching the world go by. That part of Crosby was incredibly busy from a traffic point of view, but it felt so alive in being that way.

I felt enormously blessed to have the chance to create my first proper home away from home there. I worked hard at it and kept the place in as good an order as I could.

I'll miss it, I've had some great times there, and can only hope the next tenant gets as much feeling of it being their home as I did.

Hawes

More catching up. Here's some pictures of the weekend me, Jayne, Aaron, Bethany and Mum spent up in Yorkshire. I reached the milestone age of 40 whilst in we delighted in Hawes - a small market town in Wensleydale and nothing to do with partaking sexual favours with morally-defunct women. Hawes, however, is populated by inbreds.

There was a party at Jayne's Uncle Dave's for the family - everyone came up from Liverpool. It was a lot of fun and I was presented with a big cake!

The hotel we stayed at was awful. We'd been at Uncle Dave's, and arrived back at the digs before the rest of the party. Upon coming into the bar, it went silent - all eyes on us. A very unnerving experience.

A little later on, when the rest of our entourage arrived, there was a clear division between locals and us. They all stayed by the bar, sometimes looking across and snarling. I didn't really get hung up on the tension, and left the bar early, but not before who I thought was a punter tried to dance with Jayne's Auntie Viv. Viv was rocking her grandson in her arms, and this bloke came behind her and danced in a lecherous fashion. Turned out this was the landlord!

Our room wasn't too bad - clean and tidy, but the sliding door to the en-suite bog/bathroom kept coming off its' hinges and banging me on the head. Aaron and Bethany slept next door, in a room without functioning heating. It was absolutely freezing when I went in there the following morning.

On Sunday morning, we couldn't get out the place quick enough. The landlord was hanging around, pretending to be busy. His attitude was shocking - he just didn't give a shit. No apology for the previous night's antics.

Likewise, we couldn't wait to get off for home. Hawes was a nice enough place, but there was bog-all to do. We spent most of morning waiting for people to show up or not as the case may be, and when we got our chance, we were away.

Both me and Jayne said beforehand that we could have done without this trip because it was enormously expensive. And as much as we had a laugh, it was nothing we wouldn't have missed. But we should treasure these little trips away, because they're gonna be few and far between next year with saving for our wedding.

humbled

I'm playing catch-up again.

On Thursday in work, my colleagues did me proud by giving me a pre-birthday to remember.

As well as loads of nice prezzies and cards, they streamed the place full of balloons and banners - the pride of which was a huge pink penis, pictured below, that hung directly above my desk.

I've been genuinely humbled by my workmates' kindness and generosity. After 15 years together, I mustn't do them in THAT much!!!!

Thanx Ron, Ing and Mandy xxx

Rock

Twelve hours later and my ears are still ringing.

Cheap Trick are the masters of their art.

Rick's guitar playing was as potent and driven - brutally loud and obnoxious! Robin still has the voice to melt metal - effortlessly powerful and heartfelt as ever. Tom is the still the world's best 12-string bass player - viciously noisy and bold. Daxx (deputising for the peerless Bun E.) held all the madness together - providing a solid backbone to this remarkable quartet's brand of Power Pop.

It was the best gig I've been too - they were that good. It's said that sometimes you should never see your heroes in the flesh, you'll only be disappointed. Cheap Trick didn't disappoint me. They re-affirmed my faith in Rock.

Rock and Roll will save the world. I saw a glimpse of it last night. You read it here FIRST!

family

Things could be moving quickly. I say "could" because both me and Jayne want to get it right.

Ooops, nearly forgot, this is about my flat and not anything else....yet!

I hope to be moving into Jayne's officially in the near future. Some of my stuff is already there, so it kind of feels like home already. But neither of us are taking anything for granted. We know what we want to do, both Aaron and Bethany are on board, and we're going to do it right and legitimately (to the best of our abilities) in the shortest time frame possible.

For both of us this is a time for cool heads in the midst of our forthcoming future together.

We get on really, really well. We love each other to bits, we cuddle, kiss, bonk, pull faces and fart. Granted, we can moan like mad at the other, but this happens once in a blue moon now compared to a difficult patch we had over the summer. I stuck it out because I knew that Jayne was good - she still is and a lot more.

There's no triumphalism in what I'm saying. I know there are those out there who are by the wayside now and it'd be the most fantastic world ever if we could all please everyone all the time. Diplomacy has never been my strong point, and I feel I've been badly lacking in the last twelve months. No point saying "Sorry" because I'm just one of these people who never seems to learn.

I'm 40 years old on Saturday and I've spent most of my life basically doing whatever I've wanted to do - without forethought or needing permission to the point sometimes where I've all the tact of a bull in a china shop. But I can't do this any longer. I can't keep on being here just for me. It's just not fair on the few around me and the consequences are enormously negative should I have chosen a lone path. In fact, I'll contradict myself here and say those consequences in my forty years here so far could probably fill up Hell.

I'm not a bad person. I've just spent too much of my life avoiding responsibility.

Jayne says she knew when she met me I was "The One". In me, she's seen so much potential to be good and she's nurtured me into a half-adjusted member of the human race. I've never let someone in that closely. There's no downside to it, and the little changes I've had to make within myself haven't been too taxing. But Jayne encouraged that - sometimes subtlety, and sometimes quite in my face! But it's all been good.

In return, I've hope that I've given both Jayne and the kids a semblance of security and normality in their lives. Just as they give to me.

So after 40 years of trying, I've found "The One" as well. Funny how it happens?

This is why me, Jayne, Aaron and Bethany are all getting together soon. We're a family. And we're gonna make it work.

See you soon in Fazak.

Badfinger

One of my favourite bands of all time are Badfinger. Apple Records have recently re-released their back catalogue, which includes their 1971 masterpiece "Straight Up".

A more complete collection of Power Pop just isn't available. And I'm a connoisseur of the works of Big Star, The Raspberries and The Move.

The story of Badfinger is without doubt the most sad and tragic in the entire history of Rock. The band were royally screwed by their business manager to such a degree that it ended with the suicides of Pete Ham. aged just 27, in 1975, and Liverpool's own Tommy Evans, aged 36, in 1983. It's such a cautionary tale that anybody wanting to get involved in the music business would do well to heed.

But back to "Straight Up". Produced at separate sessions by both Todd Rundgren and George Harrison, it's Badfinger at the peak of their powers. Beginning with the towering ballad "Take It All" which alone proves that the previous year's "Without You" wasn't just a one-off. Followed by the power pop-standard "Baby Blue". Evans' "Money" and "Flying" hark back to Abbey Road-era Beatles. "I'd Die Babe", "Suitcase" and "Sometimes" all written by Joey Molland show the band's Rock side - the latter track a tantalising taster to what Merseybeat could've become. Ham's "Perfection" is just perfection itself - marvellous piece of raga-style power pop topped with an emotive Ham vocal.

Just wonderful! The reissue, a far more welcome release than any of the Beatles' current output, is joy itself.

And while we're on the subject of Power Pop, the great Roy Wood is 64 today. His protegees, Cheap Trick, lie in wait for me on Thursday.......

Chelsea

Ooooh, this was a bit special yesterday.

Fernando Torres claims he's not back to his best yet. So may whatever god opposing defences believe in help them when he's fully fit.

His second goal was one of the most sublime finishes I've ever seen. El Nino's precision curling shot was like threading a needle at the first attempt. True genius.

Easily our best result of the season so far, and yet Torres wasn't man of the match. That accolade, in my humble opinion, goes to Lucas Levia.

In much the same way the Skoda car was much derided until new management at Volkswagon turned the brand into a super-efficient motor, Lucas, under Hodgson's regime, has gone from zero to hero.

There were signs last season that the Brazilian was getting his game together, but yesterday he looked the finished article. Lucas thrives on doing all the dirty midfield jobs no one else wants, or has the balls to do. Single-handedly he nullified an expensive and creative Chelsea midfield trio to doing pretty much nothing. By being a pest - throwing a tackle, a leg, a body in the way of anything Chelsea threw at us - he gave the likes of Gerrard, Maxi, Merelies and particularly Kuyt so much time and space to express themselves.

This is a step forward for the team, nothing more. I still think Hodgson's too cautious for his own good, but when we're getting results like this I'll happily admit my erroneous judgment!!

dream

A dream come true. Jayne's old acoustic guitar was taking up too much space and didn't stand a chance in my hands.

glasses

I learn something new every day, and today's truth was that my Jayne wears glasses. Well, she's supposed to, but had mislaid her pair for nearly a year.

New haircut, new glasses....whatever next????? I'm eager to find out.......

Bolton

Nice to see Rafa's still got his Scouse accent and senseayuma.......

Talking a lot of sense there, but also massively contradicting himself. I think Rafa lost the plot for his last season at our place, in much the same way that Roy's not gotten the plot yet.

Back to back wins is a welcome relief. Bolton are the ugliest alehouse side we'll face all season, but we rode our luck a little and got a crucial win.

gift

Today, after weeks and weeks of badgering her, Jayne got her hair cut. And doesn't she look gift????


I said to her I wanted to be able to see and kiss the back of a bare neck. She happily obliged!

And because it was a home-haircut, guess who had to hoover up all that discarded blond hair from the floor?

Jayne likes it, I like it and the kids don't. Oh well, what a pity, never mind.......