Into the week. I was working late at Connect on the Monday so I went in late in the morning.
I took the opportunity to use the Internet to check up on the Turner Prize. There I discovered that in 1998, the nominees were Tacita Dean, Cathy de Monchaux, Chris Ofili and Sam Taylor-Wood with the prize being awarded to Chris Ofili, whose works include elephant dung.
Why am I mentioning this? Well, you have to think back to Ross's recent gallery opening.
I also finished off the book I have been reading - George Melly's trilogy of autobiographies Scouse Mouse, Rum, Bum and Concertina and Owning Up. In chronological order they cover his growing up in the upper middle classes of Liverpool in the 1930s, life in the navy on National Service in the mid-late 40s and the jazz scene of the 50s and 60s.
That's sort of the order in which I enjoyed them as well. Interestingly, they were written in reverse chronology as though each one begat its earlier explanatory story. Though the Liverpool world that he describes was long since gone when I was around and, in any case, he describes a completely different class milieu to the one I grew up in, there are enough pointers in his descriptions for me to be able to relate to the scene. The final section was a chore, though.
I also planted out the plants that my Rossi gave me from his garden - poppies, lettuce, camomile, thyme, aquilegia.
The presentation to businesses was a success. I'm gradually underlining my reputation for being reliable and for being a team player - and, of course, for being a class act.
Wednesday lunchtime brought a concert at the Philharmonic Hall I went with my colleague Joe. The programme included Mozart/Piano Trio in B flat, K502 and Brahms/Piano Trio in B, Op 8. The Mozart was pleasant enough, tinkly, jolly, etc. The Brahms was a complete revelation. Although it has an early opus number, it sounded very assured and mature. I was relieved to discover later that we had heard the version Brahms had revised some 35 years later. The opening is heart-rending and nostalgic. It speaks to me of the depths of friendships sustained over many years, viewed through the prism of time and experience. And the slow movement is just edge of seat stuff. I kept thinking just where will this music go next.
And then the evening brought the UEFA Cup. Frankly, I couldn't watch.
I switched over to ER where there was a fatal shooting, a boy
with a triple by-pass operations, fire victims with 80% burns and
smoke inhalation, etc. It was much less traumatic.
You may remember that, when I watched the Cup Final on Saturday, I was in London and it was all very quiet apart from me. Up here it was very different. Coming home on the bus, it was full of people talking into their mobile phones saying
Just to let you know I'm going straight to me mum's to watch the match.
and
I'll have a quick shower and then I'll be round before eight. Are you getting some ale in or what?
About half an hour into the match, I went and did some weeding in the front garden to relieve the tension. All I could hear from round the various flats and houses around me was
Go on, go on, GO ON, GO ON, HIT IT, HIT THE EFFING THING!!!
Shite.
I'm glad to be back in my own country again.
Anyway, what celebrations there were in the end. And what a way for my daddy to celebrate his 77th birthday. Talk about Legs Eleven.
And my respect for Gerard Houlier continues to grow. Everyone in the commentary teams were saying that it had been 14 years since Liverpool had been in a European final. Only Houlier to my knowledge mentioned Heysel. Yes, the last time that Liverpool were in a European final, people died. He faced it, acknowledged it. And, with calm patience, went about suggesting that the team and the fans had had a lot to overcome
He's also quite realistic about the quality of the side. We are not yet as good as Manchester United or Arsenal he says straight from the heart. The league does not lie. But we take things slowly and we shall overcome.
I wonder what the French is for You'll never Walk Alone?
