Well, we were cabled on Tuesday morning. After the Good Friday escapades with Richard, your more than friendly salesman, we wondered what the fitters would be like. 8:30am they arrived and what a disappointment. Excellent workmen but pretty canine really.
They left about 11am and half an hour later there was a ring on the doorbell.
Another team had arrived to do the same job and they were gorgeous.
However, we were strong and did not invite them in for coffee.
As we already knew, most of the Cable channels are pure crap but I have fallen in love with Live TV. If you are going to have crap TV, you might as well have crap that knows it's crap and is proud of it. News Bunny, the weather in Norwegian, Handy Hunks, Topless darts in space. Need I say more!!
There was little else of note until we fled the capital on Friday to head off to Liverpool. This was Ross's first visit so I spent much of Friday afternoon showing him round my bits of the city. We saw Egerton Street and Percy Street as well as some of the more touristic places like the Metropolitan Cathedral, which Ross informed me is now included in modern art courses. We had a pint for old time's sake in the Philharmonic pub with its Victorian marble urinals and ate in one of my favourite haunts from way back, the Everymen Bistro. Even though I've been away for a long while, I met and talked with someone I knew and saw a few more people from a distance.
Evening time we met up with Roland
at the Empire for Welsh National Opera's new production of Carmen. I
thought this was great. They'd gone right back to the Opera Comique
roots. It was sung with light, fresh voices and given with spoken dialogue rather
than the later orchestrated recitative. The orchestral playing was fleet
and pungent and the production matched it point for point. I'd have quibbles
about details here and there but overall it was more than worth the trip
on its own.
Roland then took us off to The Lisbon, one of Liverpool's oldest gay
venues, where we met up with a drunken Colin and I clocked a few more faces
from the past. We only stayed a little while and then headed off to Roland's
for an early night. We took the sofa bed in the spare room and gave it
a thorough testing. Roland was very appreciative of our glowing report of its
sturdiness.
Saturday brought a lazy morning and then a trip into town. We lunched at the Tate Gallery at the Albert Dock and then mosied round the exhibition of Post-War British art. There was little there for me. Off to the Walker Art Gallery for the Alma-Tadema exhibition. This is the Victorian painter who more or less gave the visual impetus to the first great cinematographers like Cecil B de Mille and D W Griffiths. His canvasses have a luxuriant use of byplay between foreground and background.
However, seeing so many in one place at one time was a disappointment. Frankly, you could tell that the man was not gay. There was no laughter in among the simulated sensuality. And camp? Forget it. And we're talking paintings of men in togas here. Nah, though there were technical triumphs, it was, on the whole, unbelievably dull.
Far more interesting was meeting up with a couple of people I haven't seen for a long time and chewing the fat with them. Ah, one of the things I always liked about Liverpool was its village quality. Apparently, they'd already heard that I was in town because I'd been spotted at the opera the night before.
Onwards, I purchased a few CDs and a workout video - yeh, OK, but it did
flaunt Marky Mark's body at you and that's worth a bit of wrist strain.
And we went to the Open Eye Gallery and the Bluecoat Gallery to see some of the
Video Positive exhibition. Some of this was very exciting and some pretentious
beyond belief.
In a round about way, we met up with Roland again and then Colin. Back to Roland's for something to eat and then back into town. We went to a pace called Time Out, one of Liverpool's newer gay venues. It was quite ordinary and probably a place I would have frequented regularly had I still been living there.
I knew (and had slept with) a number of the people in there. I could recognise Brandon, Don, Ross, Trevor and a number more. They didn't approach me. I didn't approach them. There wasn't really very much we would have to say to each other nowadays though five years ago we all knew each other very well. For the first time, I honestly felt like a visitor to my own city.
Sunday morning was once again quiet and then it was off to a pub in West Lancashire by the side of canal for Sunday lunch. We were joined by Phil who I haven't seen in an age and was his ever-cheerful self. There wasn't long enough really but it was good to see him again. I hope he takes the opportunity to come and visit us sometime.
Very soon it was back on the train and massive delays. Late into Euston and feeling shattered. But a good weekend nevertheless.
