May 2006 Archives

TO read the papers you'd think it was only young people who get boozed up in pubs and kick off.
But the other day in Hell's Waiting Room, New Brighton, there was an almighty ding-dong between two auld girls both in their eighties.
The two pals - Marlena and Edna - got into a row about who should buy the next round.
Lordy, people were diving for cover as the biddies yelled at each other, effing and jeffing, each doing a fair impression of an Alex Ferguson 'hairdryer' rant.
And on Monday night Burly the barman blew his top in the music room while he was singing ...

IT’S vile the way cities arrange everything for the convenience of property developers – and let ordinary foot-slogging folk like me soak up all the strain, the filth and the noise of giant building projects.
Just recently I had to make an early morning trip to central Liverpool to review the newspapers for BBC Radio Merseyside.
Usually that trip entails just a short stroll from James Street station to the studios in Paradise Street.
But on the morning of Thu 25 May I found Paradise Street completely blocked off while construction on the useless huge shopping mall was cranked up a notch.

I LIKE a laugh as much as the next man.
And what makes us laugh? Well, usually, we laugh because someone is hurting.
That’s why we titter when we see someone fall over and bump their head. Or fall from grace.
Or when we hear people use the wrong words, making themselves look stupid.
Or when someone is humiliated in some other way. Tee, hee, hee ... eh?

SOME rules of life should always be followed.
The most important of these for any North of England person is: "Remember to have your tea before you go out for the night, drinking."
Thursday night was Slutty Hardman's birthday, but we couldn't go into our favourite pub, Hell's Waiting Room in New Brighton, for the knees-up.

I know I wrote the other day that telly had lost its magic, and that is broadly true.
But there are some stunning exceptions that stand head and shoulders above all the pap pumped out by the networks.
One shining example of quality has been See No Evil: The Moors Murders (ITV1 Sunday and Monday).

ABOUT this time of year, when the sun beams down on the petrochemical smokestacks alongside the M53, you can almost feel happy about life.
Almost. Well, at least it’s not raining …
But the big trouble is that life in our annoying little nation and the life of the world are both stuck in the same rut they’ve been in for years.
And that is not at all satisfying for any of us.

AN eventful weekend that lifted my sagging spirits …
Visits to Hell’s Waiting Room, New Brighton, featured on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
I am more and more convinced that passing through its portals – fittingly designed in the style of classical antiquity, by the way – brings about a phantasmagoric warping of reality.
You just don’t know what will happen in there next…

SO yes, most nights I’m still going into Hell’s Waiting Room, my favourite pub in New Brighton.
I dived in there late last night, when I got back from a 14-hour day at work (thinking about it, is that legal?).
Anyway, I was well knackered by the time I got to the pub.
First, I got talking to Celeste in the vestibule bar. She’s Irish, as many in these parts are, and her son is a Wirral councillor. (Well, was at the time of writing. We’ll see what the local elections bring.)

THE story of John Prescott’s sexual indiscretions with a secretary has been an absolute hoot ... on one level.
Suddenly, it was as if Jabba the Hutt had come to life in all his slimey lecherousness.
By the time you read this, Prezza might already have been forced to resign.