Bitter blues, brothel shoes and dinosaur rock!

It wasn't really the cold that bothered us; we left because the football was rubbish.

Honestly, the money those players are on, and all they can do is lumber around the park like a bunch of knackered pit ponies.

The most interesting things I noticed in that first half were the shoes of Latics' manager Roberto Martinez - brown winkle-pickers of the sort that the keeper of a small town brothel in Spain might wear. Nasty.

I can't pretend to be a style guru, though. So cold was it on the walk to the stadium that I nipped into a charity shop to buy a hat. I wanted a woollen bobble-style thing but ended up with a flat cap. Well, I suppose if you are going to buy something as unglamorous as a flat cap you might as well do it in Wigan.

Mitch reckons the cap suits my increasingly grumpy outlook on life. He might have a point ...

Anyway, we saw the second half in the 'pub ... as Mitch struggled to digest the hideous pie he'd wolfed back at the stadium. It's a nice pub, the Brick, full of friendly Wiganers, and Mitch enjoys talking to Wiganers. One lady told him we could "gerra buzz into t'town centre from't th'opposite side o't'road".

We took her advice and had two drinks each in the John Bull, a pleasant rock music pub which I know from my misspent youth in Wigan, then a bar called Number 15 - part of a small Lancashire chain apparently, and very beautifully lit and decorated.

After some chips, it was onto a train full of Blues fans back to Liverpool, en route for New Brighton in the case of Mitch and me.

There was the usual chanting and singing. I think we all know the subjects that came out of those blue noses. Bitter they might be, but they did smile as they sang and chanted.

All the same, I don't think Steven Gerrard would have enjoyed the train journey back to Scouseland, nor any Koppite, nor anyone sensitive about Heysel and Hillsborough (and, of course, plenty of people, rightly, are).

When we got to New Brighton it was off to Peggy's where there was not only a very good live singer and guitarist on (for once not over-amplified) but also some decent tunes played when our singer took a break. The guy in charge of the music played some Style Council for me ('Shout To The Top!') and I was made up.

Interestingly, Peggy's now seems to serve hot food event quite late on, and prepared by a very pretty cook called Lucy.

Rather impishly, the singer announced from the stage that "Lucy offers the best nosh in New Brighton". Fancy!

After a couple of scoops in Peggy's we were feeling a bit tipsy but managed to shuffle off to Hell's Waiting Room, which also had a live act on. Well, I say 'live'...

The group Purple Crease have a combined age of 2,145 years. Some of them sit down while performing - a sensible precaution, I'd say.

I've noticed this band does Patsy Cline numbers quite well, but the rest of the tunes are rather unfamiliar to a relatively young, hip gunslinger like me. I didn't bother to ask 'em to do me a Style Council. The thought of them singing 'My Every Changing Moods' is the stuff of nightmares.

Rather disturbingly the band offered a less than rousing number entitled 'All You Ever Do Is Bring Me Down' near the close of their set. Great, that should send everyone home happy!

At some point Mitch's missus Greta came to take him home.

After that I stumbled off to the auld gits' room at the back of Hell's Waiting Room.

I must have looked quite at home there in my flat cap.