Liverpool Stories
The stories on this site are not included in my book.
The tales are snapshots of my life in Liverpool, the home of the Beatles, and the echo chamber of the Mersey Sound that in the sixties resonated around the planet like an acoustic Tsunami. The stories cover a period of 50 odd years and so they touch on every aspect of my life from the rites of passage to the passing of youth. I hope you enjoy them.
The lady is for turning - I'm on roll
By John Williams
I haven't been driving for more than three months and in that time my car has been hit twice while stationary. The first time the miscreant made a smart exit and left me to pay the bill for a new bumper. Four weeks later a removal van removed the same fender but this time the driver had the grace to stop and give me his details and so I was able to have the damage repaired at his insurer's expense.
Recently my luck has changed, at least as far as the car is concerned. For, although the lottery jackpot still eludes me and Meg Ryan still hasn't answered my last email, or the thousand or so that preceded it as I suspect she's playing it cool, there have been some signs that the Lady Luck of the automobile has begun to smile at me.
The first indication that my fortune was changing occurred last Saturday when we went shopping to town. After three hours of looking at football boots, replica shirts and FCUK tee shirts my feet were welded to my shoes and I headed gratefully for the car park.
I reached the car and searched my pockets for my keys only to found they were nowhere to be found! My horror was mirrored in the faces of my bag laden family and with sinking heart I approched the driver's side with the hope of finding the window open or something. Imagine my surprise and joy on seeing the bunch of keys still in the door!
More recently, on Wednesday to be precise, I went to a distant supermarket in search of boy's socks. My son was starting secondary school the following day and couldn't possibly manage with ordinary football socks because the uniform list stipulated plain black. Anyway, on the way out of the supermarket I bought some petrol and drove the seven or so miles home.
After navigating two major traffic islands and two dual carriageways I arrived home to find my petrol cap perched jauntily on the boot! Luck be my lady tonight!
Only today I was parked at the beach helping my son to launch his kite. I was feeling a bit delicate after my previous night's indulgence in whisky and coke, and so after doing my Ben Franklin impression I got back in the car and switched on the radio. There's nothing quite like listening to rap in an enclosed space and so I was relieved when I finally chanced onto a station which was outlining Arnold Wesker's committment to ending nuclear armaments. Such a blessed release!
Anyway, when the time arrived to depart I was dismayed to find that for the first time ever my ignition failed. Without the slightest inkling of what I was doing I got out of the car and began to fiddle with the bonnet, something I hadn't yet come to terms with. As I stared forlornly at the bonnet a car drew to a halt and a young man got out saying,
" Sounds like your battery our kid. Hang on and I'll give you a jump start."
Without further ado he produced a set of jump leads while I stood there like a lemon holding the bonnet in my hand until he showed me the thingy that props it up. He then told me to get in the car while he fixed it up. Within a minute I was heading home, scratching my head in wonderment at the miraculous arrival of our knight of the road. I mean, how did he know I needed help when he was in a car that was nowhere near me? Funny place Liverpool.
That'll teach me to tempt fate. Two days after I wrote this piece my mechanic said the car was tripe on wheels and that to spend any more money on it would be throwing good after bad. Ho hum. I'm in the market for a new car!