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.
On a clear day - A sticky situation
By
John Williams
I broke my driving glasses yesterday and so had to be prepared to drive the 170 miles back from Oxford relying on my reasonably good long distance vision. However, had a policeman fallen prey to a sudden fit of whimsy, prompting him to ask me to read a licence plate number from 25 yards, I would have been nicked. So I desperately needed some way to temporarily fix them.
Thus it was that my frantic search for superglue began and ended in a service station that was ironically styled the 'Welcome Break'. It was there that I encountered the many different ways people react to such minor mishaps.
The girl at the checkout looked positively affronted when I asked her if there was any glue to be had and gave me the once over to ascertain whether I was more likely to seal somebody's car lock or sniff the bloody stuff before regally pointing me in the direction of the stationary section.
As I stumbled about the aisles, yes I stumble all the time nowadays, I had my usual difficulty with tiny print on the various useless adhesives that were available. I mean, what use was a Pritt stick to prat who'd fallen asleep on his jacket and crushed a pair of titanium frames. Titanium...balsa wood would have survived in better shape! I digress.
I asked several people if they could decipher the small print and the reactions varied from blank looks to mild irritation.
However, one guy's demeanour instantly underwent a complete transformation in response to my plea. In an instant it went from from 'furtive wanker looking for girlie mags', to, 'Samaritan inordinately chuffed to discover some poor bastard lower in fortune than himself'.
His chest swollen with self importance the Samaritan declared,
"I'll tell you what it says," adding, sotto voce, in a tone that can only be described as quietly gloating, "I understand how you feel, I help out at an adult literacy centre."
I felt like shoving a glue stick up his jaxie, but I was so desperate for help that instead I humbly nodded and awaited the oracle's delivery...which was that none of the available adhesives were any good for sticking metal. Thanks mate.