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.
Just say no -My lapse into substance abuse
By John Williams
How easy it is to fool oneself that a habit has been kicked! How bitter is the realisation that after years of abstinence one has become a backslider, an apostate, brought low by substance abuse! Self recrimination overwhelms me as I stare at the instruments of my own self-destruction, a knife, a slice of toast and a container of spreadable butter.
Butter, that ivory complexioned siren singing an aria to cholesterol, cellulite and Weightwatchers!
Butter, bearing in its creamy soul a lifetime of tastes, childhood memories and public health warnings. Woe is me that had the misfortune to visit Sainsbury's and chance upon a special offer of spreadable Lurpak at two for the price of one! Too late now, I scream,
"Bogof!"
for I am already halfway through the first tub and I only bought it yesterday!
Yesterday evening, as I gorged on buttered toast: buttered toast and jam: buttered toast and Marmite: buttered toast and peanut butter, I cursed myself for a fool. I mean, I could have been eating it for years had I not been terrified by the aliens from Vega who put the fear of fat in me!
In fairness, there was, also, the not inconsiderable matter of discarding butter in favour of low fat margarine because the former was inevitably so hard from its sojourn in the refrigerator that spreading it on a piece of bread almost certainly guaranteed that the bread would end up looking like a reject from a lace factory. How cunning of the cows then to come up with a spreadable substance!
I ponder about whether or not the grass has been genetically modified to make it somehow slippier, but then abandon any scientific enquiry in favour of another slice of toast, thus restricting my curiosity to wondering if bacon tastes better on butter. It does! Believe me it does!
I remember when I was a child that my grandparents always referred to butter as 'best butter'. I suppose that came about because the only brand that I can remember by name was Adams' butter, which was transported in lorries bearing the legend,
ADAMS' BEST BUTTER
It must have been through a similar process that 'Biro' became the generic term for ball point pens.
In the days when Catholics were meant to suffer for their faith, by fasting and abstaining from meat on Fridays, breakfast was denied to them if they were attending mass and taking the sacraments.
In my school we were expected to go to morning mass before school and so we had to take our breakfast with us. The post communion repast usually consisted of slices of buttered toast which, because they had been placed, still hot and steaming, into greaseproof paper, or more typically a bread wrapper, had shrunk in thickness until they were almost as thin as the sacred Host which had preceded them.
But it didn't matter that they looked like slightly burnt cork tiles, because after two hours of gnawing hunger, exacerbated by the pungency of early morning incense, they tasted like manna! Washed down with a child sized bottle of free, pre-Thatcher milk those slices of toast were beyond compare.
Of course, I am without doubt, idealising my childhood because it wasn't always butter. The chances were that it would be margarine, either 'Echo', which was often described as 'axle grease' or the more up market 'Stork', which presumably was used to grease the axles of a Rolls Royce.
I'm not sure who made the 'Echo' brand, perhaps it was the local newspaper which was also called the 'Echo'. It might have even been manufactured from a combination of lard and printer's ink because the taste of it was definitely bad news!
'Stork' was made by Van Den Burgh's whose advertising gurus asked the public if they could tell Stork from butter. I can only assume that those people who said they found it impossible to distinguish between the two substances were chronic smokers, of rope ends, and who had about as much sense of taste as an Egyptian mummy.
Following in the slippery trail of 'Echo' and 'Stork' there came an army of margarines, each bearing its own insignia to identify it with healthy living. The battalions of butter substitutes bore names like 'Clover' and 'Flora' while some, like St. Ivel, hinted at divine connections. Others simply incorporated the heavenly substance into their name. I can't believe it's not been outlawed...
There were proud standard bearers for the old ways. The marketing divisions of Lurpak, Anchor and Kerrygold fought hard to maintain their foothold on the bread lubrication front but the massed ranks of the Margarines, having gained a secure bridgehead, were further strengthened by the anti-animal fat brigades. Older people tried desperately to remain loyal, but the rot had set in and butter was just another word for rancid.
Now, after decades of decrying saturated fats we learn, from the American Surgeon General no less, that total abstinence can lead to serious health problems. I am confused. Should I eat plain toast and butter or whack a dollop of Gentleman's relish on top? Kippers with plain bread and butter? Bread and butter pudding?
Look out you massed ranks of margarines, you might have raised your Vegan flags on the beachheads but we butter lovers have older standards!
I wrote this tale sometime in 2001, and I had a lot of fun doing so, but I feel I should point out that two nights ago, after indulging in butter for two years, I had a TIA, a minor stroke. So caveat emptor
Scientists have bred cows that produce skimmed milk and hope to establish herds of the cattle to meet the demands of health-conscious consumers. The milk is also high in omega3 oils, claimed to improve brain power, and contains polyunsaturated fat. The saturated fats found in normal milk are linked to increased risk of heart disease. The cows, which have a particular genetic mutation, were bred from a single female discovered by researchers when they screened milk from millions of cattle in New Zealand. Butter from these cows has the extra advantage of being spreadable straight from the fridge, like margarine.
From The Sunday Times May 27, 2007