A
couple of weeks ago, I graduated in an incredible city. A ruthless, chaotic and
beautiful place called Liverpool. The 48-hour celebratory stint was marked with
conflicting emotions: relief, anxiety about the future, pride and most of all
nostalgia. Yes, I had dodged a Desmond and could now turn my back on deadlines
and the dreaded dissertation - the conclusion of which I seem to have already
forgotten, much to my bewilderment. Academic grievances aside, saying goodbye
to Liverpool itself was not something I had contemplated…
The
city’s most memorable quality is one that hits you, turbulent and unforgiving
like the baltic wind on arrival at Lime Street train station. The first and
last people you’re likely to encounter there, Scouse taxi drivers could be
anything from your new best mate to your worst nightmare. There is no way of
telling, and the suspense this creates is only the beginning of the fun. On
some journeys I’ve grown so fond of a cabbie, and so involved in their absurd
stories about the city that I’m reluctant to get out of the car, obviously
goodbyes are not my strong point.
In
fact, the immediate closeness you feel to Scousers is a phenomenon much farther
reaching than the safe confines of a taxi. The idea of “stranger danger”, a
concept taken so painfully seriously in the South of England, seems to lose some
of its significance up North. The warmth and humour of Liverpudlians and their
welcoming demeanour is but a distant dream to “posh twats” on the London
underground. Thinking about it, it’s probably for the best that there is no
tube in Liverpool, or no one would ever make it to work for all the socialising
and/or orgies bound to take place in the carriage.
But
of course, Liverpool cabbies are much like the poet Longfellow’s little girl:
“When she was good, she was very good indeed, but when she was bad she was
horrid.” One Liverpudlian taxi driver who always springs to mind is a devout
Everton fan who, terribly pleased with himself, told me that “in me life yer, it
goes number one Everton, number 2 me wife, number 3 me kids. I’m not even
messin’”. I’ll just jump out here please, keep the change.
That
brings me onto football, a defining feature of Liverpool. The pub atmosphere it
creates is unparalleled. I admit, my loyalty to the Reds is borne out of a desire
to maintain a good relationship with my father, and therefore doesn’t quite qualify
as a zealous following. However, when you’re in a sweaty pub, surrounded by men
who would probably give their left bollock to see Liverpool win – whilst some
of us are absent-mindedly admiring the gentle curve of Sterling’s buttocks –
you can’t help but get caught up in it all.
Speaking
of pubs, err ma gerrrd so cheap. The notorious Raz is so tremendously
inexpensive that a friend, when visiting from London, put £20 on the bar and
asked for as many pints as he could get with that note. He turned away,
momentarily distracted and assuming that he’d be met with four or five beers,
only to discover twenty pints of non-descript lager on the bar. Ye wha? TWENTY.
My god we were spoilt rotten there.
Has
Liverpool changed me? I reckon so. In my first few weeks there, I remember marvelling
at the sheer depth of foundation on the faces of the McDonald’s girls. They
were more dolled up for a shift at Maccie’s than I had ever been. So on my last
day as a student there, I succumbed. In a Scouse salon on the morning of
graduation, I adopted what can only be described as a “bouffant” hairstyle
which made me look nothing short of extra-terrestrial, honestly I was less mad
than impressed. Thankfully, it relaxed as the day went on because as the
hairdresser kindly pointed out, “you’ve got limp hair, love.” Liverpool taught
me not only to embrace hair spray and cheap bevvies, but also to take it on the
chin, to talk to strangers (controversial though it may be), to laugh when
things aren’t going so smoothly, to always pack a brolly and how to make a
strong cup of tea.
On
leaving Liverpool, a wave of nostalgia came over me… I was proper devoed, like.
I was already pining for its beaches and sand dunes, rich history and
architecture, art and music scene. I knew I would miss the people too: from my
waxer the (self-proclaimed) Hairy Godmother, to the commuters and the cabbies. Alas
it is time to bid farewell to Liverpool, whose grit and charm I will miss the
most. Ta-ra for now.