Friday, June 06, 2003
Fare Thee Well, My Own True Love
It was here I first kissed a boy, but cold-shouldered the handsome US post-grad with the enormous crush on me; and where I turned down a bit-part in Chariots of Fire because I was having too much fun doing other things.
And where I attended my first illegal drinking den, to dance cheek-to-cheek with a pre-op transsexual while the gangster boyfriend looked on; where I ate my first dim sum, had my first funny cigarette, and learnt to like coffee. And football.
And where I was a member of the In Crowd (though no-one told me at the time); and where I met Mary Whitehouse, the Sex Pistols, and Pete Wylie, but not all at once.
Where I got drunk in the friendliest pubs and classiest gin joints in the world, closed down the local radio station, and thought Deaf School would take over the planet; and where I'd spend nights down by the river chatting to the old men of their long-past seafaring days.
Where I was taught a valuable lesson in networking, and then forgot it; where I made friends I thought would be forever and whom I've never seen again; and where I learnt to lie.
Where I fell in love with the honest people, their irreverent humour, the grand Victorian architecture and the vibrant culture. And where I made a promise to this city I loved, that, though our paths must part, I would always hold her dear in my heart. And that, yes, like the song said, one day when I returned, united we would be.
Callous bastard that I am, it's only now that she's been made deservedly European Capital of Culture 2008 that I realise I haven't been back, or even thought of Liverpool, in fifteen years.
Young love, eh? You never can trust it.