The City Life

My last post eulogised about the English countryside. I think it’s only fair to do the same for my adopted home city of Manchester.

Manchester is in the north west of England, not far from the Welsh border, about 35 miles east of Liverpool, 90 miles north of Birmingham and 200 miles north west of London.

I have lived in Manchester since 1984, that’s around 60% of my life. I was also born in a large town called Walsall, near to Birmingham, the second largest city in England, spending 18 years of my life there, before spending 3 years living in another magnificent city, one that you might have heard of called Liverpool, the birthplace of the Beatles and countless other bands.

What I mean is that city life has been good to me over the years and I simply love the vibe in all of them.

I often visit London too, as I have friends who live there and it is a short two hour high speed train journey away (I wouldn’t drive as that would take hours). In fact I’m heading that way next month for another university reunion.

Living in Manchester is fantastic, for the choice of restaurants and pubs in the city, as well as being served by the busiest airport outside London, a mere fifteen minute taxi ride from my house. It means that I can get away and enjoy travelling to foreign places should I so desire. There are hospitals nearby as well as sporting arenas. Manchester is home to two of the biggest Premiership football teams in the world, Manchester City and, the richest and most famous club, Manchester United. As well as football, there is a famous old cricket ground which is a venue for test cricket, as well as other sporting disciplines like rugby (both league and union).

We have the National Cycling Centre for those who like to ride their bikes at speed on a big circular track as well as speedway.

The city also contains lots of theatres and venues for one of my main passions – music. I have seen every one of my favourite bands in the city either in the enormous arena or one of the many other smaller venues around the city. 

We even have a Hard Rock Café.

I could go on, but instead, I thought I would share some photos of Manchester, plus one or two from London and Liverpool, in particular to give any foreign readers a taste of what it’s like to live in an English city.

I hope you like them.

Beetham Tower - the tallest building in the city

New and old Manchester together

Manchester Town Hall

New and old Manchester - I love Manchester

View from Beetham Tower

Another view from Beetham Tower

Yet another view from Beetham Tower

The Final view from Beetham Tower

The Liver Building, Liverpool as seen from the famous Ferry Across the Mersey

John Lennon statue outside the Cavern Club/Pub

You may recognise this bridge in London

Had I been alive in Henry VIII's time I might have ended up here waiting to have my head separated from my body

The Meaning of Life - Time After Time

You will be pleased to know that this is the last post in the current series mirroring Karl Pilkington’s “The Moaning of Life”.

I think that this post needs a soundtrack – so here’s a good song to listen to while reading it.

Three weeks ago, I had a university reunion in Liverpool, the first one for twelve years and this included a man I hadn’t seen since leaving university in 1984, over thirty years ago.

Initially it was a surreal experience, seeing a bunch of blokes that I had been so close to. When I first met these guys I was 19 years old and, being young men, we were all desperate to make our mark on the world with a cocktail of alcohol, stupidity and a general sense of indestructibility that meant we were willing to do anything.

Of course, by the end of university we had matured slightly and were more prepared for life.

The problem is that when we all got together between 1981 and 1984, we did all of the stupid things that young men do.

Fast forward to a cold and rainy lunchtime November in 2015 at Lime Street Railway station in Liverpool.

I arrived first on a local train from Manchester and clutching a steaming coffee, I awaited the intercity train from London. Two of the guys got off the train and I recognised them immediately, a little greyer and a little chubbier but still the same guys I knew so well. I’ll call them Sam and Colin (to protect the guilty!).

We were expecting two more later, one from Birmingham and one from Liverpool  - this was the guy I hadn’t seen for over thirty years. I’ll call them Oscar and Andy (again to protect the guilty!).

Sam, Colin and I decided to be tourists and explore the city. I have been back to Liverpool often; after all it is only about 35 miles from Manchester. Sam married a Scouser (person from Liverpool) and he came back fairly regularly to visit family.

Colin had not been back to Liverpool since he left in 1984.

Oscar turned up an hour later. He had lost his hair completely apart from some grey bits at the sides. We didn't mention it.

The four of us spent the afternoon visiting the Tate museum, to avoid the heavy rain before having an afternoon snack in a coffee shop where we chatting about what we had all been up to, including, jobs, family, kids etc. over cups of coffee and tea. It was all very sophisticated.

We checked into our hotel and, as I was unpacking and freshening up for a mice meal, I was struck by one thing. Thirty years ago we were like rampant animals making fools of ourselves and acting as if we were indestructible.

Now, the four of us were talking about careers and kids, visiting museums and being totally sensible.

I felt a little sad; it was almost like being out with their dads.

Shortly afterwards, Andy rang and we arranged to meet him in a city centre pub that we had frequented as students.

It was still there and hadn't disappeared like a lot of the pubs from that time.

Andy turned up and he too hadn’t changed. It was really strange chatting to a guy I hadn’t seen for so long.

I looked at my watch as I supped that first beer. The time was six o’clock.

And this was the point that the sensibility disappeared.

“One more?” 

“Yeah – one more!”

Before I knew it, the alcohol had woken something up inside of all of us. We were sensible enough to find a restaurant but that’s about it. The rest of the evening descended into party time as five middle aged men wandered around the city centre, refuelling on beer, and becoming more and more boisterous. As more alcohol was imbibed, the years were stripped away and we became five young men again.  The dads were gone and my mates from the early 1980's were back.

I loved every second of it.

Tales of old were told and we guffawed like teenagers as we recalled the scrapes we got into all those years ago. Oscar's lack of hair was the main topic of raucous conversation for about twenty minutes. Don't worry - he gave as good as he got.

Thankfully, our ageing bodies protested enough to keep us in check – or at least I thought they had. We had wobbled out of the famous Cavern Club, where the Beatles used to entertain the Liverpool crowds, and into an Irish bar and somehow found a table where we could sit down. Before long, a barman came over and told us that the pub was closing. I checked my watch.

“It’s three in morning!” I yelled, although I think the words came out as “Ish three clocksh!”

We staggered back to the hotel and again I was saved by my body urging me to quaff as much water as my stomach could take before going to bed.

The next morning, we met for a late breakfast and, all a little fragile, made a pact to do exactly the same next year.

The whole episode made me think about time.

Although our bodies age around us, the deep inner core of our being remains. As we get older, our outlook on life changes but deep down inside all of us, the young person who wanted to unleash himself on the world, with a seemingly unlimited amount of energy, who existed all those years ago is still there.

The fire of my youth is definitely still  present under the sensible old git that I have become – and I’m delighted about that.

I can find him and I intend to take him out every so often for a breath of fresh air (though perhaps next time I will avoid using alcohol as the transport mechanism).

We can’t win the war against time – but we can win the odd battle - and have massive fun with our small victories.

How about you, dear reader?

Is there a young version of you hiding inside you?

Can you find him or her?

If so, how do you do it?

Boring Boring Premiership

It takes a monumental amount of intense self-control to restrain my inner grumpy old man when it comes to the English Premier League. As a fan that supports a team in the lower echelons of the Football League I am fully aware of the ever increasing gulf between the elite and the peasantry in our beautiful game and endeavour to turn a blind eye to the gluttonous activities of the privileged.

However, sometimes I read a headline that shatters that discipline and unleashes the anger within.

Yesterday I saw such a headline; Chelsea are negotiating with AC Milan about buying Kaka for an astonishing £78 million (here it is). £78 MILLION!!!!!.

Please excuse the rant below but I find such a post is very therapeutic.

£78 million is an incredible and obscene amount of money and is a typical example of why the game in England, as exciting as it is perceived worldwide, is basically being destroyed by greed, greed and more greed.

Foreigners with their billions are pumping outrageous amounts of money into the game, as are television companies desperate to see the world’s best players plying their trade on English soil. Some say this is a good thing. I say that it stinks.

Since the inception of the Premiership, the gulf between the big clubs and the rest of the league has increased at an almost exponential rate. Desperate to jump on the bandwagon, other clubs have spent money they don’t have in order to keep players and crashed into oblivion. Promotion and relegation is now a joke.

Let’s take a look at the situation:

In League One and League Two we have small teams, such as Walsall, Port Vale, Stockport County who are permanently stuck in those two divisions with little hope of escape. The three clubs I mention have flirted with a little success in the Championship (or equivalent) in recent years but have ended up back where some say they belong. At the foot of League Two this season we have three clubs who are massively in trouble; Luton Town, Bournemouth and Rotherham United all starting the season with a huge negative deficit. Luton Town stand absolutely no chance this season with a whopping -30 points as a start. Rotherham United and Bournemouth will battle it out not to get relegated alongside Luton Town, having had 17 points removed before the big kick off. For those three clubs the season is over before it has begun. What would £78 million do for them?

The Championship is multi-tiered. You can look at the table and immediately predict who will struggle and who will be vying for promotion. There are teams in that division who one would say have a great history. The problem is that they will never again match the achievements of the past. Nottingham Forest will never again win the European Cup (or “Champions League" as it has become known – if it is for “Champions” then why do the teams finishing second, third and fourth qualify?). Look at Derby County? League Champions in the 1970’s but now just over thirty years later, relegated from the top division with virtually no points having suffered defeat after embarrassing defeat in the Premiership last season.

Finally, let’s talk about the “glorious” Premiership. It is almost laughable. In the seventies and eighties the league was exciting. How many different clubs fought for the coveted title? In the seventies, we had Derby County slugging it out with Leeds United, QPR finishing second in 1975, Nottingham Forest winning the title in 1978, Aston Villa winning in 1981 with Ipswich Town finishing second in both 1981 and 1982. Watford second in 1983, Everton champions in 1984 and 1986. Not any more. None of those teams, with the possible exception of Aston Villa, will get anywhere close – probably ever again.

The Premiership now is boring and will continue to be so. Take a look at the teams who will be competing this year; the final table is almost totally predictable. Let me have a stab:

First we have the “big four” who will battle it out for the top four spots (as they will next season and the season after that)

(1) Manchester United
(2) Chelsea
(3) Liverpool
(4) Arsenal

After that we have the teams with a lot less money but still enough to buy certain big players:

(5) Manchester City
(6) Tottenham Hotspur
(7) Everton
(8) Newcastle United
(9) Aston Villa
(10) Portsmouth

Next we have the also-rans who will flirt with the top half of the table but will almost certainly flirt more with relegation:

(11) West Ham United
(12) Blackburn Rovers
(13) Bolton Wanderers
(14) Middlesborough
(15) Sunderland
(16) Fulham

And finally, let’s not forget the whipping boys. I feel particularly sorry for Hull City and Stoke City who will be put the sword in the most savage fashion (just as Derby County were last season).

(17) Wigan Athletic
(18) West Bromwich Albion
(19) Stoke City
(20) Hull City

You will notice that the three promoted teams will be relegated. I ask myself what the point is. Hull City fans in particular will be delighted that they are in the highest division for the first time. But will they be happy at Christmas when they are bottom having conceded at least six goals to the top ten teams? I doubt it. Their only hope is that teams like Manchester United field weakened teams against them. Why bother?

Read this post in May next year and see how wildly different it is. I’ll be surprised if it is to be honest.

Teams like Manchester United, Liverpool, Arsenal and Chelsea do have real fans. They also have a vast number of fake fans who support the team so that they can take a share in the success of the club. True football fans are suffering at all levels. Season tickets in the Premiership are so costly now, that real fans, the ones who have supported the clubs for decades, are being squeezed out of the game. I spoke to a Chelsea fan who used to be a season ticket holder at Stamford Bridge in the eighties and nineties but now cannot afford to pay the exorbitant price and so stays away. A good friend of mine who is a Manchester United season ticket holder is contemplating giving it up next season because the price hikes over the last couple of seasons have been totally unreasonable. This guy has been a season ticket holder since the mid seventies and lives and breathes Manchester United. This is the kind of fan that is needed in the game.

When I first moved to Manchester I used to be able to go to Old Trafford and pay on the gate half an hour before kick off. I could pop to Maine Road and see Manchester City, turning up at the ground ten minutes before kick off. That is now impossible. My youngest son is a Manchester United fan but I doubt whether he will ever get a season ticket in his life.

True fans aside, the fake fans really wind me up. I am laughed at, and mocked because I support a small club like Walsall, usually by fake Manchester United fans who live well outside the area and who have never been to Manchester let alone Old Trafford. They watch their team on Sky and then claim to be fans. I have been to Old Trafford far more times than these people, most of whom could barely name squad members from the seventies and eighties. I can – and I’m not even a fan. I am picking on Manchester United here but it is the same for the rest of the big four and some of the pretenders to the throne.

The Premiership will be boring this season. The results will be easy to predict, apart perhaps from those between teams in the four groups I have mentioned above. For real excitement, people need to move down to the football league where teams are more evenly matched. Those clubs need the support far more than the prima donnas in the Premiership. To be honest I wouldn't care if the big four and their equivalents in Europe all left and formed the European League that those greedy clubs so desperately want. English football would improve dramatically.

And don’t get me started on Cristiano Ronaldo and the supposed slavery in Premiership football – I’ll be posting all day.