Farewell Liverpool

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.