Unedited Scratchlings of a Beatlemaniac: Beatle Log Day FOUR.

Where: Baltic Creative, Unit 51
When: 9:18 a.m.
Drink: Cafe Mocha

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What a weird morning.

This cafe came recommended but we had to walk through a long, desolate, industrial artspace to find it. The walk felt like something out of A Wrinkle in Time, void of humans in eerie morning light.

Just us, rows and rows of warehouses, crying seagulls, and the thump thump of a distant rave, somewhere in the periphery.

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Weird, right?

We couldn’t find the address, and literally wandered hungry and confused for an HOUR when a motorized awning finally started rolling up across the street.

Thank.
You.
Jesus.

My belly sounded like rocks in a tumble dryer.

Shiny glass revealed an uber-trendy (I’ll go ahead and say) gentrified space and we ran for the doors.

This mocha tastes like heaven’s inner circle and the man who served it looks like Peter Tork. See him back there? 🙂

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And would you just look at Angie’s breakfast?

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Thumbs up, Unit 51!

Day Four, continued.

Where: Rococo
When: 1:48 p.m.
Drink: Iced Latte

Well. Today started off rocky.

The ONLY thing on our agenda this morning was church.

St. Peter’s Sunday service started at 10:30 a.m. You’d think calling a cab at 9:45 a.m. would give us plenty time to (get me to the church on time.) And you’d think “we’re on our way” means just that.

–Yet I stood on the curb (in the cold) like a damn fool waiting for Davy Liver Cabs who think “we’re on our way” means a 45 minute wait.

If you know me, you know I hate waiting and I HATE being late. Thank you Davy Liver Taxi ‘Service,’ whomever you are. You STINK.

The cafe staff —poor people; I stressed them out with my stressing out— finally called Delta Cabs and their “we’re on our way” meant 3 minutes.

I climbed in that cab with boiling blood, while the cabbie logged St. Peter’s in his GPS.

It was 10 freaking miles away, putting us in church at 11:27, a WHOLE HOUR LATE to the service. A pox on you, Davy Liver!

“I can take you one a bit closer,” he suggested.

My flaring eyeballs must’ve answered his question because he turned around and put pedal to the metal.

“I hope the music doesn’t screech to a halt when we walk in all late,” I growled as we slid around the back seat.

But that’s exactly what happened.

Even though it’s fairly gothic outside,

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St. Peter’s offers a modernized service with screens up for song lyrics, etc.

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And their sound system failed the second (I mean the second) we sat down.

(Seriously?)

The vicar told everyone it was an opportune time to “make peace” with our neighbors; so we immediately started “peace be with you-ing” with the cute, mostly elderly folk around us.

Our accents garnered lots of questions, and I was obligated to admit we were there for John and Paul, as well as Jesus. –which does sound biblical if you say it right. But we weren’t fooling anybody.

When I say why we’re here out loud, I realize what nerds we are,” Angie whispered.

They’re Liverpudlians,” I whispered back. “They’re used to it.”

“Everyone’ll tell you they went to school with John Lennon,” guide Ian warned us yesterday.

“My mum and Paul’s mum were friends,” smiled the lady in front of us.

My blood pressure eventually restored to normal and I wept through the whole rest of the service. I’m a weenie like that.

St. Peter’s Highlights:

* I received communion and got prayed over. That’s always nice.

* Children came forward and sang a song about how God loves all people. One of the lyrics went something like ‘He loves those that read books; those that feed ducks’

–and here (inappropriately) I burst into giggles. In Liverpool, see, “books” and “ducks” rhyme. (They pronounce it ‘dooks’)

Anyway, I couldn’t stop giggling. (Sorry, kids. Blame my fever.)

* And just LOOK what’s in their church programme today. Oh. No biggie. (I mean, SERIOUSLY!?)

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* Lastly, a sweet lady with a personality like the teapot from Beauty and the Beast served tea & biscuits in the rectory. I got sugar, caffeine, AND Jesus, so now I just wanna hug everybody.

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Day Four, continued.

Where: Lennon’s Bar
When: 7:00 p.m.
Drink: Half-pint San Miguel

Angie’s reading and I’m writing.

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Confessions:

1. I’ve not been too well here. I thought I lost my voice screaming at The Cavern. But other symptoms: fatigue, slight fever, cough, and weak eyes suggest something a bit more sinister: a Liverbug.

Coupled with jet lag, it’s a cruel irony. But I’m NOT complaining, and will muscle on. Maybe it’s the universe saying shut up and write cos no one wants to hear you sing Beatle Karaoke. *sigh*

2. There’s an alarming trend of girls drawing in their eyebrows here:

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Not like Cholas did with Sharpies back in the day:

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No. This is equally unsubtle.
But somehow, unlike the Cholas, I think they think this is a beauty statement.

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One day they’ll look back at their painted brows –the same way we 80s kids look back at our giant bangs– and think oh dear.

My English step-daughter later informed me it’s called ‘Scouse Brow’; and yes, it’s a ‘thing.’

Scouse Brow, according to the internet, is “a dark, angular, pencilled-in brow shape said to be popular with Liverpool girls.”

So I’ll just leave that right there.

3. We’re the only people in this bar right now.

I always feel so sorry for DJs playing to empty rooms. Really he’s more of an iTunes song shuffler, but still. Feels like I’m sitting in my living room, really. Tucked in the corner with my journal and a Beatle-Monkee-Badfinger-Nilsson-ELO playlist.

I think we’d leave, except, again, I’m super comfy. Plus I know it’s raining out there and I really do feel like ass. We may head back to the Baltic Fleet tonight. Ohhhh but not yet! Mr. Blue Sky just came on!

Thoughts:

Liverpool is ELECTRIC. A unifying energy runs through these people who really do claim and protect each other. Hard to explain, but easy to feel and observe. Angie brought up the excellent point that this energy was crucial to the Beatle phenomenon. I totally agree. Fans and critics ever refer to their cheeky, charming CHEMISTRY.

See for yourself:

This feeling is EVERYWHERE.

Only two more days in England. I don’t know what’s worse: That or being ill.

I’ll Cry Instead.

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