You'll Never Walk Alone

I always thought that was just a song, sung by the football supporters, but being away from Liverpool for 6 months and then going back, it made me realise that it is more than just a song.  It is a fabric weaved into the personalities of the people and places.

I was really ready for a recharge back in Liverpool.  The night before I had played a gig at Roest.  It was a perfect closure to what had been the best summer of my life.  I had spent Autumn in the Garden house, watching the leaves tremble and try and hold on to the trees as they turned this beautiful tone of dark red and yellow.  Playing guitar for hours and hours next to the wood fire oven that cooked my coffee.  I knew as the trees became more bare, that Winter was approaching, and 12 days back in Liverpool would recharge my batteries enough to get through the cold season.

I stepped off the plane at Speke, breathed in a deep breath of the dirty smokey air and smiled.  It felt good to be back.  The accent of the air hostess as they did their routine selling of toasties and scratch cards on the flight brought another smile to my face.  I got out of the airport and had 3 quid to my name.  When I am busking in Amsterdam, sometimes I get pound coins dropped so I save them for when I visit home.  I spent 2 quid on the bus to the city.

I had heard that the Liverpool council wants to bring in busking permits for street performers and when I walked through the city I could see why.  Every ten meters was someone with an amp playing in the street.  I laughed to myself, and felt proud that Liverpool has such a vibrant street music culture.  When you go shopping, outside is like a music festival of all kinds of street performers.  I headed up to Lime street forgetting what a hill felt like and found Gary at the best busking spot where I always used to go.  He only plays 2 chords, and 3 notes in the harmonica for hours a day, but somehow Lime Street wouldnt be the same without him.  We had a quick chat and he lent me 2 quid to get the train to my mums house.

Nothing really felt strange on the train journey there.  It was like I had never been away.  I put my key in the front door of me mums house and came inside.  Mum wasn't home so I made a cuppa tea, put the radio on and just soaked in the warmth that only your family home where you grew up can give you.  I thumbed through the local papers and waited till me mum got home.

The door opened and in came my Mum, with a big hug and a bag full of tea bags, socks, undies and vests.  Sometimes a Mother just wants to be a Mother and make sure her son is clothed clean and fed.  Me mum is a special one.  I inherited my love for music and care free attitude to sing, dance and enjoy a gig from her.  We had a ciggie and a coffee in the greenhouse and a good catch up about how we are doing.  She made me some bacon, egg and beans on toast and I headed out to see my dear mate Radio Ray.

Radio Ray is master wordsmith and musician.  And when I was a misdirectional teenager at 19, he would introduce me to songs and a way of playing that made me believe I could learn to play myself.  Roy Harpers I Hate The White Man, and Dylans Hurricane were the bait pulling me into a world of music that I felt I always wanted to explore.  I love anger and balls in music, and Radio Ray oozes that, as well as a style and determination that I love to be around and make music with.  We have made a lot of music together and work well with eachother.  He is a good friend, a great musician and has introduced me to a lot of great music I would never have found.  We jammed, smoked, drunk tea and slagged off the lizards.  It was a cold but clear Autumn night at 2 am and I made the hour walk home.

I just wanted to rest a bit while I was home, I didn't want to be darting off to try and see everyone, but just drink tea and take her easy for a few days.  The Friday night was my brothers best friends 40th birthday party at the British Legion, which is a working class social club.  My sisters and their husbands were there too and it was great sipping a pint of real ale and watching the dance floor psychology of the 3 or 4 generations at the party.  Young kids of 10 and 12 in their nice shirts and pants, dancing with the older girls.  The old grey man in his fruit of the loom T shirt slowly dancing to Chesney Hawks and miming the words as he did the front step.  Was beautiful.  Me and my brother and sisters danced for a few hours and then I headed home quite drunk.

After 3 days I took the train down to Yorkshire to see my mate James Bragg.  He is a fellow travelling street musician who has now settled in this beautiful little village.  We recorded 3 albums together in Liverpool and he is a big inspiration for me wanting to become a really good acoustic songsmith.  He is like a human juke box, with a voice of pure gravel, heart and soul.  A repatoire of songs you would think impossible to memorise and play like he does.  We went to his friends Rosie's for a smoke and drink, and on the piano there he played an amazing rendition of Amsterdam.  Neither of us had any money, so he showed me his busking spot in the village and held it between us making enough to get some food, tabak and drink in for a little party he was throwing that night.  On the Saturday when I was leaving I did an hours busking at the spot and made 25 quid, enough to get back to Liverpool and see my old friend Viv.

I arrived back in Liverpool in the rain, and the orange street lights that make the place glow amber in the puddles and wetness.  I breathed in the air and set off to meet my friend.  I sat down at the Marloborough, and got talking to this man and woman who were asking me about my travels and stuff.  Then in came Viv, we drunk 2 bottles of wine and a pint of mild then headed to do some karaoke at the Vines.  She treated me to a lovely meal and we departed.  She is a beautiful girl Viv, a 60's child at heart in love with the birth of pop music culture.  When I lived in Liverpool we would meet up at the Jacaranda, fill the juke box with 60s music and dance the night away.

Sunday was roast dinner day, and my brother and sisters came and we had a lovely meal.  I then set out back to the city to meet my travelling bud Ash, and go in and record an interview for my old radio show and play some tracks from the Cato album I had just produced.  It felt good having a beer with Ash.  Sometimes you can feel a bit strange telling people who have settled with a job and kids about your adventures of freedom, but Ash is a fellow free spirit, a born traveller and gypsy guitarist.  We got pretty drunk at the Mello and then dashed for the last train.

Amsterdam can be quite a lonely place.  The freedoms are woven into the city, so noone really bothers you or gets in your face, or goes out of their way to speak to you.  But Liverpool, wherever you sit, be it on a train, a pub, a bus, a cafe someone will speak to you.  it's just natural there.  I started to realise the song 'You'll Never Walk Alone' is more than just an anthem, it is a feeling that is in the hearts of nearly everyone in Liverpool.  You will never feel alone there.

The day of my flight back to Amsterdam it felt a little strange, part of me didn't feel I was ready to go.  But the other part knew I would regret not taking the flight and then having to busk enough to buy another ticket.  I said a tearful goodbye to my Mum, and all through the journey through the airport, I was hoping they would say my bag is too big to go on, or your ticket isn't right, and I could go home for just another week.  But it was a smooth journey back to Amsterdam and I bunked the train back to the East and was greeted by trigger my bike, shining black in the night like a powerful trustworthy and loyal horse.  It felt good to be back, I knew it was gonna be hard getting through the Winter on the road, but these challenges are what I asked life for.