IN THE past I might have rather ungenerously compared Liverpool folk – Scousers – with Americans and cheap red wine. They don’t travel too well, especially where budget Spanish holiday resorts are concerned.
“Arm a Scouser me are kid, so every word are say is hilarious like. Youse know worra mean?”
Only Geordies compare with our Liverpudlian cousins for considering their accent, in itself, a reason for loud and persistent mirth.
I well know that Americans on their home soil are generous and hospitable souls (if they don’t shoot you on sight, of course) but they often become parodies of bad TV sitcom characters the moment they leave US soil.
Cheap red wine meanwhile, if bought in the right parts of France/Italy/Spain can be very good. Pay £2.99 for a bottle in Netto however and you’re on your own. Big generalisations I accept, but fair as often as not.
I can probably count on two fingers the times I’ve actually been to Liverpool before the recent final of the Rugby League Four Nations, and both were to the passport office. I am however delighted to report my findings that Scousers are every bit as ‘colourful’ as their caricatures in a pub or driving a taxi, and far more palatable than when they’re on holiday in Benidorm.
They put more than a few smiles on my cynical old mush, that’s for sure.
The match was at Anfield and the taxi driver took us to a gem of a little pub near the ground. He was such a character that even old tightwad me gave a generous tip.
The boozer, the King Charles, is a goalie’s punt away from the ground and a complete shrine to Liverpool FC. Still, the locals were generous enough to switch over to the end of the big golf tournament in Dubai for us, won by young Yorkshire lad Matthew Fitzpatrick.
When the round of three pints (Guinness, lager, Tetley’s) came in at £7.90 I could have kissed our charming landlady. Well, I could if she’d taken the fag out of her gob and managed not to trip over the pair of fluffy slippers she was wearing for work.
The locals took a genuine interest in the rugby and were great company. Our landlady asked who Australia were playing – Canada, she ventured?
“New Zealand,” we replied.
“All the same place innit?” came the priceless retort. She wasn’t kidding.
“I’m from Papua New Guinea,” said one of our group, wearing a PNG-branded rugby scarf (although he wasn’t).
“Where’s thar at?”
“Just outside Wakefield.”
“Where’s thar at?”
“Yorkshire,” said one of the more enlightened regulars at the bar.
“Oh...” said our gem. I’m assuming she knew where Yorkshire’s at.
It’s a fact that 90 per cent of bus drivers, upon seeing you running with heavy bags and waving frantically, will just let the doors close and pull away.
The stand-up comic driving the bus from Anfield to the city centre had actually pulled away but saw me, stopped, and was pleasantry personified. They’re all right, those Scousers.
I DOUBT that Richard Branson will miss my business – not that he gets much, apart from the occasional train ticket.
But he can forget cable or broadband, mobile phones or Virgin Atlantic flights … if I detect his mitts near something I’m purchasing, I’ll endeavour to get it elsewhere.
I dare say Branson has every right to bankroll a new political movement led by infamous WC Tony Blair (as in War Criminal, not Water Closet – although I’d gladly shove his unctuous head down one before flushing).
But it’s a bit rich that tax exile Branson, with his sumptuous Necker Island home and billions in offshore havens, should be such an ardent ‘Remain’ supporter, to the extent of funding a civil war.
What is it about democracy that the Remoaners don’t get? We had a referendum. The nation decided. Deal with it.
Do you think if we Leavers had lost we’d still be crying in our cornflakes and throwing our teddies out of the cot? No, because grown-ups take it on the chin and move on, unlike these pathetic wimps.
You’ll have heard many Labour MPs saying they will back the vote in Parliament to invoke Article 50, despite the recent High Court ruling.
Good. Except notice that they sneakily add the caveat “once Theresa May tells us what her negotiating stance is”. Hello? Since when did the opposition get to decide the nuts and bolts of policy?
Don’t be surprised as we get closer to Brexit if the Labour/ Branson/Blair/ultra-left noise cranks up – “if we don’t like the detail we need a second referendum” ... “if it means leaving the Single Market people should get another say”.
No they shouldn’t.
Read my lips, Snowflakes: There can be NO single market membership if we want to trade with the world and control our borders.
It is not remotely on the table – and the point is, we don’t want or need it! That’s what the referendum was about. It was crystal clear then and it still is.
Italy is following Greece down the economic lavatory; France isn’t far behind. The Euro is a busted flush, the EU with it and the UK has done the continent a huge favour, as the weepies will one day see.
But hey – we don’t need your thanks, Snowflakes.
IN THE manner of an alcoholic at his first AA meeting, I have an embarrassing confession to make: I’ve found myself watching the Celebrity jungle show on TV.
I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me – but I have kicked the habit. Having seen the gorgeous Lisa Snowden, fit-bit Ola Jordan and curvy Carol Vorderman kicked straight off, there’s no longer a reason to watch the total tripe.
I’m left assuming the only people who actually vote are jealous middle-aged women who don’t like their blokes ogling at the shower scenes.
FIDEL CASTRO had innocent people machine-gunned into ditches because they mildly disagreed with him.
He persecuted, tortured and executed the very people the effete British left now raise on holy pedestals.
Yet Corbyn, Abbot and the mad, bad ‘pacifist’ left (and there’s a laugh), fete the dead tyrant like he was the Second Coming of Christ.
Actually no. Labour’s ultra-lefts would throw the returning Jesus to the Hamas terrorists and reason that he had it coming.
I was going to say ‘I don’t get Britain’s modern Left’, but maybe it’s quite simple – they actually are the embodiment of Castro, Stalin and Mao – fascists by nature if not name, intolerant of anyone who dare disagree with their singular worldview, and able to re-write any and all scenarios to suit their perverse ideology.