Red Wine Express

Well the child bride and I are sitting in one of the more depressing airports we’ve ever passed through – Manchester – waiting for our Ryanair flight to Madrid. The airport’s teeming with my fellow north-countrymen (and women – my fellow north-country people sounds silly). I say “fellow” because I was born here sometime back in a more innocent era when airports like this one weren’t full of people looking forward to their annual week of debauchery on the Costa del Sol. We’ve seen two brides and their entourages so far. We know they’re brides to be because the headdresses give them away. They’ll all be having a wild old time I’ll wager before settling into a life of wedded bliss. That’s the theory anyway.

The clusters of youngsters scattered round the bar area all seem animatedly happy and the old ones appear as miserable as the weather. To be fair, the weather was exceptional for the three days we spent here but it’s now raining – a perfect mood predictor it seems.

We’ve just had a day in Hong Kong and the aforementioned three days with Cuz1 and Cuz2 of Rheinube River Ramble fame. We gave our respective livers a thorough caning so the next few days will be relatively quiet. But back to Hong Kong. We arrived the day after a very large mob of protesters trashed the parliament so figured it would be prudent to stay on Kowloon side as I didn’t fancy a tear gas sandwich. The highlight of our Hong Kong stopover was sitting in a restaurant at the Ocean Terminal watching a wizened old man exercising with one hand against the guide rail while the other hand clutched a cigarette. Actually, that’s unfair. I love Hong Kong and just looking at that harbour (which I have previously reported is getting narrower) is always a highlight.

After Hong Kong it was Manchester then a day in Chester followed by a day in Liverpool. God knows what the Liverpudlians would do if the Beatles hadn’t originated there because their influence is everywhere. Revert back to what it was like pre-Beatles I guess – a stepping off point for Irish immigrants because the slave trade had been abolished about a century and a half before. Restaurants, buildings, streets, taxi companies and pretty much every other going concern are named after a Beatles song. The local landmarks that feature in numerous Beatles songs are now treated like the shrine at Lourdes.

The authorities have done a great job tarting the place up. Pity they can’t convince the Scousers to pick up after themselves. The amount of rubbish in some of the parks would put a Philippino rubbish dump to shame.

Chester has a city wall. We walked round it. It also has a lot of great old pubs. We went to one of them. We also had lunch at an American franchise restaurant which we wouldn’t normally do in the holiday-mode circumstances but the beer was ice cold, the food was great and the view was pleasant. And we got there at lunchtime which was rather fortuitous.

Chester also has a first century BC version of UFC. The ampitheatre’s contestant variety was somewhat more eclectic in the Roman version however.

Now it’s time to hit the cervesas.