The Great Escape… part two

Turning out of my prison cell for the last time, I felt the burden of the last year’s troubles and disappointments drop off of my shoulders. However, I was more overpowered with a sense of regret, knowing that I would no longer be sharing a flat with Adam and Patrick. Although I am looking forward to moving into my new house, which encases some truly splendiferous people, I will miss the constant banter that filled the charged atmosphere of my past flat. Gone are the days of corridor tennis, (this included fry pans as rackets and a washing-up ball as coincidently a ball), corridor cricket (similar equipment) and the drunken antics of Patrick’s as he walked in at 3am half-cut (couldn’t write “off his head” as he might actually read this– if he did he’d vehemently deny this accusation, whilst swaying side-to-side with an dazed look on his face and a half-empty bottle of Vodka in his had). Our drunken antics generally involved wrapping him up with toilet roll, so that he could pretend to be an Egyptian mummy and make my crippled flatmate Adam (crippled due an unfortunate piggy-back race and a misplaced curb) jump almost to the ceiling with fright; not the safest thing to do, but it didn’t seem to do too much damage to his shattered kneecap so no worries – I laughed, that’s all that matters. Also, the constant cinema trips will be less frequent, as it’ll be a bit harder walking into Patrick’s room complaining I’m bored (believe it or not, I have quite a short attention span) and as a result deciding between us to go to watch an obscure film just to pass the time. Guys I salute you (metaphorically of course) and wish you well in the coming years; though funnily enough I have no idea where either of you live. Also, I may have put them off of living with blokes, as they are both coincidently living in all-girl houses; this doesn’t surprise me with Patrick, but Adams got a girlfriend so it must have a little to do with me – not that it bothers me greatly.

Ah! Sorry about the random tangent- trips down memory lane never end well, or briefly. Back to the topic of focus – the great escape…

After a few minutes of driving, Aslan turns to me and says “do you know how to get out of Liverpool?” Being the truly optimistic person you know and love (well mildly dislike) me for, I turn to him and reply, “this isn’t going to end well isn’t it”. After a brief chuckle, I see the smile fade and he goes “no really, I haven’t got a clue from this end of town, get the map out”.
Those who know me well-enough will realise that there is absolutely no chance that I will even glance at a map, as I see it an insult to my manliness. Protesting my point to him I said I’d rather get lost for hours than look at a map; this is particularly funny if/when you read on. “Oh we’ll make it up then” Aslan said smiling. “Cool, sounds like a plan” I announced, as we drove past the guild, making the “Beast roar” (tooting the horn) to innocent bystanders. Waving goodbye to the Howard Cohen Library, we sped down the road. “Which way?” Aslan squeaked as we arrived at our first cross-roads. “I dunno, how about right” I replied.

As we turned left we realised that our trip was missing one major part of its jigsaw (no, not the map). In unison, we both looked down at the radio and then looked at one another (no agreed this isn’t really safe when we’re driving down a random high street; something I pointed out to Aslan as we swerved round two cars, which had very inconsiderately decided to park on the edge of the road).

Aslan “I’ve got the new World Cup anthems CD on my i-pod if you’re interested”
Me “Oooooh sounds fantastic!”

Now we were set for our journey to properly begin.

Ten minutes down the road and hopelessly lost, Aslan finally realises where we are and informs me the Anfield “isn’t far”. Having not seen the stadium all year (due to aligning myself to the “scum-of-the-earth” as many Souse’s so fondly call it; Manchester United) I’m rather keen to go and visit – Aslan being a true gentleman obliges.

The only problem with this is as follows; Aslan THOUGHT he knew where he was instead of actually knowing. There is a difference, and this proved to be our fatal mistake. 20 minutes down the line, the atmosphere in the car was getting a bit tense, conversation had terminated minutes ago. We needed something to rein-vigour the road trip. Aslan also sensing the depressive mood replied only as lions can, “I’ve got a big England hat in the back if you’re bored”. What a genius that man is! Reaching for the hat I held it in front of my face in a kind of reverence; not as an idol, as this would be Biblically wrong, but as close as one could get. From deep within me I heard a voice commanding me and I was powerless to resist;

“Put it on”.

Crouching a bit so that the full magnificence of the hat could be seen by all passers by, I wound down fully the already half open window. Opening my mouth, I inhaled a large gulp of the fresh air. Suddenly without warning, I let out a scream at the top of my voice which to this day echoes around Merseyside; “ENG-ER-LAND”. Seizing on the moment, my fellow comrade also joined in with the chanting; World Cup fever was finally upon us. For the next 10 minutes it didn’t matter that we were totally lost, or that we had no idea where Anfield was; all that mattered was the beautiful game (football to all you heathens).

I have found that there is some truth in the fact that men seem to degenerate into a lesser form of beast when football is involved - though not marsupials of course; this is a lot of rubbish thrust upon us by a handful of scared scientists. The way I like to see it is as follows…

As testosterone, adrenaline and other manly hormones mix together, they form a deadly cocktail which courses through our veins (my medic friends will probably tell me that this isn’t true, but hey ho I don’t care).

Consequently this makes every man (and woman; been told that I am too sexist so I shall try and cut down on it a bit… honest) possess the beautiful notion that, by screaming at a television screen, or discussing tactics with their fellow ogres (felt wrong to call them men for some reason), they can change the outcome of a match. Simple thoughts like, “every time I walk out of the room someone seems to score” are quite funny if you actually think about them; it’s as if there are mini cameras in your living room, which the two teams watch; as soon as you get up to go and do your “business” (this I will leave to your imagination) they’re off. This is when the game actually begins.

For this very reason I love watching football with either women or very small men. Due to their size, or gender, they inevitably have to go to the bathroom at least once, usually twice, in a match. If you’re lucky you can plan it so that you get at least four or five people to go out during each half. As I have just justified, this makes the match far more interesting.

Whoa, where did that come from? No more tangents I promise; well not for this part at least. Where were we? Oh yeah, hopelessly lost in Liverpool. Let the journey continue…

Anyways, to cut a tediously long story short, after annoying many Scousers’, and driving round in metaphorical circles (as well as physical ones) we somehow stumbled across Anfield. And was it worth it? Without beating around the bush, for a change, it was rubbish; all you could see was the side of a building with the Liverpool football crest. I mean wow! How amazing is that? Quite downhearted I turned to Aslan and ask, more out of conformation, “Is that it?” “Yeah he replied, isn’t it fantastic”. Not one to crush false optimism I just smiled sweetly and changed the subject, something about the weather I think.

“You do know that Goodison Park’s just down the road don’t you?” Aslan said eagerly; this is the home football ground to all you women (and men) who didn’t already know. “Yay, we may as well go as we’re here now” I replied in my normal sarcastic way; needless to say this wasn’t picked up and after turning round Aslan informed me that it was only a mile north of Anfield. The only problem with this was that Aslan, though he didn’t admit it, didn’t actually know which way was north. Needless to say we never did find Goodison Park; though we took rather a scenic route back round towards the “right way home”.

Doodling down the road, no idea where were again – only that we were in Liverpool still (we could tell this by the purple wheelie bins) we began to get a bit worried. After passing a really cool Double-Decker bus, painted like St Georges cross, Aslan screams at the top of his voice “Finally, I know where we are, we’re nearly at the M62!!!” Elated by the news I start singing (can’t remember what, just that it was very bad) and start looking where we were going (in hindsight this might’ve been a good idea from the start). As we go over a set of crossroad, I do a double-take.

Me “Aslan, you sure you know where we’re going?”
Aslan “Course I do, its right down here”
Me “Well, I’m only asking because if you turn left here you’re at Bridge”
Aslan “Don’t be silly, that’s the other way. If that’s the way to Bridge, this (he points straight on) would be the way back to Halls.”

Feeling very smug with myself we turn into Greenbank car park. Aslan assures me that he now knows the way to the M62, and that finally, almost exactly an hour since we left my prison, we were going to leave Liverpool.

The Great Escape… part one

This, to many of you, will remind you of an epic film where a handful of middle-class Englishmen managed to outwit the whole (rather dim-witted) German Army in one of the Great Wars. I think it was the Second World War, though don’t quote me on that; to be honest I’m not that bothered as we have the DVD at home and I can easily check at any time.

Anyway the main point is that we, the English nation, (note I did not say British, French or American), managed to hoodwink the Germans’ so much so that even a blind man was able to escape the so-called inescapable prison. Coupled with an unforgettable theme song, aptly named the “Great Escape”, this film couldn’t go wrong.

So why at this precise moment in time have I decided to remind you of this? Could this have something to do with the recent endemic that is “World Cup fever”?

Maybe you can see the parallels between the fact that the World Cup is being held in Germany (note to all women who read my Blog, if any; the World Cup IS being held in Germany, and no, I’m afraid I will not explain the offside rule), and that we, as a nation (if you are English), need to escape our “Choke-at-the-last-moment” attitude. Alternatively, maybe you can’t see this analogy.

To be honest, this is really inconsequential as, although football is important, I have a far more exciting tale to tell. This though isn’t for the faint-hearted; read ahead at your own risk.

The date, Thursday 8th June; the time, 12:05pm. As I looked out of my bedroom window in Liverpool for the last time, I look at how my life has changed in the past year. I’d settled into a new Church, made a great new set of friends, become a Hall Group leader for the Christian Union (granted, I am probably the most laid back and subsequently the worst leader there has ever been in the CU; but the way I look at it - every machine has a dodgy gear and therefore I am happy to fit this role). Lastly, one of my proudest feats was to become the Christian Union’s football captain, despite the fact that I can’t play football for toffee; this involved a lot of bribing and blackmail on my part – this I learnt from the Italian football directors at Juventus (note: this is a joke specifically to those who follow football, not a racist remark about the Italians; if you don’t understand, I frankly don’t care, but if you want me to explain it please ask in the comments section – not really worth it though). Anyway, whilst on a trip down memory lane, my phone went. Looking to see who the caller was I could feel my palms becoming sweaty; this was down to my nervous apprehension about what was about to unfold, not to the fact that I hadn’t moisturised my eczema-ridden hands. Looking at the screen on the phone, I could just make out the caller ID; “The Mighty Aslan”. To those of you who don’t know who “The Mighty Aslan” is let me explain oh so briefly; after all he’s practically a living legend. Anyways, Aslan, aka Jonnie Welford, is a good friend of mine from Liverpool University, studying some kind of Geography Management for chicken farming (I think, though my memory does fail me sometimes). He was dubbed “Aslan” because of his excessive hair which formed a kind of mane. Not sure who actually came up with the name (a prize for the person who tells me first), but it definitely stuck, and now, even though the mane has long been swept off of the barbers floor, the spirit that is Aslan lives on within him. He is quite candidly an example to us all.

In true form to his selfless and lion-hearted persona, Aslan had offered me and Ms Parsons (Cathy to most) a lift home WITH all our stuff. Unfortunately, Cathy couldn’t join in on our escapades. This was because she is a very resourceful lass and consequently managed to use her room as a metaphorical Mary Poppin’s bag; she seemed to have an endless supply of belongings. Regrettably, not even Aslan could match her packing abilities and had to, with a tearful expression and a dry throat, break the bad news to her. As he waved his fond farewells, she was left standing helpless at the doorway to Carnatic Halls, without any hope or meaning; despair ridden across her face (poetic licence has been used here; not all these things are accurate – just sound a bit better than the truth. In short, Cathy had too much stuff to fit in Aslan’s car so she altruistically declined his offer, for the good of the mission).

Anyway, back to the “Great Escape”. Where were we? Oh yeah, 12:05am, phone ringing, sweaty palms and the Mighty Aslan…

Tentatively I answered my phone.

Strange deep voice: “You ready?”
Me “Yeah, I think so”
Strange deep voice: “It’s on… I’ll be round in half an hour”
Me “Okay… bring on the road trip!”.

1¼ hours later, (lions aren’t known for their time keeping), Aslan arrived in what I can only describe as “The Beast”. As I stood open-mouth he turned to me casually and, noting my dumbfounded expression, smiled sweetly and said “it’s an XJ3000 Roadster”. Quickly coming to my senses I invited him in (there was no way I was going to let him sit in the beast whilst I collected my belongings from my flat) and between us we packed up the car; like true men this took several attempts to try and maximise the space, and consequently this left Aslan’s Didgeridoo dangerously positioned just behind the front passengers head. When I protested against this Aslan’s reply was, “Oh well, I’ll try not to brake hard… well not too often anyway”.

As Aslan reversed round to the front gate, (those unfamiliar with my previous accommodation I will let you in on a little secret… this used to be a prison; it had high-rise metal fences, with sharp pointy things on the end, and a magnetically-locked door and gate - the only way in and out was with a key, or the porters mercy), I walked round to the porter’s (I don’t have the right key for the big gate at the front; it was open earlier so we just Aslan just drove straight in) my heart sank. The porter was nowhere to be seen!! We were trapped indefinitely until the porter arrived. When I told Aslan of our predicament he just told me to try and force the gate open. I looked at him sceptically and thought to myself “they’re magnetically locked, there’s no chance they’ll budge”, but being the good Christian I am obliged to his, rather optimistic, request. As I approached the gate I could see that the left hand side of the gate was slightly ajar, so I tackled this side first. Glancing round quickly to check there was no one looking, I leaned back allowing my full weight to oppose the electromagnets holding the gate in place. With a shudder, slowly but surely the gates moved. Buoyed by this small victory I pulled harder and the gates creaked still louder (they were on hydraulic arms too) I managed to price the left hand side of the gate open. Triumphant and very pleased with myself I told Aslan to drive through the gap, so that we might escape and be on our way. His reply was quick and to the point, “I can’t fit this car through that gap, you’ll have to open the other gate too”. It felt as though all the air had been let out of my balloon. Humbly, and rather more quickly I pulled open the other gate and joined my companion in the beast. 1:40pm and we were off!

The roadtrip had finally begun…