A FEW years ago I got married. Our reception was in The Florrie in Liverpool 8. It’s a wonderful old building that was reasonably recently restored to it’s rightful glory. It holds a special place in my heart not just for the memories I have there but also for the wonderful people who work there and the, frankly, crazy ideas they come up with for events. One of which was Saturday.
The Super Weird Happening was a 14-hour event curated largely by Greg Wilson and featuring music, art, psychedelia and some stuff that can only be described as mad shit. It was a big, long event for The Florrie and they were looking for people to help them. So I volunteered to go down the morning of the Merseyside derby.
Except when I got there they seemed to have it all under control. So I had a wander around, bought a brownie off a charming young boy who sold the hell out of it — “Home made those, fresh out the oven” — and then found myself on the floor in the gym while a woman smashed on some gongs.
Me mentally preparing for The Derby at @TheFlorrie pic.twitter.com/ZhETpsPoML
— John Gibbons (@johngibbonsblog) April 1, 2017
I’m not sure how it worked as derby preparation, to be honest. It largely just zoned me out when I was probably meant to be getting fired up. But I’m glad I had that brownie. It was the last thing I’d eat for the next 24 hours. Imagine how drunk I might have got, otherwise?
My dad picked me up and we were on our way. I was on Snapchat duties for The Anfield Wrap, which mainly consisted of asking my dad if we were going to win. He said yes. Great news.
I’m a bit later than normal but sneak one in in The Glenbuck. Everyone is confident. Predicted scores vary, but are very much in favour of Liverpool. The beer is flowing steadily considering it’s so early. Michael Biggs in particular seems very keen. I am later informed by the time he gets in he is speaking only in French. His wife was pas amusé.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I arrive in time for the touching and fitting tribute to Ronnie Moran. It is very emotional. There were several grown men crying by me. Something I’ve not seen before, not even for Hillsborough. I guess there is anger involved there, where as here just sadness and respect. The Blues join in the applause and the ground rightly recognises a true legend. Then the players on the pitch play in a way he would have loved.
I don’t think Everton are that bad really, and Tom Davies looks great. They just haven’t got the quality we have further up the pitch. Our match winners play like that and they’re only half a team compared. They look like they might have a go for a bit, but then blow themselves out and their players resort to kicking while their fans resort to Heysel. Sound.
Phil Coutinho is the only one I feel sorry for. He was having a great time and looked fuming he couldn’t make them look not very good any more. Don’t worry, Phil. Be plenty more chances with these.
After the game it is back to The Glenbuck and lots of celebrations. Robbo turns up with his lot too and it’s that warm we even go in the beer garden. Alright, the back. What could be better in the world? We watch Soccer Saturday hoping for some 3pm favours. Spurs win, but Manchester United can’t score. Take that. Decent afternoon of footie.
Pako Ayestaran is doing The Pink. We hear he’s hung round in Motel for a beer after so we jump a taxi to meet him. Pako is with his mates and they are keen to see a bit of the city. Thereafter follows a Pako pub crawl to The Monroe, Sound, Newington and finally The Liffey. We pick up a lot of people on the way. It feels like everyone in Liverpool meets Pako and Pako enjoys meeting everyone in Liverpool.
I’ll be honest, by the time we get to The Liffey it is a bit lairy. Pako hasn’t drunk quite as much as the rest of us and he’s just laughing his head off as we bounce around, sing songs and offer to lift him in the air (he politely declines). So I pick up Ben Johno instead. Pako makes his excuses soon after. I wish I could say the same, to be honest. But it’s not every year you win a derby.
HAHAHA, ONLY MESSING IT FUCKING IS!
Up the city’s all ours Reds.
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Pics: David Rawcliffe-Propaganda Photo
