postcards home

Where to begin? It has to be the moment I stepped on the platform at Lime Street Station  in Liverpool, heard the squawking and cawing and felt the sea close by. City life is one thing but the sea, that’s quite another. There was a hint of the ‘beginning of the line’ about it.

Although, I almost didn’t make it. I stepped on the train at 09.22, it had arrived on time. I don’t know what made me do it, but I checked with others in the carriage and soon realised my naivety.  At least half had got on the wrong train, were also heading the wrong way and some, were young enough to know better.

It did enter my mind to respond rather spontaneously and let the day continue without direction but that was how I had started the day in the first place in Manchester, heading further out than most on a writing expedition. And people soon had me going the right way. The Northern way.

I think it is also a matter of geography, never a smooth fit for me and I couldn’t ignore that fact when I saw a ferry leaving Albert Dock and realised that Dublin was in my grasp and the Southern Ireland of Ryan’s Daughter!

Always good to have an eye for the future, easy to do from the vantage on Merseyside like. The musicality of dialect is becoming a passion and Ta-ra echoed in the chip chop as in the Potteries. I had the best chips and mushy peas and a lively conversation in a room seemingly full of talking hands free.

A draft poem of the day  – Cobbled.