Places they remember

Let me take you down 'Cause I'm going to strawberry fields
Nothing is real And nothing to get hung about Strawberry fields forever. 

I’m staying around the docks in Liverpool with everything a few minutes walk away. It’s nearly the end of the [rashbre central] part of my journey, although my travels continue for another two weeks. My paltry back-pack is under equipped for my apartment, but I can admire the view across the water, watch the gulls wheel and observe the Anglican cathedral opposite. 

Confusingly, Paul McCartney, raised as a Catholic, was a choirboy at this Anglican Church:  "We put on our cassocks...our little ruffs. We looked like little angels but we weren't. The great promise was that if you got a wedding you got ten shillings. I waited weeks and months and never got a wedding...."

Still, I was pleased to notice that the Albert Dock contained both a tracker vessel and a police boat, which I’m sure will come in useful in the next Ed Adams novel…something involving safe houses…No wait! A safe apartment.

And I had that overwhelming sense of being a tourist in this city. I know how London works, but Liverpool keeps its mysteries. My wandering allows me to grin at all of the greatest hits. The Liver Building, The Museum of Liverpool, The Liverpool Scene. The ferry across the Mersey, the beat goes on. 

Even the Beatles couldn’t resist that Liver Building snapshot.

Maybe no spaceman, but I did acquire a Yellow Submarine lunch box (£5).