Saturday, 6 June 2009

The Train to Liverpool

I’m currently sitting on a train whisking me rapidly toward Liverpool, home of those behemoths of music history, the Beatles. For some reason, when I was regaling everyone with what I thought were rather spiffy long weekend plans, the first question to leave every single person’s lips when told the destination was invariably ‘Why?’. And that, I think is one of the most permeable differences between a person born in a particular country, and one living there on a less permanent basis. Particularly when the conversation involves going anywhere other than London for a long weekend, at least within the borders of the UK. Even the spattering of native Liverpudlians among my acquaintance seemed almost horrified at the thought of me exiling myself to the cultural wasteland that apparently is Liverpool. I’m unsure as to whether I should be worried by this or not. Nevertheless, it is far too late now. A friend of mine who works within the music industry approached me a few weeks ago with a proposal. She was covering the Liverpool Soundcity festival for work and said that were I to come along she would procure for us press passes for the event. If there is one thing that I never turn down, it is the chance to see the inner machinations of the culture industries. I’m not really fussed as to which industry it is, whether music, fashion, film or tv; I find them all equally fascinating. And they inevitably supply wonderful opportunities to watch would-be celebs and on the odd occasion, the real deal celebs, in their natural habitat.
So off to Liverpool I go. 3 hours in a train is softened ever to slightly by the rather dishy young thing sitting opposite me. Lord knows it would be incredibly rude of me not to offer him a glass of my rather lovely New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, wouldn’t it? And I’m nothing if not polite.

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