There will be a glorious sunset later on. But today’s follow up to Saturday’s Smithdown Stroll starts on an ordinary, grey sort of day. One of my favourite kind. So here we go, off out for more aimless & pointless wandering around Liverpool. It’s what I do.
Along Crawford Avenue and on to Penny Lane.
I buy my lunch from Rough Hand Made here. Best pastries in the city, I’d say.
Mushrooms and spinach in filo pastry, which I’ll eat when I get to the park.
On Ibbotsons Lane. Sorry to have missed that!
What’s on in the Palm House?
Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band?
I don’t stay, this is a day for walking.
Pterodactyls on the lake.
Along to Aigburth Vale, a very popular chippy.
And Otto’s there used to be a canteen for all the bus drivers from the 60, 61, 62 and 68 that terminate here before winding their various ways back to Bootle.
And yes, a local legend.
Even if they do say so themselves.
Nearest The S*n will ever get to a mention on here.
A public service announcement for if you need any decorating done and would prefer to employ a woman.
Into Otterspool Park.
A mysterious place on a winter’s afternoon.
Ancient bit of bossing about.
Winter trees on the river front.
Looking across the Wirral to Wales.
And back the other way.
Briefly the afternoon is sunny, before the sun starts to go down.
Into the Garden Festival park.
A bleak and desolate place I’ve never taken to.
Not a municipal park in fact. Though the City Council have now taken it over to finally do something with the rest of the old Garden Festival land around it, following years of inactivity from a would-be developer.
Up through St Michael’s.
To Lark Lane.
Splendid cards and gifts shop this.
Though this is the only profanity free card in their window.
This is a recently arrived recommendation too. Mother and daughter ceramicists who’ve opened their own café.
Keith’s, freshly painted. That I should live so long.
Behind me the sunset is now beginning, it’s just before 4 o’clock.
Que Pasa, another Lark Lane veteran.
Back through the park, twilight tennis.
Along Greenbank Lane.
To visit Sarah at her allotment.
Here she is, content by her fire.
A seat’s brought out for me.
Then we watch the sun set behind the tower block. No words sufficient for the beauty we’re about to see.
Then we gaze into the flames of the fire.
As humans have done since we learned how to make fire.
Watching and dreaming.
Then the flames turn to embers.
And it’s time to come home.
See also A Saturday Smithdown Stroll for more pointless meanderings.