Sunday, 9 February 2014

Ferry cross the Mersey


 

Vol 22                 Ferry cross the Mersey

 

This is a shocker.  Thinking I was writing my mistakes in retrospect, I find myself still at it on this very day and, in the exasperated outburst of Victor Meldrew, I DON’T BELIEVE IT!

I suppose it starts just after Christmas when my grandson’s worrying about his cracked ipod starts to get to me and I resolve 1) to get him a new screen and, since I am these days memorially challenged, 2) to get him a protective case in lieu of remembering number 1).  This takes a couple of visits to the pound shop resulting in myself ending up with a jelly-like quilted thing on my own phone since it won’t fit his, ‘til I finally get it right.

So, here we are then today with our delightful grandchildren (I have yet to discover, apart from the farting, their faults) on a day trip to Liverpool.  We spend a jolly, if breath-stealingly blustery day sailing to and back across the Mersey and visiting Spaceport and a Dr Who exhibition in between, marred only by paranoia over his forgetting his precious piece of gadgetry and my phone playing up.

“Jord, what’s up with my phone?” I shout over the Cross the Mersey commentary and hand it over.

“It’s on a selfie, touch this to turn the camera round,” and goes back to his ipod videoing the diminishing landscape.  Simple.

I take a few more pics without much concern, it’s bloody windy after all, my eyes are watering and, hair unhelpfully in a bun,  I feel  like I could snap my ears off.

Then, at Spaceport, I have my granddaughter perfectly lined up for a spectacular shot with molton lava and a flying tardis in the background.  Click, dammit, blurred again and we’re inside, can’t blame the wind now.  The miser in me starts to calculate the cost of a new phone.  Finally they buy stretchy alien toys which they will attempt to transform into genies later in the back of the car but, in fact, look like aliens sans arms but avec enormous dingalings leading to the surreal conversation between me and granddad, driving.

“What’s Jord doing?”

“Stretching his alien.”

“Oh.”

In the simulator, granddad and I remember a long gone hilarious episode and laugh ‘til we cry throughout prompting the attendant, letting us out, to give us a very wide berth indeed.    

Waiting for the ferry back, I take out the ralcaitrescent phone for a last examine before tossing it over the side into the renowned river.   I can’t understand it, it’s been fine up to now.  As granddad and I exchange grimaces, Jas - age 9 - skips up, as ever camera ready;

“How about taking the cover off,” she offers innocently and I am almost a complete idiot until my final words en route to the multi-storey.

“Jordon, have you remembered your pie rod?”