For reference sake, “town” is downtown Liverpool. I’ve come to realize that the word ‘downtown’ is completely American. If you are to go downtown here, you’re either going to ‘town’ or to ‘city centre’. This confused me to no end at first since I always call the little shopping center\street close to our home as ‘town’ and Liverpool proper as ‘downtown’. I’ve been informed many times (thanks Andy) that what I consider ‘town’ is actually called the ‘high street’. While I’ve managed to adjust my phrasing to have ‘town’ mean downtown, I can’t get the hang of ‘high street’. I always just say I’m going to the shops at the end of the road. Confused yet? Welcome to my world.
So yes! I went to town (twice!). Strangely enough, I went into town (twice!) for the same damn reason both times. This past weekend, the Sea Odyssey came to Liverpool. I actually first heard about the gigantic puppets from reading Whoopee, who has a great post on the event (which was a different story technically, but they used the same girl puppet) and which I think you should read. I think you should read it because my efforts to see gigantic puppets ran amok and you should have the satisfaction of reading about giant puppets by someone who actually managed to see them.
The first day I tried to see the giant puppets, I took Henry with me. It was jam packed in town and our timing was off and by the time we should have been able to see giant puppets (on the move, which is the important bit), Henry started screaming for his supper. This was as close as I got to one of the giant puppets before I had to run (literally, which I don’t do normally since running sucks) 9 blocks (uphill) to find a bus to take us back:
Do you see him there? Just - right - yeah, right there. He's sleeping. BOoO-ring.
The day wasn’t a complete bust though as I managed to capture a photo of this wonderful piece of British consumerism. Seriously, who knew the Queen was into bondage? You know, if you are a high profile head of state, it’s always a good idea to keep your kinks patriotic.
Well, HELLO Queeny.
The very next day we tried again. This time we dropped Henry off at his nan’s so that there was no way that his dinner plans interrupted our (mine, really) pursuits to see giant fuck off puppets. Sadly, we (I) failed to check the times when the puppets were on the move so by the time we managed to get to town, the puppets were already on a boat sailing away. Damn puppets!
Me: Is that them? Andy: I don't know. Me: Do you know now? How about now?
It was as exciting as this picture makes it looks, which is, like, not at all. Damn puppets.
But this little girl was excited...and sad. She just waved good-bye over and over again.
Feeling quite defeated, we headed to the first pub we stumbled upon and had ourselves a pint. Quite by chance, we ended up sitting next to a table where a nice British couple was hosting an American guest. Feeling somewhat brave, I thought to myself, “right, I’ll wait until a good break in their conversation and then I’m going to introduce myself – using my first name!” Being polite and all, I sipped my pint and eavesdropped into their conversation waiting for my chance. By the time I was half way through my pint, I found that this American man was from Nebraska originally, but was now living in Texas. He also thought Barcelona was awesome and the cruise ship that he used to get there was fantastic. And lastly, he really enjoyed going hunting. I finished my pint, looked at Andy and said, “Let’s go.”
All was not lost though. Liverpool's finest were giving free non-helmeted motorcycle rides to all the kids. Always entertaining!