Bus Routes In Cheshire
41: Chester to Whitchurch
He alternates between sniffing up and blowing out of one of his nostrils with enough force to snuff out the candles on an octogenarian’s birthday cake.
He alternates between sniffing up and blowing out of one of his nostrils with enough force to snuff out the candles on an octogenarian’s birthday cake.
We’re welcomed in by the crackling force of an industrial boiling water tap that only old-skool cafes, or a million scousers simultaneously saying ‘Burt Bacharach’, can replicate.
Candidates need two miraculous events to qualify for sainthood, which is quite the KPI to meet for the average nun or parish priest.
One of the old ladies has an incredible polyphonic voice. Squeaky yet gruff, she’s part way between Betty Boop and Phyllis from Coronation Street.
She wears false eyelashes which would frighten a tarantula, and a t-shirt with the slogan ‘Too Glam to Give a Damn’ across the bust. Her seething response when the driver dares to beep a warning suggests that, if anything, she somehow needs to become more glam.
Nobody swears like a Scouser, and for the next half an hour, the girls treat us to an f-word masterclass, with crackling white noise lobbed out whenever they broach a letter ‘k’.
Spike Island hasn’t hosted another gig since, but a 30th anniversary show will happen in May, headlined by The Clone Roses. A host of other Manchester tribute acts are opening up, playing other people’s tunes to middle-aged men in bucket hats.
Nobby Stiles’ son taught me science for a term, the highlight of which was when he answered a sincere question on the contrary etymology of blow-jobs without any hint of embarrassment.
“Here you go,” Pat says, pointing to a clump of dots on his camera’s viewfinder, “I’m pretty sure that’s the top of Muhammad Ali’s head there. I waited hours for that and he’s pixelated to buggery.”
We pass a cafe called The Scotch Egg, which must have the most magnificent sign in the entire SK postcode. The ‘o’ in ‘Scotch’ is a cartoon of a scotch egg dressed in a kilt and tam o’shanter, while the wayward nature of its eggy limbs suggests it is mid-Highland Fling.