I remember writing a column in the ECHO during Easter this year banging on about how I hate bank holidays and all they bring with them. They are a bane in the lives of self employed people, shutting shops and upping the pub population beyond sensible limits.
Easter’s the worst because it’s the Daddy of bank holiday’s, spanning a monstrous four days, like a storm that sets in. I can’t be doing with Easter. People would have naturally been impressed with Jesus rising from the dead, but few would have considered it would ultimately lead to early closing and extended engineering work on the railways.
The August bank holiday in Liverpool is more than just an extra day off work, it’s a carnival that goes under the banner of The Mathew Street Festival but now extends all along Castle Street, down Water Street, and the whole of Pierhead. To be honest, it’s an impressive and pretty unique spectacle but sometimes the thought of all those thousands of people isn’t an appealing one and today was that sort of day. I forgot it was even on to be honest, and got a reminder as I made my way into town.
The first nice day of the summer had timed it’s arrival well and thousands of people stood in front of any one of the several stages, on which bands were playing Bowie, The Beatles, and Reggae.
I suppose I am a spoilsport, but I just can’t conjure up too much enthusiasm for this sort of thing. It’s not that I’m against it, certainly not, it’s something that a lot of people really enjoy – and it is free, after all – but I’m not one for crowds, and I’m not one for any sort of enforced jollity.
I know that sounds miserable, but I’ve not got a problem with having a good time, I’ve simply got a huge problem with people informing me I should be having one. It’s like when you’re standing in a pub, or walking down the street, and some dreadful stranger comes over and says ‘Cheer up!’ It’s infuriating.
I don’t generally walk around feeling down, although apparently my face reveals me to be considering leaping in front of a bus. Just thinking about things, most of the time. Anyway, I get that ‘cheer up!’ quite a lot and find it the biggest invasion of privacy ever. Firstly, who the HELL feels they have the right to just approach a stranger and demand an immediate increase in their apparent mood? It’s amazing! Second, what’s to say I haven’t just suffered some crisis or other? Say I’ve just heard some devastating news? ‘Cheer up!’ That’s not going to fix things.
In fact, I might do that the next time I get a ‘Cheer up!’ I might pretend I’ve just lost a member of my immediate family, look ten times as upset thanks to the idiot’s interruption, and walk off at speed as if I’m now too upset to hold any sort of conversation. Hopefully that will teach people, one at a time, that going up and saying ‘Cheer up!’ to people is a stupid and dangerous thing to do.
Anyway, do they want me to walk around with a beaming smile on my face at all times? I wonder if I did, would people come up and say ‘Tone it down!’
So to avoid any chance of a ‘cheer up!’ I walked a long route around the celebrations until I ended up by the Japanese restaurant, Sapporo. Had some salmon soup and a gin and tonic. Yes, it is a weekday and I’ve vowed not to have any booze during the week, but it’s a bank holiday Monday, therefore making it a weekend day by default. I have not broken my rule. I can walk with my head held high.
Or I could. Bumped into Trevor in the Tea Factory and got sloshed on red wine and vodka martinis. I left in the end, couldn’t take it. I performed the dismount.
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