Saturday 15th July 2006

Let me ask any female reader an ignorant but valid male question; how the hell do you get anything done before noon? Despite not having a sister I've had the dubious pleasure of seeing females 'behind the scenes' without the trouble of being in a relationship with any of them most of my adult life and let me tell you it still baffles me that it can take two hours to get ready to out dressed casually with minimal make up. I mean it ASTOUNDS me. The girls staying this weekend know I get agitated waiting around for them to get ready, which must be as frustrating for them as it is for me, and so having had the first shower of the group this morning I suggested they get prepared and I'll go out and do some shopping. We'd planned to eat in this evening and I needed to get the groceries.

Walking away from the flat in the sunshine I realised I'd not brought my phone and therefore they had no way of contacting me when their regime was complete. So I had to guesstimate it. If they were going to be as efficient and hasty as promised, they could theoretically all be ready in half an hour. But then I couldn't imagine that and so I thought I'd give them an hour. I walked into W.H.Smiths and browsed the magazines. I looked at the electronic equipment in Dixon's, or Curry's as it's now been transformed into. Then I did a long stroll around Marks And Spencer's getting cheat food for tonight (it's cheat food because you just shove it in the oven but you look like a gastronomic genius when you present it on a plate) and, worrying I was really running late and over estimating their capacity for delay, I got a cab back with my bags and came through the door a good hour and twenty minutes having gone out.

We're they ready? Athena Caramitsos, the nano-human, was upstairs ironing a skirt in a towel with wet hair. Let me ask you - what time do you get up for work? 2am?

How long does it take a bloke, with long hair, to get ready? Including a shower, I'd say 20 minutes tops. Let's say he has to put on make up for whatever personal reason and we'll allow him ten minutes for that. That's thirty minutes. What difference is there between being a bloke with long hair with an affinity for make up and being a girl? None so as I can see. So explain taking over an hour. It's the unsupervised chatting isn't it? I should have taken the TV Ariel out of the wall so there could be access to Big Brother highlights. It's as distracting as a penalty shoot out to women.

To be fair, A was sat there completely ready and that seems to be the way with my best friend. She's glamorous but not girly in the respect she doesn't faff. True, she was in the shower first, but her complete readiness was leagues ahead of Michele or Athena. And considering Athena only needs to put on a nappy and find her rattle there's really no excuse

Still, that's the gals. I don't know how you're on the commute to work in the mornings (I think it's a case of you can get ready quickly if you have to but you'll take advantage of any window in the schedule to dilly dally if it presents itself) but the day did kick into gear at about 3pm and we made our way up to the Anglican Cathedral, which Michelle and Alison hadn't been inside, and made a trip to the top of the tower. This costs £4 but it's never boring - I've done it so many times but I still get excited. Liverpool's Cathedral is the largest Anglican example in Europe and it's scale is rather unfathomable, especially when you're inside. The trip to the top of the tower takes two lifts and then a disorienting climb up staircases that skirt the interior wall of the tower itself, which contains the bells and makes you giddy in it's best-not-thought-about brick construction. It's monolithic, or it would be if we knew what was like inside a monolith. So it's not monolithic, it's just - shall we say - bloody, horribly big. If you try and focus on the opposite wall, and the hundreds of thousands of bricks in it, you're likely to feel as if you're loosing your balance.

The view from the top is just a treat and it's the first place I take visitors to Liverpool. The tower is square and so essentially you stand on a very, very high roof and can look out through the gaps in the stone to any corner of the vista. The river, particularly in sunshine, and the city centre look great. Shame on you if you live in Liverpool and you've not done this. A pox upon your lazy eyes. Unless you're a disabled. You'd not get a chair up there. No - I'm not being nasty or uncaring - it's just struck me. There's no way you could get up there unless you were able bodied and that's a shame. How evil of God to build his Church that way. And to make people disabled. Curse you God for making your church and some of your nice people this way.

Such a lovely afternoon, back down on the ground. The girls went to see the shops and joined me later in The Lion. We moved on for more wine than we'd planned at The Racquet Club and then, half-cut, or cut to ribbons in Michelle's case, we went home and stuck the oven on.

I had initially planned to get an early night because I needed to be up at half four to be at the airport for 5.30am, but in the event - with Michelle passed out on the wooden floor -- A, Athena and I sat up scouring Friends Reunited on the internet and a new site I've ignorantly just discovered and love, YouTube. Why sleep? I was going on a very impromptu and ill deserved trip - and so, without a wink of rest, it was goodbye to my harem and off to the airport as the sun rose....

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