Wednesday 26th July 2006

Thanks to Chris and Susie for sending in lift stories. Getting put through to an answering machine, Chris? Imagine the tape they have to play at the start of every day. Message upon message of nothing but panicked abuse. That’s what my answering machine is filled with whenever I get in too, and I can tell you it’s stressful.

Susie, how bad a friend is the person you called when stuck in the leisure centre lift? They rang you back with the leisure centre number? Why didn’t they immediately call the place themselves? Mobile phone calls were expensive back in 1988. I hope if your friend ever gets stuck down a well or down an icy ravine you’ll simply drop them down a megaphone so they can try for help a little bit louder, safe in the knowledge you’ve done your bit.

Since pondering the lift emergency call centre I’ve been in a number of lifts and have only just managed to suppress the urge to press the red button. I’ve been so close. If I knew I’d get put through to a call centre then I’d definitely do it because I want to ask them all about their job and get some stories (although the other people in the lift might find this behaviour odd) but then there’s a fear that it will set off lots of alarms or call the fire brigade out automatically and then I’d look an idiot. “No, it’s fine. The lift works. Only, I have this idea for a stand-up routine, or even a sit-com, why not, about people who work in a call centre answering emergency calls from lifts and I wanted to do some research so I could.. Hey! Unhand me!�

I suppose I could write an episode of Callcutta (for newer readers, a sitcom I’ve cobbled together set in an Indian call centre) where one week they handle people stuck in lifts. There’s a good episode. Two of the characters could actually get stuck in the office lift at the same time and try and call their colleagues on the phone for help but just get sucked into the mix. Heeeey – that’s not such a bad idea. Take a week off Stanley. Oh, you already have. Carry on.

Renata and I went to the beach today. People don’t think of Liverpool as being a coastal city, and I suppose technically it’s an estuary city, but we’ve got great beaches a short drive up the road. Sand dunes, miles of open space, it’s good. Renata is the greatest sun worshiper yet born into the human race and likes the opportunity to enjoy it at every opportunity and so she drove us up to Formby Point and we laid out our towels on the sand.

It was open season on the beach though and it was full of lazy people who should really have been at work. A group of lads came along about half an hour after we’d settled in our spot and started playing horrid dance music on their ghetto blaster, or whatever they’re called these days. I immediately age about fifty years whenever this happens and just grumble about them and their inconsiderate nature under my breath without having the courage to do anything about it. They were shouting and screaming, using rude words even though their were lots of kids about, and although they weren’t threatening or really doing any harm I found them insolent and began to wish for a very small and localised tsunami to wash them out into the Irish Sea.

I am old, aren’t I? They were simply enjoying themselves, and whilst the music was inconsiderate, it wasn’t really that loud, and people generally bring radios to the beach, and so I began to question whether I was right to hate them and wish them instant death, or whether I was just being dull and cantankerous? I still can’t decide. It’s probably the latter. Yes, it’s the latter.

After about an hour the sun went in and we sat there, on our towels, under a dark cloud. The temperate dropped off and most people left, but we were stoic and static in our resolution to enjoy a day at the beach – damn it – and so for a further two hours we remained. We had Goosebumps and eventually looked at each other, got to our feet, packed away and drove home. The rain wasn’t helping.

It’s not surprising how we’re attracted to the beach in summer – it’s not as stifling and there’s water to play in, but it does amaze me how people can find new reserves of determination when sat on a cold beach to somehow get something out of it. Beaches make people very, very determined. You see people sat there in January, miserable, wrapped up and windblown. We’re a strange lot.

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