NORMAL LIFE: Chilling Out Up North!

The hours have just accumulated at work, so I decided to take the afternoon off, something you simply just can’t do in British offices without extensive consultation with the boss and looks of jealousy from your colleagues. I packed up my things, and headed to nearby Pasila train station; from there, I took the 90 minute train journey to Tampere, Finland’s second city and the place I had lived my first two years in Finland. On the way, we passed the impressive Hämenlinna (Häme's Castle), set on the store of an iced-over lake, a contrast to where I was headed for the weekend.

I visited the now Ex-Neighbour (you can read about how I met this special lady here) who, by now has remarried and had two children. Currently on maternity leave, I decided to cram is all in, visit her and another friend before flying to Liverpool using Ryanair’s recently opened route.

We had lunch together, doting over the three month old girl who laid in front of us on one of those bouncy recliners on the living room floor. The Neighbour told of recent post-natal depression had recently taken its toll, but she sought help and it quickly alleviated; the baby has experienced many tummy problems and, in despair, my Neighbour just needed someone to say hey now, it’s perfectly normal to get depressed after having a baby. Personally, I think staying at home to look after a baby is depressing enough without the shitty nappy changing, grizzling from colic and whatnot!

After a few hours, I jumped back on the bus into town to meet Blue (read about our day out during my last summer in Tampere here), a mutual friend of mine, and the ex-neighbour.

We met in a bar quite close to the bus stop which would later transport me to Tampere’s Pirkkala airport. We spent nearly two hours chatting away endlessly. Blue is one of those people who are able to enjoy life while looking for Mr. Right. When we get together, it reminds me of those scenes when the girls from Sex & The City used to meet up for breakfast; we talk about relationships, dating, sex etc. When our time was up, I was all chatted out. I slumped onto the bus, knackered already.

What lay ahead was a three hour flight to Liverpool; the flight itself was uneventful, but the landing was quite awful. As we descended, I could see the runway below for some time before we had made contact. When the plane bumped down, the overhead lockers wobbled and it seemed that the plane momentarily skidded on the rain-soaked runway before coming to an eventual stop. When I looked out of the window, we had actually reached the end of the runway – honestly, there just wasn’t anymore tarmac left!

As I left the airport building at 8pm, I noticed that the airport was actually called Liverpool John Lennon Airport; I looked back, thinking to myself if I were famous and an airport was to be named after me, it would have to bigger than that! My friend Fred was waiting for me outside and during the drive to Manchester some 40 minutes away, we chatted as if though we had only met last week; time has a funny way of losing its meaning between friends. We checked in at the Princess on Portland hotel before 9pm and, settling down for a cup of tea on the sofa in the hotel room, we catched up big-time.

After 10pm, we dashed down to Canal Street, heading to hotspots such as Via Fossa, Queer and Essential. Via Fossa, laden with wooden interior, is gothic in style but the punters are far from gothic. In fact, Fred rightly point out that an international convention was in progress to our left where a group that looked Italian or Spanish were constantly mwah-ing (kissing on eachothers cheeks as if though they were in an episode of Absolutely Fabulous) with each new arrival through the doors. Music emanates from the dance-floor in the basement, where a mixed crowd danced their Friday night away.

Moving on, we went to Queer, a not so nice name, but the outspoken name given to this establishment is reflected in the I’m so up myself attitude of most of its clientele. With music loud enough to burst an ear drum, or both, it amused me to see a guy dancing quickly weakly in front of a fruit machine near the dancefloor. Why is that people who simply cannot dance try to do so? It’s a bit like these people that go on Pop Idol when, really, a friend or relative should have told them get real! In the basement on one side of building was a Glam Disco, a dismal attempt to provide a place for young, camp queens – Fred and I lasted down there for no more than a minute, retreating the moment that Lady Marmelade started to play. I mean, how gay can you get?

The only bit of inspiration came from when I went to the toilet. I was in a cubicle, doing my business, when I looked up at the calming glow of the blue neon light emitting from the ceiling. Next to me were these black tiles with white grouting and, for some bizarre reason, out came the camera embedded in my mobile phone; inspiration comes to me from such bizarre places and, for the record, no I wasn’t drunk (yet) nor was I on drugs. I’m not that kind of clubber!

We moved on to Essential, a nightclub consisting of three discos split over three floors – the music was better, got a bit of eye-contact, but the place was full of ‘attitude’ and devoid of character. Going out is always nice, but it’s even better to just chill out with your friends at home.

A bit tipsy, Fred and I headed back to the hotel and were in bed around 3.30am. I was absolutely knackered. When I woke up at 10am the next morning, Fred had already showered and was just getting dressed. He explained that he needed to put money in the care meter and, as he left, handed me a cup of coffee! Awww! What a start to the day. Admittedly, my head hurt a bit, but after a nice hot bath and a shave, I felt renewed as I listen to a number of ABBA hits coming from the radio.

When Fred came back, we headed downstairs for breakfast, indulging in a buffet breakfast consisting of anything you could possibly fit into the Full English menu! Yummy! Afterwards, we went for a wander around the packed city centre. I bought a poppy, one of those wonderful British traditions, which aims to remember those who die in conflict so we can continue to enjoy our freedom. You can read more about this wonderful tradition here.

Around 1pm, we left Manchester, bound for Liverpool to meet up with Sweetpea who I met in China (you can read about our trip to China in three parts starting here). By the time we arrived at Sweetpea’s, Fred was well and truly knackered. He dropped me off, and I waited for Sweetpea to arrive for she had gone to do a quick shop. Ten minutes later, she drove up and her smile drove away my tiredness. After all, I can sleep when I die, can’t I, Sweetpea? Indoors, we chilled over a cup of tea, huddled up on the sofa, catching up. Later on, we headed into town, parking just outside the town centre, right next to catch piece of graffiti on a white wall. Fair enough, graffiti is wrong, but sometimes it does look tasteful.

As we waded through the crowds of Liverpool’s town centre, it became obvious that Christmas was coming; store after store had glittering displays adorned with multibuy promotions. We went into a card shop, which had some hilarious cards adorning messages such as:-

Whatever women do, they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily, this isn’t difficult.

Women and cats will do as they please, men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.

Wrinkles merely indicate where smiles have been.

24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence?

My favourite, though, is one which read Heterosexuals are so last year!

We got back to the house before 6pm and, over a glass of Rosė, talked deeply about my return to Finland and the journey so far. I felt privileged to have her as a friend, another native Brit to share my experiences, as well as my concerns, with. She talks a lot of sense, and I often remember that weekend we spent in Wales when I returned to Britain in August 2005.

Outside, the rained lashed down furiously – you could hear it through the windows. As a strained to see into the dark street below, a passing car’s headlights showed just how much water had accumulated. We pulled on our waterproofs, and dashed to a restaurant in nearby Lark Lane. And it wasn’t just any old restaurant we turned up at. It was the new Thai restaurant, Chilli Banana. Over a dinner of succulent Black Pepper Prawns and rich Chicken Coconut Curry, I listened intently to Sweetpea’s stories about her trips to Thailand and the time she legged it from a restaurant in Greece! Desert was sliced bananas in warm coconut sauce. Yummy! This was my first trip to a Thai restaurant, and it made a welcome change from the ever-familiar Chinese Chicken Chow Mein and Prawn Balls!

We were home by 9.30pm, both of us knackered from our late nights out the previous night. We turned on the gas fire, and got comfy on the sofa to watch an episode of the ominous Afterlife and Parkinson, who happened to be interviewing Comedian Peter Kay. It was a perfect evening, and the evening’s events suited our moods. As Sweetpea dozed on the sofa next to me, it made me realize just how chilled I had become; earlier in my 20s, I was much more uptight, wanting to cram everything in, but now I was just happy to relax. It was a Saturday night, and I was in bed by 11pm!

I woke up the next morning, feeling quite fresh, just before 9am. Sweetpea was already awake, finishing off in the bathroom so I quickly packed my things so that we could settle down for a natter. We made bacon butties and watched an episode of the Catherine Tate Show on DVD before heading to the Albert Docks in the heart of Liverpool’s City Centre. Established in 1846, the £100 million redevelopment now houses the Tate Liverpool, the famous Beatles Story, the Maritime Museum and HM Customs & Excise National Museum among countless eateries and bars. Read more here.

We met up with an old friend of Sweetpea’s in a bar, who I got on with very well, before we moved onto an Italian where I indulged into a pizza. By 3pm, it was time to get back on the road back to Liverpool airport. The security situation at the airports hasn’t improved much – it took me nearly 90 minutes from check-in to reaching the gate. It’s a good thing I arrived when I did as I had no time to even buy my much-loved Sunday newspaper IN ENGLISH! As the plane sped down the runway and lifted into the air, I could make out the inlet of the Mersey in what was left of the day’s light. I hope Ryanair continues this Tampere to Liverpool route for it connects me with what I’m proud to say are my two best friends in the UK. I love you, Fred and Sweetpea!