Or, as they like to call ’em over here, pavements. Phil and I had an impromptu, very long, ramble about in Liverpool last night, and burgers (well, in my case, falafel), and it was just so nice. I forget how much I enjoy simply walking around aimlessly in a city with my sweetheart, maybe having a meal, and dropping into a pub or two along the way. We spend a lot of time on our holidays doing this, and while I am at least hypothetically very fond of nature and the bucolic charms of the countryside, what I really love best is hours-long walking in the city. I’m good at the solitary urban ramble, but accompanied by my other half? Perfect evening, right there.
Liverpool is all lit up (heh, judging by the crowds last night, in more ways than one) and full of municipal holiday cheer, not to mention a Christmas market with all-too-easy access to glorious things to eat, like baklava and warm coconut macaroons, both of which I indulged in modestly last night. Given that it’s almost impossible to find the sweetened shredded coconut I think proper macaroons really require, I will be baking no macaroons this holiday season. I might, however, have a go at the baklava. Phyllo makes me nervous, not to mention the whole boiling syrup thing, but I want to try.
And so, try I will, but I am so very glad Phil and I got a chance to just get the hell out and enjoy the lights and each other’s company, without any stress, without anybody else but the anonymous crowds around us, and with a break from the oncoming madness.
Not mad enough to reactivate my apparent involuntary life-time enrolment in the RCC, even though I do love this cathedral, and was very pleased to meander past it, on the most pleasant evening we’ve had locally lately.
(Written and unintentionally abandoned on 13 December.)