A visit to the UK

I spent the better part of this week in the United Kingdom, on an official visit to meet some of our partners in Liverpool and Glasgow.  Liverpool was my first stop.  City of the Fab Four, the legendary Beatles and home to the greatest football club on this earth. Alright that might just be my totally unobjective view. And perhaps also for the millions of other fanatical die-hard supporters of the mighty Reds all over the world. OK, the once-upon-a-time mighty Reds. We are just respectfully but blatantly biased. But even when seen through rose-tinted lenses, as I stepped out from the Lime Street train station, the city appeared to have seen better days. Not quite decrepit but ostensibly dowdy and dated.

To be fair, my one night stay at Liverpool this week confined to the train station vicinity was far too brief to qualify me for comment on its true worth and heritage. But brief as it was, I was awash with waves of warm memories.  I had last visited Liverpool on a winter holiday with Jenny and the kids.  Some 8 years ago. We had great fun exploring the historic Albert Dockyards off the River Mersey, towering cathedrals and many of the free-admission museums around the city.

Most memorable was the tour to Anfield football stadium. No self-respecting fan would miss this pilgrimage. Even Jenny, who was never a football fan and understood little about the game was infected by my overflow of exuberance. Gamely, she posed in the dressing room where the players’ jerseys were neatly hung and displayed against the wall, providing an excellent backdrop for many photo-shots.  She lovingly hugged the glass casing within which sat the Club’s priceless treasure, the much coveted Champions League trophy won in the finals at Istanbul 2005, where Liverpool created one of the most famous comebacks in football history. My sweet and dainty Jenny, sharing the joy with her football-mad husband so that he would never have to walk alone.

But last Tuesday, with some time to kill before my meeting, I walked alone over the cobbled streets of Liverpool.

Outside the St George’s Hall around a cluster of old Victorian buildings, stood a cast bronze barrel-like structure about 7 feet tall, with bouquets of flowers strewn on the pavement all around it.  It turned out to be a monument to commemorate the Hillsborough disaster some 27 years ago when 96 Liverpool fans were killed. I took a few photographs for keepsake. The anniversary of the disaster was just two days apart of Jenny’s passing on date. All around the city is bathed in brilliant sunshine, rare for the English weather in the advent of spring. But the sunshine failed to brighten the mood. And the Hillsborough disaster monument was just another sombre reminder that death is always an inevitable part of life.  Unpredictable and heart-wrenching for the ones left behind.

The Hillsborough disaster monument in Liverpool city centre

The next day I caught the early train to Glasgow. There was a change of train at Preston. The rest of the journey was in first class seats on the new Virgin coaches. The train company knew how to pamper its passengers.  I ordered an egg Benedictine even as I was not hungry and started to regret after stuffing in the first egg as I felt the agony of over-eating. Still, I finished most of the meal just so as not to be seen as being a food-waster. Travelling first class, and the day before for my flight to the UK, on business class on our national carrier I felt undeservedly privileged. The business class seat could fold itself into a flat bed allowing passengers to stretch out and sleep with reasonable comfort. But I lied in the darkness of the half-empty cabin for much of the 13 hour flight without sleeping a wink. I rarely could sleep on flights but unlike coping with the discomfort of economy class seating, this first time experience of lying horizontally did not help either. Half-awake in the dark, I spent much of the flight reminiscing about my past life with my dearest departed wife. It was an opportune time to recollect the memories to keep them fresh.

The bathroom  glass walls offers limited privacy.

In Glasgow, I checked into the CitizenM hotel at Renfrew Street. On the website, when I did the booking, the hotel had claimed to offer its guests with an “innovative hotel experience”.  Thus far, It is hard to argue with that. Stepping into the hotel lobby I struggled to orientate myself in search of the check-in counter. Instead there was an array of self-servicing terminals for a DIY check-in.  That was a first for me. The décor and furnishing around the lobby was visibly chic and modern, with strong colours.  There was a familiar feel of stepping into a designer’s show-room. Even the directional signs were playfully creative and eye-catching. 



The hotel room was particularly small with the king-sized mattress installed wall-to-wall, occupying most of the floor space. The TV, a large flat screen was mounted against one side of the wall above the bed and the windows with its curtain blinds, stretch across the entire width of the room on the adjacent wall. The toilet and shower tray was entirely encased in a stylishly curved wall of frosted glass, from floor to ceiling. The light from within the bath room filtered out to the other side of the room depriving whoever is bathing inside of total privacy as faint images of nakedness would be exposed through the translucent glass. I could not imagine Jenny wanting to ever share this room with me even as we have been married for so many years given her unyielding need to safeguard her modesty.

Weather-wise we could not have chosen a better week to travel to Scotland.  That the British cannot stop talking about the weather is not new to me. But after umpteenth sessions, where each and every one of our meeting hosts repeated ad infinitum about how we (my lady colleague and I) had “brought in the sunshine”, it got somewhat tiresome. Long-haul travelling mortals we were but weather-gods definitely not. We were just plain lucky to have enjoyed Scotland in glorious sunshine instead of the usual grey and cold drizzle the locals are so used to.

There would be so much I could share with Jenny on my travel experience if only she could be there to greet me when I return home. She would be full of envy to hear of the perks I got treated to. But she would have been very happy for me too.

Glaswegians basking and enjoying the brilliant sunshine, while it lasts