A Postcard from Ironbridge
Fish n Chips with a Grand Old Lady and one or two words from The Boss
Fish n Chips with a Grand Old Lady and one or two words from The Boss
When my footballing team of gladiators enter every arena, virtually every player is either talking to himself, to an unseen buddy nearby or, in an obvious societally perceived norm, conversing with the Big Guy upstairs. As they cross the white line of sporting battle my team in the mighty Red of Liverpool are pointing skyward, crossing themselves or in a private ceremony of their own, as they presumably seek assistance from their particular Almighty or give praise and thanks or dedicate their pre game ritual as a personal thanks for a departed loved one. Nearly every player, but let’s focus on just three with firstly the ridiculously handsome and rugged goalkeeper Alison Becker. “Ali” as he is more commonly known is very demonstrative with fingers pointing skyward and a short prayer as he prepares to enter the field, talking to himself, or at a presumed norm, to God. But why would the huge Brazilian in the Liverpool goal need help from a higher power? He’s the greatest goalkeeper in the world at the time of writing and has been so or close to, for three or four years now. I can assume that Ali’s entrance is both spiritual and personal due to the tragic recent passing of his Father and I’m not making light of his personal dedication. More, in the spirit and mood of this left field rambling tale of footballers and their superstitions, why does the greatest goalkeeper in the world need any further assistance? Or Fabinho, his Brazilian and Liverpool team mate? “Fab” also has a “pointing to the sky” dedication or help from the unseen Almighty, but why? He’s fast becoming the game’s great “water carrier”, of whom when he doesn’t play, the team doesn’t play. How his ugly covering of every blade of grass is so vitally important to the team that revolves around his axis. Fab is faultless at times and a little clumsy at others but does he need his team mate in the sky to help him out? And don’t even start with Mo Salah! He’s playing fantasy PlayStation football, and sometimes all on his own. He currently has a “Goal of the Season” competition running all of his own too, and it’s not even Halloween yet. So the Egyptian King doesn’t need any further assistance from any external powers.
Perhaps the most pertinent question to ask at this juncture is how does God decide the running order for the bestowing of the help. Fab may be a little clumsy, Mo is on fire and Alison is too ridiculously handsome, so I guess God starts with Fab, but what if he’s not watching the match? God may be omnipotent, but surely he takes Sunday’s off? What if the game is played on a Sunday? Does God tune in and break his own beliefs? And how can he watch *every* game as my team are no different from any other in any other sport worldwide. Does God have a good streaming service? All these questions, and so many more, are redundant as we can’t possibly know. But what we can almost be certain of knowing is that a brief chat with oneself in the tunnel before a big game through to pointing to the sky and conversing with your brand of the Almighty appears to help, producing calm, a serenity and feeling of gratitude that even a Godless heathen like me can relate to. So I’m not knocking these practices of faith, devotion or of help and guidance, we all have our own tics and peccadillos, rituals and beliefs, coping strategies or ways of making ourselves laugh or a needed release of emotion. As the American writer Bruce Springsteen would often hoarsely serenade his adoring crowd “people find some reason to believe” and as his fellow American writer of letters and outlandishly brilliant gibberish Hunter S Thompson would often refrain at the most bizarre of juxtapositions, “and why not?”.
Why not indeed.
I talk to bridges. What? Don’t pull that quizzical face at me! Sentient humans talk to all sorts of things, objects, plants, bearded man in the sky, sporting teams. Under the guise of superstition, religion, faith or belief we’ve all walked along this rickety path and my cobbled stone laden path leads me to the oldest iron bridge in the world. What? A keen amateur gardener is any different when they talk with their prize roses? Or the people who kneel for their God(s) and not just an invisible prophet in the sky either. Gods come in all shapes and sizes these days. All are earth bound entities too (unless you read David Icke) but once mere Captains of Industry, Hollywood actors and actresses or world famous sportspeople are quickly anointed celestial status, and as the collection plate is passed around more parishioners gather to celebrate, talk to, plead with or show their undiluted faith in them. Some of us dress as comic book characters and get lost within the Marvel/DC Comics universe. Some of us dress for pleasure and let their alter ego run rampant in that particular perverted universe. Some of us vote. Some of us laugh at the mere suggestion that placing a pencil marked “X” in a box every 4 or 5 years is ever going to prevent the (s)elected Government from gaining the reigns of power. Some of us are devout religious believers. Some of us are totally agnostic but appreciative of the rock we’re spinning on throughout a universe our tiny minds could never dream to fully imagine. A List actor or actress, sporting team or icon, lifelong love partner, marking your Census form as “Jedi” under the religious orthodoxy question, talking to the plants and trees of mother nature. Roll your dice. Play your game. Pick your poison. Some of us find great solace in dressing up as Harry Potter, others in their finest bib and tucker for a chat with the Almighty every Sunday. We all find a reason to believe.
So I talk to bridges. Bridge singular in fact. I haven’t got the time and energy for multiple conversations with inanimate objects made from iron. Have you tried talking to a bridge? Bit of a one way street I’m afraid, and don’t, whatever you do, conduct these conversations in front of other human beings. Tends to scare the locals and the tourists don’t want you jibber jabbering away and spoiling their moment. These conversations are a singular event, just you and the “Grand Old Lady” as I call the bridge at Ironbridge, and best had on cold, misty late nights as a light mist descends to river level and the Grand Old Lady is clouded in heavenly smoke. If you’re lucky, the neighbourhood bats will soar and swoop around you, the owls in the distant trees will serenade you in their night time songs and an old bridge will patiently listen to your tale of woe. Now when I say “talk” it would be more correct if I stated that I salute the bridge every time I see her with a hearty “good afternoon” before wishing her well with my parting “goodbye Mrs Bridge”. Everything in between stays between a Grand Old Lady and me. Loose lips do indeed sink ships.
So I had fish n chips with a Grand Old Lady on Wednesday for the first time in a long time and we had much to catch up on.
My time living in Ironbridge was equal parts idyllic and horrific. Living for the sheer pleasure alone and a semi permanent holiday yet unable to come to terms with the finality of the reason why I had moved to Ironbridge in the first place. I went to live in a world heritage site with a ginormous reliance on the tourist trade and I did so wanting to be incognito. As my old Boss has recently commented to me privately, I am a “complicated egg” and I take such high compliments damn personally! I lived behind a sweet shop on the High Street and remarked to an owner who became a trusted friend that I loved living in Ironbridge because no-one knew me. “But Steve” he retorted, “Everyone knows who the strange man is walking up and down the High Street with a book in one hand and a mug of tea in the other!”. Well Ironbridge locals are a little strange! So I thought I was just blending in. Besides, a quiet morning with a good book, a good brew and the company of the Grand Old Lady does wonders for the soul. I fell in love again whilst living in Ironbridge as well as coming to the realisation that I’ll never love again too. Such certainty is a heavy cross to bear. I’m too irascible and befuddled by a concept of life that just convinces more and more we live in Neo’s Matrix. I am, in short, a difficult sausage to love. So I bought a Grand Old Lady some fish n chips and we talked it all through.
A liverpudlian poet and lyrical sage once remarked that whatever gets you through the night “is alright, is alright” and people said he was a dreamer! But he’s not the only one. We’re all dreamers aren’t we? We all give our thanks to an unseen God or even those who are earth bound. Some of us talk to our plants, our pets and some of us even say hello to a 242 year old iron bridge. So I had a chat with a Grand Old Lady on Wednesday and without sinking too many ships I told her I was missing my very own Grand Old Lady, the Grand Lady of Pompey and miss not speaking with her. And to quote Springsteen one final time here, “It’s a sad man my friend who’s living in his own skin, and can’t stand the company”. She was silent. She always is. Much like God I’m sure she’s overrun with conversations from parishioners and deciding on a running order of when and to whom to give her help. Sometimes, just taking in the aura that surrounds my Grand Old Lady and talking to a majestic piece of old iron is enough.
“Better days are shining through” and yet again The Boss is correct. He tends to be fairly accurate on such matters. Hunter S Thompson beseeched us all to stay weird, and I’m trying. I’m sure a few words with a Grand Old Lady once in a while constitutes as being weird. In 2005, the then Liverpool goalkeeper Jerzy Dudek pulled off a save in the greatest club match in the world that still to this day defies physics, gravity, sense, reason and footballing rationale. A literal once in a lifetime save. But he said he was talking to The Pope! And he made special mention of this and his faith for his own rationale as to how he saved the impossible save after the match.
Even for a Godless heathen like me, that’s a reason to believe.
