... to St.Helens.

As much as I loved my time in Liverpool, there are only so many knives I can dodge, so many domestic disputes I can handle, so much shitbaggery I can tolerate.
Goes to show, no matter how much you love your friends, or as nice as a person seems, it's a whole another story to live with them. Then again, those who lived with me can say the same about me; being 'that guy' who leaves the bedroom an utter sty and unable to piss in a straight line.

So, with all my belongings fitted into a binbag, I made my way back to my hometown to live temporarily with my family, hoping to make the next jump back to in-dependency soon (however, free food and internet has gotten me complacent). 

Let me tell you something about St.Helens, it can be argued that it is the twin town of Silent Hill, or similarly a place straight out of a Lovecraftian story with added shopping centers. Located 10 miles from Liverpool, it was once a mining town around the 16th century, known for it's production and export of glass and sits between farmland, highways and amongst the many other sub-urban shite holes of Lancashire.

I'm honestly having difficulty discussing about this place even though I lived here most of my life. It is a town so quiet, obscure, and easily overlooked, often dismissed as 'like any other town'. It's like trying to come up with as many uses of a paperclip as possible, a mental exercise reserved for understaffed classrooms, shit job assessments and boredom.  One can't say much about a town whose points of interest are a weird homeless man,  a museum dedicated to the wonders of glass and a big white sculpture of a woman's face; eyes closed, probably asleep due to boredom. There is also the rumor that one point the town held 'The Highest Rate of Incest' around 2008. Well, at least we've got Rugby and Johnny Vegas going for us.

The main behind The Dream is that the statue's eyes are closed in a contemplative sleeplike state, looking inward and dreaming of the future. Probably preferable than to stare at the M62 or wherever the statue is facing.

Here's an example of how dull the place is, you have the whole of St.Helens nightlife in just one street spanning a kilometre, Westfield Street.  Really, one street is all you get. It only takes one police van just to keep everything in check, maybe two should various drunken brawls arise, that is if the bouncers haven't settled that shit first. There are only three places which I consider noteworthy amongst the other pubs and nightclubs, or rather, the only places I dare visit which doesn't require much dancing, hassle or a sacrifice of blood and innocence.

'Wait a minute you silly cunt,' A predetermined argument rings out in my mind just in time before publishing this should've-been-made-weeks-ago post... 'Dancing, hassle and the occasional punch up is part of nightlife! Without these, it isn't really a night out, is it? You don't no shit about going out!' Well, disregarding predrinks, every night needs to start off somewhere before the dutch courage sets in. One doesn't necessarily party strange immediately without getting the first few drinks toward debauched oblivion, so think of this as a beginner's foray into the night before delving into the more grittier bars/nightclubs in St.Helens. These places are the Zoo Bar, Bar Java and The Tank.

Drinking Holes for your drinking hole

Firstly, The Zoo Bar is where most live bands or era themed music nights are hosted, probably the best choice for those unashamed to hit the dance floor. All the shots, all the tracks, has everything for a standard Friday night. Don't bother looking for it's website for the next gig, I doubt it has been updated since 2012.

Followed by Bar Java, which has this Miami/Cuba vibe about it, decorated with walllights of deep purple, sofas to lounge around, weird ass trees I never seen, complete with a separate bar that sells cigarettes and a sort of arena in the back which works as a heated smoking area; shaded from the elements. The place serves a wide selection of cocktails, Long Island Ice Teas, Zombies, Rum Punches, the lot, as well as different teas and coffees if you wanna get your cafe on.

Then there is the Tank, a sort of hipster place which specializes in providing beers hailing from as far as Germany all the way back to local drafts. Fancy pint glasses, yard sticks and other ale vessels galore. Be mindful of the cramped conditions though, you practically have to dryhump your way through a dozen strangers to get from the front door to the till.

Once you've visted at least one of these places, or have the gall to go on a pubcrawl between all three, then anywhere in Westfield Street is fair game. After enough shots, fancy beers and zombies, recommendations don't matter anymore and anywhere is great to drink.

Other Entertainment

If getting muntered with the masses ain't your thing, there is The Citadel Arts Centre; which hosts a plethora of poetry nights, comedy nights cover bands and talks from well renowned public figures around the UK. Funded by various trusts such as from the local council, the Lottery Fund and other public sources. Most of the staff are a mix of volunteers as well as paid staff, in fact, I would often volunteer here to see some gigs for free. I think it could house at least 250 people, modest size for such a building, plus it helps to check what is on through the head office; I shit you not, they hosted a talk with Howard Marks there, so you know it's cool.

Otherwise, my best advice would be is that to get any sense of adventure out of this place, you'll have to go out of your way and force that excitement out. An example of this would be the Crank Caverns area. Holy shit, where to begin? It's a fucking supermurder cave in the moors of fuck knows where around the Rainford area. I have heard so many rumors which revolved around the various squatters that supposedly have lived inside those caves. Cannibalistic midgets, child sacrificing cults, homeless perverts who bone each other in the shroud of night fall. Luckily if you ask around, you'll get information from someone who was bold enough to visit there. They'll explain how the cavernous labyrinth twists and turns, small squeezes leading to larger alcoves, corridors that sometimes loop around itself.

Even at the entrances of horrifying homicide holes, there is graffiti.

Then there is the video if you don't find any description or source terrifying enough.
This place is the stuff of fucking nightmares.


A place apart from plastic and wool

Strange to say, as I write this I think less about what St.Helens is but rather times I had here and the people I have befriended. Liverpudlians would derogatorily name the locals as 'Woolybacks' or 'Plastic Scousers', imitators of the culture who are not quite accustomed to finer points of city life. However, I argue that St.Helens has it's own social behavior and eccentricities that isn't copied and pasted from it's neighboring cities. It isn't really about what the place is (a boring shithole), but rather what makes the place interesting are the people who live here. To find the St.Helens identity, you need to focus the lens on it's people rather than anywhere else.

Notably, what places this town apart from others is not the council funded projects, but the youth that hang around the streets, most notably in front of Parish Centre. We have a eclectic mix of subcultures within the youth that chill here, skaters, emos, chavs, most of them sharing the common interest of skating/biking, weed and a shared angst and disdain for their town. You can see them occasionally biking around the Parish Centre, occasionally making headlines in the local news such as 'Skater nearly kills Granny whilst doing a hot-as-balls olley'. Though some see it as a problem amongst the locals and that there have been rivalries that arose between the Emos vs. Chavs, some see it as a boon for the town's identity. There have been a couple of youth groups such as Youth Aflame that have created events that cater to them where none would; most notably the X Games, which is a BMX/Skating competition hosted once a year at the town square.

There are other people in my life who I can recount which do miles for the town which supposedly hasn't got a face. An honorable mention goes to my old film tutor from college, Geoff Harrison, who gets the local cinema  to do a private screening of the best student made films from Cowley High School. There are my mates Dan Shea and Rick Antonsson, who tour around the UK, doing shitloads of music between them through various bands.

And of course, special mention goes to Damon Tunstall, who kept fucking pestering me to make these posts. As gay as this sounds, without him, you wouldn't be reading this shit right now; should I keep posting and make enough small contributions to build up my fucktard empire, he's the guy who prodded me up.

See, it isn't the place, but the people who make up St.Helens in their own small way. It's easy to dismiss it as 'The Land of The Woolybacks and Plastic Scousers', where you only have one street of bars to choose from, where everyone looks like they're related and nothing of real significance happens ever. But if you find yourself in town, bored with nothing to do, go to a pub and dare to strike a conversation with someone; you'll be fucking awestruck with the wildest, insightful shit that came out of said dude's mouth.

Or you'll have the most stupid conversation ever, but hey, it will be the fucking funniest.
Then you'll have a story other than 'That place is full of bigots, wools and retards'.

... to Liverpool

Liverpool, the skeleton-farm of sanity. The only place I know where children sell drugs to adults and not the other way around. In fact, most of the criminal underworld is ran by those who haven't left High School. Truly the bedsit of British madness and eccentricity, where one can witness a huge puppet urinate in the street, leisurely sink to the bottom of the Mersey in a yellow busboat and still have the time in the night to party in a converted church/bar with vampires and salsa dancers.

This labyrinth is as manic as English weather, high end marketplaces merging with grimy industrial zones. If one is not careful, he is liable to lose his mind, soul and his own savings in less than a year. I'm here to share with you the underlying craziness of the city, overlooked by newcomers and tourists alike. I survived 4 years in this Wonderscouserland, and there is so much more forbidden knowledge that I've either dared not to delve too deeply into, or that I was too drunk or ignorant to notice.

Here is a map with horribly drawn notes of what you can expect probably cover more in future posts. These are rough generalizations, except for that park place; I did get mugged there, lost all of 50p and a disposable phone. (Most excitement I ever had since taking MDMA for the first time.)

No More Room in Hell (aka Smithdown Road) - Arguably one of the reasons why Liverpool held the title of  'Capital of Culture' back in 2008,  English, Polish, Czech, Chinese, Bangaldeshi, no matter what what your race, creed or profession; this street is a home to all. I lived here in assorted locations and seen many faces, all with a story to tell, all with aspirations in one form or another, usually in the form of money, power, fame, a better life, that kind of deal. Students, shopkeepers, pissheads, window cleaners, agriculturalists, drug dealers, a rogue's gallery spanning for at least 5 miles long.

For your own sake, keep your bike locked down. As well as your house. And yourself. People aren't lost here, they're stolen. I don't mean through human trafficking, I mean this place will literally take you and keep you there in the same way that your mates take you to night clubs and never want you to leave their side.

Interesting fact: This very place has been programmed into a map for the game 'No More Room in Hell', the name of the map being 'Toxteth'. Many will laughably argue that Smithdown Road isn't actually in Toxteth, simply because 'True Tocky' is a much more worse hellhole. The reasoning is that 'Smithdown Road isn't really that shit as the Toxteth area, so it can't be in Toxteth' ...that or it's located much closer to Wavertree. Either explanation fits.

Liverpool One - A beautiful grey scab of high end shopping, fancy dining, Nike trainers and free samples of perfume; it was the brain-child and multi-million commerce project by a company by the name of Grovesner. Can't remember much what this place was before the renovation, I can only assume it was some concrete desert. I'm sure some locals will fill you in on that piece of info. The odd thing about this place is how it seems to stick out and apart from Liverpool Proper, if you check out the streets that surround it, you'll see what I mean. It meshes well with the docks, design speaking.

Key points of interest would be the ODEON, the huge cinema situated within the food court; along with Chavasse Park and the various hotels that surround it. Then there is the two-story market, interconnected with escalators and fancy bridges. If you got money to blow, it has everything you need in terms of fashion, media and sex toys. Probably the best argument of capitalism. Counter-argument? Charm, charity shops and your own two pockets. God help you if you have family and when Christmas is closing in.

Bold Street - This is a place worth visiting at least bi-weekly; maybe for a gander for new reading material, a restaurant to eat at or just to check out what's going on in the Bombed Out Church.
The Bombed Out Church (or St. Luke's Church, if you wanna get all maiden name) is this particular church which survived a shelling during the Liverpool Blitz; though the roof is nonexistent and the stained glass has the blasted out, the building still stands today, unchanged and revered as a part of Liverpudlian heritage. That and it is the of the embodiment of 'Hard as a MoFo', which resonates with a few, a bloody bomb couldn't knock it down. Hence could be why there have been petitions to keep the building as is. I digress, it's also being used as a venue to host community projects, yoga classes, music gigs, noir film nights, you name it. Plus has these little tire drum things which you can hit as gongs too, so yeah, worth a visit.

Then there is the News Of Nowhere, a particular bookstore I often visit to check out for new titles. All the reading material there is pretty awesome, ranging from stuff like documentaries of Jimmy Hendrix to Banksy, environmentally and culturally minded literature along with fantastic, lesser read drama and fiction. Any place that stocks 'Notes of A Defeatist' and 'Mr.Nice' is a thumbs up in my book. Plus, browsing and reading is allowed, just drop in 50p and you can help yourself cups of tea and all the free cheeky reading you want. Just beside it is the offices of Nerve Radio, which I'll delve into in more detail in another blog post.

At night, it's a different story though; prepare for things to get messy, sloppy and rekt. The surrounding streets house a slough of nightclubs, with the punters pouring in and out between trips to the cash machine and back.

Probably the best place for 'Night Life' antics, that is, if you're not some weak mortal and can handle what passes for night life in Liverpool.  GET DRUNK, GET DIZZY!
My favourite drinking hole would be 'Django Riff', a quiet chill place tucked away beside the infamous Krazy House which does 2 for 1 cocktails and film nights every Wednesday. It's 4 feet under the ground and sells popcorn just for the occasion. What other bar that let's you get shitfaced and watch 'Wolf Of Wall Street', and does fucking popcorn to boot?!

The Docks - This is the place where most of the tourists make a beeline for, and honestly, I can't blame them. It's a beautiful place steeped in history, and was the sole venue of commerce for Liverpool, way back since the time it was a shitty little marsh where slaves were sold and where Liver Birds strutted around and gave zero fucks.
Hence the name, Pool meaning marsh, and Liver being the Liver birds.

First port of call would be the Tate Museum, it houses a few pieces such as Salvadore Dali's lobster phone, sculptures, other pieces I can't remember and some sort of art piece you can walk on. Plus monthly it hosts exhibitions which can be hit or miss. Could get all the works of Gustav Klimt, or some stupid modern art piece about people vomiting. Then there are two museums,  the International Slavery Museum which gives you the dark insight of Liverpool's Slave Trade and the Maritime Museum which delves into all things relating to boats, shaped like the Titanic too. Furthermore, it is where the Echo Arena is located, used for big shows with big names.

Then there is the Spice Lounge if you want a place to eat beside the dock, probably the best Indian resturant when it comes to quality and affordability. Lemme explain, they don't give you a shitty fish curry, they give you a whole curried fish with all the trimmings. We're talking 5 star posh with champagne and all that jazz which you don't have to pay through the nose for. Think they won some accolades with TripAdvisor and British Curry Association. (Tell them that Josh sent you, for every customer I get in there, I get a free drink. I also shot a student film in there, shit was cash. Mind you, the manager always complains about my supposed 'alcoholism', but hey, booze and multimedia go hand in hand.)

Kensington - I don't know much about this place. Everything I know comes from second hand accounts and infrequent visits. Usually something on the lines of 'Don't go to Kenny', 'Dem bitches got disease dere', 'Come to my rehab accom so we can chill and smoke weed', 'Oh shit, I read in the news someone died there' and my favorite one 'Come to Kenny Josh, I've got some coke to deal and mates to meet, we'll catch up'.

Toxeth - 'Tocky la', that's all you need to know. That and there is a studio there called Toxeth TV; I'm not entirely sure if they produce television, it's more like a quaint community centre, often delivering media-based courses and dance classes. Has this cute little cafe in there as well. Will delve more into this on a later post, I assure you.

That park which I got mugged in - I don't walk through there anymore, anxiety reasons. That place is the sole reason why I hate people walking behind me in streets. But mind you, it's a great place to work out due to the push-up bars and various exercise fittings. My advice, get swole here, then when you can take on at least 4 people at once, you are deemed worthy to pass this way at night.

Sefton Park - What more can I say?  It's a huge fucking park. You'll see plenty of people jogging in spandex, people walking the dog, chillers chillin' on the grass whilst smoking grass... I'm not one for exercise, but it's worth the mention simply due to how huge this bloody park is. Furthermore, this is usually the place where the council or some big marketer will host a fireworks show on Bonfire Night, just be wary of how huge the crowds can get and look out for dog shite.


I definitely missed out a lot of things, and I'm probably going to get flamed to high hell for giving such a skewed guide on Liverpool. Honestly, I love this place, I hold it close to my heart; and I would give anyone a tour if they're daft enough to get roped into one of my adventures. If you were to live in Liverpool, keep this in mind. Explore, chat with others when able, walk off the beaten path around town. You'd be surprised how much is in store in this place, how much can be overlooked over a simple visit. Like I said, this place is a labyrinth and the deeper you explore, the crazier the adventure, the more people you meet and the more tales you will tell about this place.

Also helps if you have a penchant for attracting the insane.

... the introduction.

Hello, my name is Joshua A-S; this is 'Welcome to...'. What this blog is going to be about is that I'll introduce various points of interest around my life, hot goings-on, places where I mope and drink; followed by different pieces of multimedia I picked up along the way.
I could say it's a constant review of my life and the things in between. Think of it as an induction of anything and everything I see, of people, places and such.

Hence the 'Welcome to...' part, I'll be introducing various things in a roundabout way. 'Welcome to my shitty sanctuary', which is a total mess of a bedroom or 'Welcome to Cahoots', which is a total mess of a bar, etc and so forth. The reason why I'm writing this is because I need to refine my writing skills, I live an interesting enough life, so I have plenty of material to use. By order of my dissertation tutor, any journalist worth his salt should have a blog for showcase purposes, along with building up an audience.

Here is an example, I live with an ex-ganglord and a immigrant from the Czech Republic who has an attitude problem. Both are unhappily in a relationship together, sustaining each other with weed, anger, paranoia and the occasional romantic dinner. It's like a fucked up sitcom in here, with me being both a Jeremy Kyle/nervous child figure. On the upside, I have a place to live away from my family so they can live in peace. I have the occasional deals on party drugs and exported cigarettes, followed by a bedroom which I can lock myself in should the King of Hangovers pays a visit. On the downside, well, let's just say I gotta develop some tactfulness, keep my head down should an argument arise and learn how to dodge kitchen knives. At least I know how to develop a neutral stance in any situation, a boon for journalists. And the knife dodging skills should come in handy if I were get into wartime reporting/cuisine reviews.

Welp, that's the intro. I'll be updating this every Monday, the more you read, the more you'll get to know me,  the people around me, the bars I frequent and the nonsense that goes on in such locations. Wish I knew a better way to conclude, but all I have is this picture I drew in MS Paint. Ugh, this word/picture placement is almost heretical on a web design point of view.