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.
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.
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| 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.
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
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| 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'.
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'.
