retiredmartin

July 2026. Crosby. Merseyside.

Attempting to rescue gig night in Liverpool without the gig, I’d at least done the culture and the beach, and could now get a new GBG tick in curious Crosby, where even the safetywear outlets serve Bass.

Perhaps.

Leave the commercial district and the pubs at Moorfields, glance at the new Everton ground at Bramley Moore, wonder if bucolic Bootle will ever have another GBG entry, then swap the docks for the beach and iron men as you arrive in Waterloo. Get off here or at Blundellsands or you’ll end up at the posh Sefton golf courses with Mark Lawrenson.

I use Crosby and Waterloo interchangeably on this blog, so I can use the ABBA reference and anyway they’re virtually contiguous*, which itself one of the great words in the English language, and makes me sound clever.

Wiki tells me Crosby has 50,044 souls, which would put it on the same level as Tunbridge Wells or Yeovil, and that sounds a bit improbable. Perhaps they miscounted those iron men.

Still, another year, another new GBG micro. AND a smart new bistro honouring its Viking roots (Jan Molby drank here).

The Norseman is a classy new restaurant conversion, Van Morrison “Days Like This“, comfy booths and all, overseen by classy local micro the Old Tap,

I did that thing that Pub Men do, peering over the pumps to note the dripping tap, cursing that it’s Weetwood rather than Nightjar.

But the Cheshire Cat is smiling on us today, a cool 3+ (GOOD) half (ugh !) that suggests a pre-emptive probability,

though it’s the exciting crafty keg I’d come for again. And the young staff; the staff are great.

With a crowded train with presumably broken toilet from Lime Street to come I skip the heritage Edinburgh,

admire the entrance to Marine FC, and wonder how to waste half an hour before the award winning Coop opens.

But it’s already open, the Coop half-full already, which at least means I’ll only have to run back to Blundellsands station to catch the earlier Sheffield train.

Some life advice. Do NOT attempt to run 0.8 miles in 12 minutes after a pint of Peanut Butter and Chocolate Stout.

It’s quality, the Coop is cosy and friendly, but I really should have picked Rooster’s Krush’d Dreams.

“Krush’d Dreams ? Story of my life !” says the Scouser at the bar.

* _{Zusammenhängend in German, which is also a nice word}