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Follow the brown signs

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To Liverpool… and not beyond

After walking, riding, eating my pie and blog writing (and making friends in the inn) I went to bed knackered. I woke up even more knackered and decided the brown signs may have to wait for my enthusiasm to be rekindled before they got me again. I left the Druid Inn, beautiful location, here’s the view from my window…

 

I planned to hang in Chester for a bit, there were races on and as racecourses have their own brown sign symbol it was probably a good opportunity to get that one ticked off the list, but the closer I came to the racecourse the more I realised there are only so many brown signed attractions one can do alone without feeling a bit lonely and out of place, that coupled with the fact I’m only travelling with a pair of jeans, tracksuit bottoms and a very short denim skirt, none of which seemed appropriate races attire, meant it logical for me to draw a line under races today. Instead I passed right on through and headed for Liverpool. Luckily there was a sign for botanical gardens at Ness which I gladly pulled into and explored.

 
The botanical gardens are in massive part due to the drive and dedication of one man to finding new plant species from all over the world to propagate and grow in British gardens. A quality sounding guy called George Forrest was commissioned to go out to China in the late 1800s to find and send back new plant specimens, which he did with zeal. There’s a whole walk around the gardens dedicated to him and what he sent back. South China was going through a time of unrest and he wrote of witnessing various gorey deaths and hideousnesses. Having been to many of the places he went and being freaked out and pissed off only a few years ago I cannot imagine what this poor guy felt like then, he was a dedicated man, and I have a lot of respect for that.

 
I sat on many of the plethora of benches around the garden and contemplated my tiredness, and my direction. I am due to be in the Peak District after Liverpool mid week next week but after that I have no plans. I realised that I really need to get an itinerary sorted and stop being distracted by brown signs, as much as they are the whole reason I’m doing this I’m going to have to cover a massive area and see a lot of things all over the place if I’m going to do it properly. So to Liverpool, but by the scenic Wirrel route, windy beaches are always good for the jaded soul I find, so that’s where I headed.
My first stop was West Kirby. With the tide out it is actually difficult to see where the sea starts, and with all that sand there lies the impressive, if daunting, possibility of endless beach activities. Flying a kite on your own is however, like the races, a no no on your own. Instead I milled around and happened upon a dragon boat race, bonus.

I set off again for another beach up the road where Royal Liverpool Golf Club is, but sadly both my attire and sex didn’t allow me to participate in any golf activity so I moseyed on to Hoylake (whilst being honked at loudly about 8 times before I realised I was driving the wrong was down the seafront – maybe there’s good reason why golf clubs are sexist).
 
All beached and dragon boated out I was looking forward to going to my pal Dan’s and hanging at his, doing nothing, and bloody well enjoying it. So here we are, looking forward to enjoying the sites (read: bars) of Liverpool tonight. See you on the other side…
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