Walking across England: From Liverpool to Manchester
A 37-mile walk between football rivals
This is the first of a few small subscriber-only diary dispatches as I walk across England. Longer, more thoughtful, pieces will come when I’m not walking 9 hours a day! As usual. Your support is greatly appreciated.
My starting point for my 180-mile walk is a 24-hour McDonald’s in a dodgy neighborhood. It’s five a.m. and the collection of addicts, homeless1, and others on the margins know me from my two days in Liverpool and each are angling on a strategy for money. Do they pester and plead; do they offer services; or do they hang back knowing politeness wins the day?
The smallest and youngest of the group, a man with an intellectual disability, his face covered in blisters, scabs, and cuts, tries all three. He asks for money (no), then food (maybe), then coffee (yes), over and over while clearing away the table blocking the dining room: “Don’t worry mate. It’s five a.m. They open now. Seeeeeee,” then, sensing my annoyance, moves to pester the three young women working the counter.
All three show remarkable calm, cheer, and grace as the room floods with his mates, each exploding in demands and drama.
Five minutes later, I’m at a corner table with my white coffee and being chatted up by everyone who is capable of chatting.
“Where’ ya from?”
“America.”