The Bridewell

The second Ashes test was played at Everton’s new ground, but this isn’t about that. It’s about the first test. Before the series was announced, Joe and I already had a date in Liverpool to watch John Bishop at the Arena. Where then to watch the most eagerly anticipated international match for twenty years in one of the most football of football cities?

We were going to stay overnight, but for one reason or another (read: money) we decided to go by train instead, which when there’s a tight schedule to stick to, is always a risk. We hopped on one from Eccles to Lime Street. It was running twelve or so minutes late but skipped the last three scheduled stops because of overcrowding – a Northern speciality, the ol’ two-carriager.

Out of the station – it was around 20 minutes until kick-off – we headed for Matthew Street and Legends bar. We figured if anywhere close by would be showing the game, it would be there. A short check at the bar and, indeed, they were, but with no commentary. Not that anyone was pining to hear Robbie Hunter-Paul’s on-pitch forays. Instead, another Gerry Cinnamon clone stood in a pulpit cranking out the hits (he was decent, to be fair).

I think it was the Guinness in there that gave me heartburn and hiccups on the late train back home (rather than the other dark beers, German lagers and glasses of Grenache to follow). Half-time came, and we upped and left to take a punt on a place called The Bridewell showing the second-half. I’d pre-read that the bar was owned by Saints fans and earlier in the week they had hosted a farewell do for Morgan Knowles.

It was around a ten-minute walk to The Bridewell. It’s the kind of place you’d find in the Northern Quarter or Ancoats. Lots of exposed brick and ironwork, industrial, real ale, indie beers and German lagers on tap – you know the type of place I’m talking about. But unlike your typical Ancoats joint, there were screens all over the place showing one thing – England vs. The Kangaroos. The punt paid off.

There are different areas to The Bridewell. There’s an outdoor court kind of beer garden area, the main bar and seating, and then a corridor towards the toilets at the back with branches off to snugs accommodating around 6–8 people, each with their own telly. Very nice. It was already busy by the time we had arrived and so we had to make do with standing near the bar to watch the second half.

Despite a good smattering of people with their eyeballs fixed towards the screen, there were those oblivious groups of folks coming inside and standing right in the way. The owners, who I assume we were stood nearby, might have said something if they weren’t as tall as the beams holding up the roof. It was more an issue for the vertically challenged among us (i.e. us).

The disappointing result didn’t dampen our spirits too much (more a case of gobs dampened with spirits 😉). I’d certainly go there again. Oh and John Bishop was good. I couldn’t tell you much about the gig – I think it’s as much about age as alcohol consumption, he says – but I do remember he didn’t do an encore, for what it’s worth. That or we were one of those saps who left before he came back on stage.