Mossley Hill

I was nineteen when I went to university: I ended up with a place through clearing at Liverpool. Prior to that, the only times I remember really leaving the south was a rugby tour to Hull and our annual holiday to the Lake District. My knowledge of English geography was so bad that I'd been in Liverpool for a few days before I realised it was on the coast. (Although, oddly, I did know the phrase 'Liverpool Docks'.)

My hall of residence, McNair, was part of the Carnatic site on Mossley Hill. Notable local places of interest were a pub called The Rose of Mossley Hill and an amazing chip shop called Chris's, where I learned to love mushy peas after repeatedly forgetting to ask for them to be left off my sausage dinner. 

I was back there, today - or nearby, at least - when I went to visit a hospital Trust. Afterwards, I drove up to the halls of residence and paused to look at the window to my old room. Much as I loved my time in Liverpool - and, indeed, I still enjoy going back fairly often - I can't say I felt much. Thirty-four years; it's a long time. 

****
-9.8 kgs
Reading: 'Refining Sound' by Brian K Shepard