He was a loner at school. He only cared for making things, he took them home and normally they got thrown in the bin. But he kept on making things.

His other passion was Liverpool F. C., it was a glorious time to follow them on their forays into Europe. Indeed, this photo was taken in September ‘79, when he was applying for his first passport. He got to know people through travelling, even made some friends, and joined a Supporters’ Club.

He started to work away, often London, but made sure he could get back up north west way for the weekend fixtures, plus any others he could fit in in between. Down there he made friends with a fellow Scouser, Kev, a plasterer. They became thick as thieves, Peter’s first real friend away from the terraces. Kev was a fan too, like, but had more of an eye for the ladies. They were going to set up a business together, Peter even put his (substantial) life savings into setting it up.

But then Kev got a girl pregnant and had to move back home. Peter begged but he kept saying no, he had different priorities now. Peter was left stranded, nobody else could help him out, he had too much invested and wanted so much to go ‘home’ but couldn’t. Not for more than a weekend anyway, for the match. One such Saturday in 2003 he’d seen them lose. Business was slow, he had a few drinks to try to forget about it, but then he saw Kev’s car parked on Mount Pleasant in town and something just went inside him.

He’d never felt like that before. He didn’t want to cause any damage, but he had to let Kev know how he felt.

Unfortunately for Peter, it was a windy day and the only person who read the note (until now) was a trainee art teacher on his way home from the library.

After the release of that note, Peter began to feel better about things. About himself.  He made a go of the business, and after a couple of years, was in a position to sell, and move back to Liverpool. There’d be loads of work there, as the city was gearing up towards Capital of Culture year. And, he’d be closer to the Reds.

Thankfully he never bumped into Kev, but did get some work, and became more involved in the supporter’s club. He was put in charge of the ticket collection for the fifty-odd strong group.

In February 2006 he’d had a few drinks after work and had to go the bank, put in some money. He had the tickets for the Wigan and Benfica away games with him, ready to distribute at that night’s monthly meeting.

Half an hour later, Peter was reminded of that bad Christmas, after his mum died. He stayed in alone all day and watched films he knew would make him cry. He’d drank too much rum to remember the name, but vaguely recalled one of them being about a guy who leaves an envelope inthe bank, and someone else in it having a guardian angel save them. The end made him cry, and think of Kev with his family. 

He had tears in his eyes again now – he’d left the tickets in the bank! He’d owe thousands, he’d get kicked out of the club, he had to find them.

He re-traced his stumbled steps, sobering up on the way. He thought of all the excuses, but none would make up for this… what could he do?

After making it to the bank, he was soon speaking to his own guardian angel.

So relieved was Peter that he forgot about the fella who’d handed the envelopes in straight away. Who he’d promised a reward to. The tickets were safe now.  He had to keep this one quiet, or they’d find out… he didn’t owe him anything, and anyway he was a Blue nose.

He kept his role at the supporter’s club. Went to Istanbul, and Athens, still works but drinks too much. Desperately wants a girlfriend, never quite works out. The last nice girl he met in the Oak gave him someone else’s number, ended up speaking to her boyfriend apologetically. He’s still got Liverpool… just not much else. 

Peter wishes he was still making things at school.

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