Liverpool, in preparation for and following its brief stint as 'European Capital of Culture 2008' tarted up its sea front. It is a magnificent sea front, in contrast to Cardiff's more higgledy-piggledy affair, but in a bout of artistic feng shui the designers destroyed the Valhalla of Transport, the Liverpool Bus Terminus. It exists now only in dream, mine and perhaps those of a few others with similar, sad dispositions.
This is how it looked once - probably before I was born. I'm wondering what that man is dreaming about in the bottom left hand corner. Note the two entrances to the landing stage. The one constant. Apart from the dreaming man.
You can see how little the layout has changed in the pictures below, though buses replace trams.
Walk down either of those 'tunnel's and you found yourself on the landing stage for ferries or once, ocean going liners.
But back to my dream. In it I'm running for the 2 or the 30 to Aintree and I always think I know where it is but it is never, never there. As the minutes tick by I run from bus to bus in an increasingly vain hope of finding it before the last bus goes.
At last, in desperation, I remember their route and abandon the terminus for the nearest bus stop where one of them is bound to turn up.
And here it is, the noble No. 2 that will take me to Aintree.
In terms of dream this is a result. Huzzah!
Usually I jump on the bus but in the dream it is always dusk and usually raining. Sometimes, for no accountable reason (you want accountable reasons in dreams?) I miss the bus or I'm at the wrong stop. It's a five mile walk to Aintree and I wake up more tired than I went to bed. Still, turning into Ribblesdale Avenue and home - it's a wonderful feeling.
All these pictures have been taken from the talented and generous members of: