We walked past throngs of fat Americans — but I repeat myself — in various Beatles, Rutles, and Oasis t-shirts (but I repeat myself) to do our own Beatles pilgrimage to The Grapes which was the only pub around here back when the lads were only a local thing. We had come to Liverpool on the Bank Holiday Weekend unaware that it was International Beatles Week, so this would also serve for us to recalibrate our scouse tourism efforts.
“What’s with all the Beatles stuff out there?” I asked the bartender as she finished drawing my stout. She looked confused then, following my pointing finger toward a behemoth in a Sgt Pepper themed shirt heading our way, answered, “I dunno…this doesn’t happen around here, usually.” “Strange,” I muttered, and headed out to join the missus to watch tour groups pass and to try to look annoyed for all the photos we’re inadvertently in.
We decided that Bond Street would work better for us and mapped our path over there but were not blessed with the time slip so many others have been. We also decided to come back some time less obviously tourism laden (say, mid-winter).
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 