December 13, 2005

No, you didn't read incorrectly - I am about to offer a tourist guide to the much maligned "one-eyed city" of Birkenhead.

The Shed nestles on the western banks of the Mersey Riviera, just a stone's throw from the Tranmere Oil Terminal to the south, and the Seacombe Ferry landing stage and its dark hinterland to the north.

It boasts a number of attractions sure to entice visitors, and especially at this time of year. Just this afternoon, as my editor and I strolled casually in search of a tasty lunchtime snack, we marvelled at just how wonderful The Shed really is. On Market Street alone, just fifty yards from the "business district" - where all the solicitors and courts are - we realised that, in a stretch of only 100 yards, we could:

1) Buy a pint at 8.30am in the morning in The Caledonian, a charming little hostelry seemingly populated by old men without any teeth, prostitutes and other musty-smelling alcoholics

2) Pop next door to the Golden Nugget "amusement" arcade to pick up some truanting rent boy "twinks"

3) Enjoy a re-reheated-by-microwave bacon sandwich

4) Watch the dozens of badly-dressed savers queueing outside the Post Office from first thing to admire their quiet determination to further brim their children's savings accounts

5) Buy an air-gun, air-pistol or indeed a "Rambo-style" combat knife complete with compass and serrated edge

6) Kit ourselves out in some fine attire from the transvestite outfitters

7) Be shouted at by the charming staff at Off The Square for cheekily daring to enquire about the possibility of buying a sandwich and, perhaps, a cup of soup

8) Visit Wirral's central Social Services offices

9) Pop into The Hornblower for a vodka tonic, some contraband cigarettes and some copyright-free DVDs, and

10) Stroll down to Mr Magoo's massage emporium for a no-doubt soothing rub-down from the expertly trained staff

At the bottom of Market Street, gentle reader, you will find yourself on Argyle Street, where most tourists and locals make a beeline for either Rocky's nightclub or Sophie's Bar, outside of which, late at night and without fail every weekend, at least one local lass will find herself brutually raped and a gentlemen counterpart can count on being bottled or, perhaps, stabbed.

And then finally, crossing over Argyle Street onto Conway Street, you can enjoy the vista of the Arch drugs rehabilitation centre and its steady stream of hooded addicts buzzing in and out like worker bees, dodging the discreet pools of yellow and green methadone sick and sucking nervously on carefully rescued cigarette stubs.

So come on, folks - what are you waiting for! Who needs London, Paris, or New York. I've even thought of a slogan for the Birkenhead Tourist Board:

Let's all go down The Shed - it's a magical day out!