The Globe is a shabby Toxteth boozer with an undeservedly grand moniker and acres of gloom that were long ago filled with locals. These are people who have probably long ago forgotten why they began coming here, maybe it was nicer back in the day and they’d feel guilty moving on to pastures new. When I entered, a man stared at me with the intensity that only comes from somebody who plans what shelf of the freezer he’ll store each of your body parts on. It wasn’t until he came over with a big grin and a bigger hand waiting to be shook that I realised he was my bus driver, the one who takes me home every day. It was good to be recognised and now we’re like old friends. When he avoided me this afternoon and thundered through a puddle to drench me I knew it was just him joking around. Gah, what’s he like?