Father’s Day in July

Father’s Day presents just grew into new levels of love and memories for the rest of my life.

July 2019 was filled with fifty celebrations for my 50th year. My children have elevated the standard for my Father’s Day for the rest of my years. They had both devised a plan to travel the UK to visit the three traditional peaks, all within a weekend.

Over the following, days, and weeks this changed, it grew. The desire, to get more out of the trip was hopefully a joint one.

Liverpool — The City of Wins

A place where trophies stack higher than the seagulls dare to fly, and where, in 2019, the mighty Reds swept the international treble like it was just another Tuesday. Champions League. Super Cup. Club World Cup.

A hat‑trick of bragging rights.

So of course of course this is where our epic begins.

Back then, Ollie was folding shirts in the West End, not starring in it.

Laura was selling waterproof dreams in Barnstaple.

And I was buried in the paperwork of a government quango, blissfully unaware that the world was 18 months away from shutting its doors.

But we agreed on three things.

1. Time off from work and life.
2. A meeting point.
3. A challenge big enough to shake the dust off our everyday lives.

Liverpool sat roughly central to the three mountain ranges waiting for us. A city of wins, a city of music, a city that felt like the right place to start something bigger than ourselves.

Laura and I climbed into the reasonably priced family car, snapped a selfie, and handed our fate to a small plastic oracle named TomTom.

With a nervous‑wreck stutter, it sent us north.

Laura chose the radio.

And broom “we were off”.

Meanwhile, in Muswell Hill, Ollie slid into his sliders, grabbed his London swagger, and crossed the capital like a Zone‑1 nomad heading for the national rail.

Hours later, we converged at the Staybridge the name that sounded like it wanted us to succeed.

We checked in, made sandwiches for the next day, and cracked open a beer that tasted like permission.

We rang Mrs I’, who had chosen to stay home and track our moves like Mission Control.

She gave us her blessing.

We stepped into the adventure.

I felt like “Best Dad” as we wandered to reception for the complimentary smorgasbord a word that always promises more than it delivers and a couple more beers.

The evening sun hit the windows just right.

It felt like the start of something.

We drifted through Liverpool’s high street, stopping at The Cavern, part of the Beatles shrine, part daytime drinking den, part history lesson.

The age gap between me and the kids didn’t matter. The music stitched us together.

Then came the Northern delicacy.

Chips drowned in vinegar, smothered in gravy, crowned with a potato pie.

Carbs on carbs on carbs.

All washed down with a beer so mild it felt like it needed encouragement.

We snapped a few photos for socials, guilt‑driven content creation then returned to the real joy: stories, laughter, and planning the next meal.

This wasn’t just a holiday.

It was a fundraiser for the RNIB, the charity that helped me navigate the early fog of sight loss.

Every step of this adventure had purpose.

We weren’t a “three pubs in one night” family, but Liverpool loosened us.

We reached that giddy, giggly stage where strangers become friends and karaoke becomes a threat. We didn’t sing thank the mountains but we came close.

After the carb‑mountain meal, we wandered to the docks and found the iconic Beatles statue.

We took a selfie that now sits on my desk a reminder of that evening and what “Best Dad” feels like when it’s real.

Then, as if scripted, we passed a submarine.

A yellow one.

There was only one possible response. A singsong loud enough to frighten seagulls toward Birkenhead.

Back at the hotel, the kids hit the gym.

I hit the bar.

I found someone to chat to because of course I did and spent half an hour talking about Liverpool, dreams, and the adventure ahead.

It still felt unreal.

Like we were standing on the edge of something enormous, and Liverpool the City of Wins had given us permission to begin.