Five Things We ALL Used To Hate About The Old Liverpool Ferry Terminal

I know it’s uncouth to speak ill of the dead. But. I would like to take this opportunity to say a few words about the floating purgatory that was the old Liverpool Ferry Terminal.

Mainly, the things I will not miss about it.

1: Walking the Plank

Sounds like a fun, quirky concept, doesn’t it?

‘Oh, how niche, we have to walk the plank to get to the ferry terminal. How WONDERFULLY Pirates of the Caribbean of you Steam Packet! Pass the Rum! AhahahahHASWASHBUCKLINGHAHA.’

Queuing the plank, for 4 and a half hours, where the only rum is coming from the hungover fumes of the stag party behind you, is less fun. Many of us have been there.

Filled with regret after thinking a trip with the extended family including everyone’s kids would be a nice day out. You find yourself stood, bedraggled, halfway up the gangway surrounded by the cast of Annie, 26 Primark bags wedged under your armpits because the handles have broken, inwardly berating yourself for impulse buying a 5-pack of Smints at the Primark counter instead of an umbrella as the rain starts to pour.

2: ‘Security’

AT LAST. You make it inside and nip to the disabled loo to dry yourself off under the hand dryer that was built in 10BC.

The force of the air is the equivalent to being breathed on by an 26-year-old golden retriever. Pathetic. Walking out, past the queue of people in wheelchairs waiting to use the toilet, you head to the check in desk.

Don’t have your ID? Don’t worry. Don’t need it. Baggage scan? Nah, you’re fine. No one cares what you’re taking back to the Island. An employee presses a plastic letter into your mouth – you have no free hands due to Primark bags – and you make your way to the waiting room thinking ‘shame, if I’d known my bag wasn’t going to get x-rayed, I’d have brought more weed back with me.’

3: Floating Purgatory

Excitement builds at the thought of sitting down as you make your way along the corridor. It’s immediately dashed when you see the waiting room resembles Alcatraz but with a shitter vending machine. It’d be easier to eat a bowling ball than find a space to sit that’s bigger than a hamster’s toenail. With the layout of the room being so exposing, everyone watches as you trip over the limbs of fellow passengers, all of whom you vaguely know because it’s the Isle of Man so have to utter awkward ‘hello’s to as you pass. Suddenly, you see a single free seat in the distance. How in Ben my Chree’s name (RIP) has no one spotted it? It doesn’t matter, that seat is yours. You make a bee line and feel the sweet relief that comes with sitting after 136 hours of standing up while holding 780 Primark bags.

‘Well, look who the cat with no tail dragged in.’

The toe-curlingly thick Manx accent stops you in your tracks. Looking up, your eyes meet the face of Orry who eats raw kippers and is known for touching The Laxey Wheel inappropriately. You now understand why the seat was free.

4: The Plastic Letter

It’s hot. There are no windows for fresh air to get in or for you to chuck yourself out of. You’ve been clutching the plastic letter in your sweaty hand for dear life. Your only ticket out of this floating tin can, bar the legitimate ticket you spent £378 plus baggage on. Time stills as you see a Steam Packet employee take their place front and centre of the room, preparing to announce which lucky ticket holders will be getting on the ferry first. You look down at yours, a green letter A. A GOLDEN TICKET MORE LIKE. Last time you checked A was the first letter of the alphabet and green means go so you’re a shoe in to be first on.

‘Passengers with B cards, please come forward.’

B?? That’s okay. Maybe B is for people who need assistance getting on. That’s fine. Although you’re certain the elderly guy with the limp is faking it. A will be next.

‘C card passengers, please come forward.’

C?! Ridiculous. WHY would they go B, C, A?! Masochists. FINE. At least you know we’re next.

‘Passengers with F cards, please come forward.’

You sit, quietly trying to nurse an aneurysm as you listen to scouse Jimmy call forward letters E, J, Q, X, B (AGAIN?!), G, Y, C (AGAIN?!?!) Z and finally:

‘All remaining passengers please come forward’.

You step forward, handing over your completely redundant letter.

5: The Steep Walk

We’ve talked about leaving Liverpool, we haven’t discussed arriving. You’ve made it off the ferry, half a stone lighter after throwing up the entire journey because of a slight breeze during the crossing. Glad to be back on solid land, a weekend of relaxation awaits, you grab your suitcase, close your eyes and breathe in a sigh of relief. Only to open them to Liverpool’s concrete version of Machu Pichu.

Step by agonising step, you make your way up, body tilted at a 45-degree angle, calves on fire, veins throbbing out of your eyeballs. Each time you look up, the daylight at the top seems to be shrinking. You feel the handle of your suitcase slipping out of your grasp. It plummets back down behind you taking out a group of primary schoolers who, in turn, flatten the Manx Hedgehog Society, ironically. Gripping onto the handrail for dear life you keep putting one foot in front of the other as your legs fill with what feels like lead. Emerging at the top with calves the size of an Olympic cyclist, you stomp over to the taxi queue, subtly trying to figure out what to do with the lung you just threw up.

So, so long old ferry terminal. At least with the bar being so low it should at least cost less than £70 million to replace…