Elliot "Ninetyeightytwo" D.'s Profile

Growing up, I was never really into the hall. I was here for the park - endless joys in the park. Compared to the grounds in which it was set, the hall appeared stuffy, stately, boring.

All that changed, however, the night of Halloween 99.

That night, staying open long after the sun set, they really went to town in transforming the hall into a haunted house. It is, of course, very much haunted. The Most Haunted team once spent a night here, no less. Derek Acorah must have been in his element. Decked about the darkened corridors they had various displays detailing the ghostly sightings which had taken place in those particular areas. They ranged from the tragic to the downright sinister. Disquieting unease prevailed.

In one room, though, they'd dressed some of the finest actors available in period costumes and had them stand so still that we took them for mannequins. However, periodically they would move. Not so much to appear obvious, but just enough that we were made to feel as if something wasn't quite right. And it wasn't. That was utterly terrifying in a subtle understated sort of way, but elsewhere on the tour they went for out and out shock value. They had hiding 'round one of the corners two kids dressed in devilish costumes who would jump out and point their pitchforks at all passers-by. The screams of all echoed throughout the house.

Outside in the courtyard more traditional Halloween fare was taking place such as bobbing for apples and pumpkin carving. They had a bearded pale ringleader who was getting ever so into things. He would stalk left and right screaming about how he was getting restless; he hadn't yet drunk any blood that night.

You know, the memory alone is making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. There's a sort of wistful smile on my face as I write this. Would that everyone made such an effort for Halloween. It was a rare example of such spaces being used to devastating seasonal effect to the terror and delight of everyone. It was perfect.

And, since then, I've never looked at Croxteth Park, Croxteth Hall and the Park & Hall Trust with eyes filled with anything less than the utmost of respect.

Good lord, I used to love coming here. It was always a day out reserved for the autumn months, and I loved every ruddy second of it - the walk up the seemingly endless front path with its wrought iron fences which ended upon your passing through the immense front gates - I used to pretend I was entering my very own kingdom. Then there were the animals, the trees, the caves, the tunnels, the waterways and, best of all, the park. The playground, I mean. It was one of the best around. Hope that the kids of today are getting even half as much joy from it as I used to get.

Then there're the various events which used to take place here. The funfairs and firework displays and, best, obviously, of all, the Viking Fun Day. They'd set up a fully functional Viking village - with tents, huts, looms and the ability to try on all the armour - those swords and shields are heavier than they look! But the best part of the day was when everyone geared up to the teeth and entered into brutal melee combat - the sound of axe on wood tends to stick with you to the grave.

Magic days.

All of my favourite cats have been amarous cats. Except, of course, for the certifiably insane ones - such as the devilish minx currently asleep on my lap. Ho yes, she may look sweet now, but the second she wakes, none of you are safe.

To name a bookshop after an amorous cat makes so much sense. A big fluffy old domestic cat - blind in one eye, squashy smiley face, yawning contentedly by the fire - tea, hot-buttered toast and a play on Radio Four whilst outside it pours down with merciless rain and the wind blows at gale force - cosiness itself, and you'll find it within these four walls which act as hallowed ground for anybody who's even got approaching a "thing" for books.

Apart from the fact that it's pretty difficult to leave without quite the precariously piled stack of purchases (orange spined Penguin classics - ho yes), my main reason for coveting this place lies in the fact that I would like nothing more than to run a business like this myself.

Some argue that all book shops are doomed to failure. Well, I can think of no better way to go out than surrounded by books and like-minded quiet sorts in the warmest and cosiest of surroundings.

Clearly signposted within, Sefton Park's Watercourse Footpath is, of course, a guided route tailored to allow for you to take in the languid and relaxing joys of the various water features which are to be found within.

Ducks, fountains, islands, inlets, streams, waterfalls and archipelagos. Marvellous stuff. Do take care by the water's edge, though. I fell in once. I've no idea how I managed it, but if stoic, careful I were able to slip, well. None of you are safe.

Can you see the birds? Me neither. There are no birds. The powers that be have decided that to restrain birds in such surroundings which allow for their free counterparts to mock as they flex their wings, skies very much the limit, is cruel. A sign declares that the emphasis is now upon conservation of natural habitats. Kudos!

However, the aviary being a central part to the Victorian Sefton Park's existence, the small flower garden which remains is something of a tribute to that which stood before. The concrete walls with wired tops resemble the raptor enclosures from Jurassic Park - it's one of the best locations in the whole park to sit and stew for a while with a book.

If this here fountain looks familiar, it's because it's made from exactly the same cast as forged the Eros Fountain as can be found in London's Picaddilly Square.

Apparently it's not Eros whose stood up there poised and ready to fire. Rather, it's his brother, Anteros. Whilst Eros was the Greek God of Carnal Love, his brother was more concerned with selfless philanthropic love. Bless.

Taken in with the palmhouse and the obelisk, not only are you prithee to fine examples of Victorian sculpture, ideals and architecture, but you're also, to some extent, prithee to the celebration of various forms of philanthropy. Samuel Smith, to whom the obelisk is dedicated, was famed for his charitable work.

Removed in 1991 due to public health scares (they feared a fall), it's damn good to have him back - buffed up, restored, safe.

A 60ft tall polished red granite obelisk which doubles as a drinking fountain serves to honour MP and philanthropist Samuel Smith ("Sammy" to his friends).

'WHOSOEVER DRINKETH OF THIS WATER SHALL THIRST AGAIN: BUT WHOSOEVER DRINKETH OF THE WATER THAT I SHALL GIVE HIM SHALL NEVER THIRST'

Well, your guess is as good as mine.

It's worth seeing as a fine example of the monumental style which was "all the rage back in the day" - and to walk to this place, then to the grotto before finishing up at the palmhouse via the snack bar makes for an excellent and extensive walk.

Three stars reserved for the numerous ice creams enjoyed here over the years, but it's to be taken into consideration that this place is currently in the process of some form of renovation. Whilst their work looks elaborate, thorough and considered, it remains too early to judge as to whether that which is to come can match the amateur yet heaven-sent operation which used to exist.

At the moment, a temporary food wagon called The Aviary is in operation which, whilst offering no real substitute, at least shows that they're considering the needs of those who ventured within hungry.

Top marks for effort, but these facilities were never going to match those of Lark Lane anyway. If you wish for a picnic in the park, very nearby on said road you'll find a place called Baguette Bite who'll cater for every single one of your needs.

The biggest sprawl of lush greenery this side of Formby Point, Sefton Park gains extra plaudits by virtue of the fact that you're unlikely to come across hordes of drunken kids foregoing the "no drinking on the beach" rule in favour of some inebriated debauchery. You can't blame them, but sometimes you want nothing more than peace, quiet and the feeling that you're in a place far removed from the various stresses of the city.

All this and more is possible in Sefton Park. No matter what you want from your day at the park, you'll find it here. Sports? Well, there are apparent acres of open greenery on which dozens of simultaneous games of football could comfortably take place - not to mention the bowling and cricket clubs to which the place plays host.

Bored kids? Dig that playground and the apparent miles of pathway which are a joy for cyclists and walkers alike. There's quite the network of waterways for those who find such things soothing, and even historical or architectural buffs can tick several boxes of satisfaction through taking in the Eros Fountain, the obelisk, the palmhouse, the aviary and the grotto.

Something for everyone but, most important perhaps of all, an escape from whatever the hell's eating you.

I've visited quite a few grottos in my day, and I'm not talking Christmas, here. No, such rock formations - be they natural or hewn by exhausted, underpaid navvies - are never without an air of mysticism.

Even this place - as derelict as a pile of rocks can be - has a certain air of intrigue about it. It comes across as a gateway to hell - or perhaps some more benign alternate planes of existence.

Would that something be done to make it, you know, a bit nicer. A bit more interractive. The kids would love it.