You know what they say? Don't accept lifts from strangers, but it's OK to accept ones from people you know. Everton then. Excellent: a proper club and the Z-Cars theme by Johnny Keating when the players come out. The B-side, Lost Patrol, covers the same ground, but it doesn't make the hairs on the back of your neck tingle. Oh no.
There's something unfulfilled about Everton, but they're less sentimental than their faux chums from across Stanley Park (why they won't share a ground beggars logic: co-habiting the San Siro has hardly diminished AC and Inter Milan, now has it?), even if not once but twice reappointing Howard Kendall suggests hard-headedness is a recent, Bill Kenwright-fuelled development. Still, they can watch King Kenny lose his crown and smile knowingly.
The food. You want to know about the hackfood don't you? Of course you do. How could you not? Sausage and, mash: not vintage. They did scouse a few years ago: now that was nice. It's all a bit cramped in the hackroom in a way in which it wouldn't be in a new stadium. They do hand out Mars bars though.
Speaking of loss, Everton have rather carelessly let Steven Pienaar slip through their hands. They admit it was because they wouldn't meet his wage demands, but I'd have paid him what they're paying Mikel Arteta in a heartbeat and not just because Arteta seems to be going backwards with each passing month. And letting Pienaar go to Tottenham, the sort of club Everton should be emulating not bettering, is near-insanity. Worse, what does it say about Everton? It's like they've turned into Bolton Wanderers overnight. It's hard to imagine their best players being overjoyed about this turn of events. And I know it's only one game, but how they missed Pienaar and how many opportunities is Leon Osman going to get to prove he's not quite good enough, despite a terrific piece of play which provided Everton's second?
And there's people to talk to. Mark Ryan from the MOS claims he's never heard of Richard Thompson; Gary Jacob from The Times always makes me laugh and although my customary (when I say "my", I don't mean "my", I mean "the newspaper whom I work for's") seat has now been allocated to someone else, I'm next to John Keith, the Merseyside institution: I like his manner.
With Pienaar Everton would surely have beaten West Ham. Or - sorry to fence-sit - perhaps not. Now Avram Grant's been given a scandalously begrudging vote of confidence, they can trudge on for a couple of weeks in peace. I simply don't know about Grant, not least because he could mumble for Israel, so I always lose his logic. I don't know whether he's a Being There-esque buffoon promoted above his station, but if he were to suggest there's a few Mourinho revanchists - not least in the press - trying to unseat him, I'd believe that. Then again, look at how the Chelsea players always greet him: they don't have to be so effusive.
The players play for Grant today. West Ham are full of problems, but for all Everton's technical superiority, a 2-2 thriller is about right. Heaven knows where Everton go from here. David Moyes was honest enough to admit (assuming he wasn't sneakily lowering expectations) that they're only going to get a loaned striker in this transfer window. Whatever Everton are reaching for, it's not the stars, but right now they're drifting and if Jermaine Beckford's a Premier League player I'm a leg of ham.
Grant turns up so late, I've already filed. No wonder some hacks hate him. Will West Ham survive? Do you know, I think they will. Afterwards, it's all a bit late, but I saunter off. I'm walking past the graveyard when a car stops
"John!"
It's that nice Graham Chase from all sorts of publications. He gives me a lift to my car at the very moment a gang of 20 (doubtless peace-loving) 15-year-olds pour out of Stanley Park. I'm grateful. Sometimes it's the smaller things that help the world turn in a kinder way.


Playlist
The Violent Femmes
Gone Daddy Gone
Always a tad wearing over the long haul; that Christianity stuff was odd whether true or false and they peaked with their debut, but they were at their most trim here. Impossible catchy.
ON PERMANENT RECORD, THE VERY BEST OF, SLASH/RHINO, 2005