B&Bs and Hotels in Liverpool

Hostels and Hotels in Liverpool

Do you have a hotel or B&B in one of thses towns then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.

Ormskirk, Prescot, Aigburth, Aintree, Allerton, Anfield, Bebington, Bidston, Birkenhead, Bootle, Bowring Park, Brighton-le-Sands, Broadgreen, Childwall, Claughton, Clubmoor, Crosby, Croxteth, Edge Hill, Everton, Fairfield, Fazakerley, Ford, Garston, Gateacre, Grassendale, Greasby, Great Crosby, Halewood, Higher Bebington, Hunts Cross, Hyton, Kirkby, Kirkdale, Knotty Ash, Litherland, Liverpool, Netherley, Netherton, New Brighton, New Ferry, Norris Green, Orrell Park, Page Moss, Port Sunlight, Wallasey

For UK travelers going abroad, we recommend Tenerife, with feel of the UK yet all the sun of Tenerife. Read an extract below from More Ketchup than Salsa, the story of a English couple who left the UK to set up life in Tenerife. Info on how to buy the book can be found below.

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Below you will find short extracts from More ketchup than Salsa by Joe Cawley – not to be missed.

Short Extract

It was a basic system but one that we all could manage. From just a handful of different envelopes, our financial distribution now had to be apportioned to almost 20 needs that we had to save for including ‘Holidays’, ‘Emergencies’ and ‘Christmas bonus’. Faith’s disappearance was considered an emergency and as such, it was this envelope that was raided to pay for her flight. The Rum Jug couple were sat at the bar. It was evident from their tired faces that all was not well. The enthusiasm and excitement that they had portrayed in Julie’s office was no longer evident. I didn’t think it would be so hard,’ said the man. We don’t seem to have any time for each other now,’ added his wife. ‘We decided to close for the afternoon. We had to get away. I wish we’d never bought the bar now.’

Ormskirk, Prescot, Aigburth, Aintree, Allerton, Anfield, Bebington, Bidston, Birkenhead, Bootle, Bowring Park, Brighton-le-Sands, Broadgreen, Childwall, Claughton, Clubmoor, Crosby, Croxteth, Edge Hill, Everton, Fairfield, Fazakerley, Ford, Garston, Gateacre, Grassendale, Greasby, Great Crosby, Halewood, Higher Bebington, Hunts Cross, Hyton, Kirkby, Kirkdale, Knotty Ash, Litherland, Liverpool, Netherley, Netherton, New Brighton, New Ferry, Norris Green, Orrell Park, Page Moss, Port Sunlight, Wallasey

Danny probably knew more than us about running the bar, from cocktail recipes to how to change a barrel. Over the first few nights the thirteen-year-old would often help Joy or Faith out in times of crisis. ‘’Undred ’n’ fifty pesetas,’ he would demand from customers, his eyes barely level with the black painted bartop. The two girls had been scared out of changing barrels by Frank – ‘Don’t lean over it. Knew a man in England who got his head taken clear off’ – whereas Danny would be only too happy to oblige. As one of the original El Berilians, Frank was a self-appointed troubleshooter dealing with a variety of problems that befell the other English residents. He wouldn’t, however, help the foreigners as he called them. The Germans, French, Italians and Spanish were part of the problem and, ironically, Frank’s colonialist policy would have been to shoot them all if they didn’t go back to their own countries. Racist he may have been, but if you had a problem with your car or needed some DIY doing, Frank was your man, though the results were not always positive. Two tall tanks housed in a flimsy metal cabinet on the terrace fed propane gas through the exterior wall, along the length of the restaurant and into the kitchen. This routing left a lot to be desired as the slightest leak combined with a casually discarded cigarette could have seen a drastic repositioning of the Smugglers Tavern. There was a safety device in place, which cut off the gas inside the cabinet if there was a fire or some other disagreeable disturbance in the flow. A week after the electricity supply was restored with a plank of wood, the shut-off valve jammed shut after one too many flaming chicken breasts. We called out the gas engineer on the Tuesday morning but by Wednesday lunchtime, they still hadn’t arrived. This meant that only microwave meals and salads could be served and it wasn’t proving too popular with the regulars.

Eventually a man of the green cloth was pushed into the room and I proudly revealed my affliction. Blood was still seeping through the checked tea towel that was tightly bound around my hand. The medical man peered at my hand and gazed inquisitively around the room. It was at this point that I had the uncomfortable feeling that this was all a bit unfamiliar to him. He picked up a brown glass bottle, scanned the label and liberally scattered the contents over my wound. We both waited a moment, he a little more curious than me, to see what reaction I would have to this liquid. I was relieved when no more than a vague tingling occurred, but I sensed disappointment and surprise from him. Next, he dabbed at my hand with an unnecessarily large wad of cotton wool and told me to hold it there while he went off in search of needle and thread. We have all heard those news reports of phoney doctors performing intricate surgical procedures on unsuspecting patients, and I was beginning to think that this man was no more of a doctor than I. To flee or not to flee battled in my mind, but before I could run for it, he returned looking very excited. Being English and therefore not wishing to appear rude, I tried to think of a polite way of asking him if he was actually associated, in any way, shape or form whatsoever, to the medical profession. Have you been busy today?’ I lightly enquired.