Liverpool FC has excelled in the local squabbles of Capital of Culture year - emerging victorious from both derbies against the self-appointed 'People's Club'. And victory is important: the gloating of family, friends or work colleagues from the other camp is hard to bear, especially as the carping normally persists for months before there's even a shot at redemption. After yesterday's win, I can revel in the land of the magnanimous conqueror; no requirement for me to don the twerpish hat of the sore loser. So, bad luck Everton - you battled manfully, but fortune was wearing Red on this occasion!

On a different note, I did the aural equivalent of a double-take whilst listening to Radio City this morning. Under discussion was a controversial event scheduled to take place in Liverpool tonight. You couldn't make this up: a competition to unearth Britain's hardest doorman! The mind boggles - so much for attempts to portray bouncers in a different light http://www.liverpoololympia.com/home.php. I shan't be attending. Never mind the contest in the ring, in such a testosterone-fuelled environment you'd have to suspect that a separate challenge to identify the hardest audience member is a distinct possibility!

As part of Liverpool Biennial http://www.tate.org.uk/liverpool/exhibitions/liverpoolbiennial08/default.shtm, the city itself has been transformed into an art gallery; whilst there are exhibitions at the Tate and Bluecoat http://www.thebluecoat.org.uk/, much of the art is simply lurking around the street corner! When confronted with this knowledge upon entering the Tate, and having been issued with a plethora of maps, for a moment my straightforward, traditionalist mind did not compute...  However, once comprehension had been attained, I decided this was a great idea - an art treasure hunt!    

As I was there, my hunt began in the Tate. The gallery's exhibition is primarily made up of new commissions with many emerging artists on display. Perhaps the lack of gala names explained the relative calm; mind you, after the intense crowd, claustrophobia and associated aromas I experienced at the Klimt exhibition, this tranquillity was a blessed relief. 

Upon arrival you are met by David Altmejd’s The Holes, a giant installation featuring a twenty-foot long Gulliveresque creature crafted out of wood, resin, horsehair, glue and other assorted materials. The figure is lying on its back amidst glacial stalagmites, its body variously rotting in places, or sprouting new life from the decay. Such is the size of the piece that you can wander around, spotting new details each time. It's a worthy opener and moved me to take a photograph. Big mistake! The previously comatose attendant was on me like a shot, raving about the artist's copyright. I bowed down to her iron rule and ascended to the top floor of the gallery, which houses the remainder of the exhibition.

I particularly enjoyed the work of Romanian artist Adrian Ghenie - dark, twisted paintings of ominous, faceless individuals depicted in a style reminiscent of the artwork of graphic novels. If Ghenie's subjects do have faces, they appear to be melting or scored away, creating a scary sense of alienation and dehumanisation. The colours used are predominantly murky swamp-green or brown, but daubs of psychedelic colour occasionally penetrate the gloom. This unsettling mood pervades the exhibition and features heavily in the works of Liverpool-born artist Ged Quinn and American Adam Cvijanovic. For instance, Quinn gives us Porky Pig crying tears of blood and the disturbing image of a cat riddled with longbow arrows – perhaps a bridge too far for a sensitive soul such as mine...

But what of this art secreted around the streets of Liverpool? After the gallery, I hit the trail. Looking at the map you'd need a day or more to see everything, but in my brief hunt this afternoon I encountered revolving trees, a Belfast-style gable mural and a building with a rotating section of wall - superb! The Biennial runs until 30 November 2008 so I will return to discover what other bizarre treats lie in store...  

My plans for last weekend were extremely limited, focused as they were on Liverpool’s match against Manchester United and the subsequent joy or misery hinged on the outcome. With kick-off early on Saturday, a defeat by the hated rivals would cast a pall over the rest of the week. Mercifully, for the first time in years I was saved from this plight by the heroic endeavours of the Reds. I watched the game on TV and after hearing an unidentified neighbour joyfully celebrating United’s early goal, it was in a gleeful, almost maniacal fashion that I responded to his cry after our winner. Fantastic!

A fitting celebration was required so I hit town for an evening of ferocious revelry. The night started with some triumphant snifters at a mate’s house before we descended on Chibuku http://www.chibuku.com for a boisterous, punky set from Reverend and The Makers http://www.iamreverend.com followed by some brilliant eclectic tunes from Glasgow-based DJs, Optimo http://www.optimo.co.uk/. After Chibuku I lurched up to Magnet http://www.magnetliverpool.co.uk for a night-cap and managed to get my befuddled body home just before the birds started to sing. The ensuing head of rice has laid me low until today but was definitely worth it…

This weekend I’m checking out the Liverpool Biennial at the Tate http://www.tate.org.uk/liverpool/exhibitions/liverpoolbiennial08/default.shtm, an exhibition I’m really looking forward to, which promises a celebration of contemporary visual art.

The torrent of rain relented for a couple of hours today so, as promised, I went spider hunting. 'Hunting' is perhaps a misleading term as La Princess' route was meticulously documented on a variety of websites, as evidenced by the thousands milling in Liverpool's commercial district waiting to catch a glimpse. My observation was initially thwarted, kept at bay as I was by the horde. From a distance, and in the shadow of the looming Liver Building, La Princess was distinctly underwhelming. But, after weighing up a retreat to the warm embrace of a bar, I decided to chance my arm from one last vantage point. And what a spot it was! Tottering astride a wheelie bin I had managed to locate myself directly adjacent to the mechanical beast's path...

Up close and personal La Princess was mightily impressive. Rearing up high above the crowd and belching forth foam, she looked for all the world like she was crawling independently along Castle Street, her regal passage accompanied by ethereal flutes. It was all too much for some of the kids around me who went from nervous laughter to outright bawling. But for the concentration required by my bin surfing, I'd have probably joined in!

Thankfully, my possible hysteria was replaced by amusement as I noticed the operating team of boffins arrayed about La Princess' body. For people enjoying an unbelievable theme-park style ride, their furrowed brows and intense concentration were hilarious. However, perhaps their focus was justified: a misdirected mechanical limb scything through the onlookers would be a story with legs all of its own!

'Ye Gods, it's a giant spider, run for your lives!'

I thought this cry and my exaggerated dash away from the beast looming overhead was amusing; the look of bemusement in my fellow onlookers' eyes revealed that I was gravely mistaken. Oh well, I think showing concern when you espy a minibus-sized spider waiting to pounce is perfectly reasonable, not a sectionable act, even if in melodramatic jest! The spider is La Princess and this weekend she is on the move http://www.liverpool08.com/streets/LaMachine/LaPrincess/. Hopefully by then the recent monsoon conditions will have abated so I can get some photos of the hideous creature on the prowl...   

I was away from Liverpool last weekend, joining the mass exodus from neighbouring town St Helens to watch my beloved Saints compete with Hull FC for rugby league's Challenge Cup at Wembley.  It was a magnificent day - the sweet taste of victory, in the sun. Policy Exchange, the authors of the recent paper encouraging Northerners to cut their losses and move south must have rejoiced. Here it was, clear evidence that one hundred thousand of the blighted unfortunates had spontaneously taken their advice. But no, this was simply a day of revelry on the streets of the capital, not a mass migration.

Back in Liverpool, the forthcoming weekend sees the arrival of one of the highlights of Capital of Culture year: La Machine http://www.lamachine.co.uk/index.php. Produced by performing arts company, Artichoke, and featuring the engineering wizardry of French company, La Machine, the city is braced for traffic-stopping street theatre. In 2006 these artists introduced The Sultan's Elephant, a giant wooden mechanical beast, to the streets of London. This Friday the creation designed for Liverpool 08, La Princess, is unleashed. Rumours abound as to her form: a Superlambanana, a Liver bird made 'flesh' and other more madcap suggestions! Who knows? Soon all will be revealed...

Any bank holiday is a cause for celebration, but the August bank holiday weekend sees party fever take hold across the country. Liverpool is no different, with tens of thousands of revellers descending on nearby Daresbury for the booming beats of Creamfields whilst the city centre was taken over by The Mathew Street Festival. I left Cream to my sister and headed off to the annual celebration of all things Fab Four.

I have to admit I was cynical and prepared for the worst; steeled for the  probability of second-rate 'tribute' acts murdering some of my favourite songs. But my cynicism was unfair - the act I saw, The Merseybeatles, were excellent. In addition to rolling out classics like Something and Revolution in fine style, they also looked the part dressed in the beige military jackets worn by the originals in their famous Shea Stadium concert and sporting magnificent moptops to boot. Mind you, I'm not sure what impact this slavish mimicry has on the performers' mental health: hopefully they don't insist on being called John, Paul, Ringo or George after the curtain comes down...

The streets of Liverpool were filled to bursting; it's like the city becomes a Scouse Gracelands for the weekend with fans from all over the world making the pilgrimage. Enterprising buskers spring up here, there and everywhere - mostly Beatles inspired, but not exclusively so. I particularly enjoyed the rip-roaring bluegrass outfit who'd commandeered a prime spot on Mathew Street, opposite The Cavern. The city's publicans must raise a glass to the organisers of the festival with every venue in full swing, but I think some of the locals had forgotten they've got to go to work tomorrow!

So the football season and attendant hype is back, its return embraced by the maniacal fans of Liverpool's two teams. At last, something to talk about around the water cooler! However, this year the talk is slightly different: normally the start of the season is a time of optimism, but 2008 finds both Everton and Liverpool in open crisis...

Perhaps only the sterling mismanagement of England's traditional crisis clubs, Newcastle and Man City, has denied Everton's spectacularly disastrous close season a permanent spot on the back pages. If the mysterious resignation of the club's chief executive and the calling in by the government of their stadium plans wasn't enough, it's the failure to recruit/attract/afford a single new player to their ranks which has got the bluenoses really riled. They have been denied transfer gossip, the fans' lifeblood through the cruel summer months, or worse, the gossip has been utterly negative. With outwardly more ambitious clubs snapping at their heels it'd be a brave punter who would back Everton to repeat their over-achievements of last season.

Thankfully for Evertonians their favourite pastime of baiting fans of my beloved Reds is alive and well. Liverpool, for so long a byword for stability, is now tucked in just behind their neighbours in the league of clubs in turmoil. What's worse, they could catapult past everyone if events pan out as they seem destined to. 

Anfield is at war - a civil war, being waged on the back page. In a nutshell, everyone hates everyone else. George hates Tom, Tom hates Rick, Rafa hates Rick and so on. Not, I suspect, very conducive to the constructive running of a club. Unfortunately the sale of Liverpool to the American owners looks to be a catastrophic error. Having saddled the club with mountains of debt and attracted the loathing of almost every fan, one might hope that the American duo would be happy to saddle up and move on. Their reluctance to depart hints at the mind-boggling amounts of cash sloshing around in English football to make the outright hostility displayed to them a cross our 'custodians' are prepared to bear. I'm sure every Evertonian hopes theirs is an extended tenure.

The fans of both clubs must love matches at the moment; at least for those ninety minutes the focus is on the football!

So it’s official: Liverpool is doomed! The city is braced for a population exodus once its citizens absorb the wise words of think tank, Policy Exchange. Built for the 1800s and dying ever since, an escape to the gold-paved streets of London is the only hope...

In the words of Jim Royle: ‘my arse’!

Scousers tend to see themselves as separate from the rest of the country - more celebrated abroad than at home. This latest bonanza of twerpery is unlikely to cause too much disquiet, but I imagine will only further entrench these views. Their spirits would certainly have been lifted if they’d heard the leaden, robotic performance of the anonymous individual claiming to be one of the paper’s authors on the radio this morning. He was roundly out-manoeuvred by local MP, Peter Kilfolye, who highlighted what seems abundantly apparent to residents of the city - that Liverpool is in rude health and looking forward to the future. Wouldn’t you agree?

This week the credit crunch claimed its highest profile Merseyside victim with the news that Cains the brewer, the official beer of Capital of Culture, has been forced into administration. The company, with roots in Liverpool dating back to 1850, has blamed its plight on the soaring costs of raw materials, the smoking ban, and a massive tax bill, but the reluctance of the banks, themselves struggling with a downturn in fortune, to offer the ailing business a shoulder to lean on was crucial.

I have little sympathy for the banks. Their blase approach to lending, which fuelled the property boom to unrealistic levels in the early noughties, created an artificial market with houses priced way above any real worth, always destined to nosedive. After a policy of lending money to any sentient being as the economy ballooned, it's the banks' fingers-burnt reluctance to lend money to anyone, including each other, that it is now accelerating the crash-landing and accompanying media firestorm. It certainly did for Cains.

Cains the brand will survive, most probably under different management. An established, traditional and popular range of beers will appeal to a brewing entrepreneur. I certainly hope so, not least for the thousand strong workforce currently wondering what the future holds, but also for Liverpool itself, which could do without the negativity that an extended saga would bring.

I visited the Cains pub, The Brewery Tap, today, together with a full house of locals attempting to drink the company back into financial health. It's a fantastic pub that I would recommend to anyone - the beer is great as well and that should bode well for the future of this Liverpool institution.

Having tired of waiting for my invite to a private viewing of Tate Liverpool's http://www.tate.org.uk/liverpool/ grandstanding Gustav Klimt exhibition, yesterday I decided to visit the gallery together with my friend, Magwitch Von Richthoven. I say 'grandstanding' because this exhibition is one of the most heralded events of Capital of Culture year and perhaps the only one to receive widespread coverage from the national media. Perhaps as a result the Tate was heaving - instead of being able to saunter straight in, such was the Klimt-mania that you were given an allotted time slot when you could gain access! Initially I feared that the massed ranks were going to make the experience oppressive. The conditions were ripe (in more ways than one!) for either an outright panic attack or the dreaded swoon! Thankfully this only affected the initial section of the exhibition featuring the impressive and huge Beethoven Frieze, which greets you upon arrival. Once we had ascended to the upper floor I could relax and start enjoying the art on display.

The exhibition is a contrary affair. Partly focused on art's more traditional expression through painting, but equally showcasing the design and architecture embraced by Klimt and his artist peers in the collective they founded, The Viennese Secession. Whilst fascinating to admire the opulent furniture, jewellery and cutlery of pre-eminent figures of the time, I thought there was far more magic in the paintings. I appreciated there was a link with the members of the Secession's search for Gesamtkunstwerk - a synthesis of art and design - but despite this, it felt like two exhibitions foisted together.

Especially considering the fantastic paintings on display. Like the Portrait of Eugenia Primavesi (right), the pieces are a riot of colour and this kaleidoscope draws you in, so the subject is only a feature of the work, not the whole. The exuberance is apt; Klimt certainly wasn't bashful. Portraits of patrons like Primavesi would be restrained, but it was the naked female form that really caught the artist's eye. This ranged from the elegance of pieces like Nuda Veritas to distinctly more racy sketches, particularly in the section of the exhibition entitled The World in Female Form. Suffice to say, I had to drag Magwitch away...

My personal favourites were Klimt's landscapes. A less celebrated section of his work, but pieces like Pine Forest and The Park really captured the size, darkness and loneliness which I associate with the forest. Instead of the bright colours and gold elsewhere in his work, the artist's landscapes were filled with subtle shades of green, enlivened with colour from the occasional flower.

Reading this, you would think the exhibition focuses solely on Klimt, but there are pieces by many other artists of the time - for instance, Magwitch's favourite was a haunting painting by Klimt's protege, Egon Schiele, entitled The Hermits (Self-Portrait with Gustav Klimt). The dual focus on art and design was perhaps too much for me, but I enjoyed the exhibition once I'd recovered from the initial scrum! The art on display is sensual and full of life and I'd recommend that you see for it yourself before the curtain comes down on the exhibition at the end of this month. 

Last Friday night I was in the Echo Arena to catch Jools Holland and his Rhythm and Blues Orchestra sweep into Liverpool on a wave of boogie-woogie. It was ace. Jools is a fabulous entertainer, a Pied Piper - ripping it up on the piano, bantering away with the crowd and combining effortlessly with the talented singers along for the ride. He's clearly having fun, loves the music he's playing and the crowd just follows in his wake. This was despite the best efforts of the venue's overbearing stewards who patrolled the floor like Robocop looking for misdemeanours like dancing, talking or having a good time!

Jools was joined for cameos from the soulful Louise Marshall and Ruby Turner, top-ranking reggae singer Rico Rodriguez, Merseybeat legend Gerry Marsden and finally, Marc Almond. But the music was the real star - full of drive, soul and power. The Rhythm and Blues players fill the stage, there must be close to twenty of them - Lord knows how Jools can afford to keep the show on the road! Thank goodness that he does, though, as their sound filled the arena and quickly had the crowd dancing in the aisles, even my mate, the rhythmically challenged Jim Bob. The Piper's wonderful piano playing and the fully stacked horn section give the orchestra an amazing momentum, either when backing one of the singers or during the frequent instrumentals. Like in the legendary Later, Jools’ bonhomie and enthusiasm is contagious. I couldn't see, but I knew he was smiling - just like the audience as they boogied off into the night at the end of the show...   

So the Open and the Tall Ships have been and gone, together with the host of visitors attracted by their charms. As a fair-weather golfing fan I didn't make it to Royal Birkdale: the attritional conditions meant watching on TV was the only viable/sane option. As suspected, Justin Rose was well and truly hexed once I picked him as a potential winner - almost finishing dead last!

Thankfully the storm lifted on Sunday night and I was able to wander around Wellington Dock taking photos of the impressive Tall Ships berthed there. I even managed to board the Uruguyan boat, the Captain Miranda, but that's the closest I'll get to becoming a salty seadog! The ships went on their merry way this afternoon in the grandly titled Parade of Sail, a spectacular sight, which had the banks of the Mersey creaking with humanity.

It's being hailed as Liverpool's biggest weekend of the year; it's certainly the tallest - boom boom! I'm talking about the Tall Ships extravaganza http://www.liverpool08.com/sport/news/details.asp?id=1113, currently moored in the city's fabled port. On paper this isn't something that floats my boat, but boy, those ships are an impressive addition to the waterfront! I'd love to don my Jack Sparrow attire, ascend the rigging and hit the high seas. But as a dyed-in-the-wool landlubber with the sailing skills of a badger, that's unlikely to happen - I'll leave it to the experts. If this midsummer's wintry weather lifts over the weekend, hopefully I can get some photographs for you to admire...

Just as the nation’s tennis fervour dies down, suddenly golf courses up and down the land will be besieged by budding Tigers. This will certainly be the case in the Liverpool area, especially as the reason for the upsurge in interest, The Open http://www.opengolf.com/, is being played up the road at Royal Birkdale Golf Club. Not only will residents of the Northwest be able to admire the skills of the world’s best players, but also keep their eye on the tittle-tattle columns of the local papers to check which stars have been misbehaving, falling out of nightclubs or, more likely, getting arrested for crimes against fashion!  

The Open will provide a further boost to the region’s booming tourism figures, already at record levels because of the capital of culture celebrations. Golf-tourists are an increasingly common sight on the streets of Liverpool as local courses have become regulars on The Open’s rota, with Royal Liverpool hosting in 2006 and Royal Lytham St Annes a frequently used venue. To most I’m sure that golf seems like an unusual spectator sport and there is a lot to be said for the armchair fan. However, there is a fantastic atmosphere on course with the crowd’s gasps and groans a constant backdrop to the players’ mastery of the golf ball.

This will be remembered as the open Open. In the absence of Woods, the world number one and best player by far, hopefully a British player can take advantage and secure the Claret Jug. My money (so not yours, unless you’re happy to squander your cash) is on Justin Rose, who shot to fame at Birkdale ten years ago before, equally spectacularly, disappearing without trace after turning professional. He’s back now, finally fulfilling his rich potential, and maybe victory is written in the stars…

Form is temporary, class is permanent: a sporting adage that could have been coined to describe Paul Simon. The little man from New York had a capacity audience at the Echo arena in the palm of his hand last night on a tour de force through his musical back catalogue. I often wonder with older performers if they will only hint at former glories, the ravages of time, addiction and multiple divorces reining in their exuberant talent. Not so with Simon. What shone through his whole performance was the amazing quality of his voice - effortlessly flawless, sweet as a nut. His amazing talent, a phenomenal, rhythm-heavy band and tunes to die for allowed me to forget that the most dramatic Wimbledon final ever was being played out at that very moment!

No warm-up act meant that the show started literally from the moment I took my seat - I think Paul was keeping an eye out for me backstage, like friends do! It was then non-stop music for more than two hours, perhaps easier after a four decade stint at the top of your game. The songs had a consistent backdrop of shuffling African rhythms, reminiscent of the Gracelands era, building to an early peak with Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard and the first introduction of the soaring sax, which had an increasing role to play as the tempo picked up and the crowd started to jump around. For a wee man, Paul Simon has real stage presence and a subtle New York take on crowd banter. You feel like he's determined that everyone present is going home humming his songs. Perhaps surprisingly, he didn't play Homeward Bound, with its local connection: penned on a wet, windy Widnes train station (maybe the memory is still too raw...). But there were superb renditions of Mrs Robinson, Sounds of Silence and The Boxer amongst others for the Simon and Garfunkel massive! Mixing up classics with less celebrated tracks, the set climaxed in the encore with You Can Call Me Al and Late in the evening before the rapt throng were pitched out into a strangely balmy Mediterranean evening, humming to their hearts' content.  

So the bird that flew the nest has been sheepishly returned. I refer, of course, to the Tracey Emin sculpture, Roman Standard, half-inched from its home by ne'er-do-wells. Roman Standard is a tiny sculpture of a sparrow, which had lived safely on top of a four metre high bronze pole outside Liverpool Cathedral since 2005. After news of its theft, Emin commented that it was no insult to her, more to the people of Liverpool and I was inclined to agree, as the theft would only confirm the tired stereotypes of Liverpool around the country.

Thankfully there is a silver lining to this tale as the criminal masterminds behind the heist grew a conscience and returned their swag under cover of darkness, together with an apology note – honour among thieves indeed!

Wimbledon is on the telly, the sun is shining (in London at least) and there is music in the air - courtesy of Liverpool's annual Summer Pops http://www.accliverpool.com/whatson/summerpops.asp. The Pops has rapidly established itself in the Liverpool event calendar, its success based on the wide variety of quality artists invited to perform. There is something for everyone, from pre-teen pop by Westlife to the king of dad-rock, Meatloaf! Luring legends to Liverpool appears to be a speciality: Ray Charles, Bob Dylan and James Brown are amongst those who've performed in the event's eight-year history. 2008 is no exception with Diana Ross and Paul Simon booked in and sold out.

Another forte is booking artists who I would categorise as crudsters: big names with more than a whiff of camembert - Bryan Adams, Tom Jones or Def Leppard anyone? But there is a certain illicit thrill in sneakily catching these turns perform, armed with lines like 'Oh, a work colleague gave me their ticket..' lest you're spotted on the way in..... 

So far, the one thing missing has been the biggest acts touring in any particular summer and maybe the Summer Pops itself isn't aiming for this market. However, the Pops started life in a marquee and its success must have aided the funding of its new home, The Echo Arena. With this fantastic new venue and the phoenix-like effect the Pops' popularity has had in re-establishing Liverpool on the map for live music, the city is ready to become a future fixture for anyone performing in the UK. No doubt the legions of Scouse music fans will raise a glass to that!        

So it's been confirmed: Liverpool is England's most musical city. A claim long trumpeted by Scousers has been validated by Arts Council England http://www.artscouncil.org.uk/pressnews/press_detail.php?browse=recent&id=1165, with Liverpool topping the pops ahead of Sheffield and arch rivals Manchester. How appropriate that this coronation comes in capital of culture year, a title which Liverpool's astonishing musical heritage did so much to secure.

Pop supremacy has been the subject of futile, frequently drunken disputes down the ages. In the Liverpool v Manchester clash, for example, the Mancunian would concede the unparalleled impact of The Beatles, but argue this was ancient history when compared to the influence on the music of today by groundbreaking artists like The Smiths and Joy Division. These arguments are now redundant - after an irrefutably equitable process, the winner is known!

It's particularly refreshing that whilst the grand achievements of the past are acknowledged by this triumph, the rude health of the now was equally important and bands like The Zutons, The Coral, Ladytron and The Wombats will be proud standard bearers into the future....nice one, la!

In Scotland you bag a Munro, elsewhere in the UK trainspotting is rife; now Liverpool has a craze all of its own: going Superlambananas! The Superlambanana is an initially derided, now iconic statue by Taro Chiezo, which has 'lived' on the streets of the city since 1998. The statue looks as it sounds: a strange hybrid of animal and fruit, in glorious technicolour yellow. But now Liverpool is overrun with mini Superlambanana clones - an invasion that is part of the commitment to public art in capital of culture year. Over the weekend, armed with my camera, I started to track down these invaders.

I have always been ambivalent about the original Superlambanana's charms, but it was with great glee that I stumbled across the newcomers, which filled their surroundings with humour and colour. There are apparently in excess of one hundred replicas dotted about, each designed by different artists, commissioned by the Culture Company. I'm looking forward to seeing the Rafa Baanitez complete with trademark goatee!

I wasn't alone in my search. The Superlambanana hunt has captured the public's imagination, with families and solo spotters swapping tips about the location of their favourites. The Superlambananas will remain in the spotlight for the duration of their ten-week stay - in their guise as public art of course, but I'm also envisaging lambnappings under cover of darkness and other such high jinx in the months ahead...