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At home with Liam Robinson Liam let me into his sumptuous apartment, in a recently converted warehouse on Burnley's fashionable canal side, with a smile. I knew at once that this was a man blessed with classic good taste, easily at home in front of thousands out on the football pitch or back at base with only his tropical fish and beloved Brahms for company. Pouring for me with an accomplished air a fine single malt with a little water - though a lover of fine wines, Liam himself opted for the lager top he's grown so fond of at Burnley - he showed me around the spacious rooms that he has made home. "I think tranquillity at home is so important, providing me with such a necessary contrast to the hurly burly high pressure world of top class football at a big club like Burnley," commented Liam, "and I think you can see that I've achieved that here by a careful use of pastel shades complemented by just the occasional work of contemporary art." Liam proudly pointed out his splendid collection of seventeenth century silverware. "I like to think that I'll never lose touch with the past," Liam went on, "and that antique collecting - whether it be those ornate Victorian snuffboxes over there or these immaculately preserved pre-war Dinky toys - helps to remind me of my humble origins at Bury, before I graduated to the dizzy heights of fame at Burnley." As I helped myself to more scotch, Liam, slipping into a red velvet smoking jacket and pulling on a small cigar, took from a shelf a leather bound copy of the philosophical works of Sartre. "I see my personal philosophy as being essentially existentialist," he said, with a disarming smile. "I like to do the unexpected, to achieve the unsettling. To that end I changed my name from Spencer to Liam. Partly as an existential act, and partly as a tribute to the great 'Chippy,' Liam Brady. I mean, there's never been a decent footballer called Spencer, has there?" It was while we were admiring Liam's prize pike, stuffed and mounted, that Alan Harper dropped in to play his Nat King Cole's greatest hits CD, which Liam tolerated with practised good humour. Apart from John Pender, after the unfortunate incident with the china collection, Liam's apartment is open house to all Burnley footballers, whether it be Chris Vinnicombe popping round for a chat about Marlon Brando or Marlon Beresford passing by with his chips for some vinegar. As Alan pressed the repeat button for When I Fall in Love for the third time, I decided it was time to leave. All in all, Liam is settled at home, relaxed and in good humour. As he showed me out and hailed me a taxi, one question was left hanging in the air, unasked. Wonder why he's such a terrible player? Next issue: fishing with Steve Davis and down the chippy with David Eyres. FirmoApril-May 1995 |