THERE'S something about being in a new place. Traipsing around streets that are strangers to my feet. Discovering new sights with each corner I turn.

And as I stand here, in a shopping centre in the middle of Liverpool, I make a vow to myself: I must get out more.

I've always fancied the notion of going travelling, but, like most people, have never done anything about it. I hide my inabilities to actually get up and do something behind a long lists of excuses.

My two-week summer holiday is not long enough... I can't afford it etc.

And although I would like to think I don't need the trappings or security of a full-time job, I can't honestly see myself giving it all up to trot the globe. I certainly haven't done it yet.

Most of my holidays are therefore spent searching for last-minute bargains on Teletext -- and so the Long Suffering Marjorie and I either end up in Spain or, more likely, kicking our heels at home.

But it shouldn't just be the exotic, long-distance locations I dream about visiting. I should be making plans to head down to Shakespeare country, across to the Yorkshire Dales or up to the Highlands. I should be discovering what is basically on my own doorstep.

Again the excuses come out. My weekends are there to relax, not get snarled up in traffic or vie for a seat on the train. Or I'm just too busy.

But that shouldn't be the case.

The trip to Liverpool was an enforced one to pick up a passport (no doubt to visit Spain) and although it is just over an hour away, I had never been before. Not properly.

I have seen a concert in Liverpool (twice) and once went to a job interview, but each time never ventured further from the venue/newspaper office.

This time I had four hours to kill and decided to explore. I walked down Matthew Street -- the place where the Cavern once stood where four lads honed their act before shaking the world (a replica venue has been built yards from the original which was knocked down in the 80s).

I sat by the docks overlooking the Mersey, and now I am wandering around the shopping centre.

And even though it is filled with the high-street shops that infest every other city-centre, everything is new. The same yet subtly different.

I find myself rifling through the CDs in the music shop, noticing how they market the Beatles with much more prominence than say a London shop would.

And the street sellers peddle sketches of Bill Shankly and Bob Paisley, much the way Manchester does with Alex Ferguson and Blackburn with Jack Walker.

What really brings it home to me about my lack of adventure is listening to the travels of others.

The LSM has made friends with a host of Canadians on her teacher training course, all of whom know my country better than I do.

Between them they have covered practically every grid reference, taken photos of every historical monument and bought novelty items from the gift shops.

In a little more than six months they have visited more places than I have managed in 29 years.

And so I must change and see more. But not this weekend though. I've too much to do.