If I was a 7 year old with exemplary spelling, this is how I would write about last weekend:
On thursday I left work. I walked to the train station. At the station I saw Toyah Battersby off Coronation Street. She's pretty. I went to Manchester to see my friends. When I got off the train I went to Charlotte's house. We talked and ate food and went to bed. On Friday I walked round town and went to Sara's house and Emma's house and Lisa's house. We did talking and watching telly and eating. It was good. On saturday me and Sara went to the War Museum. It woz brilliant. Just chillin'. And then we went to the pub. I drank a lot. A woman with fat legs sang songs and talked dirty. It was funny. On Sunday I went to a art museum and then I did go home. The end.
But that would only tell you half the story. Charlotte and I had a marvellous time catching up and discussing whether it would be worth getting drunk and running over particular shared enemies before the government enforces sentences of longer than 4 weeks for drink-driving killers. Charlotte wasn't as keen as I. We drank wine and ate toffee cake and discussed the joys of working for the NHS as mental health nurses (conversation lasted approximately 2 seconds- Charlotte: "wasn't it great?", me: "no." Charlotte: "Yeah, you're right").
Friday's traipse around town revealed to me how much a city can change in 9 months as Manchester's tallest building had been completed (it is UUUUUGLY!) and how certain no-go areas had become places where couples went for walks. And the Arndale centre has grown a beautiful new back.
Scheduling problems meant I couldn't see Susan and Lindsay, instead spending a lovely evening with Sara, Lisa and Emma, and seeing Emma's giant 2-year old, a starlingly blonde and cute boy.
Saturday held many delights, one of which was the Imperial War Museum of the North, an extremely well thought out museum, filled with activities, interactive displays and a huge amount of realia. Sara and I left at about 3pm after which came the day's only disappointment. Someone had obviously medicated the feral women who made my last trip to Salford Precinct so memorable. The brief trip passed unremarkably, though we did buy cheese and onion pasties on the way out- my first for many years. Mmm...
The evening was rather surreal. One of Sara's cousins was heading back to Australia having come back for a holiday, so lots of friends and family were meeting in a local pub before heading into town for a last night out. Now, Salford has quite a reputation for being a bit rough, and lots of local pubs had closed down due to trouble, but at this one the doors were kept locked to keep out troublemakers and the atmosphere inside was great. The customers ranged from young to very, very old and everyone was having a good time. Although until it filled up it did seem a bit like the Phoenix Club with tables of pensioners staring over their pints into space. This changed when the entertainment came on. A man was cased in on stage by 3 keyboards and some MDF and a woman (I say a woman, when the legs are that thick I automatically look for an Adam's apple) who appeared to have glued the tails of three horses to her head started belting out a random mix of tunes. After a couple of numbers she started dragging up the punters to sing. The singers, all actually fantastic singers and in their best showman's outfits, appeared to be knocking on heaven's door. All except for the sole young lad who had a great voice but looked like he didn't know which door to knock on. Through all this we were all getting a little bit more trolleyed (except for a pregnant Sara), and I enjoyed singing along to the entertainment with Janice's mate Lynne and meeting Sara's hilarious Uncle Albert...
On Sunday we had a slow morning and Sara drove me into town where I finally made it to the art gallery on Moseley street (I've been meaning to go there since, ooh, October 1995), enjoyed sushi at the Manchester food festival and then took the train home. Edinburgh will have to work hard to compete in eight days time!
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