I only got rained on, lost about three times (Buxton information centre entirely unhelpful to cycle tourists heading to Cheshire), had to bike along the hellish A6, and fell off my bike into a muddy puddle while following tracks along the Mersey to Manchester. The shame!
But I´m happy to be here. Manchester is much less grimy than I expected. Perhaps it´s the good company. But the architecture is amazing. There´s loads of red-brick mills (industrial revolution again) which have become apartments, and a few blocky art deco things, but my favourite is the osentatious
Gothic buildings, built with cotton money in the 19th century. The city seems proud too. Not as cosmopolitan as London, but quite left-wing. We walk past the spot where the Labour party (I know, I know) holds its annual conference and cousin Tullis shows me where the manhole covers are taped down to prevent terrorism. (Aside: I´m sick of the paranoia here, as the graffito in Oxford says, "closed circut TV is a crime". A ubiquitous crime, extending to country pubs and parks. In Coventry I almost have my hand luggage confiscated because I left it outside for a second and it´s full of bombs, apparently, at an airport containing around 50 people.) But back to the left wing stuff. There´s also the bafflingly eclectic People´s History Museum, containing a lock of Tom Paine´s hair, much info on the Suffragist movement, films of 1930´s football matches (with pitch invasions) and, my favorite, a chance to make your own badges. I make two. Mine has a picture of a needle and thread and the words 'please don´t raise my standard of living´. I make one for Tullis that says ´I love jamming´. Tullis is on a bit of a high, planning his trip to India. Apparently it is monsoon season, but his friends over there are assuring him he´ll be fine. The monsoons must have relocated here. I do not exaggerate to say there has been perhaps three days since I arrived in the midlands that it hasn´t rained. That´s how British towns get flooded, I suppose.
I am priveleged to hear the first recording session of the Noise Upstairs band (soon it will have a real name) It comprised Tullis on trombone and laptop Anton on guitar and effects pedals and Kate on cello. These music graduates made sounds like the swollen Mersey that flows through this city. Turbulent yet graceful.
As a last night out in Manchester, Tul reccomends the Nextmen (from London) at some club I don´t remember the name of. Innovative party hip-hop. I have one of those moments of realisation that I´m in a foreign country while riding in my first British cab, and then getting patted down at the entrance of the club. Weapons? No, they were looking for drugs... but they didn´t question the existence of a tealight candle in my pocket. Inside the party is great! a good vibe, and great sounds including a Dr Dre accapella mixed with a doubletime breakbeat. Thanks, Manchester.
But I´m happy to be here. Manchester is much less grimy than I expected. Perhaps it´s the good company. But the architecture is amazing. There´s loads of red-brick mills (industrial revolution again) which have become apartments, and a few blocky art deco things, but my favourite is the osentatious
Gothic buildings, built with cotton money in the 19th century. The city seems proud too. Not as cosmopolitan as London, but quite left-wing. We walk past the spot where the Labour party (I know, I know) holds its annual conference and cousin Tullis shows me where the manhole covers are taped down to prevent terrorism. (Aside: I´m sick of the paranoia here, as the graffito in Oxford says, "closed circut TV is a crime". A ubiquitous crime, extending to country pubs and parks. In Coventry I almost have my hand luggage confiscated because I left it outside for a second and it´s full of bombs, apparently, at an airport containing around 50 people.) But back to the left wing stuff. There´s also the bafflingly eclectic People´s History Museum, containing a lock of Tom Paine´s hair, much info on the Suffragist movement, films of 1930´s football matches (with pitch invasions) and, my favorite, a chance to make your own badges. I make two. Mine has a picture of a needle and thread and the words 'please don´t raise my standard of living´. I make one for Tullis that says ´I love jamming´. Tullis is on a bit of a high, planning his trip to India. Apparently it is monsoon season, but his friends over there are assuring him he´ll be fine. The monsoons must have relocated here. I do not exaggerate to say there has been perhaps three days since I arrived in the midlands that it hasn´t rained. That´s how British towns get flooded, I suppose.I am priveleged to hear the first recording session of the Noise Upstairs band (soon it will have a real name) It comprised Tullis on trombone and laptop Anton on guitar and effects pedals and Kate on cello. These music graduates made sounds like the swollen Mersey that flows through this city. Turbulent yet graceful.
As a last night out in Manchester, Tul reccomends the Nextmen (from London) at some club I don´t remember the name of. Innovative party hip-hop. I have one of those moments of realisation that I´m in a foreign country while riding in my first British cab, and then getting patted down at the entrance of the club. Weapons? No, they were looking for drugs... but they didn´t question the existence of a tealight candle in my pocket. Inside the party is great! a good vibe, and great sounds including a Dr Dre accapella mixed with a doubletime breakbeat. Thanks, Manchester.
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