Emma and Matt gave James and myself a guided tour of Manchester in August ’20. Gave ME a tour. I AM Mr. Manchester (joking, I think it’s a cob).
I liked that; it’s a while since anyone gave me a tour. I think the last one were the tunnels below Nuremberg Castle.
Baa Baa Toure would love Nuremberg. He’d been guarding our campervan out near the Mancunian Way, an area of astonishing high rise.
Manchester rarely features on anyone’s “most beautiful cities” list. Except mine, which is all that counts. I love the way the pubs sit alongside the high rise.
Let’s hope the Holt pubs and the Briton’s Protection and the BrewDog get the trade back, though it won’t be from office trade or City fans or gig-goers for a while.
Or students. We had a look at the cluster of bars around the Medlock, including the newish Yes development.
I was surprised by home much new Manchester there was. We wandered past Satan, as it were, one of the few Manc music venues I seem to have missed. To be honest, I’ve never seen the Halle at the Bridgewater either.
With the roads quiet, it’s a joy to wander the city and annoy and embarass youngsters by stopping every 5 minutes to take photos.
When I go shopping with Mrs RM, every Friday 13th, I wait patiently as she nips in Lush or whatever. Matt and Emma popped in that weird “collectibles” store behind Bundobust, to the accompaniment of ABBA.
Oh, look. Here’s Matt’s Northern Quarter shop.
I’m oddly proud he’s working so close to both Oldham Street and Albert Square (and occasionally Didsbury Village but we’ll gloss over that).
After that 4 July manic rush trade is a bit quiet in the centre, and pubs looked quiet, awaiting that return of the Southworths.
But the Northern Quarter was ticking over nicely, taking advantage of the outdoor drinking culture that has somehow eluded Maidenhead and Carluke so far. And it WAS drinking, not half-price dining.
That top photo was taken in Manchester High Street. I kid you not.
And you know where this was taken.