Eagle-eyed readers (that’s you, Bill) may have noticed I hadn’t had a drink yet on the Glorious 12th, and I wasn’t going to get one till Manchester as the Sheffield Tap seating was full when I got back to the station.
Bing maps reckon the 56 minute trip across the Peak goes in a perfect straight line.
But I rather doubt that. Artistic licence.
My first train journey since the January Lockdown; I’d forgotten how gorgeous the views were, and everyone gets a window seat at the moment.
Barber Booth ? It’s a sign ! I was headed to Manchester for my first cut for 4 months. Simon had bought a new camera especially for the horror show of my hair on the morning of 12 April.
Quite odd getting out at Piccadilly for the first time since last March.
There’s actually one new Manchester Guide entry, but Beatnikz Republic had kindly decided to open up once I’d headed back home.
But the “No Bookings” policy was encouraging, and I thought I’d find a seat for an hour in what real Mancunians call “The Quarter” before my cut.
Manchester’s most famous pubs like the Lost Dene and Wetherspoons don’t really have workable outdoor areas, so everyone heads for the pedestrianised areas, and hovers. I hovered for 30 seconds, then dived for a table on the pavement outside Soup Kitchen (aka SOUP).
Yes, it’s not St Mark’s Square, but it’s nice to be part of history, and there’s some dubious activity in the parked cars two yards away that I’ll remain in deep ignorance of.
A smooth Shindigger IPA in a plastic glass, £5.20. No blokes in Hi-Vis singing “I saw the sign“, but Whigfield in the loos (as it were) keeps that 94-95 vibe alive.
I loved that Whigfield album. Ask Mrs RM.