August 2023. Manchester.

Odd post this, and not just because it’s a trip to Manchester without a beer or a curry.

And that’s despite having to spend the night in Stockport due to the last train back to Sheffield leaving before an 8pm kick-off was likely to end given VAR reviews.

At least (newly-washed) Baa Baa and Alfie got to spend the night somewhere posh.

We had a late breakfast in the increasingly posh 7 Brothers, too,

with Mr RM getting abuse from Mrs RM because I’d ordered a Tofu sandwich at Pollen in KAMPUS, whose best point is the huge plants in that central courtyard.

Matt gave me an overdue haircut, his last in the Student Village before he moves into Chinatown next month.

One benefit to working behind Portland Street is, of course, the run of Grey Horse, Circus and Old Monkey. Shamefully, Matt had no idea where the Grey Horse is. I blame the parents.

I’ve never really explored Chinatown, being an internationally renowned takeaway expert and all, but the new looking Noodle Alley was astonishing.

Particularly those dry noodles with the word “burning” in the title.

I hate to say this, but it may usurp This & That in my affections.

After a tortured hour of shopping Mrs set off for some culture by the Irwell in what I used to know as the Factory offices, now refashioned as Aviva Studios.

YAYOI KUSAMA: YOU, ME AND THE BALLOONS

Don’t ask me. I couldn’t get a ticket.

Looks like some rejected props from Squid Game to me.

Mrs RM gave in to the lure of the cheeky pint of Manchester Pale in the Aviva Cafe, and a cheeky shot of Mancunian fashion.

Over at the Etihad, I discovered my randomly allocated single seat for the 2023-24 (£17 a game) was bang central, but with Japanese tourists recording the whole match (dominated by Phil Foden) on their I-Phones.

I bet they paid more than £17 to see the champions of Europe.

Sadly, we didn’t make it back to Heaton Chapel in time for a first/last beer of the night. What happened to the 24 hour cafe society we were promised ?