Everything about Manchester makes my spirit soar - how could you ever be truly miserable when you live in a city that offers the cultural delights that are Beetham Tower and the Pev within a two minute and seventeen second walk of each other (in heels)? I've lived here for over a year now, yet I still find myself constantly having to apologise for bumping into people because I'm too busy staring up at the skyline, or admiring the stained glass window in Central Library that always surprises me as I walk past.
Part-walking part-dancing to work yesterday morning (my Ipod selection was just too good not to) I found myself taking the longer journey along the canal path. It was half way through Marrakech Express and half way across the mini NewcastleGateshead Blinking Eye bridge on Castlefield Locks that the dawn of realisation struck as to why I heart Manchester quite as much as I do. It's the people. They are passionate, creative, friendly, exciting. They are fucking bonkers and I love it.
A barge was nearing the mouth of the canal as I was passing over the bridge and on it stood a Highland terrier with a piece of toast in his mouth, and a tall (some would say lanky but I'm not that rude) guy in his early thirties wearing a grey suit and pink tie. He had short dirty blonde hair and in his left hand was a briefcase that had seen better days. It was strange enough that this Rodney Trotter circa 1989 lookalike should be standing atop a barge but the fact that he was urinating into the water whilst the dog looked on was just too much to bear. Despite my ipod being cranked up to its deafening limits I could just about hear myself tut loudly in utter disapproval. But then the strangest thing happened. He smiled at me and said "Good Morning". Even when having a piss on a barge at 8.30am on a Wednesday morning, Mancs are the politest of folk.
What could I do? I smiled, mouthed "Good Morning" and then felt slightly dirty for the rest of the day.
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