Manchester: A Slight Return

Apr 18, 2005 · 5 minute read

In my defence, it didn’t rain all the time I was there. In fact, Sunday morning and this evening have been pleasant and sunny. We’ll skip over the icy winds and persistent drizzle.

Before I go any further, I wish to mark the passing of two important Mancunian landmarks. It pains me to reveal that the Manchester Odeon is no more. It was our Friday night destination for almost three years, with a main screen that was over fifteen feet longer than the Mauritania, and now it's gone. Perhaps its biggest claim to fame is that it's visible in one scene in 24 Hour Party People, where some of the characters talk in a cafe (yes, I know that's not really narrowing it down too much - it's been a while since I've seen it!). Incidentally, the cafe has also gone now.

But, even worse, to those of us who were held rapt by the adventures of Skel Nonch and Erk Dre, is that Halon Menswear has also disappeared. Yes, the Oxford Road no longer caters for the upscale man. To pile insult on the injury, it's been replaced by a Starbucks (I'm also reliably informed that it's actually a surprisingly good Starbucks, so perhaps the good men of Halon's influence still holds sway over the building).

Well, what else can I say about the trip, after those bombshells? Not much, to be honest; it wasn't a weekend of Big Happenings and Debauchery, although we did partly run the risk of having an electrocuted Tom while he was rewiring his kitchen. Instead, a leisurely, gentle stroll thorugh old haunts and seeing new things, spending far too much time in shops, and trying hard to avoid having to wear a gown while in Hall. It was a little weird being back in St. Anselm again; while I wasn't in my old room, I was close to it, and had to use the shower block that I used previously. It was a little trip back in time, especially when I walked back from the city on Sunday afternoon.

I found some interesting clothes shops this weekend (cheap, too!), but I'm on a self-imposed ban from buying any new clothes at the moment. Partly, this is because I'm going to America in a few months, and everything will be much cheaper there, but mostly, it's because my current idea of a good outfit involves dressing up like the Fifth Doctor and his Edwardian cricketer fashion. So, for my sake and all the others that have to be around me, I'm not buying anything until it passes, lest I deck myself out in white striped jumpers and straw hats. It's for the best. Although, if my next phase is Gothic Lolita, you're probably going to cry out for the return of the straw...

The Northern Quarter has now become fashionable, instead of the small bit of town where the comic shop is hidden. There's lots of fancy new shops, but Manchester is still Manchester: next to a ultra-cool design studio sits a sheet metal welding workshop. And the comic shop is still there, as is Vinyl Exchange. I almost bought a M.I.A. promo, but decided that I'd wait until the album was out properly in a week or so. Then I spent far too much time in Magma. Magma is a book shop that caters primairly for graphic designers and the hangers on who think the books and toys are really interesting (guilty). The only downside is that it doesn't have any seats, although, as Phil pointed out, it's probably a safety measure to prevent Tom and I from spending all day in there.

Lots of goths. That's not a bad thing, mind you. Fancy costumes and teardrop make-up! Livens a Saturday morning up, that's for sure. Also, I think there has been a red dye explosion over vast swathes of Fallowfield; I can honestly say that 1 in 3 girls, at least, was sporting dyed red hair. Not too much blue, sadly.

So, you've got this far, and you're probably wondering: "But what about the interview? Red hair and weird asides about old fashions are all very well, but what about the point of this piece?" To which I must point out, just in passing, that our Italian waiter on Friday night seemed to take it as a personal insult that I didn't want parmasean cheese on my pasta. It was as if I had besmirched his family's reputation. Not wishing to cause an international incident over a condiment (is Parmaean cheese a condiment? Perhaps not. It's more a topping, I'd imagine.Although you often find it with the condiments, so possibly...but that might be a debate best saved for later), I relented, and everybody was all smiles once more. Splendid, you mught say.

"BUT WHAT ABOUT THE INTERVIEW?" Oh, if you insist. Although there isn't much to say, really. I went, I talked, they asked questions, and it was over in twenty minutes. They didn't ask the usual question ("So, there's this giant hole in your CV. Want to talk about it?"), and I have no idea how I did really. I think I answered the technical questions reasonably well. and the more general stuff seemed to go okay. I don't believe I'm going to get the job, though. It seemed too quick to be all that positive.

And now! I'm writing this on a train! Plugged into a powerpoint on the side of the carriage looking like one of those sad people who does their office work on the way home. It should have Wi-Fi installed.Then I could do other stuff while heading back. But I'm done now, so I'll hit save and fall asleep instead. Pictures tomorrow…