my weekend in manchester was filled with several different types of deja vu. my other visits to manchester were alcohol-fuelled [depeche mode with atif, or mardi gras with the lads] or, virtual [watching stuart, vince and nathan stumble down canal street on queer as folk]. regardless, this time around, everything seemed too blurrily familiar.
perhaps we do have an alcohol problem. on the three-hour long train journey, we polished off a bottle of vodka, and two large bottles of alcopops as we shared our tawdry gossipy stories with the rest of the commuter-filled train carriage. from the manchester picadilly station, we went directly to canal street to via fossa with its nooks and crannies, and spirit with its freezing balcony. we danced the night away at cruz 101 and essential, which both had free internet terminals but not a single attractive mancunian in sight. not that i was on the prowl, of course. we retired to mark’s mum’s place around 4am and made a pizza:
carefully choose the ingredients
chop the peppers. notice greg’s chopping posture
