... in which hopes may rise on the Grasmere
When I was little, all the stereotypes about Manchester being grey and depressing and crap were true.
Back then, it really was all regulation council housing with peeling paint and families who were there simply because they couldn't get anywhere better. Streets full of derelict, empty shops, litter skuttling down the pavement, schools full of graffiti and pale, under-nourished kids who already knew that life wasn't fair. The centre of town consisted of empty factories left over form bygone days when the cotton trade meant Manchester still had something useful to offer, and the Arndale, a huge and soulless excuse for a shopping centre that brooded over Market Street like it knew it was having a crap time and so wanted to suck the joy out of life for everyone else too.
This was also taking place in a town where it rains all the time. Almost literally - it's rare for two or three days to go by without that ever-present grey drizzle, at least, reminding you that you live in a place nicknamed The Puddle. It'd be nice to say that this is exaggerating, but while it wasn't all bad, it certainly wasn't nice.
Today, though, I got to show my dear Lisa around. There were tourists and students and business people all bustling around doing their business. There were people walking dogs, and a public probably-stag party involing a whole load of very drunk blokes, one of whom was wearing a Pippi Longstocking wig, a cheerleading outfit and a pair of fake breasts. There were fountains in Piccadilly Gardens and a market going on in the Triangle with stalls selling food and cultural goods from places as different as Germany and Jamaica. There were new shops, new people - even the Arndale looks a little less depressing when full of people buying things and eating things and selling things. There were even many, many cows.
(The current theory is that the cows are actually aliens. Quite frankly, that makes a lot more sense, when you're looking at them. Heh.)
I suspect it's not many people who're lucky enough to get to see the place they grew up find its life again. And it's probably even less who get to then show it off to the people they love. I'm glad I got such a nice reminder of why I really do like it here before I leave. Even if I never come back to live, which is a definite possibility, I got to say goodbye properly.
It was even sunny. Mostly. :)
Oh yeah, and I got an iPod. It's a thing of beauty and a joy forever. And called Alex. (I wanted to call it Ivan but I'm told I'm not allowed. Heh.) Squee!
Back then, it really was all regulation council housing with peeling paint and families who were there simply because they couldn't get anywhere better. Streets full of derelict, empty shops, litter skuttling down the pavement, schools full of graffiti and pale, under-nourished kids who already knew that life wasn't fair. The centre of town consisted of empty factories left over form bygone days when the cotton trade meant Manchester still had something useful to offer, and the Arndale, a huge and soulless excuse for a shopping centre that brooded over Market Street like it knew it was having a crap time and so wanted to suck the joy out of life for everyone else too.
This was also taking place in a town where it rains all the time. Almost literally - it's rare for two or three days to go by without that ever-present grey drizzle, at least, reminding you that you live in a place nicknamed The Puddle. It'd be nice to say that this is exaggerating, but while it wasn't all bad, it certainly wasn't nice.
Today, though, I got to show my dear Lisa around. There were tourists and students and business people all bustling around doing their business. There were people walking dogs, and a public probably-stag party involing a whole load of very drunk blokes, one of whom was wearing a Pippi Longstocking wig, a cheerleading outfit and a pair of fake breasts. There were fountains in Piccadilly Gardens and a market going on in the Triangle with stalls selling food and cultural goods from places as different as Germany and Jamaica. There were new shops, new people - even the Arndale looks a little less depressing when full of people buying things and eating things and selling things. There were even many, many cows.
(The current theory is that the cows are actually aliens. Quite frankly, that makes a lot more sense, when you're looking at them. Heh.)
I suspect it's not many people who're lucky enough to get to see the place they grew up find its life again. And it's probably even less who get to then show it off to the people they love. I'm glad I got such a nice reminder of why I really do like it here before I leave. Even if I never come back to live, which is a definite possibility, I got to say goodbye properly.
It was even sunny. Mostly. :)
Oh yeah, and I got an iPod. It's a thing of beauty and a joy forever. And called Alex. (I wanted to call it Ivan but I'm told I'm not allowed. Heh.) Squee!