My good friend Thom moved away from Manchester today. He was the main connection in my life between Sheffield and Manchester, and now he has gone, to Chester, briefly, and then on to London. Last night I went round to his house to collect the Woody Guthrie CD I’d lent him, and for one last beer under his roof. I was glad Ed was there too.
I felt sad. With all the toys packed away, it didn’t seem like their house anymore. What happened to the bookshelves? And where had that breakfast bar come from? It was like looking at an echo of the place I knew, the same but fainter, distorted. Thom’s house was the setting for lot of fun times. I remember sweet potato and goats cheese mash and making a crumble one Sunday after the football. I remember playing the name game on the night that Owen was leaving. I remember a very spicy Chorizo soup. I remembered kissing Liz for the first time, the exact moment, in the yard. The pizza party, jerk chicken with Kier, watching The Warriors projected onto the wall. I remember chopping with Miriam one afternoon, as we waited for everybody else to get there. I remember taking Pippa round for mulled wine last Christmas.
“It’s odd how your situation mirrors mine,” said Thom. “There’s something therapeutic about putting things into boxes, don’t you think?” Thom’s house was a happy place for me, an escape from Everett when I wanted to bolt. I wish that I could get it out of a box when I need it in the future. That’s not how things work though.
Sunday, 30 November 2008
Saturday, 29 November 2008
Friday, 28 November 2008
Disappointingly predictable
Work was fucking shit today. I did loads of work, over the course of about six weeks, for an application for _____ for work, and my boss decided today, on the deadline day, that we weren't going to apply at all. For fuck's sake. I feel unvalued. I feel pissed off. I want a new job. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Thursday, 27 November 2008
"You're the worst dancer I've ever seen."
I can't remember exactly when I first went into the cellar bar in Withington. I think it might have been as long ago as December 2005 or January 2006. It was after I'd been to Woody's for Christmas, but before I'd started to drink at the bar at Gina and Sophia's. I bumped into Phil in the street, as he was carrying a chair, and he invited me down for a look. At the time, I think it was going to be called Alioli at the time. After Kate's party, I was invited to the eventual opening night through Facebook, and that was this evening.
I arrived, and it was empty. Ghost town dead. Nice, but deathly quiet. Kate was working - how nice to see her behind a bar in Withington again! Like old times, but with a twist. Soon enough Tag showed up, then Little Laura, then Kate Bell - a compendium of familiar Sol's faces. Steve was a bit surprised to learn that I worked in R___ S____, and that I had been for six months. I was catching up with Kate Bell, and he was shocked to hear the news. Have I been that bad at telling my friends about my job, I wondered. Blimey! Woody, Clare and Paul soon showed up, and we retired to a table (pictured above) for a chat. The general vibe from everybody was that the cellar bar was pretty good. Funky Dunk, Al, Megan and Chaw arrived later on, and we had a de-brief of the party from the weekend. Al thinks I'm a bad dancer. A very bad dancer. Ouch!
Everybody drifted off apart from Pippa. She came and sat with me as I finished my pint and, bless her heart, listened to me complaining again. It seems that everytime I've seen Pip recently I've ended up whinging to her about something or other. What an absolute saint she is.
I arrived, and it was empty. Ghost town dead. Nice, but deathly quiet. Kate was working - how nice to see her behind a bar in Withington again! Like old times, but with a twist. Soon enough Tag showed up, then Little Laura, then Kate Bell - a compendium of familiar Sol's faces. Steve was a bit surprised to learn that I worked in R___ S____, and that I had been for six months. I was catching up with Kate Bell, and he was shocked to hear the news. Have I been that bad at telling my friends about my job, I wondered. Blimey! Woody, Clare and Paul soon showed up, and we retired to a table (pictured above) for a chat. The general vibe from everybody was that the cellar bar was pretty good. Funky Dunk, Al, Megan and Chaw arrived later on, and we had a de-brief of the party from the weekend. Al thinks I'm a bad dancer. A very bad dancer. Ouch!
Everybody drifted off apart from Pippa. She came and sat with me as I finished my pint and, bless her heart, listened to me complaining again. It seems that everytime I've seen Pip recently I've ended up whinging to her about something or other. What an absolute saint she is.
Rock Radio Christmas Party
The lovely Rachel from Rock Radio came into work today, and reminded us about the party next Thursday. Must go!
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
How weird is Ben?
On the way home from work, I drew out the cash to pay the deposit on my new place in Chorlton. As with paying the deposit on Emma’s place, I zipped the wedge of cash into my chest pocket, and strolled over to the house. Three hundred quid seemed oddly heavy in my pocket as I strolled down past the roughneck Nell Lane Estate. Eeek!
Becky seemed very nice, a little quiet, which is probably to be expected on a first meeting. She seemed to spark up a bit when I mentioned playing chess though, so we'll see I guess. Ben, on the other hand, seemed like a bit of a weirdo. He’s got a sort of nervous manner, and started off being a bit of a hard-ass about Rachael, the girl who’d just moved out, not handing her keys in. Not that big a deal, really. Maybe he was fronting up to show his sternness off to a new tenant. Odd. And then he was sort of off with Becky about some damp she’d pointed out. Again, no need really. He was maybe fifty, maybe forty-five. And then, the killer blow.
“So Ben, shall we sort out signing the contract then?”
“Erm… can you just put the money into my account and we’ll sort out the contract once it clears”
“Actually, I’ve got the cash now. In my pocket.”
“I’d rather you just transferred it, thanks.”
What if you rip me off, I thought. What happens then? Still, what choice did I have?
“Okay, what are your bank details.”
Why would he not want me to pay the deposit? Walking out of the house, I found myself trying to get my head around his weirdness. Carrying the massive pile of cash in my pocket was sort of making me tense too. Look at all those scallies on bikes on Nell Lane, not good. Did I trust Ben? If not, I’d have to start again with all this tedious house hunt bollocks. Could I be bothered to start it all again? I went for a thoughtful pint in the Railway, and then it clicked: he was waiting to find out whether Becky liked me. Could she live with me, he wanted to know, before he got me to sign up. Of course, that made more sense. And she would probably say yes to that, as she is secretly moving out soon anyway (secretly, as in Ben doesn’t know). So I went home and paid up. I really hope he’s kosher.
Becky seemed very nice, a little quiet, which is probably to be expected on a first meeting. She seemed to spark up a bit when I mentioned playing chess though, so we'll see I guess. Ben, on the other hand, seemed like a bit of a weirdo. He’s got a sort of nervous manner, and started off being a bit of a hard-ass about Rachael, the girl who’d just moved out, not handing her keys in. Not that big a deal, really. Maybe he was fronting up to show his sternness off to a new tenant. Odd. And then he was sort of off with Becky about some damp she’d pointed out. Again, no need really. He was maybe fifty, maybe forty-five. And then, the killer blow.
“So Ben, shall we sort out signing the contract then?”
“Erm… can you just put the money into my account and we’ll sort out the contract once it clears”
“Actually, I’ve got the cash now. In my pocket.”
“I’d rather you just transferred it, thanks.”
What if you rip me off, I thought. What happens then? Still, what choice did I have?
“Okay, what are your bank details.”
Why would he not want me to pay the deposit? Walking out of the house, I found myself trying to get my head around his weirdness. Carrying the massive pile of cash in my pocket was sort of making me tense too. Look at all those scallies on bikes on Nell Lane, not good. Did I trust Ben? If not, I’d have to start again with all this tedious house hunt bollocks. Could I be bothered to start it all again? I went for a thoughtful pint in the Railway, and then it clicked: he was waiting to find out whether Becky liked me. Could she live with me, he wanted to know, before he got me to sign up. Of course, that made more sense. And she would probably say yes to that, as she is secretly moving out soon anyway (secretly, as in Ben doesn’t know). So I went home and paid up. I really hope he’s kosher.
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Cally and Ali
This morning I asked Liz if she fancied a pint, and she said she was busy all week. When I asked if she was around at the weekend, she explained that she was away with work in London for ten days, starting on Friday. I felt like such a prick. For the last few weeks, I’d been dead suspicious that Liz was deliberately avoiding me for some reason. No, actually it was because the biggest event of her working year was just around the corner. You dick! Doubt grows in the cracks between conversations, I guess. But I’m ashamed of myself too. What happened to assuming good faith? What happened to positivity? It’s been a tough old month, with all the flat bollocks going on, but I feel like I let myself down.
After work, I met up with Cally and Ali, who Milney introduced me to last week, and we went to the markets. Cally and Ali, who are Helen’s friends from Uni, are totally ace! We had hot buttered rum at the North Pole Bar, and then worked our way down through St Ann’s Square to Albert Square, then on to the Peveril for a couple with the end of the footy. We saw a man with tattoos all over his head and face playing the armpit bagpipes. The shipwrecked man from Monty Python sat next to him, playing the irish side drum, with a man whose quiff had escaped from the 1950s opposite playing guitar. Odd, but good odd.
Over the course the evening I called Emma and Nick to tell them about choosing Chorlton instead of Levenshulme. They were both dead nice about it. Emma even suggested that we should hang out in the future. Wonderful!
After work, I met up with Cally and Ali, who Milney introduced me to last week, and we went to the markets. Cally and Ali, who are Helen’s friends from Uni, are totally ace! We had hot buttered rum at the North Pole Bar, and then worked our way down through St Ann’s Square to Albert Square, then on to the Peveril for a couple with the end of the footy. We saw a man with tattoos all over his head and face playing the armpit bagpipes. The shipwrecked man from Monty Python sat next to him, playing the irish side drum, with a man whose quiff had escaped from the 1950s opposite playing guitar. Odd, but good odd.
Over the course the evening I called Emma and Nick to tell them about choosing Chorlton instead of Levenshulme. They were both dead nice about it. Emma even suggested that we should hang out in the future. Wonderful!
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