This week is going to be a review of my holiday in Portugal, as Ryan couldn’t figure out exactly what I was talking about. So, three posts. Two on Portugal which are tomorrow and wednesday, and one today about my night in Manchester last Tuesday. Enjoy!
When i arrived in Manchester, disaster! My suitcase broke. It’s one of those trolley bags, and the handle broke off of it. That’s going to make the next few days fun. I stopped for a subway and found out what he wanted to do for food. He said two words: ‘Curry Mile‘ – referring to Rusholme in Manchester that has curry house after curry house.
We stopped in one suitably dingy enough. It was great, I had a chicken balti and Rick had something which was a little odd. It was like a pea and cheese curry. Don’t knock it though, it was actually really nice! I wish I had it. Instead, I made do with my balti and 2 pints of Boddingtons. I love Manchester for that, everywhere serves Boddies! We went to a couple of bars after the curry and they all served Boddingtons. I could so live there.
We then retired back to the hostel with the hope of having an early night. We got speaking to this Aussie dude for about an hour about the history of the UK and we were joined by these two Canadian girls who wanted to know where to go and “party”. They seemed to think that the UK people, because of licensing laws, weren’t as much of drinkers as Canadians. Please. They also wanted to know where was the best place to go in Manchester, so we pointed them in the direction of Canal Street. Gay’s party more than straight people. FACT.
When they left, we returned to the Aussie dude, and he said what I had been thinking: we could’ve. It’s a well known fact that, for us Brits, anybody with a British accent can turn certain country’s ladyfolk into putty. Especially North America. Quite frankly, Hugh Grant deserves a knighthood due to his tireless work of making this happen. One of them was alright, her mate looked like the result if The Elephant Man had a child with an Asian woman, but the other one had potential.
We got to bed about 11, but didn’t get to sleep until about half midnight. We were right by the boiler, and it was noisy up until then with people having showers. Nevertheless, it was a better hostel than the one in London I stayed in, we just got a shit room. So if you fancy staying in a hostel in Manchester, I can recommend Hatters.
Truth be told, I probably wouldn’t of got much sleep anyway. A mixture of excitement and nervousness. Nervousness because of flying, and excitement because – after 23 years – I am finally leaving the country….