Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XIV

Get Out!

Even I have to consider that I spend too much time indoors, going from one enclosed area to another seeing the world only through my window and virtually on the Internet. After my workout, I thought I could do with some fresh air, get out and probably get 10,000 steps in the process.

Out there nigh on 10:00 PM I had no charted course but wended east towards Ancoats towards Trinity Way and on to Deansgate by the Town Hall to Peter Street and the Central Library, then home after a resting stop at St. Peter’s Square.

A maze to amaze

I saw a city quite strange, then I realise, I have not been around Manchester at night for probably 5 months. There were diversions for roads and pavements, closed off roads, the makings of a labyrinthic puzzle that never had a straight line, weaving in and out, jaywalking if need be.

The city is indeed gaining a nightlife, restaurants and bars open and the occasional drunken revelry assailing your indifferent composure, though I am not yet persuaded there is normalcy to this situation.

My legs should be insured

However, walk I did walk, gait exuding catwalk cum speed walking, making up my steps and home without breaking too much of a sweat. I think I should do this more often, it is good for the body and quite so, for the mind.

The music, for now, is still Anita Baker, if anyone saw me gesticulating in rhythmical response to what I was hearing, I guess it was not serious enough to call the men in white coats. There are mad people in Manchester, to a degree, we are on that broad spectrum. Yes, Brian is wont to saying it, Get Out! And I did.

St. Peter's Square tram stop

The Midland

Am I breaking a sweat?

My legs have walked this city

The Central Library

Thought Picnic: My city of sights and sighs

Walk this way

On the rare occasion that I spend the weekend in what is essentially for me a hotel city, I could easily be at a loose end. Not given to much rigorous exercise until those who I have asked to teach me how to swim, find the time to send me the forms and offer me a slot, I go for walks.

Night time walks around the city can be interesting and it could be anything from 90 minutes to two hours. Easy, unaided, purposeful and consequently tiring.

Obstructions abound

On this walk, I took a different route, up the road to a section that was buzzing with more activity than I thought was possible, loud music, people outside smoking, pavements impassable, you wonder what the bouncers are there for if the patrons of the establishments they work for, block the public freeways.

Anyone who had to navigate the city in a wheelchair will probably not venture out again after one night of running the gauntlet of unreasonable and inconsiderate human impediments.

The result of excess

Of the people, in interesting states of dress and wear brought on by the excess of party, drink, food, drug and whatever else, there is much you probably would not like to see. A lady wearing one high-heeled shoe with the other in her hand, a wobbly gait that would make a silent movie a hit.

Across the road is the indulgence of emesis, the effluent of which, some hapless fellow will step into with the very likelihood of capturing the sensation of a waterslide, forget the stench. Others with eyes glazed, words slurred, gaits unsteady, just coherent enough to call out their home address before the slump in the backseat of an Uber cab. What a night, it must have been.

Emerging for emergency

The night is busy, blaring sirens of ambulances and police cars piercing the night with an uneasy cacophony in a rush to incident, accident, disturbance or crime. The price of peace is hardly won in tranquillity.

Then down the road where both police and ambulance were stayed, the aftermath was a van over a motorcycle, the rider probably survived, but very likely will see the hospital before getting home in a week, if lucky.

You can never say whether it was inconsideration, indifference, distraction or impatience, but at that time of the night, dangers lurk and so the need for more care from all users of the roads.

On reflection

I have my vices, but they are neither of drink, of substance nor of inhalation, I wear my sobriety in many places like a middle-aged man yet to lose his virginity, unaware of any of the whys and wherefores of what others over-indulge in that they are non compos mentis.

My vice is of the hidden sort, acquired at a time when I had no choice, an innocence lost to the pleasure of another and from that issues that have me railing against those who freely take advantage and face very little consequence.

Silent amongst the revellers in some doorways, however, are other people without choice, a blight on our consciences and society, the homeless verging on the helpless. We may never hear their story beyond a plea for spare change or a light for a cigarette, we have a great city of sights and sighs; may we find more sights than sighs, lifting all in aim and cause for the pursuit of happiness.

Thought Picnic: They've run out of video tape

Casing the joint - night and day

I sometimes think I am quite observant but I have realised that it does not mean that I notice a lot. The other day, as I walked up to the chemist for another batch of pills, I expected the video shop to be open though I have not plied any trade there in a good few years.

In fact, the night I decided to buy my place, one of the things I did was to visit at night and get a feel of the atmosphere around my prospective dwelling place.

There is no point have a look at a prospect during to cool of the day when everyone is out at work and then realising that at night is a hellish place to be long after you have signed the papers and had a few sleepless nights.

The video shop that opens from 14:00 to 22:00 was at the time the last shop to close in this area, so I walked in and had a chat to the manager about how he felt about working in this area and what kind of people lived here.

It was there, now no more there

His views were encouraging and I felt confident I had made the right choice. Soon, I was a registered member of the video club though I probably only ever hired a few videos except when I had young guests that I ventured there – it was just a place that existed my coming here and had every possibility of outlasting us.

My first DVD player was bought from there and it was easy to get recordable CDs or DVDs if needed in an emergency from the shop.

However, on that day, I saw a sign in Dutch thanking us for 10 years of being there, it was not like they had moved elsewhere, rather it seemed the business had closed.

Besides the travel agent was probably the first to vacate their business premises just over two years ago and that spot has not found new occupiers yet. I suppose things have been tough but many businesses have been resilient – it has just been, the sign of the times.

Holiday Snaps: It was crazy alright

Walking into the night

Night life in Marmaris is varied from the cosiness of restaurants to the bar and clubs that form the sea-facing facade of the probably 6km long promenade.

After dinner at the hotel, I made out to walk almost 4km towards the Eastern end of the marina that I had covered by bicycle earlier.

It probably took the best part of an hour or more, I do not walk as briskly as I once did and I had to take breaks on the way to ease the pain in my lower back, it was a case of will over ability, but that was what I wanted to do.

The journey was by no means easy as waiters called out to entice me into their restaurants or dens, you constantly had to stand your ground that you did not want a meal, a sip of any drinks or the conscience-tainting offer of a free drink that almost obliged you to go the extra bit to paying for nice but unwelcome hospitality.

There were many restaurateurs that recognised me as I walked by the docks and they all wanted to have a conversation about everything.

The crazy of Crazy Daisy

When I got to the end of the promenade, I turned left and the first street to the left was club land, a cacophony of sounds from at least 15 different bars and clubs with one so brazen that it lit up the sky with war-time searchlights and a green laser display of the club’s name on the mountains just about 1km away, I was on Bar Street.

Crazy Daisy was worth a look in, as one of the doormen was he-she, I could not really tell but it was quite likely no self-respecting lady will be dressed in a body-hugging leopard-skin leotard with a matching wide-brim hat that had one of the sides folded up into a something like a huge Napoleon Bonaparte hat.

I will err on the side of the person being male and his heels were mountain-topping though the burly bouncers turned away some they did let in others and eventually I made for the door.

The assurance that I would hit no one with my cane gave me a welcome entry into this cavernous place where the drinks were not going for tuppence.

Squeals of heels

Later the man in drag took the stage, by which time I was half-deaf, the loud speakers booming so load as if NATO was doing a night raid on Tripoli – clubs are just not healthy.

Being a disk jockey has nothing to do with disks or jockeying anymore, the man at the music stand had an Apple MacBook and probably a few cables that went into some amplification system and in between some synthesizing equipment to embellish the sounds.

Back to the dancer, it hard enough seeing certain ladies comment on the extraordinary daring of dancing in high heels and I have seen Rihanna, Lady Gaga and Beyonce do feats the foolhardy equivalent of tight-roping walking without a pole or a safety net.

What I saw I could not appropriately put in words, I spontaneously applauded the man as I thought the slightest mishap will lead to a series of skeletal fractures that would make the putting back together of Humpty Dumpty seem like a kindergarten finger-painting class.

I longed for bed

I saw enough and then trundled back to my hotel the pain in my back as bad as it can be for I had resolved to be a glutton for my own self-inflicted punishment.

The only disturbance along the way was a dog that started barking at me before I got to it and after I had moved on, it was still barking oblivious of the fact that I had completely ignored it – such busy-body dogs can only be a representative of their masters.

The bed received me as the pain in my back eased and I fell asleep soon afterwards.