Of Bus Screens and Wandering Thoughts

A Lazy Saturday's Prelude

Through Saturday, I vegetated at home as I began to binge-watch the second series of Bull, a television programme about trial science which I find quite fascinating, whilst also putting me at risk of learning things that might make me more forthright and less personable.

At the back of my mind, I agonised about getting some shopping done. This involved catching a bus to the ethnic grocer's first, then walking up to the affordable supermarket, before returning home.

As the ethnic grocer closed at 9:00 PM and the supermarket an hour later, I could spare a few more hours of lazing about until I really had to get out; otherwise, the shopping would have to wait for another day, an idea that held no appeal.

Setting Off at Last

When I did eventually leave home with barely 90 minutes to go before the first shop closed, the nearest bus stop, just half a kilometre up the street, was closed, so I had to walk further down to the next one. On another day, with enough strength and the leeway of sufficient time, I would have walked the whole way and clocked up a few thousand steps in the process.

The Bee Network buses on the Transport for Greater Manchester (TfGM) enterprise are part of a modern integrated service under the mayoralty of Greater Manchester. There is an app to check routes and timetables, along with the current status of buses at specific stops.

The Trouble with the Screens

On the buses themselves, the contactless payment method is a convenience, but it is the screens showing the route and next stops that I find most useful for keeping my bearings. Unfortunately, on the bus I boarded, the screen was stuck on stopping information from well before I got on, and that was annoying.

I thought it was a case of broken windows syndrome, with such a minor detail of keeping passengers apprised of the journey and the next stop not being attended to as part of a pre-flight checklist for bus transport. I was remonstrating quite vehemently in my mind, with a view to writing to TfGM about the malfunctioning information screens. I had seen this many times before.

A Curious Coincidence

I had barely put together the words and suggested tone of my missive when, four bus stops after I boarded, the screens seemed to catch up and start working. That was uncanny, as it had me wondering if I now had the means to project my thoughts, not just for registering a complaint, but for the remediation and resolution of an issue to a satisfactory standard.

By extension, this would also suggest that I ought to guard my thoughts and arrest those straying out of the bounds of reason into the outlandish.

Others might put this down to coincidence, when it seems propinquitous enough to aspire to the causative. I do not know, but I was glad the screens got fixed, and I allowed myself the wry thought of levitating my shopping bags home instead of carrying them.

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Essential Snobbery 101: Ritzy on Piccadilly

A London Weekend

A fascinating London weekend it was, in which most of what was intended was achieved, including the benefit that being over the age of sixty offers; a third off transport fares, if you remember to show up with the bona fides for your age.

On the Piccadilly line of the London Underground, the glimpse I caught of buttons on the back of a jacket suggested an untucked, ruffian look from the front; with a tie rather than a bow tie or cravat, it was a tailcoat of undecided pretensions to putting on the Ritz.

The Ritz and Recognition

Indeed, I did alight at Green Park and exited onto Piccadilly on the side of The Ritz London, one of the swankiest hotels in the city, opened by César Ritz in May 1906.

I could never walk down Piccadilly without being acknowledged, and I was quite dressed down, standing out simply because I wore a straw hat, carried a walking cane, and had a jacket finished with an elaborate pocket square collage.

The doormen at the Ritz doffed their top hats and even muttered a greeting, which I returned.

Heading to Fortnum's

I was on my way to Fortnum & Mason, a walk that takes you past The Wolseley Piccadilly, the Caviar House, Burlington Arcade across the street beside Burlington House, the home of the learned Royal Societies too.

Fortnum's is always busy, yet a very different busy from Harrods in Knightsbridge, which I only ever entered once at someone's behest; the less said of the garish, gaudy place, the better.

Inside Fortnum's

In existence since 1707, this shop is famous for its teas and other exquisite foods. It has been picketed many times for selling foie gras, the making of which does not greatly concern me, as the taste is as different from pâté as fish roe is from beluga caviar.

I have a predilection for Earl Grey tea, and they have many blends, of which Smoky Earl Grey wins every time. It is best to have the loose tea dispensed at a counter by weight rather than buying packaged tea bags or the ready tins, which can be more than 33% dearer.

Along with some Lapsang Souchong aromatic tea and Strawberry with Fortnum's Champagne Preserve, which takes the edge off the sweetness of the jam, that was my first visit in about seven years.

Leaving Piccadilly

As I left for the station, the doorman at the Wolseley offered a greeting; not the one who always took time to compliment my dressing, but they do see enough to know the difference between being dapper and just snooty.

He had a bowler hat on, and I had to ask where he got it, as mine, bought from a gentleman's outfitters in Ipswich some thirty years ago, was looking the worse for wear.

He recommended a milliner near Liverpool Street, but that might require another visit to London.

There is a quiet, unbothered sophistication about Piccadilly; the London tour buses gather at the entrance to Green Park just as a patron of The Wolseley urges his dog to take a pee. The carefree appearance demands a dress code enforced on the serving, whilst remaining non-existent for the served.

Putting on the Ritz

A short note on the places that punctuated this walk: The Ritz London, opened in 1906, was the realisation of César Ritz, the Swiss hotelier whose name became shorthand for refined luxury. Fortnum & Mason, founded in 1707 by William Fortnum, a footman in Queen Anne's household, and Hugh Mason, his landlord, has supplied the British establishment with provisions for over three centuries.

The Wolseley, by comparison, is a relative newcomer; a former car showroom turned grand European café, it opened in 2003 and has since become a Piccadilly fixture in its own right. Burlington Arcade, opened in 1819, remains the original covered shopping promenade, still patrolled by its top-hatted Beadles. The Royal Societies along Piccadilly include the Royal Academy of Arts at Burlington House, where the learned and the artistic have gathered since the eighteenth century.

It is no accident that the Ritz lent its name to a song. When Irving Berlin wrote Puttin' on the Ritz in 1929, he was reaching across the Atlantic for the very idea César Ritz had built into a brand. The original lyric pictured "Park Avenue", with its "high hats and Arrow collars, white spats and lots of dollars", as the place to dress to impress.

The 1946 revision moved the scene to "up on Lenox Avenue", but the spirit remained the same; to put on the Ritz was to wear your best and walk as though the pavement belonged to you. 

Piccadilly, in its quieter, more unbothered way, has always done the same. Park Avenue performs its wealth; Piccadilly assumes it. The doormen still doff their top hats, the bowler hats still need replacing, and the tailcoats of undecided pretensions still ride the Underground, hoping nobody notices the buttons on the back.

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The Three Musketeers running errands blind

The Three Shopping Musketeers

The amusing appearance of the three musketeers, or so it seemed, as these three men were sent on errands by their spouses to shop at an ethnic grocery and foodstuffs store. They wheeled the trolley with the dexterity of a Formula 1 driver, but the filling of it resembled the discombobulation of three blind mice on the run after their tails were cut.

For one, they appeared entirely out of their depth, clearly in alien territory and unsure of what they needed to get. They were constantly on the phone with someone, trying to describe items to ascertain the right thing to put in the basket.

If that task were not hard enough, the banter between them at the butcher's counter, where they attempted to display their knowledge of meats, revealed more about their dilettantism than any genuine expertise.

Lost in the Aisles

I engaged them, asking why their wives were not doing the shopping and whether they were aware of the measures, weights, packaging or containers for whatever they were getting. They were lost in aisle after aisle, perambulating without the focus of a shopper with intent. If the trolley had an odometer, the mileage counter would have had someone asking if they had been to Timbuktu and back.

There they were, in full recognition of their helplessness, yet the most important thing they could have done is what deserts men when they need it most: ask a question, get clarification, seek understanding, all of which does not suggest stupidity but curiosity.

In this, The Three Musketeers had brought to light the loyalty of their friendship, the bravery of doing something outside their abilities, the camaraderie of men lost in a store, and the swashbuckling adventure with a trolley now delirious from whirling around the aisles.

All for One

Maybe I should have offered to help if they had betrayed the slightest vulnerability, but bravado was on display without any sign of winning, and I found much mirth at their expense. It would have been impolite to insert myself because they were perfectly representing the “All for one, and one for all” motto of The Three Musketeers.

As I was leaving the store, I intimated that it would be closing in 30 minutes and they had better hurry up, or they would be pulling down the shutters with nothing to show for their, what's the word now? Excursion!

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To be bedecked in Yoruba attire

The Chinese are coming too

Yesterday, it occurred to me that it might be a clever idea to make an appearance on my birthday dressed in something different and traditional. So, I went online, searching for “Nigerian clothes shops near me.” You can buy many things online, but this requires visiting a clothing store.

I could have gone to Bolton, about 18 km away, but you needed a booking, and what was displayed on their website seemed like it might be a wasted journey. Other websites or online presences suggest many still have not fully appreciated the need for a useful online presence.

Strangely, the Chinese are also involved, mass-producing African clothes in China, but none of the shipping would arrive until after Christmas. That is as widespread as you could get on Amazon. Besides, heaven forfend you get something and find it so ill-fitting that the only person you can call is a ghostbuster.

Ethnic Moston Lane appears

Refining my search a few times did not lead to better guidance, but one area kept coming up: Moston Lane, Moston, just about 5 km from Manchester city centre. Everything African, or specifically Nigerian, seemed to be dotted along the lane like an ethnic suburb, with the sounds, smells, and sights of a faraway land.

Having never been that way before, even after almost 12 years of living in Manchester, getting a bus there seemed a bit adventurous. I was not going to count 22 stops to my destination. It was more sensible to take a taxi. The driver was a chatterbox and on his way to the mosque in Moston. What a coincidence.

When I got off, I headed to the address of the shop I had found from my Google search. The address was a barber's shop; I couldn’t see any clothes on display. One disappointment, but I felt I was on the right street for what I needed.

Dressed without distress

About six doors down, there was a shop full of dresses, shoes, and fashion accessories. It was also a tailor's shop. I stepped in, and the proprietor, sitting at her sewing machine, asked what I was looking for. There was plenty of material on the shelves, but asking a tailor to create something bespoke this close to Christmas would likely lead to disappointment.

She said she had ready-to-wear costumes: bùbá (top tunic), ṣòkòto (drawstring trousers), agbádá (billowing top gown), and fìlà (cap). That set makes a complete outfit, called Yoruba attire.

I was shown three complete, ready-to-wear sets. I chose one and asked for the price, which at first seemed steep, but I don’t think I had much choice. With a matching cap, I scored a good find.

We started speaking in English, then switched to Yoruba. Certain inflexions from me betrayed a foreign accent, but I held my own enough to be praised for my Yoruba fluency.

She was inquisitive to the point of interrogation: my interests, women, sex life, children, and much more. But what can you reveal to a prophetess of a white garment church before you’re seen as on the road to perdition?

Proposed friendship from here on

Her persuasive manner left you unprepared, and next, she showed me a restaurant. I paid for something to take away while I settled on pounded yams and ẹ̀gúsí stew. I returned to her shop to find her trying to fix a gaudy sequined dress so flashy it was an eyesore.

The woman who needed the dress came in, and I could have suggested she find something better than trying to squeeze into this corset that belonged to a burlesque troupe. I even helped attach the clips at the back of the blouse-cum-corset. Some jobs you should avoid, even on a slow day.

She gave me directions to a bakery where I bought two loaves straight from the oven. However, the traffic into town, which was gridlocked that evening, meant the loaves were cool by the time I reached home. We exchanged numbers, and she called. I might return to Moston Lane, but it cannot become a regular haunt.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXXIII

The pandemic’s long tail

The latest figures as of yesterday in the UK, we have 3,927 active cases of COVID-19 infections, this would suggest that someone is laid low, for them, the looming spectre of the pandemic is a grim reality that many seem to have forgotten because it is apparently out of mind and out of sight. [Worldometers: United Kingdom]

It is however without dispute that the world has changed perceptively in some cases or otherwise. I barely see anyone donning a mask, but the absence of someone I regularly see at some meeting place almost always suggests they have taken ill rather than having taken a holiday.

There have been no notifications for a vaccine booster yet as those who are immunosuppressed would be informed of the prospect for them to prepare. What I started during the pandemic and led to my discovery of Manchester was walking, and walking helps with a unique observation and perspective of my beautiful city, the people, the buildings, the events, and the changes.

The dangers with bicycles

Electric bicycles remain an enduring menace of lawlessness, the riders who no longer need to exert any physical energy in peddling their bicycles are totally oblivious to road traffic rules, and they run through red lights as if they do not exist. If they are not weaving through pedestrians whose precarious existence is exacerbated by being anywhere outside their homes, they would be run through at risk of life or limb.

I was leapfrogging over a bicycle left lying on the pavement as the rider went in for a KFC, later, it was someone who forgot to activate his phone’s camera to keep an eye on the path before him as he interacted with his phone with carefree abandon and just inches of bumping into another.

Working on a hybrid high

I suspect anyone putting out a job advertisement with the strict requirement of working in the office where the work can be done remotely is on a losing streak, they would get fleeting interest. The worst you can offer is a hybrid working scenario, and whilst we cannot expect to work from home permanently, the flexibility and the ability to negotiate those terms must be available or your vacancy would remain vacant.

The buildings, we have a construction site everywhere and cranes not of the avian type towering around the city lit up with colours just to prevent cranes from flying into them at night or we, the slightly taller people from hitting our heads when stumbling out of nightclubs totally inebriated that our minds are rivalling kites for height.

Milking us for every penny

In the completed buildings the shops that were a longer walk away are now at my doorsteps, the Starbucks that disappeared almost two years ago has now halved its distance from my door. I stopped shopping at Tesco when one of their managers installed anti-homeless spikes outside one of their stores in London. I guess all is forgiven now that it is too inconvenient to ignore the closeness of the new store, the distance is not enough to attract a charge of outraging public decency, if I left home with just a towel wrapped around my head.

Imagine not having to walk 3 kilometres for a small tub of taramasalata, though I won’t be spending an extra 30p on milk that goes for less at my local Sainsbury’s. Between online shopping through Amazon for Iceland produce, Aldi competes favourably on price for most of my needs, and Marks & Spencer when slightly indulgent, then Spar for just the comfort of a sweet tooth, what I need is an automated shopping trolley with the instincts and intelligence of a dog that respects voice commands, throw in robotic arms and it might well go and do the shopping while I occupy myself missing the life and wonder of my city. Probably a bad idea, except if it would bring those lawless bicycles to heel on our somewhat dangerous streets.

Meeting Leonie, a wonder woman of 90

Someone for the crossing

Leonie Irene, 90, is the last of 7 siblings, she is now the only surviving one, her big sister having only died recently. She wanted to cross the junction at the intersection where Hulme Hall Lane meets Oldham Road to get the Miles Platting Post Office and corner shop to do some shopping, so, she asked if I could help her cross the road.

I gave her my arm as you used her wheelie bag in the other hand to give her support as we made to cross the road. Asking where I was from, I told her I had walked from the centre of town and she recalled that there used to be a Whitworth Street School for Girls bordering the canal where her mother used to be a cleaner.

Down memory lane

Keen of sight and hearing, she was observant and quite sharp, though her short term memory seemed to frequently fail her, the conversation was a thing of patience and care because I probably told her ten times where I lived and then she would recall I had told her before and that her mother did work at the posh school which has now been absorbed into another school system.

She talked of how Manchester had changed that transport into Manchester then was by tram, but that was a long time ago, it made me feel quite young that when I said I was 56, she said I did not look a day over 40.

From a list and much more

Getting her to the shop, she insisted she had to treat me to something, the shopkeeper was new, but he had seen her two weeks before, she did not recognise him when she said she had not seen him before and then her shopping began. The newspaper she paid for and put in her shopping bag as she brought out a shopping list for milk, butter, and dinners.

For the milk, I asked if she wanted the blue top (full milk) or the green top (semi-skimmed milk), she decided on one each of the smallest size bottles to fit in her fridge, a large container of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!, and some sandwiches that she could not persuade me to have. I took those to the till and paid for them.

Treats for her and I

However, the shopping was not done, as she had picked up a loaf of bread and the dinner was not the sandwiches but ready packed meals that you could put straight into the oven. At which point she got three different dinner packs and persuaded me to take a pack of fish and chips.

Unawares to her again, I paid for the order. Then she wanted chocolate bars, some biscuits, and a can of All Day Breakfast, all those she got separately, which I allowed her to pay for as she would have been all too aware of her spending nothing in the shop.

Every few minutes she would wonder if she had everything on her shopping list and probably something else and each time, I would assure her of what she already had in her bag whilst hoping to help her remember what else she needed.

Repeated answers and new questions

After the shopping, I helped her back across the road to the bus stop and waited with her until her bus arrived. That was when I asked for her name which was apparently given to her by one of her elder sisters who had been reading some posh book, she said. When I told her my name, she spelt it out correctly. She then asked what I do and then she surmised I must be well educated. Many more questions she asked including if I was married, quipping that maybe I had not met the right girl. I told her, I do not like girls, she chuckled.

She deduced that I probably did not have a family as in a nuclear family and for relations, she said but you have people. I am not as inquisitive or I might have asked if she was married or had children and grandchildren, I hate being intrusive if personal information is not freely volunteered.

Quite remarkable, she wanted me to get on the bus offering to pay my fare, I had already walked miles and I told her I was just out for exercise. When I bus arrived, I got her on and told the bus driver she was only going one stop, I bid her farewell as she shook my hand, thanking me for helping her, recollecting we had just met down the road.

Waking down, I met up with her at the next bus stop where she had alighted. I asked if she had far to go, she said it was only around the corner and she will be fine. We shook hands again and she went on her way. At 90, she was no pushover, I was quite enriched by this brief encounter that probably lasted an hour. That was just part of my evening out in Manchester.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XLI

Hermitude becomes I

Despite being fully vaccinated, I hear tales of people who have contracted the Coronavirus. It is possible they would not be hospitalised but finding out that you are CoVID-19 positive is not the kind of news you want to receive at any time.

It is strange that the last time I was out of my apartment block was 8 days ago. Not that I was in quarantine, but I was in one of my usual bouts of being a hermit. I did step out of my apartment to check my mailbox, met up with my neighbours for a drinks night and then my friend who sometimes comes into town was here a few times and on one occasion tidied up my living room and kitchen. I am always grateful for his ordering touch.

For fridge on dead freezer

Having emptied my freezer of all the defrosted food much of which I could not use that it unfortunately ended up in the bin, I logged a maintenance call with the letting agents to have someone give the freezer a look before it is decided whether it should be repaired or replaced.

Stepping out after work to the local supermarket to get some fruit and drinks, I had my mask on from home, you cannot be too careful. Most of the customers were donning face masks apart from one who was yapping away on his phone until he had to pay with the same phone, hence, terminating the call.

The theatre of fear

Opposite the supermarket is the legendary Palace Theatre, which first opened in 1891 and on my way to the shop there was a uniformed crowd outside that had disappeared after I finished shopping. Then I noticed there was a show on, The Woman Is Back, opening tonight for 4 nights. This is a sign of things coming back into a kind of normalcy, for the last show advertised, The Phantom of the Opera, to start on the 26^th of March 2020 to the 30^th of May 2020, never opened because of the pandemic lockdown and the theatre has been closed to audiences since then.

I also noticed that the theatre box office is not open to the public which I think means all tickets will be processed online alone with them presented as printouts or mobile phone scannable codes. Though I worry as friends have indicated on visiting theatres in London recently, CoVID-19 precautions are not that adhered to. That simply means I would be avoiding those enclosed entertainment places for a little while yet. However, we must celebrate the little changes we see around us.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXXII

Doors flung open

Manchester is apparently open for business in a way, walking past restaurants that had closed since last year they had chairs and tables out for alfresco dining, but few of them were occupied as people chose to sit inside the restaurants instead.

By observation, probably those who need to smoke were sitting outside even though one could begin to feel the chill of the evening. The sun was out and out in the parks were children at play and adults in exercise groups with others jogging, there was a jolly feel to things.

Guests in town

The hotels also seemed to have come to life, like people could not wait to arrive in Manchester, the car parks were full, I would think hotels are up to brisk business, but they would need more custom to begin to recoup their losses due to the pandemic.

As for the larger supermarkets, I checked in on one at almost 9:00 PM as it now closes at 10:00 PM when during the stricter lockdown it had shorter opening hours. I do sense a bit of reticence still, the streets and shopping precincts are not that crowded, we are trying to be responsible by keeping safe still and that is a good thing.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXXI

More of the same

Besides the alfresco dining, I cannot say I have noticed much difference in the way people are going about their business. Obviously, since the first level of opening up last month, I visited the opticians and got pairs of glasses even though I might have to visit them every year rather than probably once in 3 to 4 years.

At church, we now have a fuller choir singing in the quire rather than just one cantor, more people are coming to church, the socialising is left to waving at each other during the service when sharing the peace or the short but distanced conversations we have on the grounds after the service is over.

Readying for the change

Yet, there is a sense of anticipation, the yearning to travel abroad calls to those of us with itchy feet, but nothing looks promising, many of the green-listed locations we may not be able to get to without traversing an amber or red-listed country, so, it becomes as good as the worst affected place we have been through in the last 10 days, despite being vaccinated.

The Bentley is parked outside one of the exclusive hotels that I think indicates the owner of the boutique hotel is about. In the midrange hotels, I am seeing pillows and duvets on chairs and settees, as if the housekeeping staff have returned to set things up for the next level of opening on Monday. Even then, I might find the opportunity and occasion to get on a train and visit friends in London. The unlocking is beginning.

The shop of things

The spices of people

Out shopping at the new ethnic shop up in sprawling Salford passing through the potpourri of the world of South-East Asia and just before we get to the conurbation of those of the scroll, I veer right to a place that is a magnet for Africans, the sounds and phonetics getting ever so familiar if you stop to listen.

People in chariots of fancy, none horse-drawn, the bit on the bridle is a pedal, and the carriage yields to the turn of the steering and the stirrups are more commanding of posture; the seat belt is soon undone as they come to a halt at the stables behind the shop, I guess that would be the car park.

Lost in the aisles

Two men, probably husbands, as they looked out of place, sent on an errand completely oblivious of what they were to purchase, the questions they asked the staff did not carry them any further until they had to set up a video conference and the instructions became clearer, they left before I did and may not have to return having fulfilled what they were sent to do.

The commander was probably twice the size of his friend, what I tried not to notice was too obvious to ignore. If he ever kept a doctor’s appointment, there is some advice he has not heeded to that he desperately needs to consider for life and wellbeing.

A lady who tried to draw their attention was ignored, she had mistaken one bottle for another, and as she was already at the till, I exchanged the drinks, taking the fermented from her for the unfermented that she required.

The things we eat

The Jafro Foods coconut-flavoured chin-chin was back on the shelves and even in a bigger container, I fetched 2 off the shelf, some moin-moin in leaves, and I even ventured frozen fish for which the French lady behind me offered a good recipe tip. A mother of 4 boys with appetites insatiable, I was not going to pretend I wanted to know what her monthly shopping bill was.

Meanwhile, someone had bought snails for a princely sum that he decided he could not afford and brought them back for a refund. I could not be bothered telling him off for jumping the queue, I obliged him and felt the better for it. Checked through my stuff and took another route back home exploring parts of Salford and Manchester I might have been before but never considered could be reached down those ways.

Almost a stranger seeing some danger

A man in a park

How the familiar can easily rob you of the peculiar is sometimes the spectacle of living in Manchester and watching the interplay of people, property, and services. My local Sainsbury had closed when I got up from my nap and I needed to get some essentials leaving the shop at the Manchester Piccadilly Station the closest that is open until midnight.

Donning my walking gear as I was just a two-score steps short of my daily 10,000 step threshold, having aborted my walk, earlier because it had begun to rain and I was not wearing suitable apparel. Out by the Vimto monument in Vimto Park, a police car was parked on the kerb and I spotted two policemen apparently chatting to a man sitting on the bench.

A man on a limb

Maybe to eliminate the strange and wary, one of the policemen called out a greeting to be me as I passed, and he waved as I acknowledged him. Minding my own business I trotted down the rather quietly deserted road that has a few student hostel blocks until I got to the main road and crossed it into the station.

Up the escalator and via the one-way system in a station that was for years familiar and now remote as to be changed into the unknown. I have not boarded a train there since the first week of December 2019, I got to Sainsbury’s and picked up a shopping basket. A couple of bananas and then an altercation between a member of staff and a customer, whether it was a power trip or something else, the customer was being thrown out and the guards were ready to manhandle him. Some things he said were borderline unprintable.

A man to be cuffed

I continued with my shopping, some milk, tea, and sparkling water, using the self-service till I walked out seeing a man grab about 10 shopping bags that go for 10 pence each, that would be stealing or shoplifting, to put it mildly. I must have missed where he went because as I reached the bottom of the first escalator, I could have sworn those bags were a pile of litter caught in the teeth of the moving steps of the escalator.

On to the main road and back on the route I plied on my way out not expecting to see the policemen I saw earlier, there was a police van parked in front of the police car and 4 men in uniform apparently trying to get a hold of someone lying on that same bench, like he did not want to be taken away. 

I doubt the person had a medical issue, else the van should have been an ambulance. As to why the policemen were there in the first place, considering the road is private with a lifting bar gate, one can only surmise someone alerted them to the presence of a strange man in Vimto Park.

The eyes have it all

Life returns to Manchester

Yesterday, marked the first full week of the easing of lockdown measures with the opening of non-essential goods shops. Returning from church, the town centre was busy, tables and chairs outside for alfresco dining, crowds milling around as if the memories of a pandemic had long been forgotten.

Our penchant for queuing had opened up to a new order, with specific entrance and exit door, walking routes laid out in the shopping centre to help with social distancing, even though some just ignored the signs.

I first visited the public conveniences before going to the opticians. I last had an eye test 3 years ago and the right arm of my lens frame was beginning to disintegrate. The composite 3 layers were coming apart and when I tried to glue the bits together, I had more bonding of my fingertips than the object of repairs.

Fast-tracked on choice

They offered a 4:00 PM appointment which did not sound convenient if I had to return to the city centre to attend, so, I chose an early morning slot for Saturday. Then, I decided to look at the frames display, in the hope that something might catch my eye. Now, literally, all eyeglass frames are made by manufacturers in Italy, we are mostly paying exorbitant rates for brand names, the design aesthetic hardly having much diversity.

I found an O’Neill frame and asked a member of staff about setting it aside for my Saturday appointment, but before I knew it, I was fast-tracked into a consulting room where a whole battery of tests began, reading charts, blurred and clear dots, air blasted at my eyeballs, lights shone into the recesses of my eyes with pictures of blood vessels vivid to be scary, peripheral and field vision, my eyes were so tired after then workout short of popping the eye out and giving it a cold rinse before tossing it in a frying pan of hot oil and sticking it back in the socket.

Seeing everything anew

By the time we were done a good 90 minutes later, I had ordered two pairs of glasses with lenses exhibiting every quality of sight improvement except X-ray vision. The second cheaper pair offered at half-price and to be delivered to my home in about a fortnight. The eye test came free because there is a history of glaucoma somewhere in the family, which requires I return for eye tests annually rather than leave it until when my glasses or frames are falling apart.

I hope I made the right choice, in more convenient settings, I would have sought the advice of Brian before my selection. In the end, he might like them after taunting me about needed two pairs of glasses because there was a time, I forgot I had a pair on and donned another pair, I have never lived that down. Obviously, my comeback is just as embarrassing for him.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXVIII

Life in the city

The city is still in slumber or just being aroused for the day when I go out for my walks in the morning. Apart from delivery lorries parked in loading bays to stock the shops I pass by, there isn’t much activity to see. That suits me as the absence of people and crowds means I do not have to don a face mask for the most part of my walk.

Brian recognises that soon after work, I do need a nap before I decide what else to do in the late evening. He has somehow urged me to go out probably for another long evening walk, which might be helpful to tire me out of the throes of insomnia, but there was much else to see especially after the easing of the lockdown measures in England.

Lights, chairs and tables

Out of my door and up the street, there was Canal Street, the gay village, all lit up and busy, chairs and tables on the pedestrianised street, I cannot account for whether there was adequate social distancing, the city was indeed abuzz. The back streets for which new licenses were granted were no more thoroughfare to vehicular traffic but now bustling aisles and pavements of alfresco dining.

Further on, some premises and businesses had died Covid-19 deaths, they were not open, the doors shuttered in the finality of regret that they could not endure the economic strains of the pandemic, a club that caters for patrons absent of class, style, or manner had followed that tale of woe for which with difficulty I mustered a bit of sympathy.

Gems make affordable

Then Primark, much as I do shop at Fortnum & Mason that is in the same Wittington Investments Limited conglomerate was having a late closing time. I will not buy a shirt or a suit there, but there are gems in the store at affordable prices.

A good woollen jumper and sexy track bottoms along with a few handy accessories, it was busy enough with people who wore their masks on their chins probably due to the protuberances on their faces being too big to be concealed by the healthy requirement of a mask. Did I hear they are called noses too?

Thinking of Brian, we can share trousers, his waist slightly thinner than mine, but we have the same leg length, or just about. He is taller than I am. Jackets, however, we can’t as my chest is bigger, we have to give or take 3 to 4 inches, he risks looking like a scarecrow in my jacket, though what a laugh that would excite. I hope the life that has returned to Manchester is not the precursor for another lengthy shutdown.

Christmas eve even event

Closing close

The day was easy, nothing planned just a few things to do, only to find that many shops had already closed early for the day, Christmas Eve being a bit more special this time. We cannot have a midnight service because of a curfew due to the pandemic, so, it will be happening in the evening, though we are not attending.

One food shop will be closed until the 5^th of January, I guess they decided to have a holiday. By the time we visited the main supermarkets in town, they had closed, and it was only 5 o’clock. There was no other choice but to go to the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront where the shops at least stayed open another couple of hours.

Knowing nose

On my unaided and slow walk there, I met my 10,000-step quota and found some inspiration I hope would be pleasant. Windbreakers or breakers of the wind give scent to the air, and with that, we at least know we have not lost our sense of smell if we are not regaling with the wafting glories of flowers or culinary expertise.

We might just make Christmas a wonderful time, we did not get all we wanted but what we got will suffice with a bit of improvisation and the proficiency of some kitchen literacy. Have yourselves a very merry Christmas and we look towards better ones ahead.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - IX

A river tamed

The intention to go for a walk yesterday never happened even though it was a good day for such activity. I just could not decide what to do, so I just stayed at home.

Today, however, I had grand plans though there was little in terms of execution towards achieving that. I donned my shorts, put on my trainers and stepped out in a different direction, not south or east like I used to, but towards the west.

Soon, I caught an unusual view of River Medlock that I first wrote of some 6 years ago, when I visited Philips Park and read of how it flooded and washed away graves of the cemetery that the Victorians culverted most of the river through Manchester until it flowed into the River Irwell.

Blog - Walks through the cycle of life

A tall view of new Manchester

Then, I was walking beside the construction site of Renaker’s Deansgate Square, a group of 4 tower blocks, the South Tower at 64 storeys exceeds the height of Beetham Tower, which at 47 storeys is currently the tallest occupied building in Manchester, in terms of comparatives, it would be the fifth tallest building in the United Kingdom. [MEN: Watch how Manchester's biggest ever skyscraper shot up to soar over the north]

Out onto Deansgate, I took Dawson Street over the River Irwell towards Regent’s Road and stopped off at Regent Retail Park, a shopping precinct that I always sighted but never visited in my over 6 years of living in Manchester.

The huge Sainsbury’s supermarket was quite a big draw with the queue snaking down the whole length of the storefront and almost halfway down the side of the carpark. Obeying social distancing rules, it was about 50 people deep, yet, moving quite fast. I was in the store within 10 minutes.

Mamucium is something old

Leaving the store, I took a separate route back, towards Trinity Way, then onto Water Street where signs, plaques and signboards began to tell the history of canals, railways, and Castlefield, a Roman Wall? Now, that was a surprise as I chanced upon a pavilion and a canal wharf shaped like a tuning fork.

Further on was a rebuilt structure representing the North Gate to Mamucium or Mancunium, the old Roman names of Manchester. These were interesting elements of the history of this city going back around 1,900 years, I had not visited and considered.

People were out but not in droves, many in small groups catching the sun, but even in these pandemic times, just a stroll in a different direction can reveal some intriguing things.

Snapshots of what I saw.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - IV

The hermit with a cause

I had begun to have itching feet as I have not been out of my apartment for almost a week, I would think it was last Saturday that I was last out to do some shopping. The obligatory 1-hour of exercise granted us during the lockdown period as if someone will be twitching curtains and running the times of the ingress and egress of their neighbours, is fanciful at best.

That is not to say that the restriction in liberties has not created a suspicious and agitated community around us. In the quest for corporate health, we have entertained and accepted an unhealthy coexistence on the premise that we are saving lives, but 31,651 COVID-19 deaths in the UK, tells a different story. [COVID19INFO.Live]

Adaptations and change

Stepping out, I noticed my street had been freshly macadamised with newly painted road markings. I would suspect the council has taken the opportunity to fix the bad and potholed roads. The construction site in front of my block even has COVID-19 arrangements for scheduling staff from the day before and how they are registered for work.

I needed to do some shopping and for the first time in a while, I did not have to queue up at my local supermarket, I could walk right in. I noticed a few discounted things like prepacked fruit, fruit juice, and sliced bread, the milk was back at its original price, a difference of 20%. I thought I might find an apple corer, but it is a small shop, and I was done.

Words for the picture

Taking a detour, I walked up towards the chemist, it was closed and I took a longer stretch of the road towards the Central Library, a statue on side of the office blocks with the sign, “Deeds not words”, on the partially encircling low embarkment protected the likeness of Emmeline Pankhurst (1858 – 1928), the suffragette. I reached into my mobile phone holster to get my phone for a picture, only to realise it was empty.

Strangely, as I was about to leave my home, I remembered to fix the holster to my belt, but forgot to put the phone in it, considering it was the thought of protecting the phone that informed my getting the holster. Anyway, I made it back home observing the many couriers at restaurants or on their bicycles, picking up food orders for delivery.

The streets are quiet, calm, with not that many people. You can only wonder what the blusterer of Downing Street would have to say tomorrow. Whatever he says, I think people would do the sensible thing, seeking protection, avoiding unnecessary journeys and being cautionary about meeting up with family, friends, and acquaintances. I doubt we would allow this untrustworthy government to lead us by the nose to becoming a Coronavirus pandemic statistic.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - III

Social animals are we

Much as progress, civilisation, technology, human ingenuity, and resourcefulness has brought amazingly miraculous feats to our modern-day life, this period of quarantine and self-isolation has highlighted some fundamental needs.

Chief amongst them is human interaction, my beau and I have co-opted Zoom as our video conferencing tool over WhatsApp, as Skype was not reliable enough, except for voice calls when other means of communication are unavailable. How much we would have preferred to be together instead.

I had not left my apartment since Saturday and at other times when I have gone shopping, it was a solitary event. Only once before had one of the store attendants ventured a decent conversation and it was mainly about the lockdown. My friends do attempt to keep my spirits up, calling on the phone and having long conversations, but that is no substitute.

They were really there

This afternoon, I heard voices in the corridor outside my door, we have 5 apartments in my wind and the length of the corridor is probably 20 metres or more. I looked out and saw my neighbour opposite who had passed a note under my door a few weeks ago offering assistance and help with my shopping, her daughter and my next-door neighbour.

We were all properly spaced apart and after exchanging pleasantries, we talked for about 15 minutes. You can imagine how useful the interaction was, it gave me the feeling that I wasn’t losing my marbles, and that for all my tendency to looking myself away from the public, I still need this social expression, if just for the sake of sanity. We are social animals.

Grant them eternal repose

Later, I went to my local store, in fact, I visited 3 stores, and all had run out of flour. Is everyone baking a cake? Suffice it to say, all hotels are closed, only restaurants offering takeaways are open and suppose they only use couriers. The city is almost a ghost town and it is unlikely the lockdown would be lifted on Easter Monday.

Meanwhile, as our Prime Minister sits up in high spirits being tended to by an Italian consultant in an Intensive Care Unit we are given the inclination he does not really need, another 938 people gave up the ghost in the last 24 hours and I cannot help but wonder how many of those souls needlessly died before their time. If …

My thoughts are with the many whose lives have been touched with the sorrow at the departure of a loved one. God rest the souls of the beloved and strengthen the hearts of their survivors.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - II

Emptied for a queue

As the world goes into lockdown, the menace of the invisible yet so significantly palpable holds sway in many communities fostering upon us an abnormality that can never be comfortable.

When I eventually got out of bed, I prepared myself with a shower and dressed up to get some essentials from my local supermarket. That walk to and fro would have to constitute all my exercise for the day.

The street was not busy, an eerie calm had settled on my neighbourhood apart from the cars on the main road and the double-decker buses that had just about 4 passengers in transit. At the supermarket, there was a queue, a strict orderliness of one going in only after one customer had left. I was 4^th in line as we gave ourselves the 2-metre spacing standing in the chilling wind.

Shopping in vain

At a time, I began to wonder what everyone was shopping for, as quite a few shelves laid bare. My almost 20-minute wait ended with 2 customers coming out at the same time. I missed cornflakes on my last visit and they were still out. Potatoes too were not on the shelves; it might be sensible to visit earlier in the day.

I got the other things I required, checked them out the self-service counter left. My street, an artery that connects two railway stations in the centre of Manchester is nothing like it used to be. It shows that it is people and their activities that make up the heart and the soul of the city. Remove them and you have a ghost town.

Maybe Summer will be warmer

Though you could not ignore the many Deliveroo couriers, this would mean certain restaurants are providing takeaway food. I would think chefs, cooks, and restauranteurs come under essential services, to cater to those who can’t cook. I did think of having a TV dinner, a fish pie that I wasn’t tempted to buy yesterday. Well, they had run out of that too.

I have not gone panic buying, but I have had to stock up on sparkling water, whole milk, and canned soups. It is good to have some choices of food at home. If I can get out of my lazy phase, I might get to cooking something substantial. I think that would be tomorrow.

This is one week down and at 2:00AM the clocks spring forward for British Summer Time, it means my lover would now be just an hour ahead of me rather than two. Gosh! I miss him but we are confident once this is over, we’ll be back together again, in the beautiful Cape Town.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester

Politicians polluting prospects

These Coronavirus pandemic times appear to invade every aspect of life and quite inconveniently for all. That it is fronted more by politicians that need to manage the message rather than experts who deal with facts does not make it any easier.

For instance, without any supporting data, Boris Johnson was suggesting this whole matter would be over in 12 weeks. I guess in the absence of any good news you throw something out there and leave everyone who really heard you scratching their heads in incredulity.

It does not engender confidence, it is as reckless as it is irresponsible, it is no time for soundbites from an inveterate japester. We want to send the virus packing, but it would take more than standing at a rostrum japing and genuflecting. [The Guardian]

Shut up, Donald

Over across the pond, Donald Trump stepped up to suggest Hydroxychloroquine was the panacea to the Coronavirus and the drugs was ready to be ramped up for prescriptive use. The FDA had not approved the drug as it was still being tested and was still being accessed for viability.

Various drug regimens are being deployed to this disease, many still unproven and inconclusive to determine what works and Donald Trump simply jumped the gun with the risk of forcing the system in a direction that could prove completely impulsive. [Daily Beast]

Those of us who used quinine compound drugs for the treatment of malaria in childhood experienced maddening side effects of severe itching of the palms of the hands and the soles of the feet. No one who experienced it drew any comfort from that knowledge especially when antihistamines did not reduce the itching.

Since sliced bread disappeared

I stepped out earlier to get some shopping, as the last time I was out, there was no sliced bread on the shelves, they are literally run out of eggs and all the toilet rolls were invisible. I am still at a loss as to why toilet rolls matter so much for the Coronavirus pandemic, I have not noticed acutely incessant diarrhoea as one of the major symptoms of contracting the virus. Then I don’t use hand sanitiser, I just use soap and water.

Today, at noon, sliced bread, toilet rolls and pasta were missing from the shelves, though I have enough food at home, it is worrisome that panic buying belies the lack of useful assurances, prevarication, and indecision from the government. The messages are mixed when pubs, restaurants and public places should be closed forthwith, and the government put in ameliorating steps to support businesses through these uncertain times.

Coronavirus streets

Leaving my local Sainsbury’s, I walked down to the low-budget Spar to see if I could get a loaf of sliced bread when I noticed to my left that the Grade II listed Refuge Assurance building that became the Palace Hotel and changed to The Principal Manchester, three years ago has now become the Kimpton Clock Tower Hotel. I have not noticed a building change names that many times in such a short while. [LiveAndLetsFly]

Obviously, there is some interest in the historic building within the hospitality industry and I suppose each new offer has been impossible to refuse. I am not holding my breath; I give it another couple of years, and it might be called the Changeling Hotel. [Historic England]

Further on, Starbucks was open but without seats and tables, having transitioned to a Grab-and-Go coffee shop. It looked quite eerie from outside. There were people on the streets, masks on many apparently from the Asian subcontinent, though long before this pandemic, many did plod our streets with masks. I did get my loaf of sliced bread from Spar and I made my way home. [Business Insider]

A meatpacker bags the goods

Bagging the store

I visited my local Sainsbury’s to get a few essentials and late as it was, the crowds could be avoided, but that meant the brand of filtered whole milk I wanted was out of stock.

As I moved around the aisles wondering if I did need some other things including the pork pies I am trying to swear myself off, a taller man probably oblivious of my shorter stature, swung round to place 4 packs of meats on the shelf in front of me. Not wanting to be in his way, I moved on as he opened his rucksack and stuffed the packs in.

Strange, I thought as we would normally get a shopping basket and go to the self-service tills or the manned check-outs to pay for our goods. This looked like he was up to no good. Coming back up another aisle, he was packing other packets into his bag. It looked like he had come for a raid.

Not this time, chap

It got me thinking of why insurance premiums are increased year-on-year, not only due to inflation but for the abuse of insurance claims and criminal activity. I also notice how the prices of common goods go up by 5% or 10%, in the shop, maybe to cover losses due to thefts or to pay for the security staff who prevent them.

I was not going to intervene not knowing what this chap might be up to, having filled up his rucksack, he had a few things in his hands to have checked-out at a manned till, as if to suggest that was all he came to the store for. Unfortunately for him, an eagle-eyed scout had spotted his antics, so he was accosted at the till and asked to show the contents of his rucksack by the security guard.

Without much fuss, he emptied his rucksack, had it inspected and when he was relieved of all the goods, he was allowed to leave. Surprised, I was when I expected the police to be called. Then maybe rather than bother themselves with the unwieldy involvement of law enforcement and maybe their indifference to petty theft, they would just have taken a picture of the face and enforced a total ban on his returning to the shop.

It could get worse

One can only wonder where he might have brazenly and successfully raided a shop without detention. Nothing of what I saw him do was by stealth, he either thought he’ll wing it and give up on this store and try elsewhere when the staff or preparing to close shop and inattentive to customers playing funny games.

I could not call what he was doing shoplifting, there was too much involved, it looked like shop-bagging, my fear is with his size first and just a feeling of desperation, he might become daring and violent. At that point, I do wonder if letting him go lays in store a more dangerous bandit for the next time.