Pink Cupcakes

Wet Weekend

  Right, so it's finally here, mine and Big Fella's weekend away...to Manchester.

OK, so it's not that long ago we trapsed these glorious Northern paths before, but this is different, or rather the motive is, because we're off to watch the mighty North Yorkshire Indie boys One Night Only.

So, I'm feeling a little frustrated at not being totally myself after having a nasty bout of the bug that yearly frequents our house via Lilttle Fella's nursery.  My stomach is tender and in all honesty, a big boozy session is the last thing on my mind, but I keep reminding myself, we don't often get this opportunity, so I will try my best.

OK, so Friday is all about the concert.  We park the car with no intention of getting back in it until Sunday.  Our Premier Inn is just over the road on Portland Street so we're spending our day in (as Big Fella would say) "Studentsville".

OK, there's no denying it, I am a complete light weight, of which Big Fella keeps reminding me.  I start a glass of wine, only to have a few sips and decide I'll have water instead.  A deeply anticipated goats cheese salad with fries and mustard mayo dip also way by the way side as I daintily pick through the leaves to find the cheese. 

We leave Ha Ha's and battle against the wind, luckily I'd prepared myself for the couple of lower degrees for the North, but even so, I'm bloody freezing.  I tell myself it's OK to be wearing flip flops because I'm wearing a cosy winter jacket, but I guess the bemused grins my chosen footwear are provoking tells me otherwise, but I will not be detered.

We stop for a drink in Temple on Oxford Street and I opt for a cider, forcing it down my throat without too much thought for fear of bringing it up.  We head back to the hotel to don our concert clothes and we're strolling towards the University.  It's still early and the doors don't open until 7.30pm. We decide on the spot we will not make an appearence until at least 9pm.

Big Fella's starving and I'm still recovering from the nightmare of Ha Ha's, but still I humour him (of which he knows) and we begin the misery of trying to find somewhere decent to eat.  I absolutely do not want curry or a kebab and even olives in Kro can't tempt me.  Big Fella is so frustrated at my lack of decision making today, so he takes matters into his own hands and dines me in the finest restaurant, somewhere I haven't been for absolutely ages...McDonalds.

Hum, well, with our Veggie Deluxe we sat in the window, and hey, who drifts by, but the drummer and guitarist from the band.  I'm dead excited and start to feel a little better, remembering why we're here sat on plastic chairs with a rather abrupt mnanager who seems rather fond of going out side to "straighten" up the chairs whilst standing around gazing down the street, well, I guess it's been a heavy shift...

Anyway, time's slipping by and the huge queue outside the Acadaemy surprises Big Fella.  I laugh a little and hint at there being no queue at the bar...I am most definately feeling old.  We find a cool student place called "Big Hands" and "chill" to the vibes of Zeppelin and Hendrix, but it's all good, and I'm getting excited. We have another drink in Kro, attempting to re-live the summer by sitting outside beneath the patio heaters.  Big Fella assured me it would be lovely and warm, and it was bloody well freezing.  We end up back inside, me drinking Coke and Big Fella drinking for the two of us - JD, oh dear.

  Into the Academy and there are 5 people at the bar.  One Night Only being youngters themselves are attracting a similar crowd, most of whom are under age and drinking water (most of which gets thrown into the crowd), but we grab a drink (me lager - yuk! and Big Fella - lethal JD).  The band are amazing, and this is the 2nd time I've been fortunate enough to see them.  They've been touring solid for over a year now and it shows,  they're confident, sexy and damned right blow the auduience away.  George Craig strips to the waist and shows off his age to crowd who forgive him because he just SO has it.

They play a fair few new ones and I'm really impressed, but I guess preaching to the converted is not what they're after, but they can always rely on me, even after the school bus has pulled away.

Big Fella's getting wasted and I'm getting nervous.  Someone kindly peed in a pint glass and threw it down my leg, and I thought Big Fella was going to murder someone.  We brought the situation back around and sang and jumped to the rest of the concert, with Big Fella keeping his beady eye on a fella we'd nicknames the Howies catalogue man (inside joke I'm afraid), incase he needs the toilet again.

  We wave goodbye to our, sorry MY heroes and I tell them I'll see them on Monday (Birmingham Academy with big sis).  We shuffle out the venue and I'm actually feeling quite hungry.  It's cold and I don't wanna mess about looking at menu's, so instead, we find ourselves in the mighty Aleef newsagents buying egg salad snadwiches and and cheese and tomato.  In our hotel room we boast of it being the best meal we've had all day, and I'm serious.

Big Fella crashes out, but I'm still buzzing from the concert, but I'm also missing my boys.  2 days away from them is alot for me, even if they do drive me to distraction, but I know they'll be fine with nanny and grandad, so, after watching the last 5 mins of Jonathan Ross and being a little concerned that Cheryl Cole is turning into a lolloipop despite her saying she's put on weight, I check out the Electric Proms on BBC 2 and catch The Last Shadow Puppets and I'm seriously impressed.

Big Fella will be graetful for those double JD's as the thumnping from the downstairs nightclub is driving me iunsane, and he'd be down there complaining.  Anyway, after taking one last stupid photo of myself, I lay back and drift off, in the middle of a rave.

 Zzzzzzz....

The next day is a much more subdued affair.  We're both tired and a little drunk out.  It's raining and it's bloody cold and I'm looking for the kind of day where you sit in coffee shops and chat or read or stare out at passing people on the street, a bit of budget shopping and some lunch.  We have a shufty round Selfridges and indulge in my first ever Krispy Kreme (yeah, I know, shame on me), and see the most delightful cupcakes in the whole world!

Needless to say I have to have them.

We pick up a Halloween cookie for Lilttle Fella in prep for our party on Friday, and take a stroll (via GAP and French Connection of course where I can't resist a cardigan and shirt!) to Starbuck's and cannot believe I'm not sure about the coffee - I really thought it would be a safe bet, coffee's coffee right?

All I wanted was a good ole fashioned coffee house, but nevermind, at least we got out of the cold.

We're off again, taking a stroll around Manchester's streets not really saying much at all, but it's lovely, it's how we like it.  We stumble upon Sawyers Arms on Deansgate and settle ourselves in for a while.  Big Fella seizing his chance to watch a bit of the rugby and me to write some notes for my new story - all that's missing is a log fire crackling in the corner. 

It's getting near to that time again. Food, and after a disasterous meal in Old Orleans (mushroom and Quorn fajhita's which sounds lovely, but all it was, was 4 button mushrooms, a load of bland Quorn chunks and a s***heap of fried onions, all for a bargin at £11-25 yikes!!), I am dreading it.

We head back stopping for a coffee beneath the Cornerhouse.  We're chilled to the bone and want some more of the cosiness we had in the pub.

We share a mince pie and again, I just can't get into food. We head back to the hotel to freshen up and we spy an Italian over the road. 

It looks lovely and gives me the chance to give my new cardigan and shirt an airing.

But that's where the fun stops. After having wine continuously sloshed into my glass by a rather efficient yet annoying waiter without being asked, I can't stand the thought of drinking it, then the food arrives and I don't want that either, crying into my tomato risotto and begging for someone to take it away.  Big Fella thinks I'm crackers and we leave soon after, heading to Cornerhouse for a chill and some vibes from their resident Saturday DJ, and it works.  We have a coupla Bourbons with Coke and we're chatting away, nightmare thought of waiters wine and risotto far away.

We stay longer than we thought we would, then head in the rain back to Portland Street.  The nightclub is in full swing and Big Fella's already talking about complaining.  He enjoys another round of Aleef Egg Salad sandwiches and I relax in my PJs with a brew.  The TV's on, and I fancy a bit of late night viweing, mortified as I channel hop: Red Dragon, Saw, Hostel, 100 scariest moments on TV and Halloween.  Instead I turn it off, and once again fall asleep to the dulcit tones of a 4am party below. 

Wet Weekend, no, not the weather, I'm talking about me!

Be good

K XXXX

Pilgrim

Three words: I LOVE MANCHESTER

After throwing the kids through my folks front door on Saturday morning, me and Big Fella made the 2 hour trek up the delightful M6 to the mighty Manchester.

We had a plan. For once. No shopping, no messing about in the hotel, just deep breaths of wonderful Manchester air and booze; and plenty of it.

Feeling like a couple of teenagers, me and Big Fella carefully selected our choice of music (Reverend and The Makers, The Enemy, The Wombats, The Kooks, One Night Only and The Smiths) and as I saw the first sign for Manchester, I really did feel like the Heavy Weight Champion of the World.

OK, so we speed through the Heavenly gates of my adopted home City to the sounds of The Smiths, all a bit cliche you may think, but we stop for a swift pint of Fruli (strawberry wheat beer) in the somewhat deflated Kro on Piccadilly Gardens and guess what they're playing...There Is a Light that Never Goes out - cool hey?

Hum, anyway, we head off towards Oldham Street, where we consider stopping at Dry Bar but kinda bypass it and end up at the BEST deli in the whole world, Love Saves The Day on Thomas Street.  We have a sneaky beer and Big Fella a gorgeous falafel and hummus ciabatta with sunblush tomatoes, very nice indeed, even if I did say I didn't want any to begin with (why do women always do that??)

Anyway, it's started me off, and I'm hungry, a little wobbly (yeah, I know, I've only had two drinks!), and need food.  We head to Simple, a cool bar in the Smithfield Buildings on the uber cool Tib Street.  I dare to have a glass of wine, knowing I still haven't eaten much, but the sun is shining and I'm in Manchester.  Tucking into my goats cheese, tomato and balsamic reduction wrap (and chips of course with a stunning pesto mayo dip), time is ticking on, and I still haven't seen the rest of Manchester.

By this time, Big Fellas out doing me on the drinks front, which isn't difficult believe me, and so, we head out the Northern Quarter and to Spinningfields. 

OK, apart from the tedious RBS, there's Ha Ha's, a cafe bar with sentimental value for me and Big Fella. During our (brief) courting days, we spent many a drunken Saturday in the Ha Ha's in Cardiff.

But this Ha Ha's is even better, because we get to over look the River Irwell (which always reminds me of those exciting stays at The Lowry Hotel). We have another glass of wine, and I'm feeling a little s***faced to say the least, and think I should slow down, after all, we haven't even checked into the hotel yet.

So, a little wobbly, a little disinhibited and feeling like I'm on top of the world, we grab our bags from the car and check in to The Palace on Oxford Street.  I love this part of Manchester, I guess it's the student vibe, the fact I used to be a perpetual student kinda helps, but there's also the Cornerhouse, a cool contemporary art house (more later) which I've got my eye on.

So, we check into the Hotel, happy to see it has a lovely bar which we eye up for later.  We dump our bags, freshen up, have a quick cuppa and we're off again.  We have a beer at the Cornerhouse over the road and decide we're gonna be mavericks and not bother getting dressed up for the evening and stay as we are.  Big Fella gets excited by my spontaneity, and suddenly we're no longer grown ups with kids, we're kids on an all dayer.

We stumble upon Temple, an underground bar I'm pretty sure used to be a public toilet.  It stinks, it's dingy, the walls are covered in band posters and we absolutely love it.  We pull up a chair and get all deep and meaningful over a candle.  I've had a few drinks by now and feeling more light weight than heavy weight.

We decide we NEED food; something quick, filling and tasty, so Wagamamas it is.  In my drunken haze I choose a deadly dish of noodles with a stunning sauce also loaded with chilli's. I down a Diet Coke and decide on a dessert, ginger cheesecake, and wonder why the hell my mouth is still on fire, only for Big Fella to grin and show me the menu; it's got a ginger and CHILLI topping - yeah, OK, stop laughing.

OK, by now it's absolutely throwing it down and we're sharing my Cath Kidston cowboy print umbrella and we enter nightmaresville in the shape of the Printworks.  We have a swift cider in Waxy O Connors and I'm seriously thinking about jumping out the window.  I have no interest in the football results and being surrounded by groups of rowdy men reminds me why I stick to the types of bars I do.  The only thing it had going for it was the music, Oasis' Rock n Roll Star can't be bad can it?

We make a quick exit and enter the rain again, which actually turns out to be a good thing, because we find ourselves stopping at pubs we'd otherwise by pass.  So, we're in the Northern Quarter again and having a beer in Trof, a kinda student and Arty heaven.  It's playing You Really Got Me, by The Kinks and there are a couple of guys wearing black lace up pumps I really like (for me!) very Ian Brown circa 1989, and Big Fella thinks I'm crazy, but he's well used to it.

It's STILL raining, and we dive into Bluu and quickly realise we've made a mistake.  It's an eclectic mix of suits, townies, middle aged men with roving eyes and Liam Gallagher wannabes (no one does it like the man!). Me and Big Fella stifle an awkward grin and head back out, we have another quick one in Odd and accidentally stumble into the door of The Northern, Tib Street's new cool bar, where the walls are donned with black and white framed pictures of Ian Brown and Anthony Wilson and others.  Big Fella is totally smashed, courtesy of a few Weston's Organic back in Trof  but has now progressed to JD and coke, and I'm getting a little twitchy.

I force back a Southern Comfort and realise we've been drinking for almost 9 hours.  I suggest we make our way back towards Oxford Road.  I'm not ready to turn in yet, but my veins are pumping with alcohol and I just CANNOT cope with hangovers since hitting 30.  I suggest a coffee at the Cornerhouse and get a response I'm not totally happy with.  Anyway, we end up in Bar Centro and I'm exhausted.  I ask Big Fella what he wants to drink and he's got his head on my shoulder saying he wants to go home (typical!). So, back out into the rain.

I've got no coat, I'm wearing flip flops and my jeans are soaking from the knee down, but we're still laughing.  Big Fella "walking" through the puddles taking me with him. We get splashed by a taxi on Oldham Road, and I'm quickly sobering up.   Big Fella tries to pull me into Dry Bar, but this time I really put my (very wet) foot down and we plough on towards the Cornerhouse, inbetween him yacking in my ear about NEEDING a big dirty veggie burger.

We can't find one so I steer us to the Cornerhouse, where's there's a rather cool looking couple of DJ's on the decks playing quite mellow music that suits my mood. I have tea, Big Fella has a latte.  I'm soaked, cold, tired a little drunk, but do you know what, I've had the best time in a long time.

We stagger back out, singing a combination of The Wombats 'Moving to New York' and The Enemy's 'Away From Here', and try to act somewhere near respectable as we enter the Hotel. I'm so hungry by now, and all I want is cheese sandwiches.  We head to the bar and have just that, but bed is calling, and my contact lenses are almost popping out.  We "borrow" a copy of the Manchester Evening News and discover V Festival highlights are on.  Big Fella is already comatosed on the bed, and me, disappointed as Muse take the stage at V, I quickly turn off the TV and bury myself beneath the deep cosy duvet, knowing it'll the best night's sleep I'll have until the next time we're kids free, which won't be for some time.

So, with the hum of the Manchester vibe outside, and the harsh but hypnotising sound of the rain on the window, I go to sleep with a big smile on my face, knowing I've only got a couple months before I can do this again, to One Night Only at the University, and I just can't wait.

There really is a light that never goes out.

Sleep tight

Karen xxxx

On the eighth day God created MAN...chester

I can hardly believe it's almost 19 years since I first fell in love with Manchester.

As a 15 year old, stuck in a town I really didn't want to live, standing outside my sister's bedroom listening to The Stone Roses, I had no idea, almost 2 decades later, I'd still be carrying my very big crush.

OK, so, picture this, I'm just about to leave school (which I hated!), carrying a chip on my shoulder that's so heavy I'm lopsided and desperate to find my way out of what had so far been a pretty miserable adolescence, and then came Spike Island.

Of course I wasn't going, too damned young, but I was sure on my next visit to Camden I was going to pick up the boot leg tape (!), and even if Sir Ian Brown's voice was slighty er, distorted, who cared, it was THE Stone Roses, and folks, they changed my life - forever.

OK, so it wasn't just about the music, it was also about the place.  Manchester offered me a place to channel my angst; it was a Mecca; my Holy place. 

I know the Madchester "scene" was over by the time I was old enough to grace the streets of my favourite city, but the love I'd built up wasn't, infact, I fell in love just a little bit more.  So when most liggers had chucked out their flares, folks, for me it was just the beginning.

I often wonder why I didn't move there.  I had a couple of opportunities I let pass me by, and maybe, that's a good thing, because if I had, perhaps my Mecca may have faded and become just another place to live and work - I really don't know.  Who ever would have thought Noel Gallagher would describe it as "the hole where I was born" in D'you know What I Mean? I'm sure he has his reasons, but to sell out to London, hum, not so sure.

Anyway, from my first piece of chocolate fudge cake in Cafe Pop at 19, to many glasses of cider in Dry Bar, to watching The Charlatans at 1am in the Hacienda, to knocking back a vodka martini in Revolution on Oxford Road, eating goats cheese and pesto penne in Selfridges, to sipping a glass of Champagne at the Lowry Hotel, here I am, waiting for the weekend as if it's my first time.

See, since JB, me and Big Fella have been planning a weekend away.  Not since York last summer have we really been without the kids, and since I'm able to get back into those rather lovely jeans and even lovelier silver heels, we decided on London. Then, last weekend, listening to The Smiths (ironically There is a Light that never goes out), me and Big Fella looked at each other in that way we do, and he's on the phone cancelling London and we're booked into a lovely Hotel in Manchester, and I'm in love all over again.

See, for me Manchester is everything a City should be (obviously my opinion only), during my mid twenties, I "discovered" L.S. Lowry, and have since stylishly plastered our house in his prints, and once I started earning money, it also taught me how to dress, drink and eat, and yes, it all got a bit expensive and a bit high maintenance, which is all a bit messy when you have 2 kids, but we're getting over it (!)

So why Manchester?  Well, simple, it's the attitude. OK, you may laugh, but last week on Big Brother, Dale and Stuart were up for eviction, and since they both looked and acted the same, hypothetically who should go and did I care, well yes, Dale had to go, because Stu's a Manc. 

I'd be lying if I said Manchester didn't scare me at times. I absolutely LOVE the Northern Quarter, it's the epitome of everything that is cool to me, and it has Love Saves The Day of course, (which has olives!) but there's been times I've visited and I've had that spine tingling fear that I'm kinda outta my depth. The North is undoubtedly the best thing about the UK (apart from St Ives of course!), but it has a history I wasn't part of, and OK, I've adopted it, but I'm not sure it feels the same way about me.  People sniff you out as an outsider and it's kinda freaky at 2am making your way back to your hotel - but it obviously hasn't put me off.

So, for one night only, we're back in Manchester, and do you know what, I'm kinda nervous, but very very excited. Brunch in Love Saves The Day, olives and white wine in Simple Bar and a few new ones I've just discovered, and that's not to mention another visit to Beetham Tower to see it's magnificent view over my most beautiful city - am I gushing?  Sorry, well, check these pages in a week, and I'm sure you'll see the carnage, I guess there are some lights that never go out.

Glad to be leaving the hole I was born (for one night obviously)

Hugs

Karen xxx