18th May 2022

My granddaughter takes me in hand on the train journey to Manchester (she loves doing that).  As a matter of fact I hate Tod station, this is where I tumbled and fractured my ankle and had to sit on urine smelling steps for a couple of hours waiting for an ambulance.  But she does all the necessary flashing of cards at the ticket machines.

Planning...  So we wandered around Manchester and its very tallness assaulted my senses.  Large buildings everywhere, some grand and Victorian, others modern and of course the biggest shopping mall you can imagine, the Arndale Centre.

I said, could see the disapproval in my daughter's eyes, that there seemed to be a lot of foreigners around.  It is like London, different languages everywhere, and young people, dressed up and pretty, the vitality of  city life caught in tourists and the young.

Our first port of call was a bra shop, there is another prom dance in the family in July and everything is geared towards that, and of course the exams at the moment.  A lengthy period of sitting down in the basement whilst we waited and then off to meet my grandson at the curry restaurant,

The word I would use to describe the restaurant  is 'artisan' a £4 plate of three curries (dollops) on rice, it was alright, except one of mine was too strong and brought tears to my eyes.  It was fashionable for crowds of young, presumably male students.  Anderson eat your heart out, the young cannot manage on 30p meals!  We had that delicious Indian Lassi drink of mango and yoghurt.  Then rather stuck after we finished our meal, it was decided to hunt out an icecream and tea for me.  

We ended up in the food court of the Arndale. I people watch, from the little girl playing in the mechanical children's car to the young man who desultorily wipe the tables,  They fall into that empty space of my mind, noting the father of the child is sitting  at a table with his computer whilst keeping an eye on his child - is the mother shopping I wonder.  Security men stomp round in red shirts, obviously bored out of their minds.  Always I am aware of the young, how cities attracts them.  A third grandchild is on the phone to his mother, my daughter, he is looking for a flat in London and downloads the viewing of the flats he is looking at - life in the fast lane!

Then there is my eldest grandchild, gentle Tom, sitting there, asking politely what do I do with my day.  I laugh inwardly, for I am always busy during the day - busy doing nothing I suppose is the answer but then what are all these people doing around me I wonder?

We wander back through the elegant clothes of the young, for surely only the older shop at M&S.  A young shop assistant flits through the rails, it is getting late and she is in charge of all these superfluous clothes.  

We make our way to the train station, say goodbye to Tom, and he goes and catches a metro tram, which always seem overcrowded. We speed back through the industrial detritus of outer Manchester, I look back at the tall skyscrapers of flats, looking so out of place in the landscape.  The sad thought comes to mind that just like as in Ukraine, these eyesores would be easily bombed and reduced to a wreckage of concrete and steel girders.  Back to the relative safety of Tod.

This is the Football Museum, see how everything, building wise, jostles out of blending with its neighbours.  Planning?? what is that all about?

Just one other thought. I read this morning that the centre of government should move from London, (House of Parliament are already crumbling)  and set up either Up North in Manchester or in the Midlands in Birmingham. Not that it will ever happen because of tourism and all that but Manchester is becoming a media centre.