Hello. Iâve been to Manchester. I thought i might tell you about it. Wait no come back i promise this isn't just showing you my holiday ph
The last time i went to that wonderful southern city, i was hardly ten years old, and hadnât much of a chance to explore â a mistake i was itching to rectify this go around. Over the next few days iâll be sharing some of the things i saw, heard, and third verb goes here.
First things first, our tripâs raison dâĂŞtre: Sigur RĂłs were on a world tour, and though they might not have been schlepping up to Newcastle, i sure as hell wasnât going to miss the chance to see them.

Sigur RĂłs are a post-rock band, and their gig made clear that itâs with a strong emphasis on the âpost-â. It was an all-seated audience, with vanishingly little banter from the band (one has to imagine theyâre not 100% confident in their English), excepting a brief pantomime bit at the end of âAndvariâ. No complaints from me, though: a laid-back, almost classical atmosphere quite befits their ĂŚtheral soundscapes. I mean, could you imagine people going wild in the pit to âVakaâ?
As âPopplagiĂ°â came to a close and everyone shuffled out the venueâs doors, i noticed a curious item at the merch table: an officially licensed Sigur RĂłs tea and incense kit. What a world we live in. (I didnât buy it â there was only one left, and i probably wouldnât be the one to make the most use out of it.)

As an official, Lisa Nandyâcertified resident of a Townâ˘, i was left slightly dumbstruck and intimidated by the dense forest of tall buildings that is Manchesterâs city centre. Sure, itâs not like iâm a stranger to the idea of a city, but of the two big cities i have most haunted over the years , Newcastle only has a stumpy luxury apartment and a few council houses strewn about the suburbs, while Amsterdamâs skyscraper district is sectioned off behind the other side of a ring road, far from the centre of town.
But Manchester? Nay â Manchester is Englandâs second city, and theyâll show it any way they like! Dozens upon dozens of architectural phalli jut up from the ground in all directions, a veritable orgy of capital. I pray thee, have we as a species learnt nothing from the tales of Icarus and the Tower of Babel? Nothingâ˝ This is hubris writ large, i tell you!
Or, you know, something like that. Their green spaces donât even have cows.
They both serve the same purpose, really, but i just want to rub in that where we up north has a fully-fledged metro, Manchester merely has to do with trams. Sure, ours might be delayed every five minutes, and theirs might be uber-reliable and extend throughout the urban area, but whoâs really winning?

Manchester has no shortage of iconic residents â Morrissey, Danny Boyle, Burgess, Wanksy â but Mancunians have taken it upon themselves to idolise two people above all else. Everywhere you look, there are statues, plaques, and posters in their memory.
The first is Emmeline Pankhurst. An early leader of the suffragette movement, she and her allies often used violent tactics to get their way, from breaking windows all the way up to arson. You can see why the left-wing, industrial city, birthplace of the labour movement, would be proud to honour her.
The other is Noel Gallagher.
Naturally.