After the truly epic episode of missing my exam due to signal failure and traffic issues, I was sent up to Scotland for an overnight trip. I decided to pull an all-nighter for the exam (ironically) so needless to say I was feeling as dead as a dodo on the flight up North. After a bevvy of painful meetings and pinching myself under the table to try and stay awake I was relieved to the point of tears to be heading back to London. Until.....
At the airport, at check-in, just at the point where I was dreaming of my bed, I get a call from the office. "Princess, we need you to turn around, take a train to Glasgow, spend the night, then stay in Edinburgh for the rest of the week". Bugger, bugger, bugger.
Post-Scotland (and yes, I did eat haggis), I then went to Manchester for a bit of R&R to visit my friend, errr...R. R is a student there and I was tempted by the promises of the best shopping in the country and some of the best clubs.
The problem was, and I do not exaggerate, I literally couldn't understand what people were saying. And I will NEVER understand the way that they dress. The club that we ventured to on Saturday night was full of the most skimpy outfits and heinous make-up jobs I have ever seen in my life. Plus there was the added indignation of being chatted up at the bar by an pre-pubescent accountancy-student Northerner. His opening line was, (and please imagine with thick accent) "so, what's your name gorgeous". Puurrrrleeeeeez.....On the way home, I witnessed a full-on bitch fight complete with hair-pulling and screeching, and a girl who had somehow lost her skirt and was standing with her mates in a pair of tights and cowboy boots. If I ever needed inspiration for the footballer's wives themed work bash, now I've seen the real thing a hundred times over. Yikes.
Below are pics of the club, the shopping mall, and Old Trafford. Manchester in a nutshell.
