Author: Sam Bail

You Ride, We Ride: This is not the Manchester I know.

Sam Bail

Have I actually mentioned my bike? I’ve got a bike. The best bike in the world, to be precise. I got it from one of my favourite people, almost a year ago, and the first time I was riding it down a quiet and leafy street in Didsbury I started to cry, which was followed by a celebratory bottle or two glass of wine. A glorious day.

Anythatwasthemotherofallhangoversway, last week marked the beginning of my favourite time of the year in Manchester – the 6 months of “oh it’s getting warm…nope, not quite yet…but now!! No… no, still not warm enough to wear short sleeves. OH there it is, that must be it, Summer! No, no…false alarm. Whoops, it’s November again. Well that was that then, I guess. Better luck next year.” Highly determined to make the best of the few hours of sunshine I can get here every year, I put on a floral print dress – my official summer uniform – got on my bike and cycled down to Levy for some food at POD and a visit to the superawesome Laurie Pink, but more about that later.

The excitement had me as soon as I had caught a glimpse of the magnificent trees blooming on Fog Lane that stood bright and colourful in the Sunday sun. I cycled faster. We crossed Kingsway into Burnage. I gasped: My first visit to Burnage. BURN. AGE. Famous for being the home of the Gallagher brothers, Dave Rowbotham of the Durutti Column being murdered in his flat, and… uhm… yeah. That record shop, I guess. I excpected tumbleweeds, gunmen and saloon doors, but I only saw a wide tree lined road, a country pub-ish looking pub with the poetic name ‘The Sun in September‘ and several parks, including the rather vast Cringle Park, luring us in with the promise of seeing an ‘Indian Bean Tree’ that couldn’t be spotted – if anyone has managed to find the location of the ‘Indian Bean Tree’, please do let me know. The bike ride, the greens, the country pub-ish pub and the sun had made me so enthusiastic however, I even came up with a marketing slogan for letting agents who would like to advertise properties in the area: “Burnage – it could be worse.”

Having crossed Cringle park, we suddenly found ourselves in the heart of Levenshulme, only two minutes away from POD, which, once again, didn’t fail to amaze me with the tastiness of its food as well as the slowness of the ordering and food preparing process. But to be completely honest, I actually prefer anticipation up to the point of self-torture to the finished product – this is exactly the right place for me.

On the way back, we paid a visit to the wonderful Laurie Pink who I had met on my first trip to Levenshulme last year. The crazy lady had put herself through a 24 hour drawing marathon to create dozens of drawings for everyone who donated for Comic Relief – raising over £1300 pounds in one day. I had commissioned a royal portrait for my cycling companion, the mighty Robot Swan King (yeah… don’t ask), which we had come to pick up that afternoon. We were welcomed by Arthur and Smith, two incredibly lovely whippets, a pouting cat, actor/singer/comedian Mitch Benn, who was sat in the kitchen watching roller derby videos, and a room with walls covered in drawings as a proof of Laurie’s hard work*. Having swapped cake for drawings, we hopped onto our bikes and cycled back down south – not without stopping by at the ‘Sun in September’ for a cheeky half of fizzy apple juice. I’m living life on the edge.

* madness

Pet Sounds: There’s a rabbit in my house

Sam Bail

I’ve been a little bit quiet lately, which has been mainly caused by a series of Manchester Girl Geeks events, partly also by my new flatmate. Little Gethin is 18 months old, black, furry, and goes absolutely crazy for coriander*. This may sound weird to some of you who have been growing up with cats, dogs, and plenty of other animals surrounding them, but I am genuinely excited, almost ecstatic, to welcome my first ever pet to my house.

I adopted the rabbit from a friend who was going to move house and couldn’t take him with her; and to say I was a little worried about doing everything right would be understated. I spent hours bunnyproofing our flat, sticking cables into plastic tubes, removing books from the bottom shelves, reading up on ‘how to look after your rabbit’, their diet, how to keep them entertained, and generally panicking about coming home one day, finding the rabbit had rioted in our flat, turned his cage upside down, peed in my flatmate’s bed, pulled apart his 1st edition copy of Robinson Crusoe, chewed through our £200 solid wood coffee table, eaten several bars of chocolate before attempting to electrocute himself with the Playstation 3 cable and eventually drowning in the loo.

When Geth moved in, I made sure I spent a lot of time just sitting on the floor, talking to him (trying very hard to avoid babyspeak) and resisting the urge to go all ‘ooooh cuuuuteeee bunnyyyyyyyy, wanna  cuuuuudddlle’ on him. Having previously looked after him for a couple of days, I expected the rabbit to be quite timid, ignore me and go about his own business. I was surprised to find that the excitement about his new environment had made him rather inquisitive and bold, overlooking my cage cleaning activities, hopping over my legs, following me into the kitchen, and even jumping onto the sofa next to me a few times. In fact, while I’m writing this blog post, he’s on a tour across the front room, squeezing through a tunnel, trampling over  jars with candles and jumping onto his cardboard box (I’ve called it ‘the bunny fort’). My flatmate, who is mildly allergic to rabbits and can’t touch them, has figured out that Geth seems fine being stroked by his feet, as he proudly demonstrated one night – while I appreciate his attempts to show the bunny some affection, I’m not sure if I  agree with the whole foot stroking thing yet.

After a week at our place, the rabbit is still in good health, the furniture looks okay(ish), the cables and wires haven’t been touched yet, the litter tray is in use (well, including the general area around it), he eats and drinks like a champion, and he’s accepted us as his new friends. I do very much hope he doesn’t start hating me once he finds out that I’m going to have him neutered…

Oh, and while we’re at it: the RSPCA Manchester and Salford have lots of rescue bunnies that are waiting for a nice person to adopt them. Have a look at the adorable little furballs on the RSPCA website.

*  I’m keeping a list of things he does and doesn’t like to eat. So far I’ve found that he’s into coriander, bananas, carrots, sugar snaps, parsley and pak choy, but only the green bits. Fussy eater.

[Photo by Matt Orlinski, model: the beautiful Mr Gethin himself]

Der Herr vom Filmressort: Videos from Manchester, for Manchester

Sam Bail

Forget Manchester’s buzzing Digital Media scene. What do all these creative people know about life in this city? The real talent lies with the students, the drunks, the angry people, the crazies. If you search a little on youtube, you come across all sorts of videos from Mancunians, capturing some of the most bizarre aspects of life in Manchester.

Gaff’s off license is a popular booze vendor in Fallowfield – just across the road from Owens Park, the biggest student halls of residence in town – that’s famous for… pandemonium (both the halls and the off license to be honest). This video features a tribute to the shop:

Speaking of Owens Park, the ‘Owens Park Tower Challenge’ seems to be a popular past time with students. The challenge comprises of downing a shot on every single one of the 18 floors of Owens Park Tower – and not being sick. Hint: the gentleman in the video fails this last part.

Aaah, crazy bus lady. Good old CBL. While I often find her amusing, I sometimes find myself silently swearing at her when she’s holding up the bus, arguing with the driver whether he’ll let her on, while I’m running late for yet another meeting. Here she is, talking about… not quite sure what.

Manchester isn’t exactly known for it’s marvelous weather, quaint little streets, lovely parks or its cleanliness. This video, most likely brought to you by a angry non-Mancunian, captures the situation quite well:

And finally, here’s a comment on the crime rate in Manchester. I watched it several times and couldn’t stop lauging: Robbery at Manchester International Festival

The Middle: Adventures in Nottingham

Sam Bail

If you put England in a big rectangular box, you may find that Nottingham is pretty much exactly in the centre of this box. Well, maybe after chopping after off some pointy ends… sorry Northumberland, but your north half is history… you too, Cornwall… and take Devon with you… Oh, just go with me on that one.

Just as its geographical location and its decidedly Northern feel* clash a little, does Nottingham clash with itself in terms of architecture. The city seems torn between preserving its medieval heritage with all its Robin Hood romantic, the castle, beautiful old buildings, and strips of cobbled streets, a weak attempt at converting these old buildings into the ubiquitous high-street outlets, and some pretty awful modern architecture – or whatever classified as modern in the 1960s. Visually, it’s just all over the place.

After Nottingham had waved a cold hello at me with rain and a rather dodgy looking subway, I found myself in Market square and suddenly realised what Manchester was missing: a central square! The bad excuse for basically everything that is Piccadilly Gardens, the lovely but out of the way St Ann’s Square, or Exchange Square, the, well, area behind Selfridges which I didn’t even know was considered to be a ‘square’, just don’t make up for the feeling of discovering a city’s central hub, buzzing with busy shoppers and newspaper vendors, showing off a fountain, a memorial or a landmark of some sort (Nottingham chose a big wheel here), trams and buses crossing, often overlooked by some impressive building – in the case of Nottingham the council offices.

Now that I’ve got the moaning out of the way, I can say that I did really enjoy the day in Nottingham, despite having come here on a Monday where the two main museums and galleries (the Castle museum & art gallery and the contemporary art gallery) were closed. Thanks to the magic that is Twitter, I received lots of recommendations from some lovely people (that is you Gem, Neil, Ian, Ian, Helen and Sophie!)

After a stroll around town, I tried to seek shelter from the rain in the Galleries of Justice where I went on a tour around the former courts of justice and the pretty miserable prison (or ‘gaol’ – learned a new word!) which had been in use since the 15th century, including an area of cells called ‘the pits’ – no explanation needed I guess. My navigating skills failed me once again and I got lost on the tour, walking through a maze of fire exit doors in search of a toilet and being too embarrassed to go back to the rest of the group once I had found myself in the foyer of the building. I found comfort in a hot bowl of soup just next door at a former church, which had been converted into a rather nice and incredibly spacious bar, and went on to have a look round the castle area – only to get sucked into Delilah on the way, an absolutely stunning deli (now go and sort out your dirty minds will you?) that is granted to give you a mild  heart attack at the till.

I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering round the castle, talking to a crazy photographer at a bus stop, failing to resist the urge to do a little shopping which then turned into a big shopping, and stuffing my face with incredibly delicious cake at The Walk, a cute little cafe hidden away at the end of some inconspicuous looking tunnel off Bridlesmith Gate, where the pretty waitresses wear white lace pinnies on black tops and chunky pearl necklaces as their uniform. Judging by the international clientele and the number of travel bags, I concluded that the cafe must be listed as one of the top places in Lonely Planet. After a lovely Girl Geek Dinner at Cape bar just round the corner, including pizza followed by even more cake and some great talks, I walked back down the hill to catch the last train back from, uhm, Nomingham to Manchester.

The journey then turned into a bit of an adventure as soon as the conductor announced that our train to Sheffield would have to make a short detour to get around a broken down train on the tracks, which led to my missing the connection to Manchester. After a short moment of panic, the station phoned a taxi for me and two fellow travellers, a cheerful Irish couple on their way to Oldham, and so we ended up on a midnight drive down Snake Pass, whizzing through the fog that seems to never leave the peaks, with the Irish lady happily humming and singing in the back seat.

The castle hill which is covered in holes and caves. Looks very much like the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona to me!

* Northern feel = awful weather and grey skies.

Stolen Mountains: the Lakes, Derwentwater, Catbells & icy rain.

Sam Bail

While I’m still not the biggest fan of Manchester (cue ORLY owl here), I have started to fall in love with this country, or at least, some parts of it. Mainly the green ones. Pair beautiful nature, lakes, some woods and breathtaking views with a slightly pathological passion for outdoor activities* and you’re guaranteed some amazing weekends walking up and down hills, almost necessarily followed by yet another popular activity: pub.

For exactly this purpose, and to escape the only mildly appealing February weather in Manchester, I went on a rather spontaneous trip to the north western part of the Lake District. Due to a BBC documentary on Wainwright walks, I was intrigued by a fell named Catbells, situated on the shores of Derwentwater near Keswick, which the presenter was walking up in her perfectly shiny and neat hiking outfit. I only ever managed to watch that one episode, so I wasn’t particularly adventurous when planning the trip and decided to go for the obvious: up Catbells. Conveniently, there’s a YHA situated just on the opposite site of Derwentwater, which promised charming bunk beds, a waterfall at the rear of the building, and local ales. I booked instantly.

Highlights of the drive to Keswick included me gradually realising I had left walking boots, compass, spare socks, the camera battery as well as the SD card, and my phone charger at home, stumbling across a tiny little red book with  walks ‘from the easy to the adventurous’ in the Northern Lakes, buying Kendal mint cake (novelty!) and Borrowdale tea cake, and listening to Therapy. After a short detour to one of the many hiking shops in Keswick to replace equipment, we found the YHA and walked back along the lake into town for Saturday night entertainment: pies and pints. Veggie for me and giant ‘cow pie’ for my companion. Awesome!

8.30 on Sunday morning, pies and pints suddenly didn’t seem like such an awesome idea anymore. My head was hosting a samba party, the rain was pouring down outside, and the sofas in the lounge had actually been very comfortable the previous night. Nonetheless, we were there for walking, so we did what we had to do: walk. The little red book from the service station had told us about an ‘alternative Catbells‘ that promised a ‘satisfying’ 4 hour walk from the south west shores of Derwentwater, over Maiden Moor and Bull Crag up to Catbells.

Thanks to my excellent map reading skills, the missing compass and zero visibility we only got lost twice on the route, which caused me to first panic quite a bit, then feel like kissing the path once we found it after an hour of dragging ourselves up a hill. As we got to the top at Maiden Moor, the clouds cleared all of a sudden and we got some amazing views over the valley west of the fells. The last part of the walk was downhill apart from the short ascend to Catbells, which offered some good views over the lake, but felt much less spectacular and heroic than our previous odyssey through the mist.

On the drive home, we took the scenic route down the A road to Windermere rather than the motorway, past majestic fells, flooded lakes and through adorable little towns. Back in Manchester, it was raining.

When in doubt, eat. (Ancient German proverb.)

* I have observed that every British citizen needs to have a minimum of three pairs of special occasion shoes in their possession: wellies (for festivals, farming or simply crap weather), football boots (because everyone plays football… or ultimate frisbee), and a pair of hiking boots (for the odd trip to Wales, the Peaks or the Lakes).

Playhouse: a year at (some of) Manchester’s theatres

Sam Bail

I never realised I actually enjoyed going to the theatre. To be completely honest, I think I watched not more than four or five plays while I was living in Germany, including the two I actually acted in.* And all of a sudden, as soon as I had moved to Manchester, this just rocketed: maybe thanks to the cheap tickets for young people, maybe because I’m getting older, soon too old to classify as a young person anymore. Now that’s what I call a dilemma.

My theatrical excursions began early in 2010 with a trip to the Library Theatre to see Grimm Tales, a performance piece with music and dance, but far from being a musical. I loved the Library Theatre, the fact that you had to go down the stairs just right after the library entrance hall to end up in this subterranean playhouse, the red seats, the tiny little bar, and the ice cream vendors during the interval. Carol Ann Duffy’s adaptation was a dark and fascinating interpretation of the Brother Grimm’s tales, the performance was thoroughly enjoyable, and the set design had been crafted with love for detail. Solid.

My next trip was an introduction into the wonderful world of Gilbert & Sullivan, two names I had never heard of before witnessing the beginning of a rehearsal of the University’s G&S society. Lacking chairs in the rehearsal room, one of the members dramatically exclaimed ‘No more chairs! NO more CHAIRS!!’ which prompted an even more dramatical performance from the other actors. I kind of new what to expect then when buying tickets for The Pirates of Penzance: over-the-top singing from a 40 piece choir, dance choreographies, meticulous costumes and an enormously huge set. It was the night of the elections, and it seemed to me that – in preparation for the grim days to come – the troupe was singing for their lives, one last time. Impressive.

Shortly before or after that I saw The Comedy of Errors at the Royal Exchange Theatre, the theatre I seem to visit fairly frequently. My first ever live Shakespeare, and, as expected, I had serious trouble understanding the words – it didn’t help that one of the main characters was Scottish. I get modern day northern accents, and that’s about it. Don’t understand southerners, let alone any kind of old-fashioned English. Fortunately, I was at least vaguely familiar with the story and could follow to an extent that made it not completely unpleasant. Call me uneducated, but I still don’t find Shakespeare’s comedies particularly appealing. Unsurprising.

In June I saw one of my favourite plays – Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, again at the Library Theatre. My non-existing knowledge of English literature borders onto embarrassing, but I had neither read nor seen the play before. I spent the next two hours giggling in my chair, marveling at the costumes, getting excited about every single one of Lady Bracknell’s appearances on stage, and shaking my head at the characters’ stupidity – oh how I loved it! I really enjoyed watching this lovely ‘making of’ Earnest and a review of 60 years of Library Theatre. Marvellous.

It being summer, we engaged in the Great British tradition of outdoors theatre and picnic, as we went to see yet another Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream – at Heaton Park. While our rug and M&S nibbles combo seemed satisfying at first, it looked rather pale compared to our neighbours’ picnic table, chairs, cutlery, wine glasses(!) and home made delicacies. You people know how to do a picnic. The weather was surprisingly nice, you could even say mild and sunny, the play was just as, well, mild, spiked with the ever present sexual innuendos, but enjoyable. The audience got involved to some extent, as we had our grapes stolen by an actor, while Puck – played by a young lady in a sequined showgirl-outfit – made herself comfortable on a gentleman’s lap. Summery.

Following a summer break, I went to see my last play of 2010 at the Royal Exchange, something I had been looking forward to for quite a while: Dr Faustus, a play by Christopher Marlowe, based on a German folk tale, which, pretty much exactly 200 years later, had been adapted by the greatest of our writers, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. It was great to look at indeed, the devil’s little monsters were pretty scary in all their dancing and fighting, the acrobatic acts impressive, but it just lacked… something. The tragical side of the story seemed somewhat neglected in favour of effects, and I actually think I did a little power nap at some point. Epic.

What was your favourite play last year? Which one is your favourite theatre in Manchester?

* As a servant and a poet if you’re interested. One of the best things I’ve ever done, and I still find it astonishing what human beings are capable of when it comes to learning text. I can’t even remember other people’s names, but I easily memorized a one page monologue and recited it without errors over the course of several weeks.

A Different City: My favourite places in Berlin (Pt 2)

Sam Bail

There you go, part 2 of Sam’s patchy and highly subjective guide to “Things you shouldn’t miss when in the German capital. Part 1 (art & culture) can be found here.

Food

  • Transit – Asian fusion cuisine in Mitte (U Rosenthaler Str.) and Friedrichshain. The menu comprises an array of small dishes for 3 Euros that you can mix and match – all dishes are available in veggie versions, too. The tasty food is served quickly, the waiters are lovely and the atmosphere is buzzing.
  • Luigi Zuckermann – Almost right next to Transit in Mitte is Luigi Zuckermann, a New York style sandwich shop and deli that’s open 24hrs on weekends. The guys who work there don’t speak German, which isn’t really a big deal in Berlin, keep themselves awake by blasting obscure music, and serve you rather expensive but rather delicious coffee and apple pie at 4am. Win.
  • Noodles & Figli – I have no idea what the name is about, but this inconspicuous restaurant in Kreuzberg is as simple as it is excellent. 3 courses form its Italian cuisine inspired and very seasonal menu are somewhere around 25 Euros, the open kitchen heats up the place to sauna-like conditions in cold weather, and the waiter is happy to sit down and have a chat with you.
  • Cookies Cream – A veggie fine dining dream come true. Located literally in the back entrance to the opera house near Französische Straße, you have to make your way past bins and discarded chandeliers to find the entrance of Cookies Cream. The food is both interesting and tasty, staff keep the wine coming (oh dear…), and the big “Ficken” print on the wall reminds you that you are in one of the craziest capitals of Europe.
  • Schneeweiss – Nice restaurant in Friedrichshain that serves modernised Austrian cuisine and looks incredibly pretty. Being extraordinarily attractive and looking good in a plain white t-shirt seems to be an important requirement to become a member of staff. Not that I would mind.
  • Burgermeister, Marienburger, Burgers Berlin and all the other independent burger places – Oh yes. The city has seen a massive rise in independent snack bars in the past few years, and they all offer tasty homemade burgers, almost always with one or several veggie options, home made french fries and sometimes organic. Have yours with a “Bionade” (hipster lemonade) and munch your hangover away.
  • Salon Schmueck – Lovely cafe that must have been teleported from the enchanted part of the Black Forest right into the heart of Kreuzberg. The breakfast here is colourful and filling, and there are blankets to keep you warm outside. The vintage clothes shop in the back is a quirky addition, but not really worth mentioning.

Other

  • Tacheles – Somehow this place reminds me of Islington Mill; there’s gigs, art, food, and other stuff going on. Worth a visit, for an event or just for hanging out.
  • Michelberger Hotel – Yes, this hotel IS pricey for Berlin standards. It’s pretty though, perfectly located for public transport, offers amazing “luxury” rooms, the staff are international, confused and lovely, the bar is open til 6am, the cocktails are ridiculously strong and the instruments (including a grand piano!) in the “living room” make for great entertainment including the odd  Ryan Adams performance by drunk Danes. Excellent.
  • West Germany – If you manage to find this old dentists practice on the top floor of an apartment block in Kreuzberg, you can call yourself lucky. The small gig venue is as run down as it gets, but the balcony offers exciting views over the area and a feel of big city life.
  • Photo booths – Ooooh no, you can’t leave Berlin without having your picture taken at one of the oldfashioned photo booths placed all over town. For a mere 2 Euros you get a strip of fantastic b/w photos that also make for great souvenirs. If you live in Berlin, you’re required by law to have at least one shot of yourself and friends squeezing into the tiny photo booth after a bit of a heavy night out stuck to your wall. The ones I know about are on Kastanienallee and two near Warschauer Strasse.

[Photos: Luigi Zuckermann – kygp, Salon Schmueck – Kristina M, Schneeweiss – Sang-hee, Michelberger Hotel – Matt Biddulph]

A Different City: My favourite places in Berlin (Pt 1)

Sam Bail

Hello, Happy New Year, welcome back, etc etc. I hope you’ve all managed to get rid of your  hangovers by now and are looking forward to a promising and eventful new year. I’m not, but that’s a whole different story.

Since Berlin is probably my 2nd favourite place in Germany (after my hometown and only slightly before Leipzig; I love Leipzig and the three years I lived there were amazing, but in terms of things to do, Berlin just trumps any other place really), and every single Mancunian seems to have been to Berlin in the past year / has plans to go soon, I thought I might as well share my patchy inside knowledge with you lot. Due to the size of the post, I’ve split it up in two parts – food & other will follow in the next couple of days! And here we go, Sam’s patchy and highly subjective guide to “Things you shouldn’t miss when in the German capital – Part 1″. Part 2 – Food and other stuff – can be found here.

Art & culture

  • Schloss Charlottenburg – I do love them castles. Schloss Charlottenburg is a particularly lovely one in the western part of Berlin, and what makes it even better is the fantastic garden/park with a boating lake that reminds of Versailles. Well, a mini version of it.
  • Hamburger Bahnhof – This place used to be a train station (Bahnhof) and is now a huge gallery for modern and contemporary art. Unlike the UK, German art galleries and museums are usually not free, and this one in fact quite expensive. Totally worth it though.
  • Zoo (West Berlin) – One word: animals. Thanks to many glass windows rather than fences you can get incredibly close to some of the animals. There is also a panda, which seems to be asleep most of the time. For good panda views, go on a weekday when the weather is bad and check the feeding times when the carers trick the panda into sitting really close to the glass by putting his food right it front of it. Not that he’d be particularly bothered. Bless.
  • Bauhaus Archiv – Cause we’re all, like, totally arty and stuff. The Bauhaus Archive includes a nice little collection of Bauhaus related design, furniture and architecture, a gallery for temporary exhibitions (which are a bit hit and miss), and a shop with many pretty things that cost you many pretty Euros.
  • Gedenkstätte Berliner Mauer, Bernauer Str. – This museum and memorial for the German division is a good place to learn about German history without the silly “Ostalgie” (East German nostalgia) that is inherent in so many places in Berlin. I grew up in West Germany, I learned about the German division in my history A-Levels, then lived in East Germany for a while, where my friends’ parents told me about their lives, how they had to fight for their beliefs, how they claimed access to their Stasi-files after the DDR had collapsed*. And trust me, there is no room for nostalgia.
  • 100 Bus service – The 100 bus is almost like one of those hop on/off city tour coaches, but cheap. It takes you all around the city, along the most important sights like the Friedenssäule, Unter den Linden, the Reichstag…
  • Boat tour – They’re ace. Touristy, but ace. Seriously, you’re sat on a boat for an hour, someone tells you about the history of the city, and if you’re lucky, they even sell drinks on board. Order a “Berliner Weisse grün” (white beer with sweet woodruff syrup – bright green!) or a cup of coffee (don’t bother with tea. Germans don’t know how to do proper tea) and relax your feet. You can get on at the bridges near Alexanderplatz/Berliner Dom.
  • Film museum – A brilliant little museum in the Sony Centre (yawn) at Potsdamer Platz (YAWN). Not much hands on stuff, but props, scripts, models and costumes from some amazing films, alongside background information. Featuring a life size Darth Vader!

Phew. That’s it with art and cultchah from me for now. Check out part 2 – food and other stuff.

[Photos: Hamburger Bahnhof  – Regine Debatty]

* I’m getting well emo here.

We are nowhere, and it’s now: a trip to Urmston

Sam Bail

Urmston. I mean, seriously. Just say it out loud a few times. Uuuurrrrmston. Apart from the general directon (Trafford-ish – which doesn’t mean that I have an idea where Trafford really is), sort of bottom left on my map of Manchester, I didn’t know much about Urmston. Having accidentally stumbled upon Beards of Manchester, Peter and Frances* asked us to deliver some calendars to their bookshop in Urmston – the perfect occasion for a little day trip!

The 23 Stagecoach took us from Chorlton to Stretford, down the seemingly never ending Urmston Lane which is lined with houses, houses, and some more houses. We passed the “Welcome to Urmston” sign which told us that it was not just a part of Manchester but an actual town, and when the bus dropped us off outside the library I said, to my own surprise, “it’s actually not as horrible as I thought it was!”

We didn’t have much time to explore the place, but came across a particularly classy furniture shop (see “shoe chair” photo above), “Isinglass” – voted one of Manchester’s best restaurants, Peter’s and Frances’ lovely little bookshop on Flixton Road, the Tim Bobbin – a very art deco-ish Wetherspoons, and the Green Room, a sports bar that also functions as the local meeting place for people with skinheads.

The tracksuits and shaved head-combo seems to be the latest fashion trend amongst the youth of Urmston – walking down Flixton Road, we saw dozens of teens in said attire, some of them suddenly running off in all directions. The police van and high-vis jacket wearing officers on the next junction who were talking to a similar looking group of kids and the proximity to a shopping centre didn’t leave too many questions unanswered.

The Steamhouse, a pub on the platform of Urmston rail station with the possibly weirdest table layout I’ve ever seen, was our last stop before boarding the train back into Manchester. Since it’s only a 10 minute train ride to Urmston, we’ll hopefully be back soon, with more time to explore the town (and by “town” I mean “the menu at Isinglass”).

* That is, Frances. She seemed genuinely excited by the Beards of Manchester calendar, while Peter only gave it, then us, a quick look that said something like ‘Ooookay. You two are clearly kray-zeeeh.’