Manchester

I had my first real pang of homesickness here, wandering around the Kylie Minogue exhibition at their local art gallery (yes, the same exhibition that's already toured Australia and the World, and that I already spent too much of my life in at Canberra, considering it really is kinda crappy).

I started crying when watching the dvd of her last world tour and realised I was having a minor patriot moment. Oops.



So Ian Curtis used to drink here. I wanted to go to Hacienda - of 24 Hour Party People fame - but it has apparently been turned into an apartment block. As have many places in Manchester.



I didn't win.



It was here in a great british pub in Salford, Manchester, that I monopolised the jukebox and danced around belle-and-sebastian style to manchester sounds. On my own. (its ok, I knew the bartender. don't go thinking i've suddenly gone all hip and independent).



Wikipedia tells me Mike Leigh was born in Salford. Karl Marx and Nico used to live there. Now my rock star friend does. With his wife.



It was on the train from Manchester to Sheffield I resolved to read fewer guide books.

Here's why:

1. My lonely planet is bigger than your lonely planet. And that is annoying.
2. The travel warnings give me nightmares (well yes I know I may be gassed in my sleep while travelling on trains but I'm on a train right now so would prefer you not to mention it)
3. Everything (including the maps and places names) are in English, which isn't much use in most of Europe
3. They promise glue-sniffing street urchins in every city and have, as yet, failed to deliver.

I didn't spend long enough in Manchester. And I'm beginning to think this everywhere I go.