Crime and Passion in Manchester

 

Being Manchester it was of course raining when we arose. I remember well when involved with the Manchester Commonwealth Games receiving a board report that said Manchester was a drier city than Bristol as some kind of reassurance that all would be well that summer - well it wasn't, and you may recall the closing ceremony being deluged by torrential rain that sorely tested the humour of all concerned.  I learnt later that whilst Manchester does indeed get less total rainfall than Bristol it  "enjoys" many more days of rain as its quite often that fine drizzly stuff that has a remarkable ability to soak you to the skin. 

And that's what we had.

 

Meeting our jolly Canal Trust guide at lock 65, he told us he'd keep going ahead to open the next lock and check there wasn't too much water. 

 

I wonder where all that extra water could have come from?

 

This approach made it a very easy and surprisingly quick descent of the 17 locks past a series of abandoned cotton mills and further on, regenerated mills housing offices and apartments.  Not the most attractive of landscapes but at least the bad weather kept any potential vandals indoors.  At lock 81 we bid farewell to our guide who then had to walk the three miles back to our starting point where his car was parked. 

 

I will own up here that I suffered a bit of a sense of humour failure on this drag down to Manchester and questioned this extended trip on the fabulous Fandango. Poor Ros, coping with another Cossack hat outburst (family joke), resorted to picking canal side marguerites (my favourite daisy) by way of peace offering. 

We had been told about a new marina just before Ancoats at New Islington so we turned sharply through its entrance and into a very attractive basin at the end of which was a live aboard area. It also had excellent laundry facilities and a smart shower that after the confines of dear Fandango felt positively enormous.  

Doing some research before heading into Manchester we had noticed that the Scottish Opera and the Doily Carte were performing the Pirates of Penzance at the opera house so wanting to support our local company we had got ourselves a couple of tickets. Brilliant seats in the centre of the stalls gave us a first class view of this tongue in cheek interpretation of the Gilbert and Sullivan classic. It had some hilarious moments especially those set at sea where the cast in perfect unison rolled from one side of the stage to the other. The cheers of appreciation from the audience were a just reward.

The following day, guess what? Yes, rain, again. 

We asked at the tourist office what we could do with a dog in tow and were initially told we could join the guided walking tour but unfortunately even that was rejected as the tour included entry to museums and libraries. So we took ourselves off to see the Michaels Flags and Angel Meadow area of town which has undergone a massive regeneration having in Victorian times been home to the most overcrowded and diseased area of Britain. It was now home to the new HQ of the Coop, and you do wonder if they hadn't spent so much money on this enormous egg-shaped building if their bank would have got into so much trouble.  

That evening we visited the Royal Exchange theatre where we enjoyed some wonderful blues music from a very talented 20 year old and an acapella choir of 16 to 20 year olds destined to perform at the Edinburgh Festival. Ros hadn't seen the theatre before and was impressed with idea of installing a complete pop up theatre within the old corn exchange without altering any of the exchange's Victorian grandeur.  Heading to Chinatown for dinner, we chose well, noting that our particular restaurant was occupied primarily by Chinese families and the food didn't disappoint. 

As we approached our boat back in the marina a chap from the boat alongside us leapt out and told us one of our bikes had been stolen. He had seen two yoofs of about 17 sitting on a bench around 7pm near our boat and was suspicious. When his back was turned it appears they managed to cut the lock attaching them to the front of the boat and started to offload both bikes. He heard the noise and was out as fast as he could to chase them but they ran off with Ros' bike shouting threats at him as they disappeared into the nearby high rise housing. He had phoned the police but I had to call to give details and register the theft formally. 

And all in a very public marina under a CCTV camera (which it subsequently transpired was facing the other way...)

This was a real disappointment reinforcing all the dire warnings about theft and vandalism to passing narrowboats and one of the reasons the Trust provides a guided descent into Manchester.  With that in mind we revised our plans to stay a further day in Islington Basin and agreed to join our public spirited neighbour down the nine locks to Castle Quay at the other side of the city centre and considered far safer.

Before leaving the following morning though we decided to try our luck again with the DIY pump out (some readers have complained at the absence of stories of effluent - hadn't realised it was such a hilarious topic) and much to my surprise it not only worked painlessly it cost a mere £4 in tokens, quite a difference to the £15 charged by boat yards who to be fair, do the business for you. 

In warm sunshine - hurrah, at last - we attacked the nine locks in tandem with our partners in crime. Very keen narrow boaters, we were given much advice and guidance about where to go and what to do next. Not sure the spreadsheet approved of this insistent but well meaning interference.....

 

 

Castle Quay was busy but we managed to squeeze into a lovely spot beside, nay inside, a weeping willow and settled for one more night in Manchester. Ros, missing her gardening was immediately out pruning said willow so it didn't scratch the boat of disturb our slumbers. 

 

Our plan that day was to visit the Royal Northern School of Music who were holding their gold medal competition for senior students. And what a piano concert we enjoyed. Syuzanna Kaszo was from the Ukraine and already an accomplished award winner and mesmerised the audience with a virtuoso performance including Prokofiev's Piano Sonata No 8, a piece I had never heard before but blew me away with its complexity, passion and speed. 

A walk through the city centre back to the basin we encountered the squealing audience of at least 95% females exiting excitedly from a performance of Dirty Dancing at the Palace Theatre.  

I was rather relieved I'd avoided that cultural delight.