Card Gate

I wrote about ID cards coming to Manchester a while ago, regular readers may recall. For the rest of you I’ll just give you a link and you can update yourselves. I write now as their arrival is imminent – from 30 November residents of Manchester will be able to get themselves one of these intriguing, myth-like creations. £30 is the price you will have to pay and the passport office, from where these things are being issued, will extract all sorts of data from you, from simple bank account level stuff – like your name and address – to more intimate things like fingerprints and small sections of your soul.

OK, so not your soul, but there have understandably been very vocal demonstrations against these things, ranging from indignation to complete bafflement. Most people seem to be asking pretty much the same thing – what’s the point? The governments answer the other week was, amongst other thing, ‘Young people will be able to get into clubs and bars hassle free’. So the national concern over the binge drinking culture seems to be out of the window for now then.

A nice lady from the government (Junior Home Office Minister Meg Hillier) bravely went on the MEN website this week to do a live online chat, answering people’s questions on the cards. She bravely deflected a barrage of negativity, mostly, as I say, revolving around the ‘what’s the point’ question. They did a poll halfway through asking who would be voluntarily signing up for these non-compulsory, £30 cards. Results: Yes: 4%, No: 96%. I sort of felt sorry for her. Sort of, but not really.

Departure Lounge

This caught my eye because it contains two conflicting topics for me – airports and bars. I like bars. I don’t like airports. Their marrying is an interesting concept still, especially when put into this context – a plan to install a bar/restaurant into the now defunct control tower at Manchester airport terminal one.

My dislike of airports stems from a disliking of flying and their role as buffer between the world and the aeroplane. I shy away from using the word ‘fear’ but I suppose that’s what it is. I am scared when I am in a plane because I don’t want to die just yet. It’s as simple as that and you can quote all the statistics you like at me but I’ll still prefer to drive, or cycle, my way around the world than get in one of those big metal tubes. It’s the lack of influence on my fate that I don’t like – just sitting there hoping the pilot knows what he’s doing, hoping the engineers did thorough enough checks, hoping the engines keep going, hoping a flock of birds doesn't fly into the jets, hoping we don’t drop out of the sky.

So to position a bar in such an immediately adjacent environment to this method of transport is an intriguing idea for me. The tower boasts 360 degree views over the airport and surrounding Cheshire countryside and a space 100 metres square, potentially offering a unique party destination. I can just see it now, sipping a cold beer whilst watching hundreds upon hundreds of people risking their lives in front me, safe in the knowledge that my own journey home is just a 10 minute car journey up the road. I think I would be content. Unless the planes got too close to the tower. Then I’d be scared.

Manchester's Christmas Campaign

I’m trying hard not to think about it but apparently it’s that time of year when everything has the word ‘Christmas’ attached to it in some way. Christmas plans, Christmas markets, Christmas lights, Christmas drinks, Christmas holidays, Christmas bloody shopping. This is why I’m almost sick of it when the time comes to leave work behind and try and enjoy it – because we’ve been going on about it since the middle of October.

Anyway – I’m trying to be positive. Someone’s* put together a cool little bit of animation for Visit Manchester in an attempt to draw yet more crowds (and coins) into the city over the coming month or so. It’s nice – have a look.



All items used were, apparently, found in Manchester shops. I’m off in search of the green gnome.

*’Someone’, in this case, is actually Peter Purves, along with fellow Manchester creatives Dinasour, Amaze, Loose Moose Productions and Hot Animation.

Cops and Boxers

A slightly puzzling story from the streets of Manchester this week, one of a policeman and an ‘unhealthy interest in sex workers’. It goes a little something like this: Colleagues radio for help because of a fight in the city centre; officer doesn’t respond because he’s ‘far too interested’ in patrolling the area behind Piccadilly station, known for being popular with those ladies of the night. He gets done because the Police had him under surveillance, presumably because they were suspicious of his activities.

What puzzles me about this is mainly the fact that it could ever happen in the first place. I mean, firstly, aren’t they meant to patrol in pairs? What was the other one doing? And I thought they had GPS on them all so they could see who was nearest to the scene. If so, how did that radio conversation go? ‘Oi, you over by Piccadilly, get into the centre because some of the lads are having a fight.’ ‘I can’t right now I’m busy...err...behind the train station, patrolling.’ ‘Oh, all right then.’ Here’s a shot of Piccadilly station and its apparently lively backstreets – cheers Google Maps:

I suppose the fact he’s been caught tells us that it isn’t possible to simply do as you please when you’re a police officer out on patrol but the level of freedom implied by this is slightly worrying.

In other news, it seems I may be missing something of a trick by not venturing into the world of boxing match prediction, or, rather, the prediction of small details of boxing matches. Those two blokes I was on about below had their fight at the weekend and the boy Haye, as you may know, managed to beat the giant Russian on points. He did also, however, as very precisely predicted by yours truly, break one of his hands on impact with the granite-like features of his opponent. I should have had some money on it.

Boxing Giants

This is David Haye. He’s a boxer (although I think the photo probably gives that away somewhat). His nickname is The Hayemaker.


He’s 6’3” and fights as a heavy weight. He would be considered in many circles rather a large, threatening man. This is a picture of him next to the guy he’s fighting this weekend:


I can assure you that no perspective tricks are being played in this photo. The other guy, Nikolay Valuev, really is that big. He’s Russian, not that that explains it any. His nickname is The Beast from the East. He is seven feet tall and, judging by this picture, has a head made from granite. Haye reckons he’s going to knock him out. I don’t doubt he could, assuming he can reach up that high and doesn’t break his hands on impact.

Kaiwayne Rooney

With nothing better to write about in the early part of this week I resort once again to the local news headlines and am greeted with yet more easily dismissible ‘news’. Wayne Rooney and his missus have had a baby, if you hadn’t heard. They’ve called it Kai, or, if, like me, you heard the news report from the rather fast talking presenter, Kaiwayne. Kaiwayne Rooney – catchy. It’s not actually that – middle name is Wayne, first name Kai. It was confusing.

Anyway, I shan’t dwell on the facts too much as there’s not a lot to them. The MEN even had to resort to reporting on the parents' attire in order to fill the word count. This always amuses me. I quote: “Coleen wore a black and beige top with a black blazer and black trousers, while Wayne was wearing a cowboy shirt, jeans and a sleeveless puffer jacket.” Fascinating stuff.


It is the readers’ comments that most interested me today, however. Local news sites are often a good source for some truly bizarre, occasionally spiteful but always representative comments. There was quite a lot of support for Wayne and Colleen on this one but, unsurprisingly, some negative input also. “Do they do shell suits 1-6 months?” asked one reader. Very droll. Some opted for simple messages of support: “Great news! X,” said one, while another felt the need to put actual sentences together: “Congrats to Wayne & Coleen Rooney on the safe arrival of baby Kai. What a beautiful name, too! "The Sea", in Hawaiian...God's blessing on the young family.”

The most bizarre has to be placed in the ‘let me tell you how to bring up your kids’ category, one which, I am reliably informed by infanted friends, fills up rapidly, usually from strangers, post-childbirth. This comment – on a public news website, remember – reads as follows:

“Don't start him on goats milk because it causes lot's of wind and he will burp a lot and have loads of hiccups, and cry all the time.”

Err...thanks for that.