I’d seen the abandoned pub on Honey Street the previous evening, whilst eating a falafel wrap, bought from a take-away on Cheetham Hill Road. Many of the pubs in this area have been closed down, and often demolished. I sometimes hear my flatmate talk wistfully about nights out in them. He calls them “boozers” still.
Around the Northern Quarter and the city centre there seems to be a new bar or restaurant opening every week, with London businesses now beginning to spread their rich butter across our well done crumpets. But the money heating the Le Creuset pans in new Manchester kitchens has struggled, like a plump city broker on a lunchtime jog, to make its way up the steep bank into Collyhurst.
On pressing the shutter for the third time, the streetlights popped off, as if the electric meter had run out, and so I made my way back into town for breakfast.
SEE MANCHESTER AT DAWN WITHOUT HAVING TO GET UP…
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