All the EdCM girls were billed to speak at the Manchester conference, so I was really looking forward to it. However, by the time I reached my destination Manchester had transformed into the Liverpool docks (pre-investment), the conference was no more, and my only company in the two-bedroomed suite of the tatty hotel was TPR. We ventured outside to explore the neighbourhood. Our expedition involved walking hand-in-hand along the narrow pavement parallel to the busy main road. We followed the upstream path of the dirty river. Strangely, and in spite of the industrial setting, this was turning into quite a romantic outing. The spell was broken, however, just as TPR bent down to kiss me. A strident female vigilante ran over to us and shouted “Are there many of you out tonight!!?” Her question didn’t make sense until we spotted the queues of men hanging around gaudily-dressed women, each punter awaiting his turn. We resolved to escape the scene and return to the hotel. Back in our room all appeared calm until suddenly the massive wave crashed against the bedroom window. The whole building whooshed around in the undertow, and was eventually repositioned further north. Relieved that we had survived another tsunami we considered our options and voted to leave “Manchester” in favour of a visit to Preston. There we would look for evidence of ancestors with my mother.
PT, FG and I propped up a bar in East Lothian listening to EH’s complaints about the poor personal hygiene of PhD students.
Dreamaticus 