Arran's Manchester-Based Late Night Adventure

Are we sitting comfortably? Good - then I'll begin. This is the story of Tuesday 21st September 2010, and I like to call it "Arran's Manchester-Based Late Night Adventure".

I woke up, as usual, at half six. It's not the best time to wake up, and I don't feel too brilliant for the first hour and a half of my day, especially when it rains as much as it does between half six and half seven in the morning in Dolphinholme. After beautifying, I hopped into the car and was taken to the bus stop for half past seven. The bus was ten minutes late, as usual.

Not much happened on the bus, as usual.

When I walked into my slightly shabby form room, a little bit soggy from the rain, Mady showed me a ticket, and asked me whether I'd got her text.
I checked my phone.
The ticket was for me, because she couldn't go. I, of course, jumped at the chance to see Kenneth Nixon live - who in their right mind wouldn't?

And for the rest of the day, not a lot happened. As usual.

And then I went to get the bus. This is always an exciting time for me, because the bus doesn't arrive at thirty three minutes past three, as the timetable says it should. The bus times are, in fact, completely random. I was hoping that the bus would arrive on time on this particular day, because I needed to get to Preston station for half five - but sod's law wouldn't allow that. The bus was half an hour late.

"Well, that's fine", I thought to myself, because I would still have just about enough time to get to the station if there was somebody to pick me up when I arrived in Cabus. Well, yet again sod's law denied me this, and I had to wait in a car park for someone to arrive to pick me up. They then told me that my dad's car had suddenly become uninsured, and my mum's was falling apart. Hence, it was my dad's decision to drive to Preston very slowly, to prevent anything from falling off my mum's car.

The traffic in Preston was absolutely dire, and it was quarter past six by the time I actually got to the station. The next train was at ten to seven - so I had a while to wait. Of course, sod's law also dictated that I wouldn't have enough money to buy a coffee, so I decided to sit on a bench on the platform and wait for my train.

The story is about to get better, I promise.

Out of the blue, a first year uni student came and sat down next to me, and just talked for ten minutes. Note that I don't know who he is, or why he did it, he just did. And then he gave me his number. I was in a state of whatthefuck about this - because that sort of thing doesn't happen to me, but anyway, then the train arrived.

There were no seats, as dictated by my favourite of all laws, but I didn't mind too much, because the train was actually there.

After finding out that the ginger one had been walking up and down a lengthy Manchester street, I walked down the same lengthy Manchester street with him, and we finally got into the gig - and we weren't even that late.

The gig was honestly like some sort of school trip. The room was filled with 12 year olds and their more than slightly older boyfriends, and family outings. Framing Hanley are good, but I wouldn't exactly call a gig the best place to have a family outing, y'know?

So, the first band played brilliantly, until the guy "sang", which didn't really work for me because he was a bit tone deaf. The second band were pretty good, in a fairly generic way, and Framing Hanley played my two favourite songs, told some bad jokes, and Kenneth Nixon was generally beautiful.

And then we went home. Oh, and there's no need to panic, guys, because the seiciento is insured again :D
I aim to force our readers through painfully long blog posts that reach no real conclusion more often, and I hope that this post was certainly an experience for you all.


Hope that's made up for my lack of posts - it was just as tedious and four times as long as what I usually do!
- A