An Offer I Can't Understand
I really cannot be the only person to see the glaring resem-blance between the city centre map of Manchester and a fairly detailed picture of a horse's head. Can I?
Its mouth is open. There is a bridle and halter. Its ears are pricked up. I have persuaded myself I can see a single flared nostril and a hint of mane too.
But when I tell people my theory - what do I get? Derision, mockery and the 'caring raised eyebrow' look. I am considering whether I should start a campaign about the issue. I intend finding out the name of the designer (in my more fanciful moments I hope that his or her name will be something like Jack Palomino, or Kerry Dobbin - a name that will confirm my suspicions in a revelatory, Jessica Fletcher-style moment) and taking this matter further. Watch this non-existent space. It's like something from All The President's Men - but less dramatic, relevant and/or interesting. If you want that stuff - get a TV for God's sake and stop wasting your life reading this cack.
Anyway. I ended the day at a poetry slam -
a few good people, a few bad people and a few ok people - but you can't help admiring the drive to get up and risk it all on stage. Just, please - no more final couplets rhyming love/glove, feel/peel, Kylie/smiley...