Thursday, February 09, 2006

The Hacienda must be bui... oh, it was, I see

I decided to take the scenic route to work today and go right through Castlefield and up the canal alongside Whitworth Street, under Oxford Road and up to the Village and then on. A beautiful day - cold and sunny and lovely - and only the merest hint of the nasty piss smell under the footbridges...

Coming past the back of where the Hacienda used to be, I spotted the following:


It's a history of the Hacienda stamped out of metal, year by year in headlines. These three were my first years in Manchester, when the Hacienda was vaguely in my life. In all honesty, I think I only went in 1990, although I did try to go to Flesh once in 1991 and wasn't let in because they didn't believe I was gay (see, Ma, I can do it). Not surprising really. I either had a quiff the size of Chorlton or trainee dreads that weren't very hygenic, could take nothing stronger than paracetamol or a shandy top without passing out in a pool of my own bodily fluids and was so in love that I couldn't see the point in being anywhere I couldn't see or hear him.

Shame it's a car park under a block of flats. But strangely comforting - very Manchester.

Anyway. I got bored mid afternoon and wandered down to see DG in the Chinese Arts Centre. After generating enough camp nonsense to power St Helens for the afternoon, she pointed me in the direction of the nearest post box with a knowing wink. I did have some letters to mail, but what could be special about a post box? Could it be a Northern Quarter themed unique box - with an assymetric slot and a bad attitude? Was it under a funny shop sign? Was it an antique from the era of King George with a funny 'His' instead of 'Her Royal Highness' on it?

Nup.


Filth I tell you. Filth.

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